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hihomeghere · 24 hours ago

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Baptized by Fire : Chapter Five

Summary : After being rescued once again by Charles and Arthur, the truth is revealed. An RDR2 AU where Arthur followed Charles to Canada. Arthur x reader x Charles.

Word Count : 5K

Warnings/tags : Charles Smith x Arthur Morgan, mentions of death, mention of gunshot wound, cursing, mention of murder, mention of reader committing murder, Arthur has lasting effects of his TB, angst, unprotected piv, sex in a tub, fluff, Arthur Morgan x reader, Charles Smith x reader, Arthur Morgan x reader x Charles smith, not proof read bc I'm lazy, let me know if I missed any

dividers by @saradika

Minors do not interact!

Previous / Masterlist

“Oh, thank god.” Arthur let out a ragged relieved breath, not noticing the biting cold seeping through his pants as he sat back in the snow. Charles held the back of your neck, supporting you as you coughed and sputtered.

“Get the horses.” Charles muttered, wiping away the spittle at the corner of your mouth. Everything felt so hazy, like you were looking through the smoke that had filled your former home. You watched as Arthur brought the horses over, taking Arthur's hand as he helped you get on Taima’s back. You wrapped your arms around Charles, hanging onto him.

“Tighten your grip.” He huffed, grabbing your arm and pulling it closer around him. Arthur’s brows furrowed as he glanced back at the two of you one more time before getting onto Buell.

The ride back to the cabin had been much too quiet. The tension was almost suffocating, as the only sound came from the horses as they huffed and snorted. Along with Arthur’s badly hidden coughs. Charles was stiff as a board in front of you as your head rested between his shoulder blades.

You wondered if you'd ever get the stench of smoke out of your hair, your clothes. Well- Arthur’s clothes- his beautiful blue coat now dusted with soot.

You still didn’t understand why they had gone after you. They were happy before you came along, you were an inconvenience, a pest.

Perhaps it would have been better if Charles had never found you out in the snow. If you had died along with Father. Now you owe Charles two life debts.

Charles and Arthur had pulled the horses up to the front of the cabin.

“Help her inside, I’ll put the horses away.” Charles said, his tone indicating there would be no arguing with him. Arthur nodded, swinging his legs over Buell. He passed the reins over to Charles before holding his arms up for you. You held onto his shoulders as his hands landed on your waist, gently pulling you off of Taima’s rump and down beside him in the snow. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest as the two of you walked into the house.

Arthur helped you take off his coat. You wondered if it would ever be that bright blue again, or if the dark black stains would forever be sewn into the fabric.

That dull cough broke through the silence as Arthur shuddered, holding onto the table as he tried to catch his breath. Your heart clenched painfully at the noise, guilting eating you up inside. As soon as he caught his breath, Arthur moved to the fireplace, striking a match as he started to get the fire going. You sat down in one of the chairs, taking off Arthur’s gloves and laying them down on the table. At least you had returned them to their rightful owner now.

The fire started to crackle, slowly growing in the fireplace. You stared into the flames, playing the events of the day over again in your head. Seeing Father again, striking match after match, feeling the heat through your bedroom door. The thick, smoky air and how it seemed to weigh heavily on you. Making it harder and harder to breathe, until everything went dark.

“C’mere.” Arthur said, pulling you out of your thoughts as he beckoned you over to the fireplace.

You warmed your body by the fire, your hands burning at the sudden shift in temperature. Your whole body felt as though it was thawing. Arthur walked over to the front door, hanging his-Charles- coat up on the rack.

The door swung open as Charles stomped inside, slamming the door close behind him.

“Got the horses situated?” Arthur asked, turning to face him. Charles grunted in response, taking off his coat and gloves. “Should probably bring the tub in,” Arthur added, feigning nonchalance as he very obviously tested the waters. “The both of you will be needing a bath.” Charles leaned against the table, gripping the edge.

“The hell were you thinking?” His voice came out a low growl as his eyes found yours. You clenched your jaw, shame blooming in your cheek as you lowered your gaze. “You have nothing to say?” He asked with a small scoff. “You could have died! Hell, Arthur ain’t doing much better.” He said, throwing his arm up as he motioned to Arthur.

“Charles I’m fine-“ Arthur started, before Charles cut him off.

“Don’t.” He warned, fire burning in his dark obsidian eyes. “We were worried sick.” He huffed turning on you.

“I didn’t ask you to come after me.” You whispered, hot frustrated tears pricking your eyes.

“What?” He asked with a low hiss, his brows furrowed.

“I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for you to save me then and I didn’t ask for it now.” You sounded absolutely pathetic, your voice cracking as you spoke. You couldn’t help the tears that broke past your waterline and rolled down your cheeks. You watched as the tension slowly melted off of Arthur’s shoulders. However, Charles wasn’t letting you off so easily.

“You didn’t have to!” He huffed, shaking his head. “God, what was going through your head?”

“Now let’s all just settle down-“ Arthur cut in, holding his hands up as though trying to calm a spooked animal.

“Why do you care anyway? You have each other, you certainly don’t need me intruding on the two of you!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Charles huffed, straightening up, his arms crossed over his broad chest. You pursed your lips, looking between the two of them. Charles breathless moans playing over and over in your head.

“I- I heard the two of you.” It was like all the air was suddenly sucked out of the cabin. Both Arthur and Charles froze, the only sound was the crackling fire as you stared at them.

“H-How much did you hear?” Arthur asked, clearing his throat as he took a step forward. The wooden floor creaked under him as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Charles.

“Enough.” Blood rushed to your cheeks as you looked away from them, that uncomfortable feeling building in your gut. You could hear one of them shift, moving back and forth on each foot.

“Well, we know your daddy didn’t die of the cold.” Arthur said suddenly. Your head shot up, staring at the two of them with wide eyes. Charles gave Arthur a look, which he ignored. “So what are you gonna do?” He asked, pursing his lips.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything!” You scoffed, shaking your head. Your brows furrowed as you looked from Arthur to Charles. “I don’t- I don’t have a problem with whatever you two do, whoever you are.” You said crossing your arms as you looked down at your feet.

“We don’t blame you for what you did.” Charles said, holding up his hand. His voice had taken on a much softer tone than before. Glancing over at Arthur before he spoke again, “We just- we won’t say anything if you don’t say anything.”

“I’m-“ You let out a shaky breath, “I didn’t mean to it just- it just happened.” You whispered, your voice breaking.

“And no one blames you for it, sweetheart.” Arthur said softly, “There’s no doubt that bastard got what he deserved.”

You sniffled, wiping away the tears that slipped down your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“We haven’t… we haven’t been fully truthful with you.” Charles said, leaning against the table. Arthur stiffens, looking like a scolded child next to Charles. “Arthur and I… we ran with a gang, it’s how we met.” He admits. “You’ve probably heard of the Van Der Linde gang?” Your eyes widen, so that’s what Arthur meant when he said he had blood on his hands.

“I was with them for longer than Charles.” Arthur spoke up, taking a step closer. “Since I was fourteen, Dutch and Hosea, they took me in and in return I gave them my blind loyalty.” He spit, shaking his head. “I ain’t a good man. I’ve done a lot of bad things but I’m- I’m trying to be better.”

Suddenly it clicked, like the final piece of a puzzle. You knew where you recognized Arthur from. You and your father had traveled to the United States, a few years back. You had been standing in the train station, looking up at the flyers on the bulletin board. You had seen his wanted poster, his scowling face staring back at you from the paper.

He looked much more handsome in person.

“I ain’t much better.” You mumbled, shaking your head. “My father didn’t deserve to die. No one does.”

“Ain’t much better?” Arthur scoffed, “Sweetheart, he deserved what he got, and more.”

“It was self defense.” Charles cut in, “You were only protecting yourself.”

“It still wasn’t right!” You shook your head, “What am I gonna do now? I don’t- I don’t have anything. Everything’s likely gone, burned up.” You put your head in your hands, “Oh god I’m such a fool.”

“Hey,” Arthur’s voice was soft as he gently pulled your hands away from your face. “You don’t gotta worry about any of that right now, ya hear?” You nodded, sniffling as you looked up into his deep blue eyes. “Charles and I… We’ll be here for you, if you want to stay.” He said hesitantly.

“I-“ you bit your lip, chewing a piece of skin off. “I shouldn’t.” Arthur swallowed thickly, nodding as he pulled away.

“If that’s what you want.” He said, resting his hands on his belt. It wasn’t what you wanted. It was the last thing you wanted. To be alone again, to be without them again. Hell, you probably wouldn’t survive on your own.

“We won’t force you to stay.” Charles said softly, looking down at the table, “But at least stay a couple nights.” He raised his eyes to meet yours. “I’ll- I’ll take you to town in a couple days if you’d like.” He offered.

You knew it was the best decision, stay a few more days and then find something to do once he took you to town.

“Alright, thank you, I’ll stay for a few days.” You nodded. They both physically relaxed, like they were both hanging on to every word.

“Alright.” Arthur nodded, clearing his throat as he nodded. “We’ll uh- we’ll get the tub and water going.”

You sat at the table, watching as they melted the snow in a kettle above the fireplace. Pouring each pail of hot water into the tub. They offered you first bath, another kindness on their part. You assumed they would probably share once you were done.

Heat flooded your cheeks at the image you conjured up in your head. Both Charles and Arthur, naked in the warm water. Bathing each other, touching, kissing.

You cleared your throat, looking back down at the grooves on the wooden table.

Little did you know that Arthur and Charles were trying to come up with a plan. Some way to convince you to stay more than a few nights. Some way to convince you to stay forever.

“Before Charles there…” Arthur spoke up, his cheeks a deep rose as he looked back at you. “There was Mary. The woman in those pictures you found.” You nodded, swallowing thickly.

“N’ Charles, well he-“

“We fancy either sex.” Charles spoke up, tired of beating around the bush. He met your eyes, his dark obsidian pools boring into yours.

You looked between the two of them.

“I’m sorry I- I don’t understand.” You said furrowing your brows slightly.

“Darlin’ we-“ Arthur cut himself off with a sigh. Your heart skipping a beat at the petname.

“We want you to stay.” Charles said, finishing Arthur's sentence.

“Now I- I’m real grateful for your hospitality but I-“ You sighed biting your lip, “I don’t wanna intrude-“

“Who said you would be?” Charles asked, pouring the last pail into the tub. Steam gently rising off of its crystal surface. “We want you here.”

You pursed your lips, looking from Charles to Arthur. Your stomach clenched as you saw the pure yearning in both of their eyes.

No. No you wouldn’t get your hopes up.

“We want you.” Charles said, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“What?” You asked, your mouth going dry as the implications set in.

“We want you if- if you want us, too.” Arthur said, looking up at you.

“H-how would that even work?” You asked, knowing this offer was too good to be true. No one ever wanted you. Sure, some boys did, for a roll around in the hay and then they’d never look your way again.

But Charles and Arthur were nothing like the boys in town. They- they made you feel alive. Not only for two seconds or minutes, it wasn’t some passing fancy. Your blood seemed to sing around them. Like they had breathed life into your very essence.

“We both… care for you. You care about us, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” You answered way too quickly, your heartbeat pounding in your ear.

The tension was near suffocation as the three of you stood there, staring at each other.

“Then why not see where this goes?” Charles asked, taking a step towards you. Your heart thudded against your ribcage as you struggled to take in a full breath. You had to be dreaming, or perhaps you had perished in the fire. For there was no feasible way that this was actually happening.

“Okay.” Your soft reply surprised yourself as much as it surprised them. A small, boyish smile spread across Arthur’s face. A relieved, almost disbelieving huff leaving his lips.

Charles moved towards you, slowly, giving you a chance to move and put distance between the two of you if you wished.

But there was nothing more that you wanted than to touch them. Feel the heat of their bodies against yours, under your fingertips. Your feet were glued to the spot as you stared up at him. He stood only a foot or two in front of you, his hand hesitantly raised to cup your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered close at the feeling of his large, warm hand against your skin. You didn’t care that his hands were calloused and scarred, he held you as though you could fall apart in his grasp. Which you had a feeling you could. He tilted your head upwards, his breath puffing against your cheek as he looked down at you. His gaze flicked from your eyes to your lips. Then slowly leaned down, his lips connecting with yours.

They were much softer than you had imagined. Plump and warm as they moved against yours. His other hand threaded through the hair at the nape of your neck pulling you closer. Your hands rested on his broad chest, feeling the heat and tension beneath his clothes.

You were so distracted by Charles that you didn’t even notice Arthur come up behind you. He placed a tentative hand on your waist, the other on Charles' arm. Charles pulled away from your lips, hiding a smile as your mouth moved after him. He ducked his head to press hot open mouthed kisses against your neck. Arthur turned your head towards him, brushing his nose against yours. You pulled one hand away from Charles to cup Arthur’s cheek, pulling him closer.

Now that you had had a taste of the men, you couldn’t stop yourself. His beard scratched along your palm as you held him against you. His lips pressed against yours as Charles sucked bruises onto your neck and any other exposed skin he could find.

You moaned into Arthur’s mouth, unable to control yourself. Not that you wanted to. Yes you knew it was wrong, but then why did it feel so right?

Is this how Pandora felt moments before opening her box? Did she feel the anticipation building in her veins, the almost electric buzzing in her body?

Arthur pressed his tongue against the seam of your lips, wordlessly asking for entrance. Your lips parted without any hesitation, your own tongue passing into his mouth.

Years ago there had been a boy in town who you had sworn up and down you would marry. You thought no one would ever make you feel like he did, maybe you were right. This feeling building inside your chest, threatening to burst out of you, is a thousand times more powerful than that ever was.

“Water’s getting cold.” Charles mumbled against your neck, nipping at your collarbone.

You smirked against Arthur’s lips, knowing there was no way in hell it was getting cold. Maybe now it would be tolerable, not scalding as it had been before.

“Perhaps we should do somethin’ about that Mr. Smith.” Arthur’s deep, raspy voice sent shivers down your spine as he pulled back. Their eyes met and it was like watching a summer storm. The near electric current that passed between them was intoxicating. Arthur grabbed Charles by the back of his neck, pulling him into a harsh kiss. Teeth clashed and it was clear they had been holding back for you. But you didn’t want sweet, you wanted them.

You pulled away from their hold, their eyes immediately finding you. An almost vulnerability there in their gaze. Although their furrowed brows quickly relaxed as you tugged your skirt down. Arthur made quick work with his shirt, tearing at his clothes like they were burning him.

Your heart was damn near beating out of your chest as you pulled your shirt off, leaving you only in your shift. You could feel the heat and wetness start to gather between your legs. Your core aching as you watched the men dress down.

Arthur and Charles were in their union suits, all three of you frozen as though waiting for the other to make the first move. Your eyes were drawn downwards to their cocks, you weren’t ashamed to admit it. Although you wondered how something that big would fit inside you.

You swallowed thickly, finding your mouth dry at the sight of them. Your eyes passed from Charles to Arthur. Arthur’s hands twitched at his waist, you assumed this was how he looked before a gun fight, albeit more clothed. The anticipation, waiting to see who would draw first. The thought sent heat down to your core, and in some twisted way you wished you could have seen him at his prime.

Charles' chest heaved with each heavy breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared you down. His dark brown eyes almost obsidian with how blown wide his pupils were.

They were waiting for you.

They were waiting for you to make the first move. Even though you could feel the almost primal want radiating from them, they were still holding back. And that made you want them even more.

You grabbed your shift, pulling it over your head, before stepping out of your bloomers. You didn’t have time to worry about whether they would like what they saw as you stepped into the tub. An involuntary sigh left you as you sank into the warm water. Goosebumps erupted on your skin as the heat enveloped you.

“There’s room for two more.” You said looking over at them, honestly questioning if the three of you could actually fit in the tub. Maybe if you sat on one of their laps.

Arthur moved first, shucking his union suit off before striding over to you. His cock sprung up onto his belly, a thatch of curling brown hair at his base. Charles wasn’t far behind him and soon all three of you managed to get in the tub.

You had imagined they would pounce on you as soon as they could, but they didn’t. Instead Charles took to lathering the soap in his hands before handing it to Arthur. As Charles cleaned his toned body, Arthur began to clean you. He gently washed away the soot and ash from your face and hair. Before he started to spread the soap on your body. Once you were clean, Charles took the soap back and began to clean Arthur. It didn't take very long, but he wasn't nearly as filthy as you and Charles. Then Arthur moved to brush through Charles' hair, meticulously working out any knots without tugging on his scalp. Charles motioned for you to turn in the tub, it was a tight fit but you managed. The three of you would clean up the water that sloshed onto the floor once you were finished.

Charles then ran his fingers through your hair, untangling it. There was nothing sexual about the act even though the three of you were as naked as the day you were born. You were simply serving each other.

Arthur finished cleaning Charles' hair, moving the wet raven curtain off to one side of his shoulder as he kissed up his neck.

Charles hummed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. You turned to look at the two of them, the fire sparking deep in your belly. You needed them, you needed to have them.

You moved forward, running your hand down Charles' chest. He grabbed your hand before you could reach his appendage between his legs.

“You gotta work up to that darlin’.” He said breathlessly, “Take Arthur first.”

Charles moved to give you better access to Arthur, you were now squished between the two of them. Arthur’s hands ran down your waist, settling on your hips.

“You’ve done this before?” He asked, his bright eyes finding yours.

“Not with two men.” You said with a weak chuckle. Arthur cracked a smile, pulling you closer.

“We’ll be gentle sweetheart.” He promised, “And you tell us if you wanna stop, ya hear?” The teasing glint vanished from his eyes.

You nodded, swallowing thickly as you settled over his hips. “I don’t wanna stop.” Charles moved behind you, his hands palming your tits. You gasped as he pinched one of your nipples.

“Sensitive.” He hummed as Arthur’s hands ran up and down your thighs. Your head was spinning, trying to keep your focus on both of them at the same time. Arthur’s thumb found your clit, rubbing small circles on the bundle of nerves.

You moaned, your eyes fluttering shut as you twitched. Your body involuntarily jumped with each pass of his calloused thumb.

“Arthur-“ You said breathlessly, feeling the tight coil of pleasure build in your belly.

“I’m here sweetheart, we’re here.” He said softly, thrusting a finger into your core.

“Oh god.” You moaned, squeezing your eyes shut as you teetered on the edge.

“C’mon, open those pretty eyes for me.” He cooed, smirking up at you. You opened them, tears brimming in your eyes as he added a second finger. “Gotta open you up, get you real nice and ready for me and Charles, ain’t that right?”

His words and his fingers had you on the edge, Charles managed to push you over as he rolled your nipples between his forefinger and thumb.

You came with a cry, digging your nails into Arthur’s shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. You ground down on his hand, riding out your orgasm.

“Atta girl,” Arthur cooed, pulling his hand out before notching his head at your entrance. Your breath hitched as you felt his head push past your opening. Both of you let out a moan as you slowly sunk down onto him.

Charles chuckled darkly behind you, his hands settling on your waist. “So pretty,” He mumbled.

“F-fuck Arthur.” You stuttered, biting your lip as you looked down at him. He completely filled you, the hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit. You whimpered as he thrusted up into you.

“Shit, sorry.” He said through gritted teeth, it was obvious he was trying to hold back, trying to give you time to adjust to his girth.

“M’okay.” You said breathlessly, “Move.” You pleaded.

“Give me a minute.” He huffed, his azure pools finding yours.

“Arthur,” You whined, squirming on top of him.

“God, she’s squeezing me so tight.” He growled, his head falling to the valley of your breasts. Charles had decided he had enough, his hands raising your hips off of him before slamming you back down onto Arthur.

“Charles.” Arthur moaned, nipping at the tender flesh of your breast. You felt electric, pleasure shooting through your body with each thrust. Water sloshed over the side of the tub as Charles slammed you down onto Arthur’s cock.

“Oh- oh god!” You whimpered, your toes curling as your mind went blank. Like the crack of a whip, the building pressure inside you broke. You clamped down on Arthur, crying out as your orgasm overtook you.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit-“ Arthur babbled, his hands replacing Charles as he began to ruthlessly thrust into you. Chasing his own high while you rode yours out. He quickly pulled you off of him, twitching as he spilled his seed into the warm water. A deep rumbling moan leaving his lips, his brows pinched together as he squeezed his eyes shut.

He was gorgeous.

You panted, leaning back against Charles' large frame. Arthur chuckled breathlessly, leaning forward as he chased after you. He cupped your cheek, pressing his lips to yours. You sighed softly into his mouth, feeling Charles against your back.

“Think he’s been mighty patient, don’t you sweetheart?” Arthur asked, barely pulling away from your lips to speak.

“Mmhm.” You nodded, boneless as Arthur moved you on top of Charles.

“Atta girl.” He praised, kissing your temple before laying back on the side of the tub.

“You sure about this?” Charles asked, his dark mocha eyes finding yours. Your head lolled forward and back, a blissed out smile on your lips.

“I want you. Both of you.” You said cupping his cheek, running your thumb over the lightning strike scar there. He groaned, his hands grabbing your butt as he pulled you closer. He rubbed you against his length, your lips parting with each pass of his head. “Charles,” You whined, starting to get overstimulated from the motion. Your body twitching as his head bumped against your clit.

“I got you baby.” He mumbled, reaching down to notch himself at your entrance.

“Fuck-“ You gasped as he began to stretch you open. You were glad they made you take Arthur first. He hummed, the noise coming from deep within his chest, sending shivers down your spine. “Charles-“

“You can take it.” He cooed, running his hands up and down your sides.

You could. You would take it.

You sat down on him fully, the breath nearly knocked out of you.

“It’s big ain’t it sweetheart?” Arthur cooed in your ear, you nodded another whine leaving your lips.

“Shit- you were right about her being so damn tight.” Charles said through gritted teeth. He leaned down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth before he started rocking you up and down.

You knew you sounded pathetic, mewling with each raise of his hips. You couldn’t even say what he was doing was called ‘thrusting’.

“Ngh- Charles!” You cried, tears brimming in your eyes. Your legs trembled on each side of his thick thighs.

“Go on, let go baby.” He huffed, clenching his jaw. His thumb reached down between your legs, rubbing at your clit. A choked sob leaving your lips as you came. White hot pleasure rushed through your body as you shook on top of him.

Hands, hands all over you. Petting, caressing, rubbing.

“That’s our girl.” Arthur cooed in your ear, his warm chest against your back as Charles moved you up and down on him.

“Our girl.” Charles groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrust up into you with wild abandon. Your head was spinning, staring down at Charles through half lidded eyes. “Oh- oh-“ Charles grit his teeth, pulling you off of him as he came. His dick twitching under the water as a blissed out smile overtook his face.

The three of you panted, collapsing onto Charles, feeling the wild thumping of his heart under your ear. Arthur ran his hand up and down your spine, his other resting on Charles thigh.

“Think we outta bathe again.” He chuckled, grinning at the two of you. Charles laughed breathlessly, pressing his lips against your temple. He reached for Arthur, grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck as he pulled into a searing kiss.

Somehow the three of you made your way into bed. Resting naked under the flannel sheets as you mapped out their bodies.

You and Charles rested your heads against Arthur’s chest, trailing your hand up and down his chest. Threading your fingers through the hair that trailed down his belly.

“You… you really want me to stay?” You asked, looking up at the two of them. Arthur scoffed, raising his head to meet your eyes.

“Did we not prove that to you in the tub?” He asked, raising a brow. Charles chuckled, a smile spreading across his lips.

“Sweetheart,” He said softly, cupping your cheek, “we want you to stay.” You smiled, hiding your face in Arthur’s chest. A small chuckle escaped Arthur as he wrapped his arms around the two of you.

“You’re our girl, course we want you to stay.”

As the three of you laid in post-sex bliss, only one thought filled your head. You had found your home, and it wasn’t a place, it was wherever they were.

Tags : @photo1030 , @emerald-ranch @highlandhour , @buffkirby2020 , @esquilone , @cyb3rsx , @whalecage , @idekraeven @tortureddpoett

Thank you so much to everyone who read this story, it means so much to me. This won't be the last we see of these three <3

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tiss-mushroom · 1 day ago

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I've redone my own work! now looks much better. It's still the same AU

#rdr #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #jack marston #isaac morgan #fanart #jasaac

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twola · 1 day ago

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All is Calm, All is Bright

This is my entry for the @rdrevents #rdrSecretWinterExchange! Its the first time for me to participate in something like this and I had a ton of fun doing it!

the prompt was: johnigail and/or marston family centric - marston family’s first christmas on the ranch

PG13-ish? Language (hey - it’s Red Dead) and there’s some insinuatin’ of things that married folk do. Happy holidays @vittoriaisfuckingpathetic!

God damn woman, goddamn woman with those goddamn pretty eyes, and evil smile and…

Oh, who is he kidding? That woman’s got him wound tighter than a two-dollar watch. That’s why he’s heading into Blackwater when the prairie is cold as dickens and he feels like he froze his ass off on this ride into town. The grey clouds cast darkness over the land, and though sunset is a few hours off, it is dark enough to lose one’s way easily.

John Marston groans underneath his heavy coat, tucking his head into the open collar, “C’mon now boy, just get me into town and I’ll getcha all the damn treats that you want.”

The roan Tennessee Walker beneath him nicks its head up, neighing in discomfort against the wind rolling off Flat Iron Lake. Blanketed in white, snow covering the prairie, he can barely see the trail ahead of him, having to rely on muscle memory and his sense of direction to get to Blackwater.

“It’s Christmas. The first time the boy’s been in a home for one, hell, it's the first time I’ve been in a home for one. Probably you too.”

Abigail, as always, was right. Her voice rings in his ears, and though he wants to grumble terribly, it warms him to see her smile as he leaves. Seeing excitement in Jack’s eyes, for the first time in a very long time. Fortunately, It's not long before he comes upon that old white church on the top of the hill heading into town - he’s able to urge his horse to trot faster down the well-traveled road, where hoofprints and wagon tracks have the ground visible underneath the snow.

The plod of his horse's hooves change their tenor as he reaches the cobblestone main streets of Blackwater. It's a sound that he bites back a derisive comment to - much preferring the soft, muted sound of his horse walking on the open prairie. When John reaches his destination, he slides out of the saddle and hitches his horse to a post in front of several shops. He brushes snow off of his shoulder as he quickly moves toward one of the shops.

Blackwater Sundries - Family Owned since 1895

The bell above the door rings as he pushes the door open, quickly closing it behind himself to stave out the cold wind.

“I’m here to pick up an order under the name Marston.”

The young woman behind the desk smiles before turning to the table behind and her, grabbing a wooden crate. She struggles, slightly, hoisting it to the counter, and John leans over the counter to steady her by taking the crate's edge.

“Thank you kindly, Mister Marston. This here’s got a smoked ham, a can of candied yams, a can of asparagus, a wrapped fruitcake, and a bottle of my momma’s mulled wine. She just made it this morning. A Christmas gift for everyone who made an order with us.”

“That’s mighty kind of her, Miss.” John slides the crate closer to himself on the counter. He digs one hand into his satchel for the envelope of money that Abigail had sent with him for the order. Placing it down on the counter, he gazes once over the crate and its contents, “Miss, do you possibly have a sack to put this all in? I only have my horse, ain’t brought my wagon.”

“Course, Mister. Let me wrap up the bottle in extra canvas.”

After the girl wraps all of the items carefully in canvas and finally in a large sack, she holds it out for John to take, “Ham is already spiced and smoked, so just have your wife warm it up in the oven. Yams and asparagus just on the stovetop. Shouldn’t take more than an hour and you’ll have a nice spread.” She states cheerily as John shoulders the sack.

He snorts to himself as he nods a farewell, striding back to the door and the howling wind outside. Blessedly, this was one meal that Abigail would not be able to ruin. He loves that woman from here to hell and back, but Lord, cooking wasn’t one of her strong suits.

John braces himself against the cold as the door swings open, gritting his teeth against the blustery wind that rushes through the city street. Cursing to himself again, he quickly secures the bag to his horse’s rump, taking a moment to dig in his satchel for a peppermint candy that he feeds the Walker before unhitching him and climbing up.

It’s a cold, long ride back to Beecher’s Hope, and night has truly fallen by the time John can see the glow of lights from the main house. He leads the horse to the barn, opening the two large doors and bringing the Walker to one of the stalls where he had shoveled fresh hay into. John brings his hand down the horse’s mane affectionately as he unties the bag of items and pulls the saddle from the horse’s back. Once the Walker is settled, John shoulders the bag and heads back outside, walking quickly up to the house, pushing inside the door seeking warmth.

“Pa’s back!” John hears his son shout from down the hall as he closes the door behind him. He shrugs some of the snow off his shoulder before kicking his boots off on the threshold.

“Go on and help him then!” Abigail shouts from the kitchen.

“Sir -” Jack bounds into view and holds his arms out and John hands him the sack of goods, “Mind the bottle in there.” The boy nods and carries the sack carefully toward the kitchen.

John finishes kicking his boots off and shrugs his wet coat off as well, hanging it on a peg near the door. He treads forward, further into the house, where the main room is brightly lit with sconces, candles, and oil lanterns to fend off the darkness of the night. Abigail has hung pine boughs on the mantle, cut from the trees on the furthest north reach of the ranch, right as it borders Tall Trees. The scent of pine wafts through the house, and John has to stop and survey the room, so filled with life, even in the darkness of the season.

Abigail flutters around the house like a madwoman, taking the bag from Jack and immediately running back into the kitchen. She orders the men of the house around as if she is in the army - wash up, change your shirt, Uncle, I swear to god if you drank John’s good whiskey you will sleep in the barn tonight -

By the time that he, Jack, and Uncle return in some state of cleanliness, Abigail has warmed up the food and placed it out on serving plates on the table. John cannot help but to stare at the bounty of it all - he was so far removed from the starving kid stealing bread at Jack’s age. Even far removed from eating Pearson’s stew around a campfire.

“Sir?” Jack waits patiently, his hands on the chair in front of him.

“Go on now, sit down and let’s eat.” John waves his hand at the table as he pulls out his own chair, and the clank and clatter of forks and knives on plates as food is served fills the room.

“And look at this - the Christmas spirit has even gotten to a sour ol’ bastard like John Marston o’er here.” Uncle guffaws between swigs of whiskey straight from the bottle, obviously having had quite a few sips before dinner even started.

“Old man, I swear-” John points his fork menacingly at Uncle.

“It’s Christmas, John. Have a heart and don’t abuse the elderly, for once.” Uncle retorts, to which John rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to threaten the old man, as per usual.

Abigail glares from across the table and John swallows his insult, breathing out his nose as he spears a piece of candied yam.

Soft conversation continues through dinner, the teasing and retorts that usually take up the table are blessedly absent - for once. John glances up from his empty plate across the table to his wife, and the smile that she gives him makes the hardened gunslinger blush - blush - of all things.

She mouths a “thank you” as Uncle drones on about how his stories are better in every way than Jack’s books - his son interjecting about how Uncle is no literary luminary. Laughter floats through the house - flashes of the quiet, empty room when he had just built the house dance behind John’s eyes - he is so thankful those days are behind him.

The dessert is served and eaten, conversation remains light and cheerful. For tonight, at least, work at Beecher’s Hope is forgotten - the crush of debts or ‘success’ at ranching.

“Alright now, Jack - go on and wash up and head to sleep. It's past your bedtime.” Abigail points one finger at her son as she finishes her glass of mulled wine and John can swear he sees a blush in her cheeks that he had not seen in years. After Jack grumbles for a moment and bids everyone good night, Abigail clears the table and with a yawn, retires, walking behind John and kissing him on his brow on her way back to their bedroom.

John has a few more glasses of whiskey with Uncle before they retire, recalling glory days gone by. Uncle’s storytelling gets more and more ridiculous with each drink - One-Shot Kid my ass. Mumbling something about how his lumbago ails him, Uncle schleps over to the couch. For once, John does not scold him about getting up to his place in the attic. Perhaps it was this ‘Christmas spirit’ that Abigail had gone on about. Standing up from the table, John rights the mostly empty bottle of whiskey as he looks up at the clock on the wall, another contraption Abigail insisted on furnishing this house. It’s past midnight - technically Christmas at this point. He sighs, slowly strolling down the hall to his son’s room.

He checks on Jack, pushing his door open ever so slightly. The boy has fallen asleep with his oil lantern next to his desk still on, a book open across his chest. John frowns, stepping fully into the room and making his way over to the bed as quietly as he can. He gently, carefully extracts the book from Jack’s grasp, placing it down on the bedside table; open to the page that his son had been reading.

John lingers, his finger on the switch to the lamp. The orange glow of light casts shadows through the room, and for a second, he swears the boy in the bed is a ragtag child, dirty and angry, saved from the gallows by wayward outlaws.

He shakes his head at the vision as he turns off the lantern, plunging the room into darkness. As his eyes adjust, he quietly makes his way back to the hall, pausing once again to look upon his son, silently swearing to himself that Jack will never have to live as he did at this age.

He yawns, rolling his shoulder as he walks back into the dining room, past the leftovers of the veritable feast they had for the Christmas meal, not bothering to clear it up until morning. Idly scratching his bicep, he winces slightly at the pull in the muscle - even after all these years, there are dull aches from the bullet wound he obtained in Roanoke. Brushing off the pain, he continues down the hallway, to his and Abigail’s bedroom. He quietly opens the door, expecting his wife to be fast asleep this late in the night.

He’s surprised when she isn’t, the fireplace blazing and sconces lighting the room.

Abigail lounges upon the bed like some expensive lady of the night, her long chemise lacy and near translucent in the night. Jesus, she’s as beautiful as she was at eighteen when he couldn’t have enough of her.

“Thank you, John.” She whispers softly. He almost can’t hear her, so enraptured by the sight of her with her long hair unbound, laying out on that bed.

Abigail nicks her head upward with that sly grin that stole his heart. John raises his eyebrows in questioning as he follows her motioning - finding a bright green sprig of leaves hung over the bed frame, tied with a red length of yarn.

“C’mon over here, gunslinger.”

#rdrsecretwinterexchange #abigail marston #jack marston #marston family #john marston #johnigail #red dead redemption fanfiction #rdr fanfiction #twolafic

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nthspecialll · 2 days ago

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If Sean and Abigail were to have an interaction, what do you think that would have been like?

It would have something to do with Jack, Sean loves Jack and in the interaction they have Sean is teaching Jack about myths and stuff so it would likely be similar.

Either it would be Abigail being mad at Sean for trying to show off something "outlaw-ish" to Jack like quickdraws or how to polish a gun, or it would be Abigail telling Jack to quit annoying Sean because he is on guard duty or similar and Sean just says that it is fine, thus they start talking. I don't see them having many similarities outside of Jack, so at least those two I think would be a lot of fun.

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allthemeniveloved · 24 hours ago

Text

It Will Come Back - John's Ending

Summary: John's ending as the gang falls apart.

wc: 4.4k

Tags: angry dutch, ansgt, implied violence, fluff, domestic!John, father!John, hurt comfort, overall a tame chapter. :)

ao3 link

a/n: I really enjoyed writing this whole story, and loved waking up every morning to new likes, comments, dms, emails, and asks from you guys, it kept me pushing forward. Onto the next thing! <3

The ride back to Beaver Hollow was heavy with silence, the tension between Arthur and Sadie unspoken but palpable. The successful rescue of John lingered in both their minds, but they both knew it wouldn’t be celebrated—not here, not with Dutch. The cold and damp air of the mountains clung to their clothes as they approached the camp, the familiar sight of ragged tents coming into view through the trees.

Arthur slowed his horse, his jaw tightening as his eyes swept over the camp. It was quieter than usual, the gang’s usual unease now simmering into something heavier, more oppressive. A few of the gang members glanced up as they rode in—Javier sitting near the fire sharpening a knife, Bill tinkering with his shotgun—but none of them said anything. Their faces were blank, wary, as though they already knew trouble was brewing.

Sadie dismounted first, her boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. “I’ll be keepin’ outta Dutch’s way,” she muttered, her voice low as she grabbed her rifle. “You sure about this, Arthur?”

Arthur nodded grimly, sliding off his horse. “Ain’t got much choice, do I?” he replied, his tone flat but laced with quiet determination. He didn’t need to explain further—both of them knew Dutch wouldn’t take the news well, and Arthur wasn’t the type to lie, even when it might be easier.

Sadie gave him a long look, her expression unreadable before she turned and strode off toward her tent, her rifle slung over her shoulder. Arthur stood there for a moment, the weight of the dewey air pressing down on him as he prepared himself for what was to come. With a slow exhale, he headed toward John’s tent, his boots crunching leaves on the cold ground.

The inside of John’s tent was sparse, the few belongings Miss Grimshaw managed to hold onto neatly tucked into corners or piled atop his cot. Arthur stepped inside, his broad shoulders nearly brushing the tent’s frame as he crouched to gather what little there was. A spare shirt, worn and patched in places, sat folded on the cot beside a small leather pouch. Arthur grabbed it, his fingers lingering on the fabric for a moment before tucking it into the bag he’d brought.

The tent smelled faintly of sweat and gun oil, a reminder of how much of John’s life had been dedicated to survival—just like the rest of them. Arthur sighed, his jaw tightening as he reached for a small bundle tied with twine. It was something you must’ve packed for him long ago, the corners of the cloth frayed from use. Arthur paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he set it carefully into the bag.

Arthur glanced around the tent one last time, his hands hovering over the meager belongings. He knew this would likely be the last time he—or anyone—would return here. Just as he picked up a small wooden carving John had made for you long ago, the sound of heavy footsteps behind him made him freeze.

“You’ve got some explainin’ to do,” Dutch’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp and angry. Arthur didn’t turn right away, his jaw tightening as he set the carving into the bag with deliberate care. The storm he’d been bracing for was here, and there was no avoiding it now.

Arthur stood slowly, the bag of John’s belongings still in his hand, as Dutch’s looming presence filled the tent. The air felt thick, the tension palpable as Dutch crossed his arms, his dark eyes fixed on Arthur with an intensity that bordered on fury. “You’ve got some nerve, Arthur,” Dutch began, his voice low but sharp, each word laced with accusation. “I’ve been hearin’ things—things about you takin’ it upon yourself to go and fetch John outta prison. Is it true?” Dutch spat.

Arthur met his gaze evenly, his expression calm but his jaw set. “Yeah,” he replied simply, his voice firm. “It’s true.”

Dutch’s eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring as he took a step closer. “I hadn’t sent for him yet,” he hissed, his voice rising slightly. “There was a plan, Arthur—a time and a place. But no, you and that wild woman couldn’t wait, could you?”

Arthur’s temper flared at Dutch’s words, and he set the bag down on the cot with deliberate force, turning to face him fully. “A plan?” Arthur shot back, his voice growing louder. “Like the one for Saint Denis? The one that got Hosea killed?” He took a step closer, his eyes blazing. “John was rottin’ in that damn prison, Dutch. There wasn’t gonna be no plan to get him out. Not from you!”

Dutch bristled, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “You think you know better than me now, huh? You think you’re smarter than me, Arthur?” he spat, his voice shaking with anger. “You don’t see the big picture, the way I do. Everything I’ve done, every decision I’ve made, it’s been for the gang. For all of us.”

Arthur let out a harsh, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “For the gang?” he echoed, his voice dripping with disbelief. “No, Dutch. It’s been for you. And now, it’s all fallin’ apart because of it.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, Dutch said nothing, his face contorted with a mixture of anger and something close to betrayal. Finally, he straightened, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Where is he?” Dutch asked coldly, his voice quieter now but no less threatening. “Where’s John? Where’s that girl of his?”

Arthur’s eyes hardened at the question, his stance shifting slightly as if preparing for a fight. “I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the tension radiating off him. “It ain’t your business.”

Dutch’s face darkened further, and he took another step forward, his voice low and venomous. “You know where they are, don’t you? Hiding out somewhere, thinkin’ they can just walk away from this? From me?” He shook his head, his tone turning bitter. “You’re lettin’ your feelings for that girl cloud your damn judgment, Arthur. Bein’ a damn love-sick fool is gonna get us all killed.”

Arthur’s temper snapped at the accusation, and he stepped forward, his voice rising. “This ain’t about that!” he barked, his face inches from Dutch’s. “This is about what’s right. About protectin’ the people we care about—somethin’ you used to give a damn about!”

Dutch’s eyes flashed with anger, but he didn’t respond immediately, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared Arthur down. “You’re walkin’ a dangerous line, Arthur,” he said finally, his voice low and menacing. “Disloyalty ain’t somethin’ I take lightly.”

Arthur didn’t flinch, his gaze steady as he held Dutch’s glare. “Then maybe you should take a long, hard look at who’s really been disloyal,” he shot back, his voice cold.

Dutch’s expression twisted with rage, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the tent, his boots thudding heavily against the ground. Arthur watched him go, his chest heaving slightly as he tried to calm his anger.

He turned back to the cot, picking up the bag of John’s belongings with a heavy sigh. The confrontation had only confirmed what he already knew—the Dutch he once trusted was gone, replaced by a man who cared more about his own pride than the people he claimed to lead. And now, with Dutch asking questions about John and you, Arthur knew the danger was only growing.

As he stepped out of the tent, the camp seemed quieter than before, the weight of Dutch’s anger casting a shadow over everything. Arthur caught sight of Micah leaning casually against a post, a smug smirk on his face as he watched the scene unfold from afar. Arthur’s jaw tightened, but he ignored him, his thoughts already focused on the next move.

Dutch’s voice carried a chilling finality as he barked at Micah, “Go find John and his girl. Bring them back, now.”

Arthur’s heart raced, his chest tightening with panic as he stepped forward, planting himself firmly in Micah’s path. “You take one step toward them, and I’ll put you in the ground,” Arthur snarled, his voice low and brimming with fury. “They’re done with this, Dutch. And if Micah thinks he can drag ’em back here, he’ll have to deal with me first.” His hand hovered near his holster, his eyes blazing as they fixed on Micah, daring him to try.

The other gang members slowly began to emerge from the shadows, drawn by the raised voices and the unmistakable threat in Arthur’s tone. Their wary eyes darted between Arthur and Micah, the flicker of uncertainty spreading through the camp like wildfire as they inched closer, silently bracing for the confrontation to explode.

“Don’t mind if I do, cowpoke.”

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the abandoned homestead where you and John had been hiding out. The house was small and weather-worn, but it was quiet, secluded, and yours—for now. The sound of the breeze rustling through the tall pines outside was a soothing reminder of how far away the chaos of Beaver Hollow felt, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, life felt almost normal.

You stood at the kitchen counter, humming softly as you sliced a loaf of bread for dinner. John was nearby, oiling his new revolver at the rickety table in the center of the room, the furrow of concentration in his brow a familiar sight. His presence was steady, comforting, and you found yourself stealing glances at him as you worked, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re gonna make me nervous,” John teased without looking up, his voice carrying a playful warmth.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you set the knife down. “You? Nervous? Not likely,” you retorted, leaning against the counter as you watched him.

He smirked, his eyes flicking up to meet yours briefly before returning to his work. “Only when it comes to you,” he muttered, almost too low for you to hear, but the sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten.

The moment was interrupted by a faint sound from outside—a slow, deliberate trot of a horse approaching the house. Both of you froze, the easy warmth of the evening replaced instantly by a sharp tension. John’s hand moved instinctively to his revolver, his expression hardening as he stood.

“Stay here,” he said quietly, his voice firm but calm.

“John—” you started, but he cut you off with a look, his resolve clear.

He moved toward the door, his footsteps silent on the worn wooden floor. The weight of his revolver felt steady in his hand as he carefully pushed open the door and stepped onto the porch. The fading sunlight cast long shadows across the yard, but the figure on horseback was unmistakable.

“Who’s there?” John called out, his voice sharp, his revolver raised as he stepped forward cautiously.

The rider pulled the horse to a stop, holding up a hand in a gesture of peace. “Relax, John,” came the familiar, gravelly voice. “It’s me.”

John froze, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he recognized the figure. “Arthur?” he muttered, lowering the revolver slightly but keeping it in hand as he stepped closer.

Arthur dismounted, his movements deliberate and calm, and John let out a slow breath of relief. “You damn near got yourself shot,” John said, his voice tinged with exasperation as he slipped the revolver back into its holster. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”

Before Arthur could respond, you rushed out of the house, your heart racing at the sound of his voice. “Arthur?” you called, your eyes widening as you took in the sight of him standing in the yard.

Arthur turned, his expression softening slightly as he saw you.

“Evenin’, darlin’,” he said with a faint smile, tipping his hat.

You didn’t hesitate, crossing the yard to embrace him briefly, the familiarity of his presence grounding you. “What are you doin’ here?” you asked, echoing John’s question as you stepped back, concern flickering in your eyes.

Arthur glanced between the two of you, his expression turning serious. “Dutch is lookin’ for you,” he said, his voice low but firm. “The gang’s done—everyone’s scattered—but Dutch ain’t lettin’ go that easy. You two need to get outta here.”

John’s jaw tightened, “How’d you even find us?” he asked, his tone cautious.

Arthur reached into his saddlebag, pulling out a small bundle of belongings and handing it to John. “Been keepin’ an eye on things,” he admitted. “Figured you’d head somewhere quiet, and… well, let’s just say I’ve been takin’ care of your trail. Dutch ain’t the only one with eyes.”

John took the bundle, his expression softening as he looked down at the familiar items—spare clothes, a small leather pouch, and the wooden carving. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice breaking the silence as you looked at Arthur with gratitude.

Arthur shrugged, his gaze flicking back to you. “You two need to keep movin’,” Arthur said, his voice gruff but steady. “Dutch ain’t gonna stop, not while he thinks he’s got somethin’ to prove. You got a good spot here, but it won’t stay safe forever.”

John nodded, his jaw tightening as his hand came to rest on your shoulder. “We’ll move when we need to,” he said firmly, though there was an edge of uncertainty in his voice. “Don’t think I’ll ever stop lookin’ over my shoulder.”

Arthur stepped closer, his gaze meeting John’s. “That’s the way it is now,” he said quietly. “But you got her, and you got a chance to build somethin’ better. Don’t waste it.”

You felt the weight of his words settle over you, a reminder of the fragility of the life you were trying to carve out. “What about you, Arthur? What will you do?” you asked softly, your eyes searching his.

Arthur shrugged, his lips pressing into a thin line. “What I’ve been doin’,” he replied. “Keepin’ him off your trail, makin’ sure Dutch don’t drag anyone else down with him.” He paused, his voice softening.

“Ain’t much of a life, but it’s what I got left to give.”

The sadness in his tone made your chest ache, and you stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “Arthur…” you began, but he shook his head, offering you a faint, almost wistful smile.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said quietly.

The three of you stood in the quiet for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on all of you. Finally, Arthur stepped closer, his eyes meeting yours. “You take care of him, you hear?” he said, his voice low but filled with warmth.

You nodded, your chest tightening as he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, the gesture carrying a silent farewell. “Take care of yourself, Arthur,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly.

Arthur placed a hand on John’s shoulder, his grip firm but filled with a quiet sincerity that made John look him square in the eye. “You’re my brother, John,” Arthur said, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of everything they’d been through together. “Always have been, always will be. But it’s time you start actin’ like the man I know you can be. Take care of her, take care of yourself, and for once in your damn life, be safe.” The words hung heavily in the air, their meaning clear as Arthur’s gaze lingered, a mixture of affection and warning in his eyes before he gave John a small, almost reluctant smile.

John nodded slowly, his throat tightening as Arthur’s words sank in. “I’ll do right by her, Arthur,” he said, his voice rough but steady, the determination clear in his tone. “And by you. I ain’t lettin’ any of this go to waste.” He paused, his gaze meeting Arthur’s with a flicker of something unspoken—gratitude, maybe, or an understanding that only brothers could share. “You be safe too, y’hear?

He stepped back, giving John a nod before turning to his horse. “I’ll be around if you need me,” he said over his shoulder, his tone steady.

As Arthur mounted his horse and rode off into the fading light, you stood beside John, the weight of his warning settling heavily over you both. John slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer as you watched Arthur disappear into the trees.

“We’ll be alright,” John said softly, his voice steady but laced with determination. “We’ll figure it out.”

You leaned into him, the warmth of his presence grounding you as the night settled in.

You nodded, your eyes fixed on the spot where Arthur had disappeared into the darkness. “We have to,” you replied softly, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you as the stars above seemed to hold their breath.

The ranch stretched out before you, a sea of golden grass swaying gently in the warm breeze, the rolling hills framed by the distant, jagged peaks of the western frontier. The house you and John had built together stood sturdy against the open sky, its wooden beams weathered by sun and rain but still as solid as the day you first laid eyes on it. The barn, a recent addition, sat nestled beside it, the faint sounds of horses nickering inside blending with the rustle of the tall prairie grass.

You stood on the porch, your eyes scanning the horizon as the sun dipped lower, casting a soft amber glow across the land. From somewhere in the distance, you heard a high-pitched giggle, and your heart warmed instantly. Rachel’s laughter was unmistakable, a sound so full of life and joy that it seemed to chase away every shadow that had ever tried to cling to you.

John’s voice followed soon after, deep and steady as he playfully called after her. “Alright, missy, you come back here before I have to wrangle you like one of the horses!”

You smiled to yourself, leaning against the porch railing as you watched the two of them emerge from behind the barn. Rachel, her dark hair catching the sunlight, was running as fast as her little legs could carry her, clutching a small wooden horse John had carved for her. She squealed with delight as John caught up to her, scooping her up into his arms and spinning her around, her giggles carrying on the breeze.

“Another toy Pa made you?” You giggled before turning your gaze to him, “You’re gonna spoil her rotten, you know,” you called out, your voice laced with affection.

John turned toward you, Rachel perched on his hip, her tiny arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “What’s the point of havin’ a little girl if you can’t spoil her a bit?” he replied with a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he made his way up to the porch.

When he reached you, he set Rachel down, and she immediately darted toward you, wrapping her small hands around your leg. “Mama!” she said brightly, her face alight with happiness.

You bent down to scoop her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead as her laughter softened into contented giggles. John stood beside you, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as he looked out over the ranch, his expression peaceful but thoughtful.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the porch. Rachel wiggled in your arms, her small voice breaking the silence. “Papa, can we go see the horsies again? Just one more time?” she pleaded, her voice sweet but insistent.

John chuckled, his hand moving to ruffle her dark curls. “Not tonight, little miss,” he said gently, his voice warm. “It’s almost your bedtime, them horses’ll still be there in the mornin’.”

She pouted but didn’t resist as John scooped her up from your arms, her small hands resting on his broad shoulders as he carried her inside.

As Rachel nestled under her quilt, her dark curls splayed across the pillow, John sat on the edge of the bed. She looked up at John with wide, expectant eyes, clutching her quilt tightly. “Papa, can you tell me a story?” she asked sweetly, her voice soft as you leaned against the doorframe, a small smile tugging at your lips while you watched them.

“Alright, little miss,” he began with a faint smirk, “lemme tell you ‘bout your Uncle Arthur. Now, he was a real tough son of a gun—mean with a gun, meaner with a horse—but you know what he hated?” Rachel’s eyes widened, waiting for the answer. John leaned in, lowering his voice like he was about to tell her the biggest secret in the world. “Cats. Scared of ‘em. Wouldn’t admit it, but every time one came near, he’d get this look like he was facin’ down a grizzly.”

Rachel giggled, her little hands covering her mouth as she pictured it. “Uncle Arthur was scared of cats?”

“Oh yeah,” John nodded solemnly, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “And don’t get me started on his singin’. Tried to tell us it was ‘music,’ but sounded more like someone draggin’ a sack of rocks uphill.”

Rachel giggled harder, her laugh soft and sleepy, and John smiled, leaning down to tuck the quilt tighter around her. “He was one of a kind, your Uncle Arthur. Tough as nails, but he’d do anything for the people he loved. Even face a cat or two.” Rachel let out a little yawn, her eyes fluttering closed as she mumbled, “Goodnight, Papa.”

“Goodnight, little miss,” John said, brushing a stray curl from her face. “Uncle Arthur would’ve gotten a kick outta you.”

John stepped quietly out of Rachel’s room, pulling the door closed behind him with a soft click. He turned to you with a crooked grin, gently taking your hand and leading you toward the living room. As you settled onto the worn couch together, you raised an eyebrow at him, your tone playful but curious.

“Why do you tell her Arthur was scared of cats? You know that’s not true.” John chuckled, leaning back and draping an arm across the back of the couch.

“Because it’s funny,” he said with a smirk, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“That, and she laughs every time. ‘Sides, Arthur’d probably appreciate the laugh too, wherever he’s at.” His grin softened as he glanced at you, and you couldn’t help but shake your head, smiling despite yourself.

You shifted on the couch, the warmth of the fire casting a soft glow across the room, and slid closer to John. His arm, already draped over the back of the couch, tightened slightly around your shoulders as you moved, and you caught the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at his lips. Without a word, you swung your legs over his lap and nestled into him, your head resting against his chest. His free arm came up to wrap securely around your waist, holding you close like you were the only thing anchoring him to this moment.

As you nestled against John’s chest, your fingers brushed lightly over the faint lines along his face. The creases near his eyes softened as he relaxed, and you couldn’t help but admire how time had shaped him, adding depth to the man you loved. Your hand lingered on his jaw, the roughness of his stubble familiar and comforting as you let your gaze linger on him. He opened his eyes, catching you staring, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, darlin’, and I might start thinkin’ I’m handsome.”

You smirked, tilting your head as your fingers traced the edge of his jaw. “Might? John Marston, I think you’re already well aware,” you teased, your tone light but warm as your hand lingered against his cheek. “But don’t let it go to your head, or I might have to knock you down a peg.”

His lips brushed against your forehead in a tender, unhurried kiss, the warmth of the gesture sending a quiet flutter through your chest. “Reckon I’ll take my chances, Mrs. Marston,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and full of affection as he pulled you closer.

For a while, neither of you said anything, the quiet of the house settling over you both like a blanket. John’s fingers found their way to your hair, his calloused touch surprisingly gentle as he ran them through the strands. The rhythmic motion was soothing, his hand occasionally lingering at the back of your neck, his thumb brushing softly against your skin.

“I love you, you know,” he said suddenly, his voice low and rough, like the words had been sitting in his chest all night, waiting to come out. His hand stilled in your hair for a moment as he leaned down slightly, his forehead brushing against yours. “Every damn day, I wonder how I got this lucky, havin’ you here, with me.”

You lifted your head just enough to meet his gaze, the flickering light from the fireplace reflecting in his eyes. There was no teasing grin this time, no deflection—just raw, quiet sincerity that made your chest tighten. “I love you too, John,” you murmured, reaching up to rest a hand against his cheek, your thumb tracing the faint stubble there.

Your voice was quiet, almost as if you were speaking more to yourself than to him. “She’ll never know what we went through to bring her into the world,” you murmured. John’s hand stilled in your hair as his gaze drifted toward the closed door of Rachel’s room. There was a weight in your words, a mix of gratitude and sorrow that made his chest tighten. You lifted your head slightly to look at him, his fingers brushing against your jaw in a silent offer of comfort.

“And that’s how it should be,” he said softly, his voice steady but warm. “She gets to have the life we fought for. That’s all that matters.”

Your eyes flicked back to his, softening at his words, and you gave a small nod. “Yeah,” you said quietly, his arms tightening around you as if grounding himself in the moment. “Guess we did somethin’ right after all.”

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