milwrites - Tumblr blog

[milwrites]

Weird that it happened twice, right?

chapter four - masterlist

a/n: i’m really proud of this one, it’s a real favourite of mine, and is the end of where the story follows canon. obviously no one has died that does in-game, and i intend it to stay that way :) italics are john/narrator as usual :)))

word count: 3k

T/W: sexual assault, death, blood, lots of swearing.

Fingertips brushed against each other once more as guards pulled us in opposing ways, the 17 men being separated from the 2 women. I resisted violently, the men restraining me simply slipping a gag into my screaming mouth. A yell from John and I was thrown into the second cell in the past month. The women around me were terrifying to begin with, all of them much older than me and they spoke with not an ounce of tenderness, but I appeared to bring out the maternal nature in all of them. Perhaps the sight of a battered teenager in a prison that most died in before they were even hung softened even the hardest of hearts. They all seemed to protect me in some way; a few offered me some of their food from between the bars, others sliding me illicit bars of floral soap. I didn’t know what to make of it, didn’t think I deserved it until many of them opened up. They were mainly killers, but most had exacted revenge on a man who wronged them, and then kept killing. I told them stories in return. I had been educated as a member of the upper class, even if I had been treated poorly, and could recall many tales that had offered me escape from my life. I told told them stories of the mighty Thor and devious Loki from the norse myths, and managed to condense entire plays of Shakespeare into about ten minutes. It let us leave the penitentiary for a while, go to Asgard or Venice or the faerie kingdom of a Midsummer night's Dream.

John didn’t get the same level of closeness with his inmates. The men were killers or worse, and while John could play the act better than all of them, he stayed silent as much as possible. His thoughts were so loud as to overpower his voice, he could feel death coming once more and this time he knew Vesta wouldn’t appear to save him. He wished he could have said good bye to Jack. He wished he could have told the kid how much he loved him, how proud he was, how he was going to be a great man one day. He knew Arthur would look after him, and hoped that upon seeing the man assume responsibility for a child, Mary Linton would return to him, and they would raise Jack as best they could. If not, he consoled himself that Sean and Karen adored the child, would spoil him rotten of course, but he would be happy. He wondered if he’d been good enough. He decided he hadn’t. Decided that a good father would have quit this life long ago, a good father most definitely wouldn’t be hung for his crimes before his child could celebrate his 5th birthday. Tears were falling freely, as he thought about the boy being told neither parent would return home, that he would never ride down to the river to see deer with Vesta again, never play cowboys wearing his father’s hat again. He bit his fingernails to stumps and his lips a bleeding mess just considering every one of his past mistakes.

A prison guard rattled my cell to wake me. My sleep was fitful, dreams bloody. I’d braided my hair days ago, flyaways sticking to my sweaty face, which to the guard must have seemed like an invitation to enter my cell and pin me to the wall. I scratched and bit and kicked at him, my every effort doing nothing against the large man. I was crying great gulping tears, terrified at what was about to happen and even in the moment feeling guilty as I thought of John. The man let out a choked gurgle, the wet sound of blood filling his throat.

The woman in the cell beside her had been hiding a shiv for weeks, not planning on using it but keeping hold nevertheless. She had lodged it in the man’s meaty neck, and I pushed him off me, shaking with residual fear and snot still dribbling down my chin. “We- we’ve got to-“ I sniffed. “Got to get him out- and hide the shiv.” I never got the chance to move him. Other guards had heard the racket and were gathering outside the cell. A younger man pulled him out before locking my cell again, and I cried out in horror as they shot my saviour there and then. Gone. She didn’t cry out as she fell, her eyes only widened and her lips parted in a silent gasp. A fresh set of tears gilded my cheeks, the woman having given her life only to protect me from the assault almost every woman in the jail had been through. I wondered if it had been the kindness I had tried to offer, or how young I seemed, or even that it was that enough women had been through hell at the hands of the guards, but it would stick with me forever, the selflessness of a self-proclaimed murderer.

I felt hollow and empty, like the fear of death had been wiped from my mind. Death was so casual here. There were hangings every day, multiple at once. The guards told me regularly that I was to be hung with Marston, and it gave me comfort to know the last face she saw would be the one she loved most dearly. It even set me counting down the days, eagerly waiting to die at the promise of seeing him once more. How far away England seemed, that simplicity of life only punctuated by threats and callous words.

I didn’t see the balloon pass over, and was unaware of the commotion it had caused. I also didn’t hear the shots fired as a set of guards were killed out in the fields and an ultimatum was shouted over the prison walls. And what an ultimatum it was.

My cell door was opened by a scared looking boy, barely older than myself, the grip he held on my shoulders tight enough to bruise. I knew in that moment my time had come, and wryly wondered if this would get me to Valhalla. I welcomed death at that point, as it meant seeing John, maybe for all eternity. I held my head high.

Until I was greeted by an ever-so familiar voice.

“She don’t look too bad all things considered. Head’s still up high ain’t it, Mrs Adler?” The deep tenor of Arthur Morgan was joined by Mrs Sadie Adler’s western drawl. “Let’s get Marston and then we can assess our wounds maybe.”

I gaped at the sound of them, speaking lowly to the boy still gripping me tightly. “Well I’ll be damned.” It had been long decided in my mind that no one was coming for us; the first few weeks had me nursing a candle of hope that spluttered out soon after.

Cobblestones gave way to weed ridden grass under my bare feet even as the cast iron gate of Sisika Penitentiary groaned and shuddered its way open. I stumbled across the threshold, over it, and out onto the island, wasting no time in careering into arthur. He slipped me a revolver and a clip of ammunition. Another protesting screech of ill-fitted hinges and the gates rolled open for a second time.

He’d grown a beard, I noted with a face of disgust.

The miserable expression he’d worn for over a month faded away to a tentative smile at the moment he saw her wrinkled nose and creased brows. A niggling voice in his head hissed poisonous accusations against the girl: she hated him now, she had been hoping he rotted there so she could leave and live a better life. She suffocated it with a beaming grin, leaving Arthur’s side to cannon into him at full pelt, only knocking most of the air out his lungs. She mumbled into his chest, a slurred comment about how much she’d missed him, peppered with expletives and the odd nonsensical noise. A low rumble of mirth and a sharp exhalation of air was his only reply, him not trusting words enough to express himself.

“Ah hate to break up this heartfelt reunion but they are startin’ to shoot at us.” Reminded Arthur, the world having faded quite away for us both. Indeed, bullets were raining down from the battlements, being blocked only by the brick wall the convicts and their rescuers had gone and hidden behind. Chunks of plaster flew from the wall, chinks of light shining through. Sadie started issuing orders.

“John, (Y/N), make a run for it now ‘n’ we’ll cover you. There’s a boat in the marshland.”

We bolted. John seized my hand and held tight, his long strides easily outstripping my much smaller ones, and practically dragging me across the fields. Engaging the guards was suicide, between us we had 12 shots while each guard would have around 16 - and would be on horseback too. Instead we hid, darting from cover to cover, Arthur and Sadie leaving piles of bodies in their ever destructive wake. I saw the boat with a gasp, the sudden realisation that I was still alive, still with John and oh-

We would see Jack again.

John clambered into the boat first, giving me a hand climbing in. Two neat piles of clothes sat in the bottom of it, one with a hat on top and the other with- “Are those my guns?” pure delight shine through my question, my eyes lighting up as I spied the distinctive blued metal of my pistols. I rummaged a little more in the pile to find that they were my clothes too, and I scrambled to get changed while we waited for Sadie and Arthur. John did the same, happier to see his hat than guns, but expressing enjoyment at the reassuring weight of them at his hip. I let out another delighted laugh; I had found that Sadie had fully stocked my bandolier with ammunition, it spanning my chest with shiny cartridges peeping out from their leather keepers.

The gunfire came closer, Sadie taking a running jump into the boat and Arthur following closely, giving the boat a powerful push before entering it himself. For a while the only noise was the splash of the oars hitting the smooth water and the breathless recovery of the fighters, until John spoke up. “I don’t know how to thank you. I thought Dutch was gonna orphan Jack if I'm bein’ honest.” Arthur and Sadie exchanged apprehensive glances. Arthur inhaled deeply, looking pained as he explained himself. “Dutch, well he didn’t exactly sanction us comin’ for yer. He actually told us not to. Said he had a plan and such but it was bullshit so we came anyway. So don’t expect a great welcome I guess.”

The silence returned again, none of us knowing exactly how to respond.

beaver hollow - 1899

John didn’t know how many more times he could cradle her close to him like this, broken and beaten. He held back his rage for Jack’s sake, who was soundly sleeping leant against his father’s other side, too tired to fully register their return. He hated that his every dream ended with her dying in his arms, and that he had to wake up and see her dreaming the same dreams. She shifted in her sleep, muttering something that sounded distinctly like a threat, and moved closer to him. Beaver Hollow set him on edge. They didn’t have a proper tent, more a canvas shelter with two bedrolls under it, and he found himself shielding her with his body from prying eyes when she woke up in distress most nights.

I hadn’t told him what happened in Sisika. It seemed needless to me; he already knew it had been hell, because he’d been though it too. I didn’t need any more pity from him either.

The early hours of the morning cast a rosy glow over our prone bodies and the quiet stillness of the camp. Neither us them were asleep, both pretending for the others sake that we were.

“John? I need you over here a moment.” Dutch hollered from the other side of the hollow. Not receiving more response, he strode over to them, calling John again. “Can it wait?” I had no trace of patience in the way I spoke to him. I hadn’t challenged Dutch's seeming lack of action to spring them from prison, but the deep injustice was constantly boiling beneath my skin. “You aren’t busy, Miss (L/N). Neither is John.” Her tone had riled Dutch and he talked coldly to her, still taking the moral high ground as ever. I had sat up to speak to him, a shawl draped across my shoulders to for warmth. John started to stir, placing a restraining hand at my arm that I ignored. Dutch turned from me entirely, addressing John about a job he wanted to send him on. I fucking snapped. Stood up and started talking. “Shut the fuck up. Shut up. How can you ask him to go out on a job for you right now? We have been back less than 24 hours, Dutch, his son hasn’t even been able to speak to him yet. Remember his son? The one you were more than happy to orphan as long as it didn’t mess up your goddamn plan? You claim to care about every one of us, and yet when it really comes to it it’s only Micah fucking bell that you rescue every single time. You sprung him from the gallows within a week, and let me and john rot there for more than a month, let jack be parentless for a month.” I laughed a spite filled laugh. “But fuck it, eh? We’re back now aren’t we? Never mind the fact that we were beaten to shit in the meantime, never mind the fact that he might not be ready to head out again. At least you still have the money.” A crowd was gathering, Micah moving to Dutch and urging him to shut me up. Dutch shrugged him off, letting me continue. “You know. A woman died for me. She had no ties to me, had no idea who the flying fuck I was, and yet she gave her life to protect me. A guard tried to rape me. In my cell. And she stuck a shiv through his throat. That woman was a killer, a murderer, a convict, and yet she was willing to die for me having known me three weeks. She did more for me than you. I have stole and lied and why? Because you asked me to.” My voice had broken, tears streaming down my cheeks and yet never breaking eye contact with Dutch. John’s hand reached for his gun, Arthur stopping him, at my words. I didn’t look at him, but reached my hand out to meet his, gripping his fingers tightly. I swallowed. Turned around and scooped a now awake Jack into my arms, wordlessly carrying him to the horses as he begged to see Bonnie.

Everything changed for Dutch in those moments. He watched the girl carry the boy toward the horse that had been so aggressive without her, her small body relaxing as she patted her mare. Piglet followed over, then John, who settled next to her with his arm around her waist. A family. He saw then that it was a family that without Arthur and Sadie would have been broken beyond repair, the child an orphan and the two animals never to see their mistress again. The sight of Jack wriggling from (Y/N)’s arms to play with the terrier forced him to recall watching the boy crying inconsolably into her wiry fur. It had been 2 weeks since John and (Y/N) had gone, and Jack had thrown as many tantrums as he could muster to bring them home. Exhausted, hurt and with nothing having changed, the boy had sat on the floor and cried floods of silent tears, which Piglet had come over to lick away. The dog had sat herself as close as she could before him and allowed him to just clutch at her. Dutch had ignored it as best he could, ignored Hosea too, refusing to take responsibility and instead letting Micah assure him that it was for the greater good. He should have known the man was only too happy to let them die. He felt a fool. “Quit wallowin’.” Arthur's voice cut through his self-pity. Dutch glared at him for a moment before nodding and moving to leave his tent. Arthur caught his arm. “I tell you this now, Dutch, I will kill Micah myself if you don’t. he’s a rat. he’s why Pinkertons been findin’ us so damn fast.” His voice was low with anger. “You do it. I'm done killing.”

We were still playing with the horses, I had myself wrapped up and grooming Bonnie's sleek coat properly, luxuriating in the way I was able to talk to John about nothing in particular. Jack and Piglet had tired already, sat side by side with Old boy grazing beside them. Dutch cleared his throat. I didn’t look up from the knot I was pulling from my mare’s tail. John raised his head, face set and arms folded, expecting confrontation.

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it. I know that.” Dutch began with his hands as if in surrender. “But I can only offer you my heartfelt apologies - I failed you, my son, you and your family. And vesta I-“

I turned around to look at him, my face already softening. “I can never understand how it must have been. But I'm getting you out of this. All of you. No more plans. I was thinking-“ I cut him off, filled with a rush off forgiveness for him, an urge to hug him taking over me. I never had that much self-restraint. I looked up at him from the hug. “Let’s start again.”

We watched the sun setting across Roanoke ridge, basking in the residual warmth before the wintery chill of November air really set in. He pulled me in even closer, his warmth spreading into me, he and kissed the top of my head.

“Let’s start again.”

[milwrites]

Weird that it happened twice, right?

chapter three - masterlist

A/N: this one’s awkward and was my problem child. the pov switches, i think you can see the change the first time and then from then on it’s “narrator / john pov” in normal text and reader in italics.

word count: 3.2k

T/W: swearing? blood/ semi-graphic violence and a single mention of smut, does including the Smiths lyrics count as a trigger?

A week later, and the Grays and Braithwaites were realising Dutch's alliance with the other. The Grays had already launched an offensive upon some of the men while in Rhodes; Sean lucky to escape with his life after a bullet passed clean through his shoulder. As of yet the Braithwaite family seemed to be ignoring the gang.

“Jack, kiddo, listen to me. If you go to sleep now we can play cowboys tomorrow, I promise.” John’s voice was strained as he bargained with the small child, who was obstinately refusing to take off the man’s hat and (empty) gun belt. Both of them looked to me for back up, the boy grabbing at my hand, John waiting for me to speak. I sighed. “Would it help if I took him down the path to see the deer? I’d only be a few minutes.” I spoke to John, who nodded gratefully, before I turned to the eagerly waiting child. “You wanna come with me to see the deer buddy?” Jack’s face lit up and he nodded his head exuberantly, his father’s hat falling to the ground. He set off determinedly to where Bonnie was grazing, stroking the mare with his little hands.

John kissed my forehead as we followed Jack to the horse, I mounted bonnie first with John passing the boy up to me, where he proudly sat in front of me gripping Bonnie’s long mane. I clicked the horse into a slow walk so that Jack could stay balanced and to help the boy settle down from the excitement of being a cowboy. He’d leaned back against me and was watching the trees pass by, occasionally lifting his arm to point at the rabbits that skittered across the forest floor. It wasn’t too long before the woods thinned and the sight of pastures extending down to the lake side pricked Bonnie’s ears and raised her head. “ah ah ah,” I scolded her, knowing exactly that my horse wanted to gallop through the open fields as she tossed her head and tried to bring the bit between her teeth. I sent a warning tug down the reins, her admitting defeat and lowering her head again. Jack had spotted the deer ambling by the lakeside and was bouncing in the saddle to get a better look. I shushed him gently and pointed in the direction of a fawn that was hovering at the water’s edge. He was enthralled by the movements of the tiny doe, more than happy to be lifted from the saddle to sit on my knee while we leaned on a log to watch the deer, who remained unbothered by us. Bonnie settled near, huffing down our necks and looking dangerously close to rolling in the clay mud of the lake. The setting sun cast a warm glow over the scene; Bonnie’s gleaming coat matched by the deer, Jack falling asleep while curled into my sweater, and two armed men approaching us.

“Can I help you?” I spoke coldly, on edge by the closeness at which they had positioned themselves to me and the now sleeping child. They remained silent. I stood up, Jack in my arms, and moved toward my golden horse, my other hand near to my holsters. Empty. I cursed myself as my fingers skated over the leather, finding no trace of cold metal. The men were still watching us from horseback, blocking my exit on either side. I shook her head a little, mortified at what I was going to have to do, and filled my lungs to shout for help - I presumed we were close enough to Clemens Point for someone to hear me. I never got the scream out, as the butt of a revolver hit me square in the back of the head, knocking me cold.

Bonnie wandered into camp hours later. Alone.

She was gone. Had left him. Not two weeks into being with him and she’d fucking upped and left, taking his son with her. He pushed them away, refused to belive his intrusive thoughts, knowing she would never do that to him and yet losing more and more faith in her with every passing moment that she wasn’t there. He didn’t think himself enough to keep her with them, would never assume she would stay for him, but bargained with himself that if she was really gone she would have taken Bonnie with her: that flighty little horse meant the world to her and he knew she would be unable to leave her behind. So he held out hope through the night that she would come and push open the flaps of his tent, jack in tow, with a grin on her face and a wild story to tell and he would have her back in his arms. He swore softly, barely two weeks he’d had her and now he couldn’t last a night without her warming his bed.

Morning broke with a lazy kind of peace, rudely interrupted by a string of expletives from Dutch. he stalked to where John was, for want of a better word, brooding as he cleaned his revolvers with more force than was strictly necessary. “John, son. They have her and Jack.” Dutch’s voice was calm but his anger was audible. John’s jaw clenched, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Who.” The word was flat, monotone, ground out from gritted teeth. Dutch wordlessly handed him a letter written on creamy parchment. He read it, his face darkening with every line. It was from Catherine Braithwaite. She had taken (Y/N). She didn’t intend to take the boy, she had written, but “he would serve as collateral should the girl continue to act like a hellcat.” John huffed a humourless laugh at the woman’s description of his girl. “I’m going to get her. Them both.” “We all are.”

He rode to Braithwaite Manor in silence, listening to Arthur and Dutch cursing the old hag and readying himself for the inevitability of a fight. Old Boy seemed equally riled up, snorting and threatening to pull the reins from John’s hands, unused to his rider being so tense on his back. John snapped out of his haze, leaning to pat Old Boy’s neck with a murmured apology. He brought him to a halt near the other horses, and removed his repeater from the saddle - feeding a full magazine of ammunition into it. “I need you to stay calm, John.” Dutch instructed to the man beside him. John said nothing, knowing full well that his voice would either break or betray his anger completely.

I laughed, a delirious little laugh born of the unremitting pain I felt. A trickle of blood ran down my chin, my lip reopened by the blow to the face one of the lackeys had inflicted upon me. It mingled with the drying blood at the corner of my mouth, a gory lipstick that painted them red and stained my teeth. I lay back onto the mattress on the floor, still panting out small laughs, and looked up at my captor. “You hurt a hair. On that boy’s head. And I will kill you all.” I rasped, the lack of water and my screaming having left my voice in tatters. The man watching me strode over, looked me in the eye, and kicked me in the midriff. I groaned from the impact, curling in to protect myself. He walked out.

She wasn’t there. John checked every room in the godforsaken house and she wasn’t in a single one of them. He blindly followed Dutch out the manor, taking no notice of the woman he dragged behind him, or the crackle of the house as it was set on ablaze. He heard the woman say that Angelo Brontë had them, had her, that they were in Saint Denis if they weren’t already on a boat to Italy. He didn’t wait for permission as he drew his revolver, aimed it in the woman’s wretched face and pulled the trigger. He emptied the whole magazine into her skull, then followed Dutch once again back to Old Boy.

“Don’t go too deep into your head. You won’t come out again.” John registered Arthur's voice, the affection masked by a hard exterior that John knew he had crafted for years. He nodded, still unwilling to open up for fear his every anguish and demon escape out of him into existence. So he nodded again. “This ain’t what we should be doing,” he started, “they’ve got my- my son and my (Y/N) and we’re what? Going finding somewhere else to live?” He finished his sentence bitterly. Arthur chided him, John knew that they were moving because the law was closing in on them, and that they were no use to (Y/N) or Jack at the end of a rope. It scared arthur, seeing the man he saw a brother seemingly so broken, and the ferocity with which he now fought. The straggling Lemoyne Raiders at Shady Belle were unable to put up any fight at all, barely raising their weapons before John had cut them down or painted the floor with their brains. Arthur watched his eyes deadening with every hour that his family was missing, and knew that Dutch was taking too long.

They taunted me. Let me listen to Jack’s cries at being alone and hungry for so long, at having heard every wound the men had made on my body, at missing his father. They threatened me. Told me that John had a few days left before they killed me. Before they killed Jack. I offered my life for the boy’s, told them I would die quietly if they let the boy back to his father.

Dutch had charmed his way into Brontë’s home with apparent ease, Arthur having found his whereabouts after a single trip to Saint Denis. John couldn’t stop his leg from bouncing as they sat and drank Italian alcohol in Angelo Brontë’s company. He seemed to be playing along with Dutch’s “this is all a big misunderstanding can we please have the child and the girl back” narrative, portraying himself as a good man who had no idea the people he was housing were hostages. Bullshit. He called for his servants to bring Jack in first. It was a clever move, Jack had been bathed and the clothes he had gone missing in had been cleaned and pressed. He looked for all the world like nothing was wrong as he ran to John and hurled himself into his father’s arms. “Can you make (Y/N)-“ he hiccuped, “-stop crying, papa?” John patted the boy on the back, telling him he’d try his best, before turning to Brontë expectantly. “The girl.” Arthur spoke threateningly before John could open his mouth. Two men left the room at a nod from the Italian.

“You’re back!” I welcomed them sarcastically, raising my head weakly to look at their blank faces. One of them moved to where I was lying on the floor, arms tied behind me, and helped me to my feet. I stared at them in surprise while they led me out of the room. I caught sight of my face in a gilded mirror hung in the hallway and winced, telling myself that John loved me for my winning personality not my face or once pristine body.

Arthur saw her down the hallway and instantly put a warning hand on John’s arm to keep him seated. “Marston.” he growled. “You gotta keep calm or this’ll end bad for her.” She stepped into the room. Saw no one except John, going to him as he moved from his place on the sofa. He wrapped his arms around her protectively, heart breaking as he felt her body rack with sobs.

He held me until they subsided, both blissfully unaware of our surroundings. I pulled away from him, wanting to see his face, and he took me in fully. I was a mess. shirt ripped and bloody, showing welts and bruises across my body; ranging from deep purple to vivid yellow green. My face was beaten, my lip split and still bleeding, heavy bags under my eyes and another bruise forming under my jaw. He noted it all, even as I was admiring how beautiful he was, and tucked me away into his arms again.

Brontë watched us all with beady eyes, waiting for one of them to shoot first. The three men stood up, I was held up by John and Jack was in Arthur’s arms. They all knew that if they tried to exact their revenge now, it would only result in Jack or me being caught in the crossfire. No one hindered our exit from the building, Brontë pleased to have us gone. I greeted Old Boy in a whisper and leaned against him for support. John mounted first, reaching down from the saddle to lift me up as if I were no bigger than Jack. He gave me the reins and held me with both hands, scared I could slip off at any moment. “We gotta mansion now, sweetheart, you’ll love it.” he said, his hands rubbing my side, avoiding bruises as best he could. My voice had regained some strength, having had a drink the moment I’d stepped foot out of the building, my tone lighter and more playful. “That’s good, really good. Almost like home for me. You can bang me against a wall now.”

-

shady belle - 1899

The long abandoned mansion may have been dilapidated, damp and crawling with pests, but it allowed my wounds to heal, my bruises to fade and my spirit to very much return. John had held me with heart breaking gentleness my first night back, as if scared I would shatter if he gripped me too tight. I had clung to him like a child, taking comfort in his warmth and the safety his arms gave. It had knocked me badly, the stint with Brontë, and for a good week I was reluctant to leave camp without someone with me. I bounced back. I always do. Gradually going further and further away from Shady Belle alone, even managing a trip to Saint Denis one morning, about a fortnight after I had returned.

-

“I’m ready.” I was close to tears, frustrated and angry with the men around me, all telling me I was in no fit state to rob the city bank with them. No state at all. I looked to John for back up, who refused to meet my eyes, looking instead at the floor as if were of the greatest interest. I chewed the inside of my mouth and turned then to Dutch, eyes imploring but voice steely and determined. “I’m ready. Take me with you, you know I’m good. You know I can rack safes and you know I’m a better shot than half of the people you’re already taking with you.” Dutch caught Hosea’s eye, who shrugged his shoulders and nodded, unable to say no to the girl he saw as the daughter he never had. I reminded him of bessie, he’d told me, and he thought if he’d ever had a child with her, he’d have loved it to turn out like the fiery woman in front of him. My whole demeanour changed, my smile sweet now that I had my own way and my eyes lost their harshness. I left the room humming to myself, heading to the horses.

John refused to talk to me the entire ride to Saint Denis, despite me being right next to him the whole way; Bonnie protesting violently if I tried to move the mare away from Old Boy. I didn’t push him to talk to me, sensing that it wouldn’t go well for either of them. I stole glances at his face once in a while, embarrassed at how attractive I found the anger clearly written across his clenched jaw, hard eyes and hands that were gripping the reins so tightly that every one of his veins stood out from them. I swore under my breath as he spotted me staring, giving me an unimpressed glare, his eyebrows raised slightly and his head inclined to the side. I raised my hands in defence, scowling at him once he was no longer watching me at his apparently unfounded anger. “What the fuck is up with you?” I couldn’t keep it in anymore. He didn’t answer. Choosing instead to shake his head, eyes rolling a little, and kicking Old Boy to move faster. I stopped Bonnie from following, the mare turning to look at me with those piercing ice blue eyes, but I was crushed by how done with me he was acting.

I let myself really enjoy robbing the bank. God knows I deserved it. The rush of adrenaline stopping me from noticing John’s gaze the entire time. I busied myself instead with threatening and charming the bank tellers into submission, and making my way into the vaults. I know he heard my astonishment as I opened the safes from his exasperated sigh, and was somehow shocked at the filth of my language upon seeing the stacks of money within them. He called to me to hurry up and to watch my language - the law was outside and I was swearing too loudly. I hated how happy I was to even hear his voice, and drew my weapons again, grinning beneath my mask.

The first lawman to fall had a handlebar moustache. I remembered noting it before sending a bullet through his brain and another through his neck for good measure. The others were less distinctive, a swathe of blue coated police men giving way to checker print Pinkertons. Dutch shouted to us that it made no difference, keep shooting, he was blowing a hole in the wall and then we’d get out. The sound of breaking glass and police whistles almost drowned out my scream as John was knocked to the floor by a police baton. I fell into a blind rage, no longer taking the time to aim as I shot at anything that moved in my direction; I thought him dead, thought the last thing I’d said to the love of my fucking life was “what the fuck is wrong with you”, thought he’d died angry with me. A heartless hand on my shoulder, pushed and it was over, alabaster crashing down, my hands pulled behind me back into cuffs, my vision so obscured by tears that I only saw the tail of Dutch’s coat as he left me to be dragged into custody.

I awoke groggily. The sound of water and wading birds filling my ears, the smell of kerosene and smoke assaulting my nose. A man was leaning on me, a mop of black hair on my shoulder, and I elbowed them in disgust. He sat up, blinking against the light, and I cried out in relief to see the grey eyes of John Marston looking back into my own. “‘M sorry, I’m so sorry, i-“ “Shut up. I’m sorry too.” He kissed me once, pulling back to look over my face for signs of injury. I was broadly unscathed, a slight black eye but no sign of serious harm. Only then did he look around him to see the island we were headed to, the armed prison guard, the other convicts and the looming silhouette of Sisika Penitentiary. I whispered a single question that I knew the answer to only too well.

“They’re going to hang us?”

[milwrites]

Weird that it happened twice, right?

chapter two - masterlist

a f e w w e e k s l a t e r

A/N: i can’t believe the filth i have written in this chapter. the formatting is a bit messy and i don’t know why but we move, and that’s about it really. i butchered sean’s dialogue a bit but i like over doing his accent :)) also if you’ve read this far i adore you and please keep going it improves a lot :)

word count:

T/W: smut. language, bad irish accent, a little violence. mainly smut in this one though.

“I ain’t sure if I can come” “I could help you with that.” The flirting never stopped. Being out on a job with us felt like being a third wheel Sean claimed as we got ready to scout a possible lead. “Would ya shut the fuck up and get ready? I'm leavin’ in a min.”

Sean took the lead, Ennis setting the pace for Old Boy and Bonnie to follow. The lead ended up being dead and not worth pursuing, but while heading back to the undergrowth we had left the horses in, John noticed what looked to be a group of Pinkertons coming down the path, armed and alert.

“Shit!” he swore, him and Sean nestling into the cover of some shrubbery, I was still blissfully unaware and still in plain sight watching an eagle through the binoculars Arthur had lent me. “Fucking hell, woman, it ain’t dying for,” he leaned from the bushes and pulled me toward him, grabbing my throat while aiming for my shoulder. Well shit. Probably wasn’t the best time to let Sean find out I wasn’t completely averse to having John’s hand around my neck. John didn’t hear it. Sean did. The little, tiny really, moan that he mercilessly tormented me about as soon as I left John’s side. I was vaguely worried until remembering that no one took a word Sean said seriously 9/10 times.

-

It worried Dutch, the close encounter the three of us had had with the Pinkertons, but he tossed the worry aside fairly quickly and went back to breaking molly o’Sheas heart a little more every day.

Molly talked to me about her problems with Dutch regularly; I was the only woman with enough free time to do so, the others worked off their feet by Miss Grimshaw and normally too het up with their own problems to talk to Molly about hers. She would pour her heart out to me, crying over the man who seemed to care about her one moment and toss her aside the next. “He’s a prick, Miss o’Shea. Trust me.” The man had given me a home and yet I still held bitter resentment toward him for the way he treated molly. It had been a hard day for her, Dutch had blown her off when she’d asked to talk, and frankly told her she wasn’t important enough for him to spare a moment of his precious time, leaving her inconsolable after I had encouraged her to open up. All I could think to do was open my arms wide, allowing Molly to lean into the embrace, all the while making sure I didn’t cause a single strand of deep red hair to be misplaced from the perfect curls she had set them in.

A set of gunshots rang out. We both jumped a little, more following in quick succession: it was no longer possible that they were the sounds of hunting - it was a gunfight. “That’s coming from Valentine.” “Fuck- John and Dutch are there. I think Arthur too.”

I hurried to where Jack had started crying, the gunfire unremitting and scaring him. I tried to soothe him by picking him up into my arms and bracing him on my hips, but my arms were shaking and my voice trembled when I talked to him. Gunfire had never scared me, and I prided herself on keeping my head while in such situations, and yet being on the outside made it that much worse; I had no idea if any one of the shots that we could hear had torn though John, or Dutch, or Arthur. The other girls in the camp hurried over to where me and Molly stood, the men following them. Charles spoke up, his voice slow and reassuring, as he told us all that this wasn’t any of those men’s first gunfight - and almost definitely wouldn’t be their last. The group dispersed somewhat, I moved to where Sean and Javier were talking to Karen, hoping that Jack might calm down if he was near the people who took care of him most.

The guns stopped. The quiet was more unbearable than the noise, everyone hyper-aware of their own breathing and every flutter of movement in the woods.

5 minutes became 15. Then an hour. Then the clear sound of galloping horses could be heard, crashing through the forest. The Count came into view first, then Arthur's appaloosa mare, and the welcome sight of Old Boy at the back. “Marston!” I ran at him, seeing him dismount unscathed, and leapt into his arms unapologetically. We broke apart panting and beaming. I ruffled his hair. “Glad you’re not dead.”

I looked over to where Charles had greeted Arthur, past them both to see Dutch and Molly. He had his hand on her cheek, delicately stroking his thumb over it, and while I couldn’t make out what he was saying, Molly told me the next morning that it had been apologies and promises of better treatment.

It put me in a slightly melancholic mood; my relationship with John seemed so grey compared to the black and white of Dutch and Molly’s. He hugged me like a friend but flirted with me like he was in love, he let me act the mother to his child but arm wrestled me like one of the men. The list of pet names was endless, the flirting constant, and yet every single time we went to a saloon together he would book a room and find a woman to take to it. Watching him lead her up to his rooms sent me to the bar without fail, the alcohol taking the edge off the searing pain that settled deep in my heart. It struck me so many times that I could do the same, could find someone to make me forget his name for a night, but I never did. Could never quite bring myself to.

I shook myself from my thoughts, finding myself to be leaning against the very man I was thinking of. He offered me the bottle of whiskey and I took it gratefully, half paying attention to what Arthur was saying and half sleepily admiring Bonnie from where I could see her grazing. “John said you’ve been to Clemens Point before, (Y/N)?” “Hmm?” I looked up and nodded, explaining that I’d taken a few horses there as it was a nice schooling ground when people hadn’t set up camps. Arthur and Charles had been and cleared it ready for the rest to move the next day, none of them able to stay at Horseshoe after the incident in Valentine. It occurred to me that I still had no idea what actually happened in Valentine, I had been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I’d missed John’s story completely. I asked him to tell me again, and he did so, only a little perplexed, before asking me what thoughts had been so consuming that I’d zoned out so far. I only shook my head, smiling weakly. Jesus he was close. I stood up abruptly, a second wave of longing crashing over me at his proximity and the tenderness of his tone. He followed me up, scrambling to catch me. He called my name. I turned to him; eyebrows raised expectantly. he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, looking me in the eye. “I-“ he stopped. shook his head. seemed to decide his next words carefully. “Sleep well, darlin’.”

clemens point - 1899

“Vesta! John! Get your sorry asses over here!” Dutch's voice cut through our conversation effectively, causing me to roll my eyes and John to let out an aggrieved sigh. “Dutch. Hosea.” I greeted them with an incline of my head, the two men now parents in my eyes. Hosea spoke first, telling us that a stagecoach was passing through the area in a few days, and that if we could break the lockbox there would be a wealth of jewellery and a considerable stack of money. “You sure we should be robbing already? We’ve only been here a of couple weeks.” I was on edge, Clemens Point was lovely and I didn’t want us to be hounded away from it unduly soon. Dutch gestured to the deputy badge Arthur was wearing from outside the tent in answer, implying that the law wouldn’t be a problem here. I looked out of the tent and over flat iron lake, now happily considering the idea of being sent on a job with John again.

“Sure that’s enough guns, sweetheart?” he called over while I fixed what was once his rifle to Bonnie's saddle and two pistols in my holsters. I wheeled around to see him, saluting him with two fingers and tightening the girth a little more. Bonnie let out a cry as john led Old Boy to where I was mounting.

“Ready?” I questioned eagerly over my shoulder. Bonnie fidgeted and tossed her head, impatient as ever, almost more than me. We set off from camp at a trot, filled with anticipation at the coming robbery. The horses eagerly broke into a canter at the main track, neither of us protesting the change in speed. Once we had reached the narrow bridge that the coach would have to cross, we pulled the face coverings on and waited, the road empty until the creaking wheels and cracking whip alerted him to the impending arrival of our quarry. It was a good job he was paying attention, because I was at that point fiddling with Bonnie’s mane and mercilessly daydreaming about the man beside me.

John stepped out into the road, his voice less recognisable and his demeanour more threatening than mine. He stopped the stagecoach, taking his time in relieving them of their watches, loose change and valuables to give me an ample window to break the lockbox and transfer the contents into a bag. The lock was easy enough to smash with a large rock from the path, and I thanked every god there was for the stacks of dollars within and the bags of ornate jewellery. It looked like it was going to have gone without a hitch for us, when a police whistle broke the silence that had passed over the robbery.

“Fuck. right, we’ve got to get gone.” I yelled to John, darting at Bonnie. The approaching horses were close enough to give chase to us both as we fled the scene; lawmen having arrived worrying fast. The first shot was fired by the lawman at the front of the pursuit, aimed at me and missing by a fraction while I ducked. I drew my weapon and fired 2 shots back at him. The first skimmed past him, the second hitting him square in the skull. John sent warning shots by the horses' feet, slowing them and setting them on edge, allowing him and I to speed up further, turning off the road and heading for a patch of woodland at the very south of the Cumberland forest.

The remaining lawmen faded into the distance, the smell of gunpowder lingering in the air, and blood still rushing through our veins. I looked over to him with a surge of affection as his dark eyes met mine, creasing from the smile hidden by his face covering, and I truly wished that I knew how to tell him in that moment that I was so incredibly in love with him. He brought Old Boy to a walk without warning, causing Bonnie to agitatedly wait for the gelding in halt. They fell back into speed again in a leisurely walk, the horses affectionately nipping at the others neck, an action I wished John could mimic as I became acutely aware of the cool air hitting my exposed neck in the dappled light of the wooded path. I yanked my face covering off with a laugh and my smile widened as John followed suit. He let it remain at his neck, while I stuffed mine into a saddlebag.

“This outfit looks dreadful with a necktie,” I explained in response to his puzzled look, “the neckline on the shirt is too nice.” John slowly nodded, clear that he didn’t know the first thing about necklines, only that the buttons could have been buttoned a lot higher and a lot more skin could have been hidden.

I slowed Bonnie to a halt and dismounted, my boots hitting the earthy ground with a dull thud, and plonked myself onto the ground unceremoniously to sit comfortably. John remained on his horse a little longer, rummaging in his saddlebags as if looking for something, his eyes not leaving my now grinning face, the relief of having escaped the law scot free and with every penny that we stole still intact rushing over me.

The glint of a shining object in John’s hand caught my eye; turning my head and piquing my interest. “Watcha got there, cowboy?” I teased with a tilt of my head, almost adopting the mannerisms of my beloved terrier. He swallowed a little thickly as if steeling himself for something. He tossed a ring in a deep green box at me: a simple silver affair, delicate and of the highest quality - and with it the atmosphere subtly shifted from the relief fuelled joy moments before. “I- fuck- (Y/N), will you marry me?”

The words, they sounded like they should be a joke, like he should have said them in the most sarcastic of voices, and yet he didn’t. I could tell almost immediately that he was deathly serious, that the 6 months' worth of unresolved sexual tension had finally come a head, and that I could finally let John know exactly how I felt.

“No.” A beat. “But I will be yours. One step at a time, eh?” I continued with lopsided grin. John slid off of Old Boy and fell to his knees before me as I raised myself to mine to mirror him. “I love you baby,” he whispered as our lips crashed together in a charged kiss, releasing all of his pent-up emotion into a clash of tongue and teeth. Without breaking apart he repositioned with me on his lap and I ground down on him through pure instinct - the erotica I may have consumed through my mid-teens may also have inspired me. He groaned into the kiss, pulling away only to look into my slightly watering hazel eyes, and I took the opportunity to flash him a nervous smile. “I've never done this before,” I looked down, “pretty memorable first kiss I suppose.” With his index finger he raised my chin back up to meet my gaze again and offered me a gentle peck. “I've gotcha darlin’, if you want me to.” My brows creased, a look of worry gracing my features, lips pouting ever so slightly. “I'm not gonna be any good.” I leaned into him again, not letting him reply before kissing him once more. He broke it after a while, pushing me onto my back; one arm behind me for support, the other pushing me painfully slowly. His sudden gentleness made me giggle. “‘M not made of glass, John” “Are you gonna tell me what to do the whole-time princess?” He lightly teased, a reassuring expression on his face. I opened her mouth to answer him, and he silenced whatever sarcastic comment I was about to make with a kiss, heated and messy.

With one hand gripping my hips, the other in my hair, he lifted them to remove my breeches and underwear in one motion, the expensive lacy under things he found not going unnoticed. “You planned this beforehand, baby girl?” He questioned cockily; an all too knowing look plastered across his face. “I like nice things is all.” I muttered, my slight northern accent shining through the plummy English I’d been taught to adopt, my slight nerves audible in the way my voice had quietened. He asked her once more if I was sure I wanted to do this, he had no intentions of pushing me further than I wished to go, to which I shook my head vehemently; simply asking that he go gentle on me, while pulling his shirt off of his toned body. “Least to start with anyway.” I finished coyly, running my hands down his muscled abdomen, pausing at his waistband. His hands slowly moved up and down my thighs, spreading them gently, and he was unable to smother the slow smile that developed as he beheld me. In an almost tentative manor, he ran a single finger down my slit, noting the sharp intake of air at his slightest touch, and the way I was watching him so intensely as though if I looked away for even a moment he may disappear. “Gonna make you feel real good, sweetheart, just gotta trust me.” He spoke, soothing me with his voice as he used his index finger to find my clit easily. “fuck-” I gasped as he circled it: I’d never so much as been touched even by myself up unto this point, and it wasn’t taking much to send me rocketing towards my peak. My hands held his forearms in a vice like grip, knuckles white and breath short as he brought me to the very edge - tipping me over with one final sweep of his fingers. The way he looked at me brushed away any trace of embarrassment, his loving gaze was so easy to drown in, and I knew in that moment I would never be able to give this up. He lightly kissed my forehead, checking my face for any signs of distress, finding none. I almost immediately scraped my teeth along his exposed neck, causing him to buck his hips into mine, letting me feel how hard he’d become. “Fuck me.” I whispered it right into his ear, no trace of seduction, a simple plea that he appeared more than happy to oblige. He unbuttoned her simple white shirt; most of the buttons having been left undone in the first place, and my brassiere became exposed, matching lace as the underwear he’d removed earlier. The contrast of my skin against the forest green lace had him cursing under his breath - how I’d managed to buy it I had no idea. I began to fiddle with his belt, undoing it and sliding his pants down to his knees, eyeing his cock in awe. I nervously let out a low whistle. “Might hurt a bit doll,” he began softly, “I'll be gentle.”

With my legs hooked above his hips, John slowly eased into me, pausing to let me catch my breath, and continuing in. When he was fully sheathed, I nodded after a moment for him to start moving, which he happily did so. His hand wandered to the base of my throat, and he hovered there, watching my face to gauge my reaction. In that moment I forgot how to think – his hand was on my neck, his hips hitting mine, and my hand came to grip his, placing it higher up neck with a joking wink; sending us both into fits of laughter. Well done me. His thrusts faltered as we laughed, until he squeezed my throat, constricting the blood flow slightly, drawing the most obscene noises from me. “Harder- fuck” I drew out, and unable to tell whether I meant the grip on my neck or the pace he was fucking me at, he did so on both fronts; fucking me at a bruising speed and choking me to the point at which my vision became starry. A slew of praise, degradation, and affection fell from his lips, tightening the coil in my lower body even more. “You’re a good girl” “Fucking filthy ain’t you baby, letting me choke the life outta ya” “You gonna come for me huh? that’s it darlin, cmon come for me”

As I once again raced toward the edge, he lowered his head to kiss and nip at my neck, and he released the hand at my throat to allow him more space. He got in two more pounding thrusts before I was coming hard around his cock, and he followed after me with a string of expletives and praise, his head dropping.

He pulled out of me with a satisfied grunt, and cast an assessing look over my body. He took in my neck littered with bruises and bites, my chest heaving as I brought my breathing back to normal and my slowly widening smile. “I didn’t really get to tell you, but I love you too.” I whispered slightly hoarsely, barely more than a breath, my throat raw and exhausted. His answering nod and genuine smile told me that he knew, he had known for a while.

The morning came about all too quickly, and the thought of returning to camp from the clearing that had been our haven was slightly unpleasant, but as dawn light cascaded through the canopy, we started to pack up the horses once more. Neither of us had brought spare clothes, not anticipating an overnight, so my marked neck was on show to the world as I refused to simply button up my shirt fully.

I managed to mount Bonnie with relative ease, her being a little over 16 hands made it difficult enough normally, and yet I held back her in a walk much longer than either of us usually would, to John's utter delight. “You a bit sore my darlin’?” he questioned while knowing damn well I was, spurring Old Boy into a canter in a clear challenge for me to race him. Never one to back from an honest challenge, I matched his speed easily, adopting a light seat with a smug grin - knowing all those years of technical schooling had finally become useful.

The ride back to camp took longer than expected, the law still patrolling the bigger roads and forcing us two thieves onto the smaller paths and through denser undergrowth. But arrive we did, just before dusk, and the sound of our bell like laughter could be heard in camp before either horse or rider could be seen, peals of it ringing through the camp; a sound of pure happiness and mirth, alerting everyone that the job went well, that we were both still alive and kicking.

No one noticed anything different as john dismounted quickly, even as he walked over to where I was still atop my horse, patting Bonnie's golden shoulder. No one noticed that he had his hands on my waist as he helped me dismount completely unnecessarily, or that he leaned around to kiss my cheek while I undid the girth to remove Bonnie’s saddle. No one noticed that his left hand never wavered from its place at the small of my back as we walked into camp, or that the look we shared was too charged and full of knowing to be anything between two friends. What everyone did notice was Sean's excitable yell as we became close enough for him to see the bags under my eyes, the change in our gaits, the way my neck looked as if I’d been mauled, and the way John was holding me as if I was his. “No way. No way dey fucked after robbin’ a stagecoach. But holy fuck dey did didn’t dey! EVERYONE! JAVIER Y’OWE ME 20 DOLLARS!” I sighed. “Thank you, Sean, for that eloquent announcement. Me and john did indeed fuck.” I thanked him, leaving John’s side to give the Irishman a one-armed hug, before a squealing Karen stole my attention entirely. The woman let out an unintelligible but generally excited squeal, and pulled me into a crushing hug, whispering that maybe this will give the Sean the push he needs to finally make a move. “I'm sure he will miss Karen, and if he doesn’t I'll marry you myself.” I said, shooting him a glance, only to find him clapping John on the shoulder and calling the other gang members over. I extricated myself from the blonde’s embrace to “get a drink”, and quickly found myself back in John’s strong arms watching the campfire spit and crackle, Jack bouncing on my lap, buoyed up on the merry atmosphere of the gang. Dutch had made his speeches: Arthur had taken a shot for every time Dutch mentioned faith, plans, or family, and even Micah clapped me on the shoulder and congratulated me on scoring such a huge amount of money from the stagecoach.

With everyone happy, safe, warm and content, the conversation was easy between us; everyone happily sharing one fire and tensions dissipated by its warmth. The attention had left us entirely, and John could nuzzle his head into my neck from his place beside me, lifting it to poke the marks on it that gave us away so quickly. she giggled as he brushed over them, answering his silent question cheekily. “I only left the buttons undone to seduce you”

[milwrites]

Weird that it happened twice, right?

chapter one - masterlist

A/N: should mention here that in this Abigail doesn’t exist (I love her but I need reader to act mother to Jack) and instead Jack’s mother left when he was tiny and is out of the picture. Also loads of inspiration is taken from in-game missions and therefore some dialogue is directly quoted; I don’t for a moment belive that this is my work 100% :))

word count: 3.2k

T/W: language (foul), blood, I realise y/n seems to only ingest alcohol I promise she does eat and drink other things, John Marston deserves a warning for being beautiful.

colter - 1899

The wind whistled through the gaps in the wood cabin, chilling me to the bone. I was huddled into John’s fur lined winter coat while Jack lay sleeping in the cot in front of me, bundled into as many blankets and furs as I had been able to find. Colter was wearing everyone’s spirits down: the cold, the snow, the slowly dwindling food supply and the ache of missing members. Sean had been taken by bounty hunters, Davey and Jenny buried, and no one had seen John since the job. there was talk of him having abandoned us, that I was quick to quash as soon as spoken.

A quiet knock on the door drew me from my thoughts. “Come in.” I kept my voice pleasant, even as I dreaded the idea of company. Javier walked in, Karen in tow. He warned me not to get my hopes up, but that he’d seen smoke in the mountains a few days ago, and was heading up to see if it could be John, and would welcome me to join him. Piglet jumped from where she had been curled on my lap to jump at Javier. I leapt up, pulling the coat tighter around my body, and nodding. Karen took over my place watching Jack, murmuring a wish of good luck as we left.

“Horse is tacked up?” he questioned. “No, she’s in the old barn. Won’t be a minute.” Bonnie greeted me with a low snicker, raising her head from the feed I somehow had found for her, standing still for once as she was tacked up. “I saw smoke over this way,” Javier led the way, calling back every once in a while to check if I was still tailing him. We discovered a small camp that appeared to be not long out of use, with tracks leading north from it. “You reckon it’s John?” my voice showed none of the anxieties that were raging inside me, but from a glance at my face I think Javier could see it all. I’d never been that good at hiding my emotions. “I think we’re the only fools out in this.”

We set off in the direction of the tracks, Bonnie throwing in a few bucks heading up the mountain; still not used to the snow and a little over excited to be out with another young horse. Boaz was only slightly older than her but green as could be, Javier struggling to control him at times. The tracks ended abruptly with signs of struggle, and the body of a chestnut horse could be seen half eaten; the one John had ridden out of blackwater Javier confirmed. “Keep going, he’ll be here somewhere.” The man said, dismounting Boaz and heading off though the snow. I followed at a jog having taken longer to get off Bonnie.

“Fire some shots.” I pulled one pistol from my thigh holster, firing it into the air a few times, then calling out. A weak cry answered our calls and was just clear enough for us to follow in the direction it came from. “Fuck, Javier this is a cliff edge.” “No hold on, there’s a ledge- no a path. We’ll get to him, compadre.”

It was a sight that stuck with me forever, him lying prone on a flat area of the mountainside with an alarming amount of blood staining the snow around him. “John!” I rushed to him, leaning him against a rock to assess his wounds. I failed to mask my sharp intake of breath upon seeing his face: deep bites across the right side and one reaching across his nose, still bleeding and in dire need of stitching. Javier lifted him onto his shoulders, asking me to bring the horses closer for him. John managed a weak smile when he saw Bonnie and Boaz, expressing his happiness that they were both still alive and well, and asking if they’d seen Old Boy with little hope in his voice.

“I rode him all the way from Blackwater. He’s perfectly fine, doing better than most really - him and Bonnie have been sharing one of the barns and I find them leaning against each other every morning. Pigs has driven him up the wall.” I told him. He only nodded as Javier hoisted him onto Boaz, me and Bonnie taking up the rear. The wind died down enough for me to hear the baying of wolves, a pack of them running down the mountainside, the scent of John's blood drawing them in I presumed. I drew my guns. 3 shots rang out through the valley and three wolves lay dead in the snow, my fear for John snuffing any pride out of me that I may have had for the kills.

A flurry of activity greeted us when the horses clattered into Colter, Charles coming to take them into cover while me and Javier carried john into the cabin that we were living in. I produced a bottle of vodka from under my bed with a sheepish look on my face, pouring some onto a clean rag to sterilise his wounds where the wolves had mauled him. “Want me to do this or Grimshaw?” I joked, attempting to make him laugh before I stitched the bigger wounds up. He shook his head. I threaded a needle and began to work, his hand flying to my thigh and gripping while hissing with pain. It really shouldn’t have provoked such a strong blush from me, and yet my face was rosy, and not from the cold.

I finished as fast as I could and looked over my handiwork with some satisfaction; his face was still just as beautiful to me, and although my only experience with medical stitches were on a horse, I seemed to have done a neat enough job. I left him to sleep.

-

While John recovered, I spent much of my time hunting with Charles for deer in the woodland, to many people’s delight, as the food had run low and people were growing hungrier by the day. I sat with John through the evenings just talking. He’d been keen to know what had happened after the mess at Blackwater, and I had told him everything. We always fell into easy conversation, often passing a bottle of bourbon between us, and lightly teasing the other, or he would flirt with purely to invoke a reaction, or laughing at whoever had made a prat of themselves falling in the snow that day. Somehow being with John again made Colter more bearable. I stayed behind when the men left to rob Leviticus Cornwall's train, partly to make John feel better about not being there, and partly to make sure if he relapsed at all, Jack was guaranteed at least one parental figure.

When Dutch packed up the wagons and told us we were leaving the Grizzlies there wasn’t a word of dissent from anyone. I drove one of the wagons with John shotgun beside me, grumbling about how he should be driving, until Karen shut him up from where she was sat with Javier and Jack in the back, the boy happily playing with Piglet. The four of us were second in the caravan and so were within shouting distance of Dutch and Molly, who listened to our conversations with amusement. “So, could you smell the wolf's breath when they bit you?” “I don’t know (Y/N); I was slightly preoccupied with their teeth in my face.”

horseshoe overlook - 1899

Free from the biting chill of Colter and the uncertainty of if we would make it out alive, life became easier at Horseshoe Overlook. The stone outcrop offered a peaceful escape from outside life; protected on one side by woodland and on the other by the cliff edge.

I fell into life as one of the men - going out on leads with John as he healed and holding up the odd rich couple every now and again. People stopped complaining about me soon after moving, as they watched me earn my keep, be a friend and parent to Jack and take time to get to know Mrs Adler, who was still in deep shock from the loss of her husband and I thought may need a friend. I continued to grow ever closer to John, spending most nights around a smaller fire with him, Karen and Javier - already beginning to plan how they were going to Sean back.

-

It was one such evening that Hosea rode in with Arthur, looking tired and shaken, Silver Dollar tossing his head and prancing on the spot; unusual for the normally calm horse. I heard Hosea wearily tell Arthur that he should give Silver Dollar a stretch, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Want me to?” I had been desperate to ride the horse since meeting it; he reminded me so much of Bonnie’s sire, one of the only things I missed from England. Hosea lifted his head hopefully as if unsure if I was talking to him and unwilling to get his hopes up in case I wasn’t. “I couldn’t ask you to do that, you’ve got a kid to look after.” He replied. “Kid’s fast asleep with John watching him, and besides, you didn’t ask, I offered.” Hosea looked at me thankfully, nodding his head and wordlessly handing me the reins. I slipped them over the steel grey horse’s head and as he walked off he thanked me with a pat on the shoulder. I sprung into the saddle and left the reins long to allow the horse to stretch, leaving my feet out of the stirrups so I didn’t have to mess Hosea’s up by shortening them. It was a peaceful walk, I took silver dollar right down to the river, giving him a drink while we were there and sliding my boots off to paddle. Night had fallen when I got back and the camp was quieter with only a few people remaining around fires. I removed all of his tack and set the gelding to graze, neatly placing the tack outside Hosea’s tent.

This simple act ended up giving me a more solid place in the camp. Hosea remarked that silver dollar felt better than ever, and in turn Javier asked if I would see what was causing Boaz to ignore him when he wanted to stop. After finding Boaz a stronger bit and refitting his bridle, more and more people came to me with small qualms about their horse - Arthur's new horse was practically unbroken, could I help him? Was Tamia's saddle fitted alright? Ennis was going wild without Sean to ride her, could I tire her out? It gave me more structure, and I would take each horse out on jobs to school them, even the head case Arthur had found. Why he refused to buy one defeated me, and while he borrowed horses from camp, I took the appaloosa mare on jobs with me - desensitising her to gunfire as well as slowly gaining the wild little horse’s trust. Bonnie loved it at horseshoe overlook; the terrain was much more what she was used to and she would happily chase trains and hold up stagecoaches all day, not phased in the slightest by gunfire from all our hunting trips in England.

autumn - 1899

“Come into town with me.” “No.” “Come into town with me.” I was more insistent this time. “No.” “Come into town with me or I'll throw you in the river.” He snorted, looking pointedly at my smaller stature. “Riiightt.” the way he drew the word out oozed sarcasm, but he slung his arm over my shoulder and started walking out of camp nevertheless. The horses bitterly protested at having to leave camp again, having hunted already that day. “Well?” he asked me once we were on the track to Valentine. “What’s so important that we have to drag the poor horses out again?” I shifted in the saddle, becoming incredibly interested in Bonnie's silky black mane suddenly. “Spit it out, girlie,” he was eyeing me carefully, “You don’t gotta worry I'm gonna laugh at’cha.” I pulled a grimacing face before looking back up at him. “It’s my birthday. I want to get drunk and pretend all the drunks are celebrating with me.” My face had flushed; I really thought he would laugh at me or think me stupid. I had no idea if birthdays were even acknowledged here, let alone celebrated. John yanked down Old Boy’s reins, the horse skidding to a halt in the crunchy autumn leaves. He was staring at me incredulously. “You gotta be kidding. You’re eighteen now, kid! We’re going back to camp.” I shook my head vehemently. “No. Nope. I don’t want to make a big deal of it-“ “You DONT want to give those bastards an excuse to get drunk? You been here long enough to know they’ll thank y’for it.” I considered it, nodding slowly, then turning Bonnie tightly and spurring her on.

It was the first time everyone had really celebrated since arriving at Horseshoe, the first time the infectious sound of laughter could be heard from even the sourest of individuals. Karen was shouting for anyone under 30 to get their asses over to her, and to “bring some more whiskey while you’re at it”. Me and John had wandered over at her summons, taking turns to take a swig from the emptying bottle of rum that he had found in Arthur's stuff. The youngest members of the gang were sat cross-legged in a circle: Karen and Mary-Beth gossiping in hushed tones and Lenny and Javier comparing battle scars. Taking our place, we finished the last of the rum, me hitting John’s shoulder when he gulped it down in one go. “Perfect, thank you darlin’!” Karen plucked the bottle from my hands where I had been moodily staring at it, willing it to somehow refill itself. She placed the bottle in the centre of us all and proudly exclaimed that we were going to play spin the bottle. A murmur of assent passed through the group, interrupted by my polite declination. “No, I couldn't-“ I shook my head. “You ain’t too ladylike are ya now, (Y/N)?” Karen teased me. “Never. You know me. I'd just hate my first kiss to be with someone like Marston.” I lied with a laugh, almost gagging when I realised that I was playing with my hair nervously upon finding his gaze fixed on me. I frowned as John also dipped out. “I would rather give Jack a siblin’ than kiss you, Javier. ‘Sides, ain’t fair to leave the birthday girl out on her own.” He patted me on the head as he went to get us both another drink, his long legs clicking as he stood. “Old man.” I shouted after him, and he replied by giving me the finger, eloquent as ever. He returned with two bottles of beer, handing one to me and pulling the cap off his own.

I lay back with my head on John’s legs, chucking my now finished beer bottle at Arthur as he passed the group. The game had been long forgotten, finishing in raucous laughing as Lenny was forced to kiss Javier. John had started to braid my hair as I watched the stars, unbothered by the chilly September air. He cursed as he dropped one of the strands, the whole plait coming undone, and I looked to my left to laugh at the concentration on his face. “You dumb cluck.” He let my hair go, running his fingers through it to untangle the little knots he’d managed to make, his face overcome with affection for something, while in that moment I was wondering how his annoyingly long eyelashes would look with mascara on them. We were both so entranced that it took Karen practically waving her hands in our faces for us to notice that we we were being observed. Javier and Lenny made retching noises, Karen and Mary-Beth giving me amused looks. I startled, realising where exactly I was lying, and stood up, brushing my front of non-existent dust.

“Thanks. This is the best birthday I've ever had.” There was a tenderness in my voice, genuine love for the people around me. I was wringing my hands, even now still scared that they would reject my affection, still half expecting them to tell me she was useless and only there because they felt sorry for me. It never came of course. Karen jogged over to me and embraced me into a tight hug, Mary-Beth doing the same after Karen had released me.

John watched happily, remembering the disproportionate joy he had seen in her face the second time he met her, when Dutch had welcomed her into his gang. He had felt so conflicted in those first few months - Dutch hadn’t raised him to understand his emotions, and so when faced with a girl that he felt closer to than any one of the men, he had no idea if he wanted to marry her, fuck her, or just be her friend. It was clearer now, he had known when he could feel death clawing its way up the mountainside to him, but she had got there first, cheeks and the tip of her nose tinged pink from the biting cold. In that moment he had no longer been waiting for death to take him and instead had started to fight against it.

“Night John.” my voice was mild. He spun around, and I found myself closer than I had expected, and I took a small step backwards. He pulled a leaf from my hair, somehow unable to meet my eyes and instead maintaining an unnecessary amount of focus on the leaf. “That thing told you any secrets yet?” I had grown nervous at his inability to look at me, tentatively breaking the silence. I was normally so confident around him, but I always fed off of his assuredness that borderlines at times on arrogance. He finally looked at me, and I noticed that the eyes I had taken as grey for so long had flecks of chestnut brown in them, strikingly similar to the bright bay- oh. Of my fucking horse. “Happy Birthday doll, hope I didn’t ruin your plans too bad.” Then he walked off before I could answer, leaving me more confused than ever. Tiredness washed over me, and I could see from the lantern light that Pig was already sprawled across my bedroll. I didn’t have the heart to move her as I pulled my boots off and slid a sweater on; the warmth of the fire gone and the night cold. “Budge up dog.”

I went with Javier and Arthur to rescue Sean the next morning, cheerfully greeting the Irishman as I cut him down from where they had strung him up. He rode behind me, sharing Bonnie, and I filled him in on everything that had happened since Blackwater. He expressed slight disappointment at having missed Colter, to which I sarcastically told him I’d be more than happy to take him up one day, if he really wanted. Karen flew into his arms once they were back, thrilled to see the man she’d missed so much. Javier complained that there hadn’t been a moment silence the entire ride back to Horseshoe between me and Sean and that it was a good job Arthur had ridden back separately.

[milwrites]

masterlist

howdy :)

weird that it happened twice, right?

introduction

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

[milwrites]

Weird that it happened twice, right? introduction - masterlist

A/N: hey! this is a multi part fix i’ve been working on for a good while now; it’s a reader insert but written in the first person because i’m awful in second , but the main character isn’t described at all other than small, but compared to 6”2 cowboys it doesn’t really mean much... it will have smut in later chapters and is john x reader :)) also loads of smut and not too much angst at all.

word count: 3.9k

T/W: there is a lot of swearing later on, smut, canon typical violence and lightly described sexual assault although there is no graphic detail.

Brilliant, quick of wit and sharp of mind, are all words that were once used to describe me, the bastard born daughter of an English lord. My mother a simple welsh girl who an aristocrat fell in love with, who bore an aristocratic child, who died through complications during the birth of her daughter. I’m told I was held by my mother for only a few short moments, and was named by my father while taking my mother’s family name in remembrance. I was despised by my stepmother of course, who saw even a child as a threat, the bright eyes and aquiline nose too much of a reminder of the love her husband had had for another while married. This meant I was shunned and despised for most of my early life; spending my adolescent years split between being taught to read, write and speak various languages, and learning to ride, shoot and hunt, having verbal abuse thrown at me by my darling stepmother at every opportunity. It shaped me into a fiery young woman, and having been left virtually in the company of men and the closest thing to a mother I had in the form of an early feminist governess, I had many unbecoming ideologies for a woman: I had no desire to be married off, wanted women to vote and I believed myself to be equal to a man. the indignity.

At 13 I bred my beloved mare; the sire being father’s proud 18 hand thoroughbred, the dam the most stunning bay warmblood mare I had hunted on from an early age. Bonnie was born healthy and full of life; her personality only matched by her striking markings - she was bright bay with piercing blue eyes, black points and 4 white socks - and I fell in love on sight. For the next 3 years I spent hours bonding with the filly, teaching her manners in-hand to begin with, and slowly breaking her as she approached her 4th year.

- 1898

The crisp September air heralded the start of Autumn. Green leaves in the grounds faded to russet and brown, falling delicately into knee deep piles. Squirrels chattered from treetops, you could only catch glimpses of their brush tails before they bounded away. The changing season meant my birthday came around, complete with the usual lack of attention; it was widely ignored by the family as I was widely ignored as a rule. It came as a shock therefore, when the lady of the manor approached me in one of the many corridors, to wish me a happy seventeenth, complete with a saccharine smile, and to tell me that I was needed in the drawing room. “and for the love of god wear a dress,” she had added waspishly - the soft demeanour slipping.

I didn’t own that many dresses, opting for shirts and breeches most of the time, and so I was left with only the choice of a gaudy rose pink affair or a deep green silk that was scandalously low cut. Unwilling to pass on the chance to annoy, I opted with the green, sweeping my hair back into a simple knot, adorned with small silver pins and a pendant at my throat as ever. It had been my mother’s, and I refused to take it off since it falling into my possession. “Stay here Piglet my darling.” the terrier wagged her furry little tail and leapt onto the bed, challenging me to move her.

My shoes made little noise on the polished tiles as I moved toward the drawing room doors, hesitating as I opened it, a flutter of nerves in my abdomen. A man in his late forties stood up as I shyly moved into the room; all my confidence and bravado leaving me as I left the comfort of my own company. his eyes lingered on my body for too long, raking over the artificial curves the corseted gown created, my exposed clavicle and the delicate sweep of my neck and jaw. “Vesta, this is Mr Edwards. You are to be wed to him in the comings weeks.” “No.” I wasn’t sure if I’d heard it correctly to begin with, the refusal leaving my mouth before my brain even registered what was happening. A delighted smile was plastered on my stepmothers face; thrilled to be getting shot of the young woman who reminded her husband every day of the love he had lost, whom she would never compare to in his eyes. “I’m not marrying you. I don’t intend to marry. I do not wish to marry anyone, but most definitely not you.” He once again dragged his gaze down my body, and told me in no more words that it simply wasn’t my choice, my parents had made it for me and I would be leaving the manor as soon as we were wed. Panic welled up in my breast, and I stalked from the room and ran to the grounds, cursing the impracticality of a dress the whole time. It was leant on the wall of Bonnie’s stable, absent mindedly playing with a blade of hay that I saw my way out, saw the door of my cage open ever so slightly. “You know what, girl? I do believe our time here to be coming to an end, one way or another, and yet i don’t think i’ll be leaving the way any of them expect.” I spoke to the horse as though she may respond, and although the only reply I got was a prick of the ears and an affectionate head butt, it felt like the most I’d ever been listened to in my life.

Not a month prior, a train belonging to my father in america had been robbed; broken into and stripped of everything - he’d lost thousands and was furious: a Mr Van der Linde’s name being cursed daily. It seemed to me that perhaps Mr Van der Linde and I may have something in common: a shared lack of respect for the upper class? Or a personal vendetta against the family? All I really knew at that time was that if I could somehow contact this man, I may have someone to run to.

A week elapsed, and somehow, through pure chance and luck of the universe, I had a vague idea of where Dutch Van der Linde may be. I wasn’t stupid enough to belive that I would instantly find him, and for him to accept me into his “gang” with open arms, but if I could just find him and explain why I was there, maybe I would have a shot at starting over. A train ticket was easy enough to acquire, and I secured my place on a ship to america with little difficulty as well, even finding one that allowed me to bring Bonnie, the prospect of leaving her broke my heart - and the terrier that had been my faithful companion for so long as well.

-

Dawn. Silver beads of dew clung to every blade of grass, condensing in the cool air before running to the earth. The tiny wren and humble blackbird joined the dawn chorus, finches and tits lining the steadily emptying branches whilst singing their merry tunes. Life in the grounds was also stirring, stable hands and gardeners milling around; their tasks for the day stretching out before them. It meant that while dressed in a similar garb to a groom we went unnoticed as we rode through the estate, the terrier hidden completely in the long grass. She would snap occasionally at the insects taking flight, or stalking the frequent rabbits peeping out of their warrens. It also meant that most were too busy to see the bulging saddlebags attached to my horse, or the handguns holstered at my thighs. I kicked Bonnie into a faster canter as the imposing boundary walls came into view; moving as fast as we could toward the freedom I fancied I could almost smell.

Time seemed to pass differently as I trotted through the country lanes, my thoughts filled with images of the west: cowboys, outlaws, buffalo and saloons - an intoxicating mix of roughness and freedom that I ardently longed for. I barely noticed that I was at the town, even less that I was perilously close to missing my train. Rushing, I managed to get bonnie into the livestock carriage of the locomotive, and myself into a compartment that was empty before the train slowly left the station, and I took the first step away from home. English countryside blurred as the train picked up speed, yet I felt as though I had to take in every dry stone wall and rolling hillside; it was the last time I would see my home soil, and for all I had had a less than pleasant upbringing, the moors and heathland itself had offered me solace and chance to breathe. I felt tears threaten to spill from my eyes, blurring the landscape further, and I clamped my lips together harshly to hold them from scalding my face - this was no time to cry, I remember chastising myself.

I could see bustle of Liverpool docks from the carriage windows in little time, causing my heart to thump with excitement and a flash of nerves to hit me when I spotted the liner that would be carrying me to America. I shivered, blinked a few times at the bright sunshine and pungent smell of tar, kerosene and wrinkled my noise at the tang of the ocean. A familiar squeal caught my attention and I turned in the direction of it to see two men struggling with Bonnie, my golden-brown horse rearing and threatening to kick out. “Here, I’ve got her,” I had rushed over to the men, who handed me the horse gratefully once I’d flashed my identification to prove the mare was mine. “Easy now, girl, i’m here.” I liked to think the horse settled a little, when in reality she still eyed up every man, horse and boat, displaying no signs of being any calmer.

The liner called for passengers to begin boarding, asking for those on horseback to come on before those on foot. I felt another kick of nerves, but clicked Bonnie forward onto the boarding bridge and on into the boat itself. Her stall was clearly marked and I felt easy enough leaving her there, happily munching on a hay net. The stable hand reassured me that the mare would be exercised every other day, and I would be able to visit her whenever I pleased. I’d hidden Piglet in my luggage, selfishly wanting my angel as close as possible.

-

6 weeks passed, and a longer 6 weeks had never passed since for me. Yet they faded into nothing when I heard the age-old cry of “land ho!” and could see American soil at last.

Bonnie took a lot of reassurance to walk down the bridge into Blackwater port, taking against the shouting of workers on the ground and the sounds of building work in Blackwater itself. Once we were off the boat, I made a beeline for the bank, with Bonnie looking sideways at every person, horse and inanimate object that had the audacity to move in her direction. I recalled the architecture of Blackwater being so much less ornate than even the most basic of English homes. The buildings were boxes, from that which I could see, no detailing on the facade or patterning to the brickwork. I hitched up outside the bank and walked in, giving the bank teller my warmest smile and hoping that I looked old enough to be withdrawing such a huge sum of money. I answered the teller’s questions with as much confidence as I could muster.

“(L/N). Yes, here’s the key. Yeah. All of it please.” The teller obliged me without question thankfully and I stowed it all into my satchel while still within the bank, unwilling to let anyone see the depth of my wealth.

“Armadillo then my girl.” I spoke gently to her, setting off down the dusty trail to the small town around 20 miles from Blackwater. Piglet barked happily as we broke into a canter, running alongside us until she tired, me slowing bonnie when she did.

It struck me as we rode that everyone around me was much more heavily armed than I was, my twin browning m1900’s seeming lonely without a repeater or rifle backing them up. “Seems to me like we may have a little stealing to do.” I remarked, vaguely talking to Bonnie and more speaking out to myself, a dreadful habit one picks up from spending too long in one’s own company.

We set up a small camp a few miles from Blackwater, not wanting to push too far on the first day and frankly I was slightly overwhelmed by how different it was from the sleepy rural setting of my home estate. The first ball of tumbleweed that had crossed our path had set Bonnie rearing, the mare presuming it to be alive, and Piglet tearing after it, engaging the “quarry” in a chase. The arid desert daunted me somewhat, I didn’t like that sand stretched as far as the eye could see, only broken by towering rock formations and train tracks extending into the distance. It felt lonely and inhospitable.

I composed a letter by the light of the fire, using a page torn from my journal and a pen I had taken from my father's study, struggling to word it and frequently finding myself gazing into the darkening night, unable to find the right words. Once I was reasonably happy with it, I addressed it to “Tacitus Kilgore” an alias I had heard rumours of, used by Van der Linde for mail, and stowed it in my satchel to send the next day. It embarrassed me that I hadn’t fed my girl all day, and so tossed an oatcake and a chunk of carrot to where she was tethered to a broken tree stump, and tore a hunk of bread off for myself to eat with the ration of meat I had bought in blackwater earlier, and downed it with a bottle of beer. Warm, sleepy, and full, I lay back onto the bedroll and watched the stars, the only unchanged sight I had come across. Lulled by the blissful familiarity, I fell into a dreamless sleep, the howling of the coyotes waking neither me nor the dog curled into my side.

-

The road to Armadillo was quiet, all sounds muffled in the canyon Bonnie was steadily carrying me through. I soaked up the warmth of the blazing sunshine with a contented sigh, and it came as a welcome surprise when I saw a speck on the horizon moving toward me. It crossed my mind that this may be the only person I would see until I reached the town, where a hold up would be much more conspicuous and a sure-fire ticket to jail. I just hoped they had what I needed. The speck turned into the clear shape of a horse, large and quite heavily built from what I would see, with a rider who looked to be male. The horse came further into view and I decided that it was a war horse of some sort, a Hungarian Nonius perhaps, dark brown with a creamy mane and tail, and the rider had two guns strapped to his back.

I dismounted bonnie and set her a little off the road, and pulling a face mask on, I stood in the middle of it - pistols drawn and loaded. The rider pulled his horse to a halt in front of me. “You mind movin’, doll? Got places to be.” That voice. It was a drawl, incredibly attractive and dripping with arrogance. I glanced up at his face to see that he was disarmingly beautiful: a sharp jaw and high cheekbones, dark eyes framed by long eyelashes and jaw length raven black hair. Easily the most perfect man I had, and ever would, have the fortune to come across. “No can do I'm afraid. This is a robbery.” My voice was crisp and I patted myself on the back internally for not wavering or backing down. “Off your horse. Now.” I pointed one gun at him, motioning with the other for him to dismount and move to the side. I think would have sounded awfully threatening if my ever-useful dog hadn’t, for lack of a better word, wiggled, over to the man and started licking his hands. “Pig!” I hissed, sharply beckoning piglet with my head. I continued the holdup. “Guns on the floor. Then hands up, handsome, where i can see them.” My anonymity gave me an unexpected wave of confidence that I never had otherwise, and my voice had taken on a slightly flirting tone. I went and picked up his rifle, admiring it in my hands for a moment then strapped it to my back, and took his revolver to toss it back toward him. Unable to walk away from the horse, I went over and offered it a peppermint from my pocket, letting it snuffle in my pants after finishing to try and find another. “You are aware I'm still her ain’t you?” The man’s voice turned my head and I whistled bonnie back to mount her, his rifle the only thing I had actually taken. “Er- thank you,” I spoke nervously, pleased that he had put up little fight, and seemed amused rather than angry. “‘M john!” he called after me as we cantered away. “Probably better you don’t know who I am, isn’t it?” I questioned back at him finishing by throwing him a mocking salute.

A few days passed and I made good use of John’s rifle, taking a pronghorn down and living off of the meat until I could reach another shop. I had posted the letter and having stayed near the post office for a night or two, had received a reply to meet Dutch in Armadillo saloon the next day. Bonnie was fresher than normal after having had two days wandering in the heat while we waited for the letter and while I continued to acclimatise myself to the environment. It was a cooler day when we approached Armadillo, meaning I allowed the horse to really go - a fast canter that moved to a gallop within seconds and set the wind racing through my hair. It was with a great amount of reluctance that bonnie returned to a walk through Armadillo’s empty streets, and with even more reluctance that she halted to be tethered outside the saloon.

I took a deep, steadying breath. My new life was within grasp, all I had to do was not fuck this up. I pushed though the doors, hiding my wince as the smell of stale alcohol filled my nostrils. The bar seemed like a good place to start; while I really didn’t want to be hammered, a little dutch courage wouldn’t hurt me in the slightest. “A whiskey, please.” I ordered while pulling the change from my pockets, forcing a small laugh at the bartenders joke about me looking too young to drink. I downed the shot in one go while telling myself that the burn as it slid down my throat was nice. A man in a red waistcoat caught my eye, and he noticed me starting eerily quickly, beckoning me over with a move of his head. He was with two other men: one older looking who had warm eyes, I thought, and another who seemed to be more battle worn, but smiled at me nonetheless. “Y/N L/N?” the red waist coated man asked. I nodded with a small smile and recognised him as Dutch van der Linde from the bounty posters that my father had acquired. “You’re a little smaller than i expected-” he began, before the older man cut him off. “That’s a fine weapon,” he remarked with a twinkling grin, and although a little confused, I replied that I had grown fond of it, but admitted that it wasn’t technically mine. “Ya stole it?” the other man asked, to which I grinned and inclined my head. The men then introduced themselves: the older man was Hosea Matthews, the younger Arthur Morgan, both of who’s hands I shook, Dutch's too. Dutch spoke again, holding my letter in his hand and wondering aloud why a fine young woman such as myself had fled England without a word and was so desperate to become an outlaw in his gang. I quirked my brows and drew in a breath, telling him my whole sorry tale, ending it by drawing the money from my bag and placing it on the table before them. “I was cut from the will, for refusing to marry that old man. But my father had started an account for my mother before she died that i found the key for. This is all of it.” Hosea was already counting the money, his brows creeping further up his head with every note he found. “This is over 10,000 dollars.” he talked only to dutch at that moment. I began to explain that I wasn’t trying to buy myself into the gang, that I could shoot, hunt, scam, and was excellent with horses, to which Arthur paused me to explain that no one thought I was, giving me a short smile and pouring me another whiskey. We were the only people in the saloon, so when the doors creaked open for a second time it drew our gaze to the man entering the room. “Ahh, Marston!” Dutch called to him and beckoned him over. “This is our newest addition, not much younger than you my son.” I frowned a little, then a wide smile cracked my face in two as his words sunk in. A relieved laugh left my lips unchecked and I thanked the men happily. My voice must have seemed familiar to Marston, who had been looking to Arthur to gauge his reaction, because he looked at me for the first time. I raised my head too, curious to see who this younger man was. We both froze as our eyes met. “Hello again, darlin’.”

A look of disgust passed over Arthur's face. “Please tell me y’all haven’t...” he trailed off. “I’m - sorry?” I offered, moving to pull the rifle from my back. John laughed at me, telling me I could keep it if I wanted, he’d already replaced it. I stuck out my hand, which he grasped firmly, hands warm and calloused against my skin. “Y/N L/N.” “John Marston, for the second time.” He shot me a wink as he said it, and I looked away, embarrassed. Dutch broke the following silence, asking what the hell just happened and why I was giving him a rifle? John answered before I could, looking slightly pink in the face as he told them that I had robbed him few days earlier. All three men erupted into uproarious laughter, Dutch giving me an approving look that sparked a warm glow of pride within me: I hadn’t had approval or praise like that for the past 12 years.

chapter one + colter next :))