#my fanfiction: rdr

[southernlynxx]

Assumptions of Affection

Rating: Mature

Status: Complete

Fandom: RDR2

Pairings/Characters: Arthur  Morgan/John Marston. Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Abigail Roberts, Tilly Jackson, Mary-Beth Gaskill.

Canon/AU: Canon-divergent

Summary: It’s Valentine’s day, and on top of not knowing what they’re meant to get each other, Arthur drags John out on a job.  

Warnings: N/A

——  My Valentine gift for @yeehawpurgatory for the Valentine Exchange ran by @rdrevents! I really hope you like how this fic turned out; it ended up a bit longer than anticipated!

Assumptions of Affection: [AO3]

[scargvl]

mary beth and Kieran <3

[isaadleer]

morning care ✩

Summary: Arthur proposes to do something different with you, maybe the theater. Turns out you both really did something different. Warning!¡ : Smut, unprotected sex. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

The bed was messy, with wrinkled white sheets and your favorite blue blanket. Sunlight filtered through the window, disturbing your eyes and waking you up, along with the roosters outside crowing as they did every day.

You and Arthur ran away together when the gang broke up. He wanted a peaceful life, and so did you. Now you live with him on a ranch near Strawberry. It’s not as luxurious as your dreams, but it’s something you love and are grateful for every day.

Looking for Arthur in the bed, you only find the empty space beside you. Normally, he always wakes up after you since he works on the ranch all day, but this time he wasn’t holding you while he slept or talking in his sleep, which was very common.

You found the situation strange, so you sat up in bed, now looking around the room. Your feet made contact with the cold floor, sending chills through your body, especially since you were only wearing a beige satin nightgown. As soon as you got up, you went in search of your dear Arthur, who wasn’t in bed or the room.

You opened the wooden door, touching the cold doorknob, just like the tips of your fingers. At first, you smelled food and found Arthur in the kitchen using the stove, which was very strange because he neither had the habit nor the skills for cooking.

Walking up to him silently in the kitchen, you hugged him from behind, startling him a bit and making his heart race.

“What are you doing here?” you said lovingly, squeezing him tighter.

“It was supposed to be a surprise…” he said frustrated, trying to look at you behind him.

You started giving small kisses on his back. “You weren’t in bed, so I came looking for you.”

“Come on, sit at the table, and I’ll serve you.” He stirred the pan, which seemed to contain eggs and some type of meat.

Following his order, you went to the dining table and sat in the chair closest to him. A comfortable silence settled between you while Arthur served breakfast. He sat in front of you, looking at you.

“I tried my best with these eggs, but you know I’m not great in the kitchen,” he commented with a little laugh.

“Let’s see…” With a fork in your hand, you took some of the egg and put it in your mouth.

The taste of burnt food and an overwhelming amount of salt spread across your palate; he was right that he wasn’t skilled in the kitchen, but you couldn’t show it—after all, you loved how he tried to show affection.

Looking at him, and he looking at you, as you painfully chewed the food, he nervously fiddled with his hands and raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response or comment from you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, noticing your not-so-good reaction.

“Completely okay!” you said, still chewing, adjusting your expression, and giving a big smile.

“Are you sure?” he insisted.

“Of course,” you quickly replied. “It’s wonderful, really. Thank you so much, Arthur.”

He smiled at you, proud and believing that you really enjoyed it, and you did—just not the taste of the food. Maybe you should teach him how to cook someday, but even so, you’re very happy with his act of love.

“I was thinking, how about we sneak off today from this rancher’s life, just you and me?” he proposed, looking into your eyes.

“What do you mean?” you asked him, smiling.

“We could go to town, maybe to the theater. It’s been a long time since we’ve gone out.” He explained to you.

“Really?” you replied enthusiastically, getting up from the chair you had been sitting on just a few seconds ago.

“I want you to come with me, please?” He said with pleading eyes.

You walked up to him in your nightgown and sat on his lap, excited with a smile on your face.

“You know I can’t say no to you,” you said, getting closer to his face.

“I know, sweetheart,” he said, looking into your eyes before finding your lips with his, tasting the mix of coffee and his morning cigarettes.

After all these years, you still feel the same butterflies in your stomach as when you were young, every time he kisses you, every time he touches you, every time he hugs you.

Breaking the kiss, you suggested, “Then we better get ready to go to town!” Very excited, you tried to get up, but his hands on your waist stopped you, pulling you back into his lap.

“I think the town can wait a little while, darling,” he said suggestively, placing his hands on your face and caressing it.

“Oh,” you said before kissing him again, more intensely this time, feeling every part of his mouth. Your hands moved to his neck, running through his hair, sending shivers down his spine.

Carrying you bridal style, he took you back to the bedroom and laid you on the bed where you had been sleeping not long ago. He hovered over you, giving short kisses along your neck, drawing sighs from you. The kisses started to trail down your neck to your breasts, still covered by your nightgown.

“Take this off for me, sweetheart,” he asked you, and that’s exactly what you did. Revealing your warm body to the cold air of the house.

He admired your entire body, looking at every part of it and smiling like a fool. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

Returning to the short kisses, which turned into long ones, he took one of your breasts, massaging it with one hand while his fingers slipped under the fabric of your underwear with the other hand, making you reach for the buttons of his shirt. You unbuttoned each one until his strong, muscular chest was exposed. Unable to resist, you placed your hands on his chest, caressing it.

His fingers felt the wetness over the fabric of your underwear, making him look at you with hungry eyes. His finger slipped between your folds and curled inside you. Your hands left his chest, searching for his cock, and you started to touch him, urging him on. But you couldn’t for long because of the intense pleasure you were feeling. He took his time with you, adding another of his big fingers while his gaze stayed on your pleasure-filled face, watching you contort.

It didn’t take you long to lose your composure, and you sought out his lips, chasing them in a hungry kiss that made a naughty smile appear on his face. You moaned into his mouth when his fingers left you, and he wiped them on his tongue.

“Take me, please Arthur,” you whispered, your eyes on his.

He couldn’t wait any longer. Hastily, he undid his pants, revealing his impressive cock, which you would never get used to, no matter how many times you take him.

Quickly, you switched positions, ending up on top of him, catching him by surprise.

You wrapped your hand around Arthur’s cock, twisting and pumping your hand around it to get it evenly wet. “Shit,” Arthur groaned, a smirk appearing on your face as you heard him. You adjusted yourself until you were perfectly over Arthur’s cock and guided yourself until his tip entered. Your body tensed, and you noticed Arthur’s body tighten as well. You lowered yourself more, as his cock filled you. “Good girl,” he praised you.

Your hands supported you on Arthur’s chest as you filled yourself of him. Arthur’s hands were on your hips, helping you ride him. “Oh, fuck!” you bit your lip as you moved your hips around, grinding yourself on Arthur as he thrust.

Your nails dug into Arthur’s chest. His eyes watched your breasts move with you, bouncing as you rode him. Unable to resist, he took one of them in his hands and began to massage it slowly, sending shivers down your spine.

As your climax grew, your body wanting to hit its high, you started to move faster, literally riding him, making Arthur’s head fall back as his own climax hit.

The mix of your moans with Arthur’s groans was a song to your ears, as his cum warmed you. Your nails dug in harder as your body tensed at the height of your orgasm, relaxing your muscles.

Both of you, breathless as if you’d run a marathon, kissed, now a passionate kiss rather than the hungry ones from before.

You threw yourself beside Arthur on the bed, tired, and moved closer, resting your head on his chest. Your fingers began playing with his hair as you caught your breath.

“Why don’t we leave going to town for tomorrow?” you said, smiling through your breathing. Stopping your fingers from playing, Arthur began to caress your sweaty hands.

“I think we have more interesting things here,” You stopped him with a playful slap on his chest, laughing shyly.

“Stop it, you fool!”

[sixgunluvr]

A Passionate Ride

Mature Readers only Age 18+! Pairing Arthur with a Female reader.

3,238 words

You and Arthur had a connection that went beyond words. There was an understanding between you, an unspoken language that only the two of you could understand. It was a connection born out of passion and desire, but also out of a deep-seated understanding of one another.

Arthur was a rugged outlaw cowboy, rough around the edges and hardened by years on the run.

But beneath that rough exterior, there was a passionate, protective, and loyal man who would stop at nothing to keep those he cared about safe.

And you, the young woman who waited patiently for his return, were one of those people.

You had met Arthur by chance, a fleeting encounter that had left you both breathless and wanting more.

You had grown up in a small town, surrounded by the same people day in and day out. Your days were monotonous, mundane even, until Arthur came along and turned your world upside down.

He was a cowboy like no other, with a rugged charm that had captured your heart from the moment you laid eyes on him.

His muscles rippled with every movement he made, and those green eyes held a raw intensity that instantly made your heart race. He wore his unruly brown hair short, but long enough for you to run your fingers through, sending shivers down his spine.

But it was more than just his chiseled jawline or muscular physique that drew you in. It was the way he radiated strength and confidence without even trying. It was the fact that beneath that rough exterior, there was a kind and gentle soul, one that would protect you with his life without a second thought.

And you knew that you wanted to be the one to break down his walls and see the real Arthur, the one he kept hidden away from the world.

As you lay there in his arms, your bodies still intertwined, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of longing for something more. You wanted to feel close to him, not just physically but emotionally as well. You wanted to be able to share your hopes and dreams with him, and to hear about his own experiences out on the range.

You wanted to learn about his past, the good and the bad, and to be there for him in a way that no one else had ever been before.

But for now, you would have to settle for the physical connection between the two of you. And as much as you yearned for more, you couldn't deny the sheer pleasure of feeling his body on top of yours.

As you lay there, basking in the afterglow of your love-making, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you.

You were completely sated, both physically and emotionally. Arthur's hand trailed up and down your side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His touch was tender, almost reverent, as if he were tracing the curves of your body with the tips of his fingers.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire. "So goddamn perfect."

You blushed at his words, feeling a renewed sense of arousal stir deep within you.

You had never heard such raw, unfiltered desire in someone's voice before.

"You make me feel like I'm the only woman in the world," you whispered, your hands running up and down his muscular back.

Arthur groaned in response, pressing his lips to yours in a deep, passionate kiss.

His tongue explored your mouth with a hunger that made your heart race. You could feel his erection pressing against you, hot and hard, and you knew that he was ready for more.

With a sudden motion, Arthur rolled over onto his back, pulling you on top of him.

You gasped in surprise, your hands braced on his chest as you straddled him. His green eyes glinted with mischief and desire as he looked up at you.

"Ride me, cowgirl," he said, his voice low and commanding.

You bit your lip, feeling a surge of excitement as you took control. Your hips shifted, sliding his cock deep inside of you. You moaned as you felt him fill you up, every inch sending a jolt of pure pleasure through your body.

Your fingers dug into his chest as you began to move, lifting yourself up before slowly sliding back down on him. Each movement was deliberate, slow, and maddeningly pleasurable. Arthur groaned beneath you, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

His fingertips dug into your skin as his hips bucked up to meet yours, forcing himself deeper inside of you.

"Yes, yes," you panted, your head thrown back as you rode him.

Your breasts bounced with each movement, your nipples hard and aching for his touch. Arthur didn't disappoint, his hands leaving your hips to cup your breasts, kneading them gently before pinching your nipples between his fingers.

You cried out at the sensation, your hips moving faster and harder in response.

Arthur's fingers continued to torture your nipples, sending waves of pleasure straight to your clit. You could feel yourself getting close, your breath hitching as your orgasm built.

"Come for me, baby," Arthur growled, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "I want to feel you come all over my cock."

The filthy words sent you spiraling over the edge, your orgasm crashing into you like a tidal wave. You cried out, your back arching as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

Arthur's thrusts became more urgent, his hands gripping your hips so tightly it was almost painful. But you didn't care - the pain only added to the intensity of the moment.

"Fuck, yes," Arthur grunted, his cock twitching deep inside of you. "Take it, take all of me."

You could feel him swelling inside of you, could feel every inch of him as he filled you up. It was too much, too intense - but somehow, you knew that you wanted more.

You held on tighter, reveling in the feeling of him buried deep inside you.

"Harder," you breathed, your voice strained with pleasure. "Fuck me harder, Arthur."

He didn't need any further encouragement. With a grunt, he thrust up into you, his hips slamming against yours with bruising force. Your breasts bounced with each movement, nipples hard and throbbing.

"You like that?" he growled, his voice low and husky.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you down onto his cock with each powerful thrust. You moaned, feeling the length of him fill you completely, hitting every nerve ending in just the right way.

You looked down at him, taking in the raw hunger etched into every line of his face. His green eyes burned with a primal intensity that made your heart race and pussy clench.

"Fuck, you feel so damn good," he grunted, his hips slapping against yours.

Sweat ran from his brow, his muscles straining as he thrust into you with reckless abandon. You clung to him like a lifeline, your nails digging into his shoulders as you took every inch of him.

The sounds of your love-making echoed through the tent, a symphony of moans, gasps, and grunts. The scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air, a heady aroma that only served to heighten your pleasure.

Your legs were splayed wide, your knees on either side of Arthur's muscular thighs as he pounded into you. His thrusts were relentless, fervent, and raw - just like the man himself.

"Fuck, you're so goddamn tight," he growled, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. His eyes were dark and wild, a look that made your heart race with excitement. "Goddammit, I'm gonna come."

You moaned as he said those words, your own orgasm cresting on the horizon.

Arthur's thrusts became more erratic, losing all sense of rhythm as he chased his own release.

"Fuck, I'm close," he grunted, sweat running from his brow. His hips snapped forward, driving his cock deep inside you. You could feel him swelling, the head of his cock pressing against your G-spot with each powerful thrust.

"Yeah? You like that?" you whispered, your voice low and sultry. You leaned down, pressing your lips to his and moaning into his mouth as he drove into you harder and faster.

Your tongues dueled feverishly, each stroke more passionate than the last.

"Oh, fuck," you gasped as he hit a particularly sensitive spot deep inside you, causing your entire body to tremble with pleasure.

Arthur's grip on your hips tightened as he continued to thrust into you, his balls slapping against your ass with each powerful movement. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the tent, punctuated by your cries of ecstasy.

You reached behind you, grabbing onto his thighs for support as you bounced up and down on his cock.

Each time you came down, his cock hit that sweet spot inside of you that made your eyes roll back in pure pleasure.

Arthur's breathing became heavy, his moans making your heart race with excitement. His fingers dug into your skin, leaving small bruises on your hips.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he grunted, thrusting his hips up to meet yours.

You let out a soft gasp, feeling him hit deeper than before. You couldn't believe how amazing it felt to have him inside of you again.

"I'm not going to last much longer," Arthur groaned. "You feel too fucking good."

You gasped as he thrust harder and faster, your nails digging into his thighs. The pain of his grip on your hips only heightened the pleasure, your body shaking with the effort of holding back your own orgasm.

But you were so close, so tantalizingly close.

You could feel the pressure building up inside of you, like a volcano ready to erupt.

"Oh God, don't stop," you cried out, your voice hoarse from moaning. "I'm so close."

"I know you are, sweetheart," Arthur growled, his thrusts becoming more frantic. "Come for me, let me feel that sweet pussy clench around my cock."

His dirty words pushed you over the edge, and with a scream of pleasure, you came hard. Spasms rack your body as pleasure consumes you.

Your inner walls tighten around Arthur's cock, milking him of every last drop of cum. He roars as he empties himself inside you, your hips still bucking against his as you ride out your own orgasm.

"Such a good girl," he growls, thrusting upward one final time before you collapse onto the bed beside him. Sweat drips from his brow as he catches his breath, and you lay there in a daze, your mind blown by the raw intensity of the sex you just had.

After a few moments, Arthur reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "You OK, sweetheart?"

You nod, still panting heavily. "Yeah.

That was... something else," you reply breathlessly, unable to find the words to describe the intense orgasm that just rocked your world.

Arthur chuckles, pulling you close and wrapping his strong arms around your trembling body. His chest rises and falls rhythmically against yours as he catches his breath, his heartbeat slowing down to a normal pace. The scent of sweat and sex lingers in the air, mingling with the crisp mountain air that filters through the tent.

Arthur's chest hair sticks to his skin, damp with sweat, and you can't help but run your fingers through it, admiring the way it curls around your fingertips. Arthur's eyes flutter closed at your touch, a contented sigh escaping his lips as he pulls you closer.

You can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest, and the sound of his deep breathing is soothing in its familiarity.

As you lay there in Arthur's arms, feeling his warm breath against your neck and his fingers tracing circles on your back, you can feel the flame of desire reignite within you.

It's as if the sex you just had was merely a spark, a taste of what's to come.

You look up at him through your lashes, biting your lower lip as you see the raw hunger in his eyes. He wants you again, and you want him just as badly. It's an insatiable hunger, a need that only the two of you can satisfy.

Without breaking eye contact, you slowly lower your mouth to his chest. Kissing and licking every ripple of muscle. You can't help but moan at the taste of his sweat on your tongue.

"You like the way I taste, dirty girl?" he murmurs, gripping the back of your head.

You nod, unable to form words. 

Making your way down to his tight hard abs, you kiss and lick each one, savoring the taste of him on your lips.

Arthur's grip on your head tightens as he lets out a low moan. "Fuck, you're killing me," he groans, his cock twitching with anticipation.

You look up at him and smirk. "That's the idea," you say wickedly before taking his entire length into your mouth.

Arthur's hips buck up off the bed as he lets out a string of curse words. You feel him growing harder in your mouth.

His cock throbs against your tongue, and you can taste the salty tang of precum on your lips. You look up at him, still gripping the base of his cock, watching his face as you continue to suck and tease him with your mouth. His eyes are closed, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent gasp as you take him deeper into your throat.

"Oh God, yeah," he groans. "Just like that."

His hips begin to move in rhythm with your mouth, slowly at first but building to a feverish pace as his pleasure mounts.

"Your mouth feels so good," he grunts, hands fisted in your hair as you take him deeper, feeling his cock twitch and pulse.

Arthur's moans become louder, more desperate as he nears the edge of his climax. But just before he reaches it, he pulls back, leaving you gasping for breath. He smirks down at you, eyes blazing with desire as he yanks you up and onto your hands and knees.

"You want this cock?" he growls, rubbing himself against your slick entrance.

"Answer me, sweetheart. Do you want this cock?"

"Yes," you gasp, arching your back to present yourself to him. "Please, Arthur. I need you inside me."

"That's my girl!" He slaps your ass, making you squeak in surprise. The sting sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your clit, and you find yourself pushing back against him, desperate for more.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groans as he slides inside of you with one swift stroke.

You can't help but cry out as he fills you up, his cock hitting all the right spots.

He starts off slow, building up a steady rhythm that makes your whole body tremble with pleasure.

His hands are gripping your hips so tight that you're sure there will be bruises tomorrow, but you don't care.

The pain only intensifies the pleasure, adding to the raw, animalistic nature of your love-making.

"Yes, fuck me harder," you beg, pushing back against him with every thrust.

His hips slammed against your ass, filling you completely with each stroke. Your slick walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper inside of you.

"Oh God, you're so tight," he growled, gripping your hips harder. His fingers dug into your skin, leaving marks that would last for days. The pain only heightened the pleasure, mingling with the intense sensations coursing through your body as Arthur claimed you over and over again.

Your entire world centered around the two of you in that moment.

His cock slid in and out of you with ease as he fucked you slow and deep. You clenched around him, wanting to keep him inside you forever. Each time he pulled out completely, your pussy ached for him to return.

"Take it, take all of my cock" he groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you back onto his thick cock.

"Harder," you panted, desperate for more. "Fuck me harder."

He obliged, slamming into you with force that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"Yes, like that!" you yelled, gripping the bedsheets as he pistoned his hips.

The sound of sweat slicked bodies slamming together filled the tent, punctuated by your gasps and moans and his grunts. Your breasts swung with the force of his thrusts, your nipples tight and aching.

Arthur's hand snaked around to grip your throat, not hard enough to choke but firm enough to send a thrill of danger through you. You moaned, your legs shaking as he continued to fuck you with wild abandon.

His cock slammed into you, again and again, reaching depths that no one else ever had.

"Oh fuck, you feel so good," he growled, his hips slapping against your ass with each powerful thrust.

Your breasts swung with the force of his movements, your nipples tight and aching for his touch. But Arthur had other plans - he wanted to make you come hard and fast, to leave you breathless and begging for more.

He released his grip on your throat and instead reached around to find your swollen clit.

"Cum for me sweetheart," he demanded, circling your sensitive nub with his thumb.

His relentless thrusting and skilled fingers sent you spiraling over the edge. Your orgasm ripped through you like a wildfire, burning through every nerve ending in its path. You cried out in pleasure as your pussy clenched around his cock, spasming and pulsing in waves of ecstasy.

"Oh fuck, yeah!" Arthur yelled, feeling you tighten around him.

He groaned loudly, feeling his balls draw up as he reached his own release. With a final thrust, he pressed himself as deep as he could go and emptied himself inside you. Your bodies trembled together as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through you.

After what felt like an eternity, you both collapsed onto the bed, your bodies spent. Arthur's chest rose and fell rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath. You lay limp beside him, feeling completely sated for the first time in what felt like forever.

Arthur turned to face you, his green eyes shining with pure affection.

He reached out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch sending a shiver down your spine even after the mind-blowing orgasms you had just experienced.

"You're incredible, you know that?" he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blushed at his words, feeling suddenly shy despite the raw and animalistic sex you had just shared. But Arthur's gaze was soft and filled with genuine affection, making your heart swell with emotion.

"No, you are," you replied quietly, reaching up to trace his jawline with your fingertips.

He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips, his hand still cradling the back of your head gently.

You could feel yourself melting into him, your body still thrumming with pleasure.

Arthur's hand traced patterns on your back, his touch making you shiver.

You basked in the afterglow of your love-making, feeling completely at peace.

[jasminesjournal]

I have my own form of delulu where Dutch Van der Linde isn't a major douchbag.

[justdecadentcollectiondestiny]

“You get ten seconds,” said Milton. “Ten… nine…” Hosea could glimpse movement from inside the bank. Bill rushing to the back of the room. Dutch handing the saddlebag over his shoulder off to Micah. “Eight… seven… six…” For as long as he had known him, Hosea had known Dutch’s greatest strength and his greatest failing to be one and the same. He was willing to do anything. “Five… four…” What would be the consequence this time? What new direction would Dutch send the gang spinning off in? Hosea couldn’t predict it. He never could. “Three… two…” When it came down to the wire, when all other options were exhausted, when lives were on the line, what would Dutch van der Linde do? “One.”

A what-if alternate universe in which Hosea survives the St. Denis bank robbery, lives to see the downward spiral of the gang, and knows he has to do something.

This idea has been *well* over a year in the coming-up-with and will likely be just as long (or even longer) in the actually-writing. So come along with me as I set out on another extremely long passion project labor of love. I hope you enjoy the ride!

And of course thank you as always to the ever wonderful @rhys-is-puffs for helping me get this crazy idea off the ground and for their endless support :)

[idyllghost]

Johnigail lovers come get your juice

[prettyundeadgirl]

Masterlist

You can also find these on my AO3

RDR2

Arthur Morgan ☼

│Oneshots

⋆ A collection of oneshots that are based on the Strange Trails album by Lord Huron.

Game of Thrones

Jaime Lannister ☼

│Oneshots

⋆ Crave The Rose - Throughout your time in King's Landing, you and the carelessly attractive Kingsguard grew fond of each other. Your sister Margaery believes you both suit each other exceedingly well, soon setting you two up, and beneath the moonlight, love unfurls.

Harry Potter

Severus Snape ☾

│Oneshots

⋆ For All Eternity - Severus takes you on a date to a cemetery.

[rosemary-morgan]

Javier Escuella X F.Reader - It's never to late to repent (Part 2)

(Pictures found on pinterest/google. That one with Javier is mine. Collage made by me 🌺)

Many thanks to @fangirl-ramblings 🖤 she has been beta reading for me 🌹

The second chapter is online 🥰 thanks to all who read and like my story 🐝🌺 I hope you will enjoy the second chapter too!

@rose-of-black-blood @livingdeadgirly

If anyone of you want to be tagged to not miss the newest chapter, please let me know 🙏

👉Read Part 1 /Part 3 / Part 4

Warning: a little angsty, broken hearts and their effects, hints of depression!

Summary: Javier is trying to escape his past, while you still have the hope of seeing him again one day. But the loneliness and pain of a broken heart keeps pulling you back to reality. This never-ending pain just doesn't seem to go away, and you try to suppress it as much as you can…

Javier Escuella X F.Reader - It's never to late to repent (Part 2)

Javier sighed softly while sitting by the fire and sharpening the blade of his knife. The pleasant tranquility of nature surrounded him. The soft croaking of the crickets was like a chorus in unison.

Many things were going through Javier's mind, he thought about the turn his life had taken since Dutch's downfall, the downfall of his family. After Javier lost all his trust in Dutch, he lost himself. He had traveled a lot, trying to cope with the pain and the loss of his family, but he had fallen into one shit situation into another. But at some point Javier had realized that real life was different. He had realized that it had been time to come to rest, to earn his money with decent work. It was not a life of luxury that Javier lived. He lived in a small hut, a bit away from the city center. This was the best he could get in the area, yet it was possible for him to sleep in a bed, something that had been impossible for him for decades. His job was making furniture, engraving it. He had a talent for that kind of thing and his boss liked what he saw. In the last few months, Javier had made great progress. There was a customer in Saint Denis who wanted to see his skills and so Javier was asked to visit that customer. Well… then you came into the picture. Suddenly you were there, in Saint Denis. Javier had avoided this cursed city for years, for he had not come to terms with the bank robbery that had gone wrong in 1899. It had been the beginning of the end.

Javier would never be able to forget how young Lenny had been lying in his own blood. Shot by Pinkertons. Or Hosea who had been a father figure to all of them. A man who had taught him so many things. Guarma was also a dark chapter in his life. He had been tortured there and that had left its mark on his psyche.

Seeing you was the happiest moment for him in years. Knowing that you were alive was an incredible relief for Javier. Yet you seem so far away from him. How could he ever come face to face with you? After he had sent you to hell because, unlike him, you had realized the truth. God, he wanted you so much. Javier suffered like a dog without you. All these years he had been as miserable as you. Living apart from you was a torture for him!

Javier put his knife aside to pull out a piece of jewelry from his vest pocket. It was a necklace, with a medallion. He opened it and looked at your photograph. After all these years, he still had it with him. It was the only thing he had left of you. How many sleepless nights had he had? He couldn't even count them. Nights in which he had looked at your beautiful picture and guilt had eaten him up.

"Y/N… Mi rosa…"

He clasped the medallion with his hand, closing his eyes as he did so, trying to suppress the pain in his heart, but he had never been able to do that before either.

“Mi amor… nunca he dejado de amarte” (I’ve never stopped loving you)

Maybe you were married? Had children? Javier didn't know. Did he even want to know? See you with another man by your side? Probably not!

But this uncertainty would kill him! Making him extremely restless with these thoughts! He sighed in annoyance, started to wriggle his leg, his whole body moving as he did so. He hated the thought of seeing you with another man! At some point it became so unbearable for him that he got on his horse and went for a night ride. He needed a clear head now, he needed to sort out his thoughts…

♦♦♦♦

You looked at yourself in the mirror, really liking how the new dress looked on you. It's been a long time since you last treated yourself. You were actually only working to earn your salary, and had often forgotten to do something good for you. Therefore, it came in handy that the train connection had broken down and had forced you to stay in Saint Denis yesterday. With a smile you pulled the fabric over your shoulders, looking at your skin and how the dress flatters your figure. It was a dark green dress, or emerald green as the seller had called it. Actually, you had no idea what occasion you would wear this dress to, but you had liked it so much that you wanted it. Of course, you could have sewn one for yourself, but you still had orders waiting and you couldn't just let them wait.

"I could wear it… wear it tonight?"

You looked thoughtfully in the mirror as you adjusted your dress. You knew about a performance at the theater. It would be the perfect opportunity to wear this dress. So why not? What was wrong with a young woman going to the theater alone? You had done everything alone for the last five years, so you were used to it, along with the stares from the people, since it was rather unusual for a young woman to sit down alone in a restaurant, or to go into a theater. You still had to admit that it often hurt to see couples. Couples walking through the park holding hands. People looking at each other in love while sitting in a restaurant and letting their food get cold because they didn't care about what was going on around them. You had once felt that feeling too. That feeling of love and happiness. Oh, how you wanted to experience that again…

Your gaze wandered to the ground as your thoughts searched for Javier. You couldn't help it, but sometimes this man just crept into your mind. There was nothing you could do about those memories, even though it hurt so much that very moment. Loneliness has become a bitter companion in your life. And the more you thought about it, the more you fell into sadness. Now, in those moments when you were not among people, those were the most difficult moments for you because you had the feeling that no one would see your tears. You sighed heavily as the first tears shimmered in your eyes. Until a few seconds ago, you had been happy about your dress, until Javier had come back to your mind. You had asked yourself the absurd question of whether he would like you in this dress. But it didn't matter at all, because there would be no answer.

Why had Javier hurt you so much ? You couldn't forget his words until today. And yet you had forgiven him. But you didn't know if he was still alive. There was not even an address where you could send him a letter. There were hundreds of letters in your home. Letters that you had written, but never sent. Some you had burned in the fire, others you had torn up. And that's what you did in the beginning to banish Javier. But it was of no use…

You shook your head, undid the bows on your dress to loosen the corset and finally pulled it off your body. What was that all about? Why this torture? You decide to go back home right away. Work was calling and that had always been the best distraction for you. When you had taken off your dress, you put back on the one you had come here in. Your mood had dropped rapidly and that you were sad could be seen clearly in your face, but you didn't care. A bit gruffly, you packed the new dress into the box, which you had received with the purchase, in order to be able to transport the dress safely home. Within a few minutes you were out of the hotel and headed straight for the train station. You hoped very much that you would be able to travel home.

With a quiet sigh, you headed to the cashier's desk to buy a ticket. While waiting, you let your eyes wander around the area. And suddenly, there it was again. The scent of spicy lavender. Just like the day before. Instantly you were reminded of Javier, because he had smelled the same! But you shook your head, about to banish that man from your mind again, when something caught your attention. When you looked out onto the platform, there was a young man… a cigarette in his hand. His raven black hair tied back in a pigtail. A red scarf he wore over a blue jacket. You frowned and stopped in place, watching the man and wondering if you had now completely lost your mind. You thought you saw Javier, but you couldn't swear to it, as he had his back to you. The supposed stranger threw his cigarette to the ground, blew out the smoke, and in the next moment looked slowly in your direction.

As if in a trance, you looked at him, not even hearing what the train conductor said to you, as he handed you the ticket. Javier really was standing in front of you. Only a few meters away, but he hadn't noticed you yet. But he felt all the more that he was being watched. This feeling grew stronger until Javier looked directly in your direction and when he saw you, his heart almost stopped. He stared at you, his throat went dry. How many times had he wished to see you again? How often had he imagined scenarios in which you would find each other again? Saying everything that had remained unspoken? And now that time had come. But for what he had done to you, he could not be ashamed enough. Not just what he had done to you. But John and Arthur as well. You'd probably send him to hell anyway.

"Miss? Miss, the train leaves in five minutes! Miss?"

But you didn't listen at all to the friendly man behind the counter and he gave up, served the other passengers. You were busy processing in your mind what just happened.

Only a few moments passed, but time seemed to stop. And that magic, that moment, dissolved when Javier shamefully averted his gaze from you and walked in the other direction.

"No…"

You wouldn't let him go! Not this time. It hurt you immensely to see him running from you after all these years. Did he have any idea how miserable you'd been without him? You immediately ran after Javier, calling his name.

"Javier!"

Instantly he stopped, looked down at the ground, and swallowed nervously. His Adam's apple trembled, he tried to suppress his tears that were just rising inside him. His heart was pounding up to his throat! His stomach contracted painfully. He heard your footsteps, but he still had his back turned to you. He perceived your scent and for a moment he closed his eyes to recall what you once were. A couple that had loved each other dearly. A young couple who believed that nothing could tear them apart. How wrong he had been. The most painful thing was that he had allowed you to be torn apart.

You stopped at his side, looked at his back, wondered if he still loathed you, because he didn't even look at you. But at least he had stopped.

"Javier?"

Carefully you put your hand on his shoulder, making him turn towards you, but still his eyes were not on you. You could make out a guilty look on his face, which gave you a glimmer of hope that he might feel something positive for you.

"What's wrong with you, Javier? Can't you look me in the eye?"

And after you said this, his gaze slowly moved up to your pretty face. Yet he remained silent, for his words stuck firmly in his throat. You looked at him closely. He had not aged in the last five years. You were still young, just in your early thirties, and yet it seems as if decades had passed.

"Do you think you broke my heart?"

It needed to be said. You've been carrying this with you all these years now. Javier had hurt you deeply, but you had forgiven him. You were ready to make peace, and now that he was standing in front of you, all you wanted to do was lie in his arms. But at the moment it felt like you two were complete strangers.

"Yes, Javier… You did. You hurt me a lot when you stood by Dutch and Micah…"

"It's better if I go, Y/N. I'm sorry…"

Javier had only wanted the best for his family at the time, but had been taken advantage of like a puppet. Dutch had blinded him and that he had listened to it, well, he just had to live with the consequences now.

But you didn't even think about letting him go! What was that about? He was just going to leave? Just like that?! Didn't he have anything else to say? Immediately you grabbed his arm, whereupon Javier also stopped. It didn't look like you had to make an effort to keep him with you. A good sign. At least, that's what you hoped.

"It won't help you if you run away, Javier. You won't undo anything by doing that!"

Besides, you had just found him again.

Javier saw your tears and at that moment his eyes softened. It hurt so much to see you. He had no words to say! It seemed easier for him to leave and go on living his life as he was used to.

"Y/N, I've made a terrible mistake…"

That was what you were hoping to hear. Not because you wanted to claim your right, but because you had hoped he had made his peace with you.

"There is no hope for me. No forgiveness, Y/N."

"Oh, Javier… don't say that. We all made mistakes…"

His skin tingled pleasantly as you placed your delicate hand against his cheek. Lovingly, you stroked your thumb over his skin as you sought the look in his eyes. The scent of spicy lavender rose to your nose, mixed with tobacco and you had to smile, because you associate this scent with many, beautiful memories; but also bittersweet moments…

"Please… Javier, look at me…"

And he looked at you, his eyes reflecting the restlessness and guilt in his soul.

"I don't know where your paths have led you, Javier. But I can see that you have regretted the decision you made back then."

Javier sighed softly, unable to answer anything, but his eyes held your gaze and by God he was glad you didn't loathe him.

"I live in Strawberry, Javier. When…when you're ready for it one day, come and see me. I'll be waiting for you there."

His eyes immediately moved to your hand to see if you were wearing a wedding ring. His relief was great, because he couldn't see anything.

You tell him exactly where you live and to what address he should send letters to contact you. Hoping that he would do so.

When the signal sounded for the train's departure, you were jolted out of your trance.

"This is my train, Javier. I have to go now…"

"Okay…"

That was all he said in response. He held back a lot, because he would have loved to pull you tightly into his arms, not to let you go again. But he didn't. And part of you hoped he wouldn't let you go. Still, maybe that was too much to ask of you.

"Will you walk me to the train, Javi?"

Javi… that's what you had always called him, and this was the first time in years that you saw him smile. It was a small, dainty smile, but it was there. Javier led you to the platform, his hand was on your lower back and your body was tingling like crazy. This little touch, this little gesture, excited you deeply. It was still the man you desired, the man you loved.

"You should… get in. It's about to leave…"

"I know, Javi…"

But you would have preferred to stay with him. Your hope now was that he would seek you out…

[vittoriaisfuckingpathetic]

take my hand (don't fear the reaper) chapter II

rated M | read it on ao3 | prev chapter | next chapter

John reflects on his tumultuous relationship with Dutch, his interpersonal relationships, and fatherhood in general leading up to the final train robbery.

The morning everything fell apart, the atmosphere in camp was tense. 

Of course, this was no different than it had been the gang’s entire stay at Beaver Hollow. Everyone was uncomfortable, and moreover, everyone was greatly aware of how dire the situation was. 

The gang was fracturing into pieces; they all knew it, but nobody dared to say a word — leaving things to be, put simply, dicey.

Dutch always kept himself situated at his tent by the mouth of the cave. Always watching. Always paranoid. 

“What’re you doin’, Johnny boy?” 

“Went for a piss, now I’m gettin’ a smoke,” John replied defensively. He had always prickled against being questioned, but especially by Dutch (even moreso as of late). “That okay?” he snarked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“It’s quite late,” Dutch replied, sounding almost bored. Making John wonder what the man’s angle was.

“And yet here you are awake, too,” John replied venemously. Dutch rarely slept, especially when he’d go through one of his ‘phases’, as Hosea had once called it. There were periods when Dutch would be very high-energy, coming up with wild (even by Dutch’s usual standard), unrealistic ideas, and sleeping even less than usual. 

The elder man clicked his tongue. “Enough of the attitude, John. I raised you better than that.” Even after all of these years, Dutch could still make him squirm with just a look.

“There somethin’ you needin’ from me?” John asked, knowing fully well that there was no such thing as having a civil conversation with Dutch. Not anymore, anyway. It was easier to just get it over with than play along with the man’s inane mind games.

“Not at all. Have a good night,” Dutch smiled affably. “...After all, I’m sure you need to get back to conspiring against me with Abigail ‘n Arthur,” he added, his voice unnervingly calm. “You know, if you needed a smoke, you could’ve just asked me. I always have a pack somewhere in my tent.” 

John swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling extremely dry. “I… I wasn’t—” he wasn’t even aware Dutch had seen them talking. Or had been close enough to hear some of their conversation. How much had he heard? Had Dutch even heard any of it, or had he just seen him smoking?

Fuck.

Dutch had simply chuckled humorlessly. “You’re still a terrible liar, John. Thought I raised you better than that, too.” 

John had barely slept a wink all night. When he had gotten back to the tent, he laid on the bedroll (not wanting to wake up Abigail and Jack, who looked perfectly cozy on his cot) and stared at the tent’s ceiling for hours. 

What felt like almost as soon as he had fallen asleep, Jack was in John’s face, having sat himself on his father’s chest, prattling on excitedly.

The four-year-old was clearly more energetic than his lethargic parents had been in years. “G’morning, Pa! Why’d you sleep on the floor? I was actually on the floor, but then I got cold. When did you get on the floor?” Jack spoke at a rapid-fire pace that John’s tired brain could hardly keep up with.

It wasn’t Jack’s fault. John had never been a morning person.

“I… just give me a second, okay? And try to be a little quieter or you’ll wake your ma.” 

“Don’t bother. I’m already up,” Abigail sighed, swinging her legs over the cot. 

The family got dressed in silence, the tent feeling so much smaller with three people up and about, getting ready for their day. 

And yet, something about the sheer normalcy of it, of behaving like a normal family, was comforting. The only peace John got during the day were these quiet moments just as the sun was bathing the Earth in a golden glow.

“Can I go bring my drawing over to Aunt Tilly?” Jack asked urgently, practically dancing in place as he awaited an answer. The boy had scribbled something for Tilly the prior evening, but he’d been too tuckered out by the time he finished to deliver it. 

Hence his urgency that morning. A part of John was almost envious in a way — he wished his biggest problems were about paper. 

“Sure,” John answered at the same time Abigail replied, “Only if you put your shoes on first,”

The little boy shoved his feet into his boots, not bothering to ask for help tying his shoes. The laces went ignored as Jack raced outside. He left one of the flaps open, morning sunshine pouring inside the tent.

Abigail was quiet for a moment, observing John. 

“Hey,” Abigail greeted, placing her palm on his back.

“Hey,” he parroted back after making sure his suspender button was secured to his pants. Now officially dressed and ready to face whatever shitshow would greet him outside the tent.

“You okay?” she questioned.

John merely shrugged in response, uncertain as to how to answer.

“Somethin’ happen last night?” She asked, astute as ever. 

“Sort of. Dutch was bein’ creepy. Think he’s onto us.”

“Creepy how?” Abigail pressed.

“I don’t— I dunno.” He shrugged again, having difficulty finding the right words. “He was threatenin’ me, I think. I guess. I dunno.”

“Well, what did he say?” 

“I— he basically said what I just told you.” 

She crossed her arms, “Why’re you bein’ like this?”

“I ain’t ‘being like’ anythin’.” He responded somewhat defensively. 

“ Fine .” She huffed, turning on her heel. 

“I— Abi, wait, come back,” He grabbed her by the wrist, a risky move (one that could’ve easily gotten him slapped). “I weren’t tryin’ to be short with you, I just…” he sighed.

She raised an eyebrow, silently urging him to continue. 

“You know I ain’t no good with words. ‘Specially when I feel like…” he trailed off, gesturing helplessly with his free hand. It was difficult for him to verbalize his feelings, and it had always been like that. It was easier to internalize those negative thoughts and emotions than open up.

It was Abigail’s turn to sigh and nod. “Okay. Okay. Is this somethin’ that’s needin’ to be dealt with now? Do we have to move up our plans?” She asked, leaving out most details in case of prying ears nearby.

“I don’t know if it changes anythin’. Dutch has been treatin’ us all suspicious-like ever since Shady Belle.” 

Abigail pursed her lips. “Maybe, but it feels more… pressin’, now.”

“Agreed. Look, I’ll talk to Arthur 'n see if he has any ideas.” It was the only solution he really had, even though he knew he should have some sort of plan B in place. Hell, plan A was barely set in stone.

Abigail looked as though she was about to say something else, but she stopped herself. Shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “Listen, I’m gonna go get some coffee… maybe you could go talk to Jack? See how he’s doin’? He was cryin’ the other day and he didn’t know why.”

John nodded. “I’ll… I’ll see what I can do. Dunno if he’ll wanna open up to me,” he replied self-deprecatingly.

“You won’t know if you don’t try,” Abigail responded. She let go of his hand and left the tent, giving him one last look.

It was different than the usual looks she threw at him. Softer.

After a somewhat unsatisfying breakfast of canned beans, the first thing John was greeted with upon leaving his tent was Miss Grimshaw. Her voice was a little too loud for that time in the morning. “Mister Marston!” 

“Mornin’, Miss Grimshaw,” John greeted, tipping the brim of his hat.

“Did you know Mister Pearson up and left?” Susan asked, incredulous.

“I did not.” John lied, avoiding her shrewd gaze, fully aware she could see right through him. She always had been able to sniff out when he was lying.

“ And, do you know what he told me? He told me I should get out, too, and ‘save myself’.” she said, using air quotes. 

He hummed, unsure what exactly to say in response. He didn’t want to oust himself as being the one who saw Pearson off and made no attempt to stop him. 

“Well,” he finally said, outstretching his arms. “I can’t say I’m too surprised. Folk been cuttin’ and runnin’ left and right.” John was careful to keep his stance diplomatic, trying to gauge Susan’s reaction. 

Grimshaw crossed her arms. “I don’t understand it,”

“Yeah,” John replied somewhat uncomfortably. It seemed to effectively kill the conversation, and Susan walked away. 

He sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day, and decided to finally find Jack.

“How are you, Jack?” John asked, sitting next to him.

“Fine,” the little boy answered breezily, continuing to play with his toy horse. “D’you wanna play with me? You gotta pretend this rock is another horse, ‘kay?” Jack chattered excitedly, placing said rock in John’s palm.

John examined the stone in his palm with a furrowed brow. He didn’t quite understand how it was supposed to be a horse or look horse shaped in any remote way, but he supposed he just didn’t have the level of imagination that his four-year-old had. 

Then again, John had never been particularly imaginative. He never quite had the freedom to just play when he was little. 

“Just fine? You don’t want to… talk about anything?”

“Like what?”

Slightly alarmed by his son’s seemingly remarkable ability to compartmentalize at such a young age, John tried to approach the subject gently. “I dunno. You’ve been through a lot lately.”

“D’you wanna talk about horses? When I grow up, I want one jus’ like Grandpa Hosea’s.” With his toy horse, he nudged John’s rock which was supposed to be another “horse”. “When’s he comin’ back?” 

It then occurred to John that he didn’t really know what Abigail had told the boy had happened with the botched bank robbery. After all, he’d been in prison. “I wish I knew, Jack. I wish I knew.” It was simpler than explaining the intricacies of death to a four-year-old, even if Jack had already been around far too much death. 

Perhaps it was more that John didn’t want to verbally acknowledge Hosea’s death. He’d seen it with his own eyes, had lived it, but it still didn’t feel real.

“I miss him,”

He sighed deeply. “Me too. I miss him a lot.” In an effort to not dwell on his own feelings that he hadn’t quite sorted regarding Hosea, he decided to change the subject. “So, how do you play?” 

“We’re playing horses, and they’re gonna race,” Jack explained as if it was clear as day.

John nodded, pretending to fully understand. “Right, and then what?”

Jack blinked at him. “What d’you mean? We’re s’posda race. It’s easy, you jus’ gotta pretend.” 

“But I gotta rock, and you got an actual horse. Rocks ain’t got legs.” 

Jack sighed dramatically. “You’re s’posed to pretend it’s a horse.”

He was either stupid, or slow, and he couldn’t decide which. “I know, but—”

Dutch interrupted John, stomping angrily toward the pair. “You think I don’t know what you’re sayin’ to people?!” 

“Jack, go find your ma,” John said, ushering the little boy in the direction of the tents. He sighed deeply. “What’re you hollerin’ at me for now, Dutch? Especially in front of my kid?” 

“Oh, please, don’t you start with that doting father act now. It ain’t foolin’ no one, especially me.” Dutch stepped closer. “I know you, John. I know what you are .” 

He tried to ignore the chill that went down his spine. “You’re talkin’ crazy again, Dutch. I just don’t know why we’re doin’ any of this.” 

“Why? Why ?” Dutch asked incredulously. “Because I say so! I am done explaining myself to you.” he turned his heel to leave, but almost as if being puffed up with a new air of anger, he stopped himself. “You wanna be the general? You don’t have the grit!” he screamed, spit flying from his mouth.

Did Dutch really have the nerve to call getting them all hunted down and killed grit ? Surely the man was missing a few screws. He stepped backward in an attempt to get more personal space. “Grit? That what you call this?” 

“How did the Pinkertons know about the bank job in Saint Denis, John? You wanna tell me that?!” Dutch demanded, his voice cracking as it did when he was well and truly angry. 

John had really been becoming tired of being accused of being the rat; especially when he had given Dutch nothing but (lately unearned) loyalty the last thirteen years of his life. It was past the point of hurting, instead, it just made him angry. From John’s perspective, Dutch was truly past the point of delusional. There was no use arguing back or screaming, the way Dutch was. 

“If you really think that, you are gone in the head.”

“I raised you as a son! You goddamn snake !” Dutch yelled, his words echoing throughout the camp. He stormed off to the mouth of the cave, still yelling nonsensically.

John tossed the rock he was still holding (for some reason) onto the ground with a scoff. Dutch and his delusions were getting more elaborate and dangerous as the days went on. 

He needed to get his family out, and fast.

The rest of the morning dragged on slowly. The simmering tension in the camp continued to build. 

John had been leaning against a tree for the better part of an hour, nursing a cigarette or two. He was still stewing from his earlier argument with Dutch. 

Besides, he needed time alone to think. If there was one good thing to be said about the overarching strain in the camp, it was the fact that people were keeping to themselves more. 

And in this case, it was good. John always processed his thoughts better when people weren’t pestering him. 

He took a slow, contemplative drag of his cigarette, hoping it would clear his mind. 

He turned his gaze to Dutch’s tent. The man was standing close to Micah, the two in deep conversation. 

It was always fucking Micah. Always in Dutch’s ear, making the man even more paranoid. 

His train of thought was interrupted by Arthur passing by.   

“How you holdin’ up?” John asked, even if he knew that there probably wasn't a comforting answer awaiting him.

“Been better,” Arthur said simply.

“We ain’t always seen eye-to-eye, you and me.” John started, opening the conversation up for more. There was so much he wanted to say to the man. 

“I guess I thought that… things always came too easy to you.” He shrugged. “But, here we are.”

“What are we going to do about this? About Dutch?”

Arthur sighed, shaking his head. “Maybe we can stop things from going too far.”

John glanced over his shoulder, where Micah, Joe, and Cleet sat at the table just outside of Dutch’s tent. “Still. Things’re gonna end bad.” he stated. It wasn’t a question of if, it was a statement of when. 

“They surely will,” Arthur answered, sounding resigned to that fate.

There was a pregnant pause where neither of them said a word. 

“You watch yourself.” John finally said, mentally scolding himself for not saying more. He walked away, unsure how to keep the conversation going with prying ears nearby.

“I’ll catch you later, then,” 

“Javier,” John greeted, sitting down at the campfire. The autumnal chill in the air was growing more apparent with every passing day. 

In response, Javier merely grunted, rolling his eyes.

“Why you acting like this? I thought we had to stick together?”

“Oh, I am. We are… loyalty. It’s you.” Javier sniffed. He’d been acting real odd ever since John had gotten back from Sisika, but John couldn’t figure out exactly why.

“Me? You saved me once… more than once.” he briefly faltered. “I’ve saved you… now what?”

“I’m sticking to my family,” Javier said as if it was so simple, and then he went back to sharpening his knife.

“These people ain’t your family… who are they?”

He holstered his knife. “You know what? You’re an arrogant son of a bitch, John.” 

“No.” John looked down, gaze focused on the campfire. Maybe Javier’s accusation was correct in the past, but not now. “I won’t let my child die because of Dutch… I can’t. This is gettin’ crazy, and you know it.”

Javier scoffed, getting up from his chair. “Get your head straight, John.” he spat. And that was that. John didn’t acknowledge anyone else when they came to sit down at the fire, preferring to stew in his own thoughts. 

It was ironic that he was sitting next to people he barely trusted anymore. Mere months ago, he would’ve trusted anyone in camp (sans Micah) with his life.

But now?

“We have work to do, my friends, let’s go. Come on, we are gonna borrow a little money from Old Uncle Sam…” Dutch had that crazed look in his eye yet again. “And be out of his hair, once and for all.”

He always said things like that. But he never meant them. Who was to say that the train job be any different?

Still, as the gang mounted up, John let himself foolishly hope. 

A little bit of hope couldn’t hurt, he supposed.

Abigail caught up to him just before he was about to get Old Boy moving. 

“John,” she said, coming up to the horse’s left side. “I…” She was worried, that much was clear, and he didn’t blame her.

He was worried, too. In fact, he couldn't recall a time in recent memory when he wasn't worried.

He reached down and grasped her hand, squeezing it gently. “It‘s one last job, Abigail. It’ll be easy. One more job and then I’m — then we’re done,” he wondered if his words sounded as empty to her as they did to him. 

There was always one more job. One more score. It was never truly over. 

“Do you really believe that?”

“...No,” He admitted with a shake of his head. “I’ll be back before you can say ‘spaghetti’.” 

Abigail let go of his hand reluctantly, saying nothing else. John spurred Old Boy up into a canter to catch up to the others.

a/n: i feel like this chapter might not be the best it can be but i was determined to get it out the day i posted it to ao3. i hope you guys understand and i promise i’ll be at the top of my game next update.

[thelonelylemonsquare]

WIPS of a RDR 2 modern AU I have been working on

[southernlynxx]

Autumn Night

Rating: Gen Status: Complete Fandom: RDR2 Characters: Arthur Morgan & John Marston Canon/AU: Pre-Canon

Summary: “What do you think’s going on?” John asks, kicking his feet idly as he follows Arthur’s attention to the town. John has yet to visit, so knows nothing of the decorations that line the streets; scarecrows pitched in patches of grass and pumpkins lining peoples’ porches with carved grins and grimaces. Little ghosts fashioned from old handkerchiefs hanging in shop windows and paper bats dangling from the ceiling by lengths of string.  “Harvest festival,” Arthur supplies, to which John hums. Warnings: N/A Notes: Written for @rdrevents Halloween Bingo!

The sun sets early now; in its absence comes a chill that whispers of winter months lurking just beyond the horizon. But it’s still early days yet, and the ambient heat of the fire beneath the stew pot easily chases away the nip of fall from Arthur’s skin as he pours a ladle of broth into his bowl.

“Ah, a second helping, Mr. Morgan?” Pearson asks from his table nearby, sounding pleased as he carves up a slab of meat to be smoked and salted for long-term storage.

“Nah, I’ve had my share, Mr. Pearson. Figured I oughta take some out to John; he’s probably gone through his rations for the night already,” he offers dryly.

Pearson laughs and nods in agreement. “Boy eats like a horse! Gotta wonder where it all goes.”

“Right through ‘im is my guess; it certainly don’t stick around,” Arthur scoffs. Even in his twenty-first year, John Marston is slimmer than a string-bean and lanky as a foal with only the broadness of his shoulders and the surly jut of his jaw to give him any credibility as an outlaw.

With a parting wave to the cook, Arthur makes his way through the camp; familiar even in its many iterations with every move and pitch. A new wagon now joins the caravan encircling the outer edges of the camp, procured to cart the belongings of their newer members that Pearson wasn't content to store in his chuckwagon any longer.

For Dutch, the acquisition is a sign of their growing strength and comfortable means of living in the face of their nomadic lifestyle, despite it being their crimes and his grand philosophies that propelled it. Or perhaps even in honour of it; proof that they didn’t need to bend to the laws forced upon them to thrive in a world trying to stifle their free-minded thoughts. Arthur is frankly just relieved not to have to listen to Ms Grimshaw and Mr. Pearson’s incessant bickering about the lack of space anymore, or the sound of Pearson cussing the air blue every morning when he inevitably tripped over a trunk or got caught in the canvas of a spare tent, even if the memories still tease the beginnings of a smile out of Arthur.

He steps beyond the outermost wagons, which hoard the light and warmth of the campfires within their walls of wood and canvas; deprived of that, his skin bristles with gooseflesh as he’s exposed to the sudden chill. While the brief thought to collect his jacket crosses his mind, his gait doesn’t falter, pushing him forward away from the remnants of light and into the surrounding trees.

---

They’d settled down not a week ago in an old woodland not a stone’s throw from the town of Weststead; a quaint little commune that looked like it had upped and migrated straight from Massecheusettes to nestle on the fringes of the American West. It’s a small but serviceable town, with pretty painted houses and shops lining a cobbled mainstreet, the outlying land utilised for farming and ranching. The people were unusually amenable to strangers, and Arthur would bet his hat that’d been what convinced Dutch and Hosea that this was the perfect place to pitch-up for winter. After all, what could be better than a town yet to be jaded to travellers by criminals and conmen?

What surprises Arthur is that winter still lies some weeks worth of travel away. While a blanket of fallen leaves crunched beneath his boots, the trees are still flush with red and gold foliage, their shades distinguishable even in the low evening light. They won’t be seeing snow until at least late November he reckons, but he certainly ain’t the type to complain about settling down in one place for a good few months, though he can’t guarantee that certain others wouldn’t find themselves quickly growing restless.

“How goes the watch, boy?” Arthur drawls, picking his way out the trees to an old forgotten wagon atop crippled wheels at the forest’s edge. A slim figure perched on the end of the wagon bed sits up sharply, but the nose of the rifle in hand remains pointing upwards.

“You checkin’ up on me?” John rebuffs him, sounding annoyed at the accusation manifested in his own head..

Arthur snorts. “Should I be?” he asks, “Or d’you just not want this food I brought you?”

“You bought food?” John’s tone shifts immediately, his gruff demeanour perking up at the prospect of dinner. He sets the rifle aside, brushing off the damp leaves from the wagon and patting the wood next to him in invitation for Arthur to sit. With a shake of his head, Arthur passes over the bowl and spoon he’d brought along and leans back against the wagon, John’s leg a faint warm pressure against his hip and thigh.

“You’d think you’d learn to bring enough food to see you through the night,” he remarks, to which John scoffs through a mouthful of stew, chewing obnoxiously on a particularly grisly bit of meat.

“Y’know Grimshaw only lets me take so much,” he mutters, “barely lasts me half the night.” “Y’ever think to not eat it all in the first few hours?” “Whats’it Hosea says? I’m a growing boy?” he grins, to which Arthur can’t help throwing back his head with a barking laugh.

“You’ve been a ‘growing boy’ for near on ten years now, y’greedy bastard.” He tilts his head to follow the already empty bowl that John sets down on the wagon - damn near licked clean - before looking out over the fields below.

There’s a perfect harvest moon hovering large and gold in the twilight sky, casting light over freshly cropped wheat fields dotted with haystacks and abandoned tools. The town of Weststead is a point of illumination in the pitch landscape, warm with the glow of fires and lanterns. Even distant as they are, he hears the ever so faint sound of commotion; the peals of shrill childish laughter the easiest to be heard, innocent and joyous.

“What do you think’s going on?” John asks, kicking his feet idly as he follows Arthur’s attention to the town. John has yet to visit, so knows nothing of the decorations that line the streets; scarecrows pitched in patches of grass and pumpkins lining peoples’ porches with carved grins and grimaces. Little ghosts fashioned from old handkerchiefs hanging in shop windows and paper bats dangling from the ceiling by lengths of string.

“Harvest festival,” Arthur supplies, to which John hums.

“Didn’t realise it was that late in the season…” He feels John’s eyes on him before the younger man opens his mouth. “Got any snacks?” Arthur snorts. “-for later, I mean!” John insists, “C’mon Arthur, I’ll be here hours, and you’ve always got somethin’ in that purse.” 

“Ain’t a purse,” Arthur shoots back, affronted, eyebrow twitching when he spots John’s shit-eating grin. “You got a funny way of gettin’ what you want, boy,” he mutters, but nonetheless dutifully fishes out a handful of candy from his bag and drops it into John’s lap.

“Holy shit,” John responds, rifling through the mixture of hard candies and chocolate drops, even a toffee or two. He shoots Arthur a smirk. “You been handin’ out sweets to the town kids? You mean ol’ outlaw!” He laughs, rough and gravelly, when Arthur shoulders him, head ducking down so his hat shields his eyes and his ruddy cheeks. “Don’t worry, Morgan, y’already bought my silence,” he teases, popping a toffee between his lips. “Well, make sure t’stay silent,” Arthur huffs, despite the smile traitorously twitching at the corners of his own mouth.

Their conversation lapses and Arthur opts to listen instead to the distant sounds of the town and the gentle fall breeze rasping through the wheat fields. The whisper of the leaves that drift down from the treetops and the creak of the old rotten wagon as John shifts and resettles. The rustle of foraging critters in the undergrowth, accompanied by the unfaltering chores of crickets hidden away in the weeds and thicket

The perfect fall night; set to welcome winter yet defy it all the samel with the warmth of the fires and tangible joy of the season’s end, shared in a long, companionable silence beneath the harvest moon.

[isaadleer]

think i did something😲

[sixgunluvr]

Sneak peek below for 18 + ONLY!

Arthur would be the type to grab you by the waist and force you up against a tree, his lips on yours in a searing, desperate kiss. The nighttime air would be filled with the sounds of your muffled moans, his deep growls of satisfaction, and the rustling of leaves as your bodies writhed together.

His calloused hands would grip your thighs, pulling them up around his waist and drawing you into him. With each thrust, you could imagine his cock hitting that spot deep within you, leaving you trembling with the intensity of your building release.

As you let your imagination run wild, the ecstasy gripped you tighter, your thighs clenching around your hand, desperate to feel the delicious friction against you that built and grew with each stroke.

You imagined Arthur, his powerful voice whispering filthy, filthy things into your ear. Crude, dirty promises echoed in your brain as you desperately sought relief from the storm of arousal inside you.

"Fuck, baby," he'd growl. "That sweet little pussy belongs to me.

[slicedmayonnaise]

I love how most of yall were like "yeah no Alejandro is getting his ass BEAT" LMAO

Now I have to write this to show you guys the canon victor

[reddorkredemption]

Hi! So this is my attempt at writing Jack Marston the epilogue he deserves. This story takes place right after the end of RDR1 and follows a high honor Jack, so he does not become an outlaw.

I’m currently working on chapter 23 of about 30 I have planned.

My Blessed Son

Summary: 

For years, Jack Marston dreamed of killing Edgar Ross, the man who had taken everything from him, who had ruined his life. His obsession with revenge had given him a reason to keep going. But now, after it was done, he was left lost, depressed and without purpose. He was left to navigate life alone with the unforgiving eyes of the law slowly narrowing in on him. Though he soon comes to realize that perhaps he isn’t quite as alone as he thought he would be. A continuation from the end of Red Dead Redemption 1.

Tags/Warnings:

Jack Marston/Original Female Character(s), Jack Marston, Abigail Roberts/Marston, John Marston, Original Female Character(s), Bonnie Macfarlane, Original Male Character(s), Archer Fordham Character Study, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Grief/Mourning, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism

→ Read on AO3 ←

or by chapter here:

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