#John beecher x reader

[laukoslovergirl]

Boston's Bad Bitches

Pairing: Wotherspoon!reader x the 3B's (Boston's bad bitches GC) (Platonic!Matthew Poitras, Brother!Parker Wotherspoon, Platonic!Jeremy Swayman, Platonic!Trent frederic, Platonic! John Beecher, Platonic!Mason Lohrei)

Warnings: language

Summary: y/n has integrated herself into the bruins and here's all the chaos that ensues? 

DISCLAIMER: I totally forgot beecher had a girlfriend so that's totally my bad sorry. I also ended up carrying this on way too much so there will be more texts, and added SMAU and a fic of who you end up with. I totally got carried away and fell in love with this idea, while trying to write something else so I hope you enjoy it! also no clear timeline so just enjoy how you please!!!

[toasttt11]

few more days

May 20, 2024

Lucia was sitting at a table facing the water, she was having lunch alone in Prague. The team had an off day and truthfully she just wanted alone time and to explore on her own.

Lucia was scrolling on her phone as she waited for her food to come out when John facetimed her.

“Hi.” Lucia smiled at the screen, she could tell John just woke up and wished she was laying in bed with him.

“Hi Luce.” John smiled admiring her on his phone, he couldn’t wait till he saw her in a few days.

John listened to Lucia talk about her day as she propped her phone up on the table as she was given her food.

“What are you doing after you come to Jersey?” John asked her once she finished talking, He was going to see her soon when they meet up in Jersey for the UFC Fight but he had a plan for after.

“Absolutely nothing until the twenty first.” Lucia responded as she took a bite of her bread, “Why?”

“Would you like to go on a trip with me? We would leave the day after the fight and could come back just before the twenty first.” John asked her slighty nervous but he had been planning this for a while being hopefully that she would say yes.

“Just us?” Lucia asked hopefully and John nodded with a smile, “Where are we going?” Lucia curiosity questioned she leaned closer to her phone looking eager and excited.

John smiled even wider realizing that was her saying yes to going.

“I’ll tell you one location we are going to go.” John shook his head fondly seeing her pout slighty realizing he was going to keep it a secret.

“Paris.” John nonchalantly told her watching her freeze in shock and then look at him incredulously.

“You’re kidding!” Lucia whispered shouted, she has dreamed of going to Paris since she was very little.

“Nope that’s our first stop.” John beamed at her, he’s had the idea of taking her on a trip to Paris since she mentioned she has always wanted to go.

“John Marino you are the best person ever.” Lucia was beaming so much as she said her words blowing him multiple kisses, she couldn’t believe she was going to go to Paris and all because of John.

John blushed at all the affection she was showing but was very pleased she is already this happy and they haven’t been gotten to Paris yet, “Anything for you my beautiful girl.”

Lucia’s face softened, every day she is reminded how lucky she is to hear loved by John, something she will never take for granted, “I wish i could kiss you right now.” Lucia grumbled slighty wishing she could be with John and thank him in person.

“Only a few more days.” John reassured her but he also wanted nothing more to hold her again and kiss her again.

“A few more days.” Lucia repeated, she has had fun playing in Worlds but she could not wait to finish the last two games and be able to see John in a few days.

[scarfacemarston]

Ok, but like, imagine a Modern Au reader buying Beecher's Hope and it being haunted. Maybe some sort of Ghost John x Reader goodness. (Or Ghost Abigail? ) Or finding Arthur and he's a ghost in your apartment, the two of you hit it off. Or just be friends with them if you don't want romance or helping them move to the after life. Could be an interesting prompt for you all!

[cobrakaisb]

🃏with johnny beecher and surprising him the night he scored his first nhl goal

he was not expecting to see you. you had told johnny that because of a work conflict you weren’t going to be able to make it to the game, but there you were, standing in the tunnel with some of the other wags. you were talking with the girls with your back to johnny, but he knew it was you. nobody else had a beecher jersey.

“y/n?” he calls, because imagine if it wasn’t you? you turn around at the sound of his voice, a big smile on your face as you walk to meet him halfway. he catches up to you first, picking you up and spinning you around, like something out of a movie. “i can’t believe you’re here,” he says, finally letting your feet hit the ground. “i never actually had a work thing, just wanted to surprise you,” you explain shyly. john laughs, pulling you into a big hug.

“i’m glad you made it baby,” he says, leaning back just enough so you can look at you. “me too! i would’ve been so mad if i missed this,” you tell him, kiss his cheek as he gives your waist a small squeeze.

[hihomeghere]

Here is my collection of Red Dead Redemption fics! I hope you enjoy! All of my fics are f!reader if not specifically mentioned

Smut 💋, Fluff 🪽, Angst 🗯️

Rdr2 Boyfriend vibes

John Marston

Burning Love Set in the epilogue of RDR2. You stumble upon John in Blackwater after being alone for years. When he invites you to visit Beecher's Hope, will you be able to fight feelings that have been building ever since you were kids? 🪽💋

Gloves John goes crazy over you dressed up for a job, more specifically your white gloves 🪽💋

Based off an ask 💋

Right Person, Wrong Time You and John have constantly been at each other's throats until you left the gang after he chose Abigail over you. When you return you find him gone, leaving Abigail and Jack. You create a relationship with Abigail and Jack, but what will happen when John returns? 🗯️💋

Part Two of Right Person, Wrong Time

Arthur Morgan

Fakin' It After a botched robbery, Arthur and you take refuge in a hotel, hiding from the O'Driscolls outside your door. When they do decide to search for you two, how will you throw them off your track? 💋

Fishing in the Dark You and Arthur have a private evening away from camp on the Dakota river. 🪽💋

Dreams Arthur starts having dreams of starting a family with you 🪽

My Eyes Only Arthur thinks you look like a work of art 🪽

Salt and Pepper Arthur notices his hair is starting to gray 🪽

Deserving. 6. I won't let anything happen to you, I swear. 34. I think you're showing. 36. You're glowing. 41. The baby loves hearing you sing/speak. 83. Was that a kick? 🪽

Blue Ain't Your Color Loosely based on the song, Blue Ain't Your Color 🪽

Little Things Arthur returns from a successful job and wants nothing more than to bury himself in you 💋

Prompts : #30 I just want to be yours. #50 We need to talk about last night 💋

First time : You want Arthur to be the one to take your virginity, you just dont want to tell him💋

Prompt : #4 "god, here- just hold my hand." Low Honor!Arthur

Arthur Morgan x Reader x Charles Smith

Baptized by Fire series masterlist

Charles Smith

Knight in Shining Armor 1. "Kiss me" "What-", 81. "Your heart is racing." 🪽💋

Prompts : 12 "You look so much softer, so much calmer, I wish you could see yourself as you sleep."13"Sleeping with you was the best sleep I've gotten in years." 54“Here, take my blanket.”55 “You’re cute when you smile, you should do it more often.” 61 “I said I’d take care of you.” 🪽

Desperado Set four months after Charles leaves with the Wapiti. You and Charles try to figure out what to do after the gang falls apart. Comfort fic 🪽

Javier Escuella

Prompt : #19 You're leaving now? 🗯️

Prompt: "You heard me. Take. It. Off.” "Do I look like I’ve moved on?”

Kieran Duffy

Prompt : #66 Were you touching yourself? 💋

[55sturn]

✮ SAYIN’ SORRY FOR THAT NIGHT

series masterlist!

paring: boston bruins player!chris sturniolo x fem!reader!

synopsis: in which y/n is greeted by a sudden revelation on the night of chris’ most anticipated game, the one that determines whether or not the bruins get into the playoffs and she’s left apologizing for the night that caused it all.

warnings: swearing, fluff, mentions and descriptions of violent fights, verbal arguments, unplanned pregnancy, discussion of abortions, comments from the other team and hecklers, open ending, angst, angst, angst, and more angst.

THIRD PERSON POV

to be in the limelight alone is tough. to be in it for something such a hockey, where a million and one eyes are watching your every move, scrutinizing every play you make, every workout you do to toughen your body and build your endurance for the tasking time spent on the ice is even tougher, but to do all of that with a public relationship is the toughest thing.

chris knew that announcing his relationship at the peak of his career with the boston bruins was not going to be easy. he had all eyes on him as the bruins' newest right winger, but not only was he the newest player, he was also the youngest to join in years.

just like connor mcdavid's rise to fame with the edmonton oilers, chris was in the spotlight and it wasn't easy. he was in the spotlight because he was a phenomenal player with a chipper attitude that most hockey players don't seem to have. he had been scouted at one of his toughest games in his college career and almost immediately the contracts began flowing and the drafting process had started.

as eyes of everyone involved in the hockey world began to shift to the star of what they called "the boston bruins' new era and future captain", so did the female attention. not only was chris good at what he did, but he was insanely good looking, at least to the younger female demographic that had taken an interest in hockey.

but he didn't care for the, for a lack of a better name, puck bunnies or the future hockey wives in training, he had his own hockey wife sitting front row in the v.i.p section at every game, smiling as she watched him zip back and forth between his teammates and the teammates that he was facing

as he announced who the mystery girl in his practice jersey at every game was, he faced an onslaught of even more hate disguised as criticism and scrutiny from devout bruins fans, potential drafting scouts, and anyone willing to spare an opinion. but as the rather distasteful comments rolled in, his skin grew thicker, because as long as he had her to go home to, he could handle it.

PRESENT TIME

chris sat on the bench in the hallway adorning the infamous bruins logos, each brick in the wall holding some sort of history of the team, twirling tape around the blade of his stick. he found the dressing room too stuffy right before a game, so he and john beecher sat outside the dressing room, joking amongst themselves as they prepared for the game.

"cmon man, you played big games before you'll be fine." john chuckled, handing chris back his spare roll of stick tape as chris sighed.

"i know, it's just a big fuckin' game tonight. haven't played montreal yet."

"wait this is your first game against montreal?"

"yes and as a boston native, i know this is the game, just don't wanna fuck up when this decides whether or not we make it to playoffs."

"kid you'll be fine, you've outdone mcdavid's first year and that's pretty fuckin' bizarre 'cause he's a powerhouse." beecher reassured, clapping the young right winger on the shoulder before heading back to the dressing room. chris stared at the wall across, still struggling to comprehend how his life has become the way it is, he's incredibly grateful for the opportunities he's gotten and proud of the work he's put in, it's just still hard to fathom.

sensing that she should give her boyfriend a quick visit before he went on to the ice, y/n made her way through the crowds of people, smiling at the fans that addressed her, politely declining to take pictures until after the game. she proudly donned a large "8" and the name "STURNIOLO" scrawled across the back of a black away-game jersey and black jeans and her trusty, yet dirty, air forces, proudly showing her support for the man she's loved for six years, since she was a small fourteen year old navigating her year of high school with the triplets by her side.

the thin plastic stick weighed heavy in the pocket of her hoodie she wore beneath the jersey, she was about to tell chris about it, to give him a little motivation to play extra hard. but when she spotted the reporter’s mic pointed toward his helmet covered face, she placed that idea on the back burner. smiling she approached chris,

“hey mister big shot.” she laughed, causing chris to grin as he introduced her to the reported as his girlfriend. the reporter quickly bid the couple goodbye, leaving them to have their moment together.

“hey so i’ve got some really good news for you.” y/n smiled, smoothing her hands over his shoulder pads as he tugged off his helmet, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

“listen i wanna go be apart of the chant so i need to go, can this news wait?”

“i guess so. give ‘em hell baby, i love you.”

“always ma, i love you.” chris replied, bouncing on his skates slightly before shoving his helmet back on, quickly shoving his way through the door leading to short hallway his team would walk through.

y/n stared at his back, watching him fade away as she was left to mull over the news she was about to tell chris. it was the start of his career and she didn’t want to derail it any, so the choice between telling him now or tell him in a month waged a violent war in her mind.

shaking her head, she made her way back to the staircase leading to the v.i.p section, as she wove through crowds of people, she heard the gasps and murmurs.

“that’s who the new bruins guy is dating? i won’t be shocked when he starts fucking the puck sluts in a month.”

“she looks out of place and that jersey is so unflattering on her.”

“i hope sturniolo comes to his senses and dumps her ass soon.”

scoffing, y/n climbed the stairs, pushing the overwhelmingly upsetting thoughts from her mind as she spotted nick and matt in their seats. breaking the news to someone was imperative to her, not telling someone would break her but she didn’t know whether she should tell someone before chris.

of course she and chris had talked about their views on starting a family together and the idea of raising a baby together but there was one issue,

chris wanted to wait until secured a long term contract with the bruins. he didn’t want anything to deter his plans. and y/n understood, he has worked so unbelievably hard to get to the position he’s in now. starting a family takes a lot of dedication, time, effort, and devotion without distractions. chris was concerned that if they had a baby early on in his professional hockey career, she’d be left alone to carry out so many of the responsibilities that being a parent brought on.

so as y/n made her way to her designated seat, her heart felt heavy. her doubts only grew with every step she took, and it felt like her body had been held down, it was as if she had cinder blocks chained to her ankles. as she sat beside nick, he picked up on her mood, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that sonething was bothering her though. nick bumped her elbow with his, as if to ask what’s wrong and she just smiled and shook her head.

mary-lou, who was sat behind y/n and her three sons, immediately knew what was going on. y/n had a certain glow to her, despite the sorrowful look that had become deeply etched into her skin. she knew that pained expression anywhere, she understood what the taut shoulders, pinched eyebrows, and distraught gleam in her eyes all too well. but the older woman put her excitement about becoming a grandmother off to the side, deciding she’d wait to gloat until y/n had accepted the idea her self.

the family conversed among themselves while the teams prepared to saunter out onto the ice, letting the fans get hyped up. a voice boomed from above, prompting cheers and hollers from the people taking up the stands.

“please welcome your home team, the boston bruins!” the commentator exclaimed, dragging out the words boston bruins in typical emcee fashion, allowing the fans and supporters chant for their team as he played the bruins’ intro song as they skated onto the ice one by one, the emcee announcing the names and numbers above the music.

y/n couldn’t help but lett the pride and excitement she felt show brightly on her face, despite the worries she suffered deep down. she was so incredibly proud of chris, him landing a secure spot on the bruins was a long time coming. it was his dream back in high school the moment he secured a spot on his high school’s team with ease. he was a natural born hockey player and it showed through the surplus of dedication he put into it. and y/n felt more than lucky to be there on the sidelines from the very beginning.

as the emcee asked from everyone to stand for the national anthem, a cheesy grin broke out on her face as chris stood on the offensive line facing the vip box, and pointed up to where he knew she’d be sitting before forming his hand into the best half heart possible that his bulky gloves would allow. she felt her cheeks warm with a deep blush as chris’ family playfully teased her for having their brother and son completely and unfalteringly whipped.

“shut up!” she laughed, her nerves drifting away as the game started. the excitement she never failed to feel at every single one of chris’ games, whether it was just him filling in for the local adult men’s teams or an exhibition game for his old college team, she was always filled with adrenaline as she stood and sat in the stands.

but that was expected when born into a city that favours the winter sport, you were either born with the excitement coursing through your veins or you were born with a deep hatred for it filling every crevice of your body. there was no in between.

y/n cheered along with chris’ family as he zipped, swerved, bobbed, and weaved up and down the ice. that was one thing that most players envied chris for, he was fast and slick, almost as if he was water slipping through your fingers.

and not only was he fast, he held great control over the puck as she moved down the ice, the puck never got away from him as he maneuvered it between players, alternating which side his stick was covering and pushing it.

there was fifteen seconds left in the second period and both montreal and boston held three goals each as chris stood for a moment back checking as his teammates guarding him, and with five seconds ticking down, he delivered a brutal slap shot, sending the puck into the net behind carey price who had dropped to block it a second too late.

the bruins fans’ side of the stands erupted in loud cheers, and so did y/n and chris’ family, his parents laughing giddily as matt made a backhanded comment about price being too old for goaltending.

“i will be right back, i have to use the washroom.” y/n interjects, letting nick know where she’d while the rest of them grabbed drinks.

“yo y/n, you drink budlight right?” justin hums, causing her stomach to drop, her usual habit of having a beer with them at chris’ games being something she hadn’t even considered.

“uh can you just grab me an iced tea? i’ve got an early appointment tomorrow and i’d rather not show up at my doctor’s smelling like beer.” she laughs nervously, causing justin to shrug and accept her answer before heading off to the concession stand near the entrance of the vip box.

“i’ll come with you, i’ve got to use the ladie’s room too.” mary-lou hums, smiling appreciatively as y/n waited for her.

however as they made their way to back of the section they were sitting in, mary-lou motioned for y/n to follow her out into the small hallway that lead to the smoking doors, it was empty as the two stood there.

“how far along are you?” mary-lou whispers, unable to withhold her suspicions any longer, and the abrupt question had y/n’s stomach twisting into more knots than it was already in.

“wha-how did you figure it out?”

“i’ve had my suspicions for a while, the last time you were over i heard you throwing up, and you’ve got the pregnancy glow. plus you’ve been wearing baggy clothes and you aren’t drinking tonight.”

“fuck. sorry for my language. but i think i’m about two and a half months along. last month i just thought my period was late because i was sick and when i get sick, my period is normally late. but then i missed this month’s too and it clicked.”

“have you told chris yet?” mary-lou spoke, her voice soft as she rest a reassuring hand on her future daughter in law’s arm as she shook her head.

“i wanted to tell him before the game, to give him a little motive to play harder but he didn’t want to miss the chant and pep talk so he left before i could say anything about it. i’ve got the test in my pocket and i know it’s not smart to go off just one test so that’s why i’m going to the doctor tomorrow.”

“well i think you should tell him, i think he’ll be happy.”

“that’s what i’m worried about, he wanted to wait until he secured a long term contract. we had this conversation about a month ago.”

“you can’t necessarily control these things. a family comes to be when it’s meant to happen, not when you want it to happen.”

mary-lou’s words stuck deep in y/n’s mind. she knew that chris’ mother was right. y/n had just wished her and chris were a bit more careful that drunken night in the hotel.

FLASHBACK

chris and y/n’s drunken giggles bounced off the walls as they pushed their way into their room. they had gone out for dinner with the team and eventually broke off on their own after swiping two of the complementary bottles of champagne that the teams managers had provided.

they stumbled through the city after hiding in an empty room in the banquet hall, chugging the nasty liquor as quick as they could handle on empty stomachs.

“god baby, you look so pretty in this dress, just wanna tear it off you.” chris rasped, his cheeks flushing and eyes drooping, from the alcohol, or the effect his girlfriend had on him, or maybe even both, she wasn’t quite sure. making him look all the more enticing to y/n.

“do it then.” y/n slurred back, pulling chris into a messy, sloppy, yet incredibly hot, like searingly hot, make out, chris’ hands roamed her body feverishly, unable to stay in one place very long.

as their ministration progressed, so did their desire for one another and the lingering buzz they had from the alcohol left room for a few less than sound decisions. chris drunkenly justified going in raw by saying “just wanna feel as close to you as possible.” and that was all the convincing y/n needed, but she made him promise to pull out in time.

but due to their inebriation, chris wasn’t quick enough but they had long forgotten it by the time morning came.

FLASHBACK OVER

and now she was paying the price for them being reckless. sighing, she made her way back to her seat just as the intermission ended and chris' team made their way back to the home bench, their net switching back to the end they started out on.

it wasn't too far into the third period when the canadiens were getting aggressive, the score was eight to five in favour of boston and montreal was getting mad that they were losing the game, the most awaited game since it was announced boston and montreal would be facing each other to land a bracket in the playoffs.

the fact that it was also playoff season made y/n's stomach twist even tighter, she felt sick. she was so scared she was going to fuck up chris' life plan and she couldn't bear that idea.

but her current worries were thrown on the back burner when she watched a much bigger player from montreal's team check chris, sending him flying back against the ice, his head ricocheting off the ice, leaving chris laying flat on the ice.

chris' coach calls a time-out while paramedics quickly make their way onto the ice, carrying chris off the ice, and before y/n could react, she was pushing her way through the bustling crowd and stomping down the stairs, quickly sprinting to chris' change room.

"i'm sorry ma'am but you can't be in here."

"i'm his fiance." y/n spits, pushing her way into the change room, immediately rushing to chris, raising her hand to play with his hair, pausing momentarily to silently ask for permission which was granted by him leaning into her touch.

"we're okay, if anything happens, we'll call for you." chris rasps, waving away the paramedics, sighing sadly after being told he's not allowed back on the ice for the rest of the game to prevent being knocked around again because he was highly vulnerable to getting a concussion right now.

"tell me something to distract me, baby." chris whispers, pulling y/n into his lap, the bulky padding beneath her feeling foreign as she leans her head on his shoulder.

"i'm not sure what to talk about." she laughs as he rubs his hand back and forth along her thigh.

"your news from earlier."

"oh." she squeaks, her voice almost inaudible as she realizes that it's now or never. sighing, she grabs the test out of her pocket from beneath the spare jersey she wore, placing it into chris' hand with a heartbroken expression and timid voice,

"we're pregnant, chris."

taglist: @dylsdunbar @verosivy @soursturniolo @4sturns @sturnsclutter @spencerstits @meanttomeet @bluesturniolo333 @graciereid @abbie13sworld @ghostofbrock @l9vesick @mylifeisevenstranger @bethsturn @ifilwtmfc @themattgirl @lovingmattysposts @lacysturniolo @freshsturns @forevergirlposts @sturniolo-fav-matt @cupidsword @strawberrysturniolo @lustfulslxt @sturnifyed @carolsturns1 @teapartyprincess4two @mangosrar @querenciasturniolo @pinklittleflower @cutenote @ellie-luvsfics

© 55STURN 2024 [ you do not have permission to copy or save or share my work to other platforms and devices! ]

[gicosmo]

Damn Those Marstons

Jack Marston x Fem!Reader.

Hey, RDR fans! I got into RDR2 a few months back and I literally binge watched play throughs of RDR1. This angsty idea for Jack popped up(because he can never be happy😔) and I just had to write it!

Synopsis: You’ve been with Jack for a few months now. When he asks you to meet his family, you would’ve never thought you would be meeting one of the two outlaws who killed your father.

Warnings: Takes place during RDR1(1914)(Jack is nineteen), alternate universe where the Marston family lives a bit longer lol, John uses his fake name ‘Jim Milton’, a little bit of arguing, just really sad angst.

“Can I tell you both somethin’?” Jack piped up at the dinner table, placing his spoon down into his bowl. Abigail and John immediately looked up at him, confusion written on both of their faces. It was pretty unusual for Jack to get all serious at random. Abigail nodded, “Of course. You can tell us anything, Jack.” She reached over, giving a gentle reassuring pat on his shoulder.

John remained quiet, observing his son. If anything, he was quite on edge, not wanting any bad news. Jack took a deep breath before a smile appeared on his face, “I’ve been seeing this lady. God— Ma, you’ll love her! She’s the sweetest, most loving lady you’ll meet.” Jack’s eyes sparkled as he went on a rant about his girlfriend. Abigail and John were shocked in the moment, but then proceeded to smile. They would be lying to themselves if they said they weren’t happy that Jack had finally found someone.

John chuckled as he looked at Abigail, “Looks like our boy is head over heels! When can we meet her, son?” Jack paused, thinking for a moment.

“How about tomorrow?” Jack answered, looking over at his mother, “If that’s okay with you, ma.”

Abigail laughed, nodding her head, “Of course it’s okay with me! I’ll cook a nice dinner for the four of us! I can’t wait to meet her.”

Jack was ecstatic! He was in his bed, looking up at the ceiling being unable to fall asleep. He couldn’t wait for you to meet his family. His mind was racing until he eventually tired himself out.

In the morning Jack was already at your front door. You opened it with a bright smile on your face, “Well I wasn’t expecting you today. Why do you have the dumb smile on your face? What are you planning?” You walked up to him, Jack leaning down to plant a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“I ain’t planning nothin’! Just… Will you come have dinner with my parents? Today?” Jack blurted out. It was evident he was pretty excited about this. You were taken aback by this. Dinner? With his parents?

You giggled sheepishly, “Geez, Jack. I wish you told me this sooner. I don’t think I got any nice clothes to give a good first impression��” Jack shook his head, grabbing your hands into his, “No need for fancy clothes no nothing. My parents don’t care about your wealth. They care about who you are.”

His words melted your heart. Jack bent down, pulling you in for a soft tender kiss. You always loved how gentle he was with you. Once he pulled away, you stepped back into your home, “Let me tell my mother i’ll be gone for a while. Mind waiting out here while I get ready?”

“Anything for you, darlin’.”

-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-)-

After getting ready, Jack helped you onto his horse and rode back to his home. The horse ride wasn’t silent what so ever as Jack couldn’t help but tell you how excited he was. All you could do was smile. It was nice seeing your lover get so excited about something.

Once you both arrive at Beechers Hope, he helped you off of the horse. He held your hand as you both walked up the step of his home. Abigail opened the door with a smile, “Why, hello! You must be the little lady Jack has been talking on and on about!” She walked up to you, giving you a friendly hug.

“Cmon now Ma— Don’t embarrass me like that…” Jack muttered, scratching his head and turning away out of embarrassment. Abigail rolled her eyes, “There’s nothing embarrassing about loving a lady! Now come on in! Dinner is almost ready!” She led you both inside the house, the scent of a good meal in the air.

“Where’s Pa?” Jack questioned, pulling a chair out for you to sit in. Abigail sighed and shrugged, “Joh— I mean, Jim went out a while ago. He said he’ll be back. He most definitely doesn’t want to miss out on this.” She reassured Jack.

Abigail sat down at the table with the both of you. She seemed like a lovely young woman. Sweet yet had a fierce aura to her. She questioned you about your home life, how you met Jack, all the basic questions a parent would ask their child’s lover.

You were honest with her. You told her how it was just you and your mother since your father was killed by some bad people when you were a kid. You spoke about how you only had some insight of two of the men who took your father’s life, hoping you wouldn’t run into them again. You spoke about how you met Jack while shopping for books, how the love for literature brought you both together.

Talking with Abigail felt so natural, both of you didn’t seem to notice someone enter the home. Jack smiled, “Took you long enough, sir.” You turned your head and immediately froze. All you could do was stare at the man with scars on his face.

“Took you long enough, Jim!” Abigail got up, gently slapping her husband’s arm. The man looked at you and smiled, “You must be the lovely lady Jack can’t shut up about! Nice to meet ya! I’m Jim. Jim Milton! You’ve already met Abigail…” You couldn’t hear his words anymore. Everything your boyfriend has told you was a lie.

There was no one named Jim Milton in this home. There wasn’t a Milton at all. The man in front of you was none other than John Marston. Jack wasn’t a Milton either. He was a Marston. They all were.

Your vision became blurry, your ears were ringing so loud. You couldn’t think straight. What could you do? What can you do?

You needed to leave.

“Hun? You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost…” You snapped back into reality as Jack held your hands gently, looking at you with concern. You gently pushed him away, shaking your head.

“I need to leave. Excuse me.” You pushed Jack out of the way, but he immediately grabbed your wrist. “Hey hey, what’s wrong? Did we do something? Did I do something?” Jack questioned, obviously really confused and concerned.

That’s when you just snapped. You couldn’t take the pain anymore.

“As a matter of fact you did do something. Marston.” You spat at him, Jack instantly taken aback by your outburst. Abigail gasped, her hands cupping over her mouth. John froze, if anything he was terrified at the fact that you knew who they were.

“Is this what people like you do, Marston!? You kill people who had families to go back to while you’re here living a great life with your family!?” You yelled at John. Jack glanced at his father, confused and utterly shocked.

Tears fell from your face as you shook your head, “You took my father from me. I was just a kid… How come you can live your best life, seeing your child grow up… But my father can’t?” You looked at all three of them before looking at Jack,

“I can’t be with the son of an outlaw. Especially to the outlaw that took my father’s life,” You looked back at John and Abigail, “If you’re worried about me telling others about where you live, don’t. I get nothing out of revenge. Just know that your actions will catch up to you. You can never leave your old life to live a new. It happened to my father, it will happen to you.”

You walked towards the front door, “I hope you all enjoy your lives. Goodbye.” With that, you left the home. You heard the front door swing up, footsteps rushing towards you. Turning around, it was Jack.

“Darlin’! Please, don’t leave. Look, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I know my Pa has done some horrible things— But I swear he’s a changed man!” Jack pulled you into an embrace, “You’re the best thing that has happened to me in so long. I— I love you…”

Jack’s words were sincere. They really were. But you couldn’t shake the disgusting feeling off of you. You gently pushed him off from you,

“Jack. I love you— Well… I loved you too. But I know my father would be rolling in his grave knowing I was dating the son of the man who killed him.”

Jack’s heart sunk. He couldn’t do anything but watch you walk away. What can he even say? It wasn’t long until John came out to check up on his son.

John reached down to place a hand on Jack’s shoulder, immediately getting rejected by him. Jack glared at his father, “Damnit old man, You’ve made my life a living hell. I can forgive you for so many other things you’ve done. But this? I don’t know if I can.”

Jack bumped his father’s shoulder as he walked back into the house. Abigail tried to comfort him, but he immediately shut that down. John and Abigail had a lot to talk about.

It took you a long while to get back home. Your mother greeted you with a loving smile, but all you could do was cry in her arms. She didn’t question nor judge you, she did what a mother does best and held you. Telling you it was going to be okay.

Damn those Marstons.

Damn that sweet loving boy you fell in love with.

And damn your heart for still loving him.

[adnauseum11]

Bottom Line Up Front (John Price x Reader)

Kate updates John on what her reconnaissance has uncovered.

1k words

CW: swearing, allusion to past sexual assault

feedback welcome!

Kate checks the incoming number on her ringing cell before swiveling away from her computer screen and answering. Her favourite current retiree is checking in, right on schedule, saving her a call. 

“John, how are things?”

“Alright Kate, any news there?” John asks, paused at a stop light after dropping his love off at work. 

“Yeah, actually. Let’s start with if you’re aware that there’s a photo of you and your lady on the internet, shall we?” 

Kate asks, already knowing the answer. 

“What?” 

It gets John’s full attention. He’s navigating back to his love’s place, and nearly misses his turn at Kate’s revelation.

“Yeah, were you at a pub recently?”

“A few.” John stays cagey, unused to his habits off duty being under a microscope. 

“Well, there is one over on Beecher’s Lane using a photo of you and a woman to advertise online.”  

“Ah Christ, I knew that was trouble. She does trivia nights with her mates there.” He says by way of explanation. 

He leaves out the part about her triumphant face at finally making it on to the leader board swaying his better judgement about the photo. Years of scrupulous image control to maintain his professionalism undone a few months into dating. Bloody hell. 

“Well, they scanned it and posted it up. I can see why though, she’s very pretty. Well done, John. I can see why you kept her to yourself.”

“Alright, easy, you’re happily married Kate.” 

John reminds her, a wave of possessiveness sweeping through him. 

“Yeah, married but not dead.” 

“She’s spoken for.” John growls, navigating a roundabout while Kate irritates him from afar. 

“Obviously. I did some digging on my end on the name you gave. It’s come back with some colourful info. He’s ex-army, dishonorable discharged for sexual assault years ago. He’s done contract work in the past; one was with some of Col. Norris’ men. Ring any bells on that name?” 

John’s processing as he drives, a sinking feeling in his gut.

“Of course, you think there’s more of a connection there?” 

John’s memory of threatening the Colonel is clear as day, although it had been years and a long road since that incident. The mention of sexual assault has him tightening his grip on the steering wheel unconsciously. 

“Norris is involved in the contract you turned down, that Gaz is on right now. Not sure yet, it is unusual that there would be a connection for a random B&E. I’m going to keep poking around. Certainly, it feels off. Your instincts remain sound, Captain.” Kate acknowledges John’s talent for uncovering bullshit.

John hums, internally thankful he’s already on his way to his love’s place to poke around and doubly grateful he turned down the contract weeks ago. He adds stopping by the pub to his list of errands.

“He didn’t put up much of a fight when I got there. You say he’s ex-army?”

“Well, personally, I think your reputation may have preceded you. If connection to you is what brought attention on her, they’d be looking to confirm they have the right woman, not rob her. He likely would have known you on sight, probably chose the best course of action to preserve his neck in the moment when the wrong person turned up.”

John’s blood runs cold as he pulls into his love's driveway. He idles in the car, staring at the door and the busted doorhandle, still unfixed, as dread sits like lead in his stomach. John’s done too much to be naïve to the potential outcomes.

“You think someone wants to leverage her against me? Norris?” John’s putting the information together quickly, following instincts.  

“Maybe. You’ve certainly given him no reason to like you, and he could be harbouring a grudge for the way his men were treated. He’s got an ego and a chip on his shoulder. Like I said, I’m going to keep flipping stones. There’s nothing solid there yet.”

John sighs, scratching his cheek before replying.

“Alright, thanks Kate. I’d hate to be right on this, but better to get ahead of it. Maybe let Gaz know something is up, if it’s connection to me they’re after. Better safe than sorry.”

“Already in motion. In the meantime, it goes without saying that I would encourage you to keep her away from the apartment.”

Kate swivels back to her computer, a notification blinking in the bottom corner.

“She won’t be going back. She’s moving out.” 

“You found a place that quickly? Impressive, John.” 

Kate’s tone is vaguely distracted as she reads the incoming message.

“She’s moved in with me.”

There’s a pregnant pause on the other end of the line for a moment. John has a feeling he has her full attention once again.

“Well, I suppose that makes sense, but that’s moving faster than I would have expected from a bachelor like yourself, Captain. What’s next, going to marry her before spring rolls around?” 

John presses his lips together in exasperation. Kate is teasing but there’s a vein of incredulity running underneath her comments that John can hear. He can’t totally blame her; this part of his life had been strictly off-limits. For the exact reason unfolding now, to his immense frustration. From the outside looking in, it would look like sudden madness, he’s sure. On some level, he wonders if it is, a man like him trying to retire into a normal life. 

“I don’t need time to get to know her Kate, I’ve known her forever.” John reminds her.  “Christ, you’re making me miss dealing with Simon. He doesn’t ask this many questions.”

“Who do you think found the photo, John?” 

He finally turns the car off, exhaling into the phone. 

“Jesus Christ, Kate.”

“He was concerned that you were slipping, letting that get posted. He’ll be relieved to know you sniffed this out.”

“Him and I both. Keep me posted on what else you find.”

John’s back to giving orders he’s no longer got any business giving and Kate humours him, the stress in his voice evident to her long-trained ear.

“Rog that, John. You keep yourselves safe until we get more details.”

Next Chapter

Tag list:

@deadbranch @beebeechaos @cadotoast @syoddeye @writeforfandoms @itr-00 @chloepluto1306 @batw3nch

[6emo6zombie6]

heyyyy!! I was wondering if you could write about adult Jack Marston with a fem reader who is reserved, and quiet? Abigail and John are alive and Jack invites her over to beechers hope for dinner with his parents, can you write about each of their perspectives on her? (like what they think about her, her personality, etc.)

also, I wanted to thank you so much for you answering my other requests, youre such a good writer like AHH <33.

Hiii!!! I hope this is what you had in mind, had a little delay again because of school stuff ;(

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The lion and the lamb ~~~~~ Jack Marston x reader

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“And… you’re sure they’ll approve of me?” You asked for what seemed like the millionth time to Jack. You’d agreed to let him pick you up to formally introduce you to his parents and have dinner with them. Your anxiety had started to peak once Jack rode the two of you onto Beecher’s Hope, the house in the middle of the plot nearing.

“Yes,” Jack answered with a soft sigh. “I’m sure they will, my sweet. Nothin’ to worry about, okay?”

“Okay,” You nodded to yourself, chewing on your lip as you held onto Jack.

It wasn’t long before his horse came to a stop in front of the house. He got off with a swift motion, then helped you off like a true gentleman. You fixed your dress before walking up toward the porch, Jack’s mother and father already standing on it.

His mother looked like a sweet, yet somewhat stern woman, beautiful as can be. His father looked as rugged as him, their faces nearly identical.

Jack promptly introduced the three of you.

“This is my mother, Abigail—and my father, John.”

You gave a soft nod, shaking their hands before engaging in small talk.

Abigail was surprised at how soft and proper you spoke, not to mention the nice dress that made you look overdressed next to Jack. She wondered how a gentle soul such as you had been able to tame her rugged, gunslinger of a son.

Besides that, she was also intimidated, though not showing her worry as she spoke. You looked well-mannered and rich—her ranch must be a dump compared to the place you lived in. Even in her nicest evening wear she looked like a pawn next to you.

John, on the other hand, was proud of his son for finding a girl so gentle. He’d always been afraid of his son falling back in with the wrong people, that life was no longer one he wished to pursue. Jack looked more than happy to be with you, and somehow you had managed to break down his walls.

“Well,” Abigail broke a short silence, taking a last peek at your attire. “Let's head inside, then. Dinner’s cookin’.”

You glanced at Jack as he led you inside, the house smelling like leather and wood.

“You two can sit,” Abigail smiled, walking along the hallway to prepare the food. John stood in the living room, his hand resting on his gun belt awkwardly. He looked at the hallway in search of his wife, clearing his throat when he realized she wasn’t there.

“So,” He began, taking a seat at the table together with you and Jack. He sat opposite of you. “Jack treatin’ you right?”

Obviously, John was concerned about whether or not his son was treating his girlfriend decently. He wasn’t raised to think differently.

You blush softly.

“Yes, sir.” You nod, glancing at Jack.

“Good, good.” He nodded. “If that boy ever hurts you, you come to me, alright?” John could tell you were a frigid girl, someone he never expected to be with his son. He felt an overwhelming urge to protect you, the same urge you knew from Jack. He seemed to always be protecting you from other people, always treating you like you were about to break in his hands.

Jack gave his father a quick, slightly annoyed glance. John didn’t notice the glance, he was too busy inspecting you and trying to read you. You were a tad mysterious and hard to predict, seeing as you were so quiet and awkward, though you seemed to be at ease at the same time.

A few moments went by in silence before Abigail walked into the main area of the house, carrying two plates of stew. She placed the two plates in front of you and Jack before walking back to the kitchen to grab a plate for John and herself. She sat down at the table with a somewhat pensive expression.

“Thank you,” You smiled softly. Abigail couldn’t read whether or not you were truly thankful or just polite, but she smiled back anyway, going with the former for her comfort.

“Well then, dig in,” She said in a high-pitched tone, straightening her back as she scooped a spoonful of stew in her mouth.

“So,” She spoke up amidst the scraping of spoons, looking at you as you properly scooped away from yourself and blew at your food. “Tell us about yourself--what are your parents like?”

You take a quick bite before talking. Your voice was soft as you grew slightly anxious, three pairs of eyes fixed on you. “My mother’s a fine young woman,” you spoke positively, seeming to cheer up at the thought of your mother. “Daddy left us when I was just a girl… left me and momma with little money.” You spoke softly, failing to look either of Jack’s parents in the eye.

“But you’re uh… financially stable, as of now?” John asked, not aware of how rude of a question it was. You caught a glimpse of Abigail nudging her husband, making him shoot a confused glance at her, then at you.

“Uhm,” You blush, not entirely sure if that was an appropriate matter to discuss over dinner. Maybe it was, you weren’t usually all too social.

“We—we aren’t all that rich,” You stated sheepishly, taking another bite of your food.

Abigail gave a confused glance, though her face became neutral again as she realized her expression was slightly rude. She could’ve sworn you were a rich girl, she’d already imagined you living on some plantation with your family.

You caught her glance just in time, knowing she was puzzled by how you looked like you were part of a higher social class than she and her family were.

You smile softly, looking down with a blush.

“My momma’s very concerned with looking proper…” You mumble, shrugging lightly. “We ain’t got much to spend but she likes us to look like we do.”

“hm,” Abigail hummed, her expression softening now that she felt less pressured to impress you. Part of her wanted her son to marry into a rich family, but the part that wanted him to simply be happy had the upper hand.

“You’re a fine young lady,” She smiled, a genuine, sweet smile spreading across her cheeks. “My boy could use a well-mannered girl such as yourself.”

Abigail saw herself In you in a way; a young, slightly lost girl who’d somehow gotten herself mingled in the trance of a gunslinger. She could tell you were tough behind all the layers of shy, polite mannerisms. In a way, you were much like her son, yet the opposite.

“what is it you… uh—do in your free time?” John asked. He didn’t care about your answer, but he felt that he should know you well before you married his son, as one should. He was almost certain you were the one for his boy, the two of you could learn a lot from one another.

“I help my momma with chores,” You reply, shrugging softly as you realize you actually had little free time, all your time away from home and work was when you were together with Jack. “I don’t got much free time, me and momma both work since there ain’t no man in the house.”

John knew you left out the part where you hung out with Jack all the time. He was aware his son wasn’t always helping around the ranch, and he always came back smelling faintly of ladies’ perfume. He saw no harm in it, though. He knew you were safe with Jack.

“I admire that,” Abigail smiled, somewhat impressed. She didn’t know many women who worked to support the family. If you were to stay at their ranch, she was sure you were more than capable of helping out.

You smiled back and looked at your plate as you started to blush. You weren’t very used to getting compliments or praise from anyone other than Jack, even if he was stubborn and generally not good at showing his emotions. You grew shy again, taking a few bites of your stew.

Jack noticed you retreating into your shell, so he took the lead and started talking about you. It wasn’t long before he started rambling on and on about you, switching over to another subject, then back to you again. You stayed silent and focused on your food, nodding and humming when Jack said something that was correct. You answered a couple of additional questions that his parents asked, keeping the somewhat awkward conversation going until all of your plates were empty. Abigail promptly cleaned off the table and John followed her to the kitchen, using the privacy to talk about you.

You sat up and straightened your dress, making sure you hadn’t spilled anything on yourself. You never understood why your mother made you wear such bright colors, knowing you would get it dirty.

“It’s best I go now,” You say sheepishly, afraid Jack might judge you. He never did, not once. “Momma told me to be home before sundown.”

“Right,” Jack nodded, getting up out of his seat. He stared at you for a few seconds, taking in how gorgeous you looked. He hadn’t even told you that.

“You look like an angel,” He said with a soft smile, a few strands of his greasy dark hair hanging in front of his eyes. His words made you blush and look away. He leaned in and softly kissed your cheek, causing your cheeks to heat up even further.

“Come on, let's say goodbye and I’ll ride you home,” He took your hand and led you to the kitchen, where you thanked his parents for the meal and exchanged your goodbyes and goodnights.

[kaznejis]

Forever is the sweetest con- Dutch Van Der Linde x Reader

Turning your gaze to the paper, your eyes instantly zoned in on a particular collection of capitalised words. Your breath stuttered in your throat, lodging itself there as you felt John’s mournful gaze burning into the side of your face. His name. The notorious reputation that followed him no matter how far he ran was proceeding him, though it appeared that he hadn’t run far this time. Dutch Van Der Linde was in Tall Trees- the same patch of forest located only a short ride from the Beecher’s Hope's front gate.

A/N: Hi! I actually wrote and posted this to AO3 YEARS ago, but after a recent replay of RDR2 I decided to fix up some mistakes in this fic and post it on here! I hope you enjoy.

Word Count: 9287 / Read it on AO3!

NOTORIOUS BAD MAN ALIVE —--------------------------------------------

A dispatch from Tall Trees reports a sighting of infamous outlaw Dutch Van Der Linde, who has been on a bloody run from the law for many years now. The notorious Dutch’s Boys gang once plagued this state, but it was believed to have disbanded as long ago as 1899. Two of his henchmen - Hosea Matthews and Arthur Morgan - were both killed in separate raids by Pinkerton agents that same year. Gang members Bill Williamson, Micah Bell, John Marston, and Charles Smith are still believed to be at large. But most notably, Dutch’s supposed lover - rumored to have allied with the opposing powers during the gang’s infamous civil war - Y/N L/N has been seen haunting our states, donning bounty hunter wear. Will our young outlaw-turned-heroine be the one to finally end Van Der Linde’s tyranny?

Either way, law enforcement have pledged to continue searching for Van Der Linde, who still has one of the largest bounties on his head for kill or capture.

-

Eventually, the hands that were once calloused from gun slinging and knife wielding grew used to the arduous task of milking Betsy, Beecher's Hope’s famed prize cow- tuning to the rhythm of milking a cow that only really took a liking to the young Jack Marston. Swiping a palm through the mounting sweat on your forehead, you glared at the cow as it huffed.

“I hate this as much as you do, honey,” You turned slightly to retrieve the second bucket to be filled, “But we all want to eat, so you’re going to give me every last drop of that milk of yours.”

The cow’s ears merely twitched, the animal equivalent to a relenting eye roll.

You gave one right back.

“You tell her.” Abigail chuckled from behind you, pacing forward to lean against Betsy’s stall, “I’m not surprised John has you down here today, Ol’ Missy here tried to feed him a hoof at the slightest sign that he was about to milk her.”

You snorted, an image of John’s hat flying from his head and into the neighboring stall entering your mind, “She’s just stubborn is all, she’ll like me more than Jack soon, you’ll see.”

“I don’t doubt it,” She laughed, easing the weight of one of the buckets brimming with milk as you stood, ”Hey, walk back to the house with me. John said he has something to show you.”

“Oh?” You furrowed your eyebrows, a thick feeling began to lodge in your throat. The cautiousness of years on the run still lingering despite the secure life you now lived. “Any idea what it was?”

She shrugged, “He refused to tell me so probably some bounty hunting stuff. The silly man.”

You nodded; calming yourself as you deposited the contents of the bucket into a jug. You were safe, things had been relatively safe since you’d stumbled into the last remnants of the gang in the Blackwater Saloon. You had entered the building desperate for a comfortable bed and a hot meal- only to leave brimming with whiskey and laughter, a permanent room available to you mere minutes from your original destination. You had stared up at the stars that night, laying in the comfortable night time breeze upon the house’s deck as Rufus had snuffled at your hands, excited at the premise of a new friend.

Fatigue rotted the depths of your being, having followed the cold trail of Micah Bell for the better part of eight years. You had vowed that fateful night, as he forced you to point a gun at the only man you had and would ever truly love, that you would kill him. Globs of spit and blood flickered from your mouth as you had fled upon your steed, screaming likewise threats of revenge and murder as he had hunted you- the red of his vest merging with the rage in his eyes.

Micah had always wanted you dead.

You had been an obstacle before his beloved leader, the gem in the notorious Dutch Van Der Linde’s eyes. His sweet, his darling, his largest weakness.

The O’Driscolls had known it, the Pinkertons had known it and Micah Bell had known it.

His hackles raised everytime you neared, steering Dutch away in order to discuss his new “plan”. It had grown severe in Beaver Hollow, the drapes of Dutch’s once-welcoming tent consistently closed as he drowned within his own mind. You had moved into Tilly’s tent, terrified of Dutch’s inherent darkness breaching your own soul even despite the love you felt for him.

Micah had pounced then- Dutch’s last flicker of lightness being efficiently snuffed out. His once dormant toxicities were pampered and brought to life; riches and Micah became the forefront of his racing thoughts. You were simply lost in the tide.

“Now that I come to think of it,” Abigail placed her jug into the cart and spun to face you, “John looked like he was holding a newspaper of some sort- I think there was something of interest in it.”

Squinting, you turned to face the house- sure enough, John was sitting upon the front steps; a newspaper open within his hands. His face uncharacteristically devoid of emotion, “I’ll head over to him now, thanks Abigail.”

You spared a wave as you both went your separate ways, meeting eyes with John as he somberly raised his eyes, “Who died?” You joked, standing before him with your hands on your hips, “You look like you’re preparing to draw.”

John only swallowed, his jaw tightening as he looked away- almost as if he couldn’t bring himself to look into your eyes.

“John?”

“I think you’ll need to sit down, Y/N.” You quickly obliged, the scratch of his accent carrying a sorrowful timber; rougher than ever. lowering yourself beside him and wringing your hands together- the previous dread now returned at a higher fervor, taking residence within the pit of your stomach.

“What’s going on?”

John finally turned to you, his eyes filled with a dangerous mix of pity and anger, “I’m so sorry Y/N, I knew I shouldn’t have bought this place. I really should have looked into the area first.” he stood suddenly, his boots scuffing against the gravel as scrubbed at his face. Almost as if he was punishing himself for his supposed mistake.

“John?” You guffawed, straightening in your seat as you gaped at him, “What are you talking about? We’ve been over this, this is the perfect place for your family. It’s where Abigail wanted to be!”

The gravity of the situation weighed upon your conscience suddenly, John hadn’t been this stressed in months- having left the life of an outlaw to become an established father and farm handler. Whilst the weight of his past did prevail, the future had not previously posed any issue.

John nodded somberly, his eyes fixing upon a huddle of trees in the too-near distance.

“You know what happens in Tall Trees, don’t you?” You nodded and turned towards the trees yourself, urging him to continue. You’d had many runs in with the Skinner Brothers since moving in. “It’s filled with dangerous people, a fugitive paradise for people who are still like how we used to be.”

He stopped then, looking down to the newspaper within his hands. You noted that it was heavily crumpled, as if he’d been about to tear it up though decided against it at the last second, “You need to read this for yourself, I think.”

“Okay.” You spoke tentatively, peeling the newspaper from his hands as he gripped it reluctantly- as if to protect you from what you were about to read. You loved that about John, always willing to take the brunt at his own expense in order to protect the ones he loved. A trait carried from Arthur, you thought, stealing a look at the worn hat upon John’s head.

You looked away, the pain of loss forever present at the back of your mind. It lingered like a festering wound- oozing and growing at the merest memory of the pain. Arthur had given up everything for the safety of the remnants of the group; sometimes you wondered if it should have been you.

Turning your gaze to the paper, your eyes instantly zoned in on a particular collection of capitalized words. Your breath stuttered in your throat, lodging itself there as you felt John’s mournful gaze burning into the side of your face.

His name.

The notorious reputation that followed him no matter how far he ran was proceeding him, though it appeared that he hadn’t run far this time. Dutch Van Der Linde was in Tall Trees- the same patch of forest located only a short ride from the Beecher’s Hope front gate.

-

“So, to dismiss the elephant in the room, are you going to hunt the bastard down?”

“Sadie!” Abigail choked, glaring at the woman across from her- having just barely managed to coax you out of your room and into a seat at the dinner table.The news had left you partially catatonic- a haze feeding into your limbs as you had fled from John, curling up against the wall of your room until the cool glaze of Abigail’s palm had rubbed your shoulder. The usual buzzing cacophony of sound during dinner had become a mournful silence prior to Sadie’s announcement; each member treading on eggshells around you. Even Jack had barely spoken, having heard scattered tales of the time of the Van Der Linde gang, much to Abigail’s disapproval.

“What?” Sadie shook her head, stabbing a lump of beef with her fork threateningly. “The only reason I’m not already knee deep in those woods is for Y/N,” she turned to you then, her blonde plait glowing in the evening tint, “It’s your call hun. If anyone other than me had taken action against those damn O’Driscolls in Jake’s name; I’d never have forgiven ‘em.”

Abigail nodded in agreement, placing a hand beside your plate barely skimming your fingers, “We will support you in whatever you do Y/N.”

A scoff sounded from the end of the table, Uncle spat crumbs across the table as he spoke, mouth filled with stew, “I say we kill the bastard, especially if he’s allied with those wretched Skinner Brothers.”

The group stayed silent at that- all too aware of the extent of Uncle’s horrific injuries. You or Charles would regularly return from a hunt with ointment, to which Abigail would apply to Uncle’s injuries; her hums attempting to drown out his screams and cries. But nothing could amount to the nightmares that Uncle endured- reliving the torture he endured night after night. His alcohol dependency had only seemed to worsen. Not taking action against a Skinner-allied Dutch would only feel like betrayal.

John was the first to speak up, taking on the authoritative tone he seemed to muster during severe circumstances, “Either way, we need to decide what we’re doing fast.” John spoke, ever the strategic, “No matter the connections we used to have with Dutch, he’s going to be as unpredictable as ever. He cannot be trusted, not so close to Jack.”

“He could be here for us.” Charles regarded the matter for the first time, his deep baritone carrying a rougher tone, “It’s too much of a coincidence that he’s here so soon after you properly settled down.”

The sound of your spoon dropping filled the silence that followed, everyone turned as you placed your head into your hands- grinding your palms into the tears that filled your eyes, “I’ve gone so long.”

“Y/N it’s okay-”

“I’ve gone so long,” You repeated, dribbles of snot clouding upon your upper lip, “'I've been able to forget about him. All these years, I’ve been able to focus on other things-” A sob escaped from your lips as you refused to meet the sympathetic eyes surrounding you. “Why did he have to do this now?”

You broke down then, folding into Abigail’s embrace as she stroked your hair, coaxing the pained cries out of you. “Why don’t we run you a bath? A hot bath and a good nights’ sleep will do your mind some good.”

Nodding slowly, you wiped your face without a care towards the stains that would now grace your sleeves. Abigail led you towards the comfort of the chair before the fireplace as Charles jogged ahead to prepare you a bath- promising to add an array of the herbs he had recently discovered to be of abundance in the area. The joy you had felt during previous dinners had been long abandoned.

-

When the bathwater had long gone still and cold, the longer-lasting bubbles floating alongside the waves traced upon the water- the memories finally set themselves free, the tranquility of the soak loosening the long-secured walls within your mind.

The days spent leading up to the initial heist in a camp not far from your own, long morning’s tucked up in animal furs and Dutch’s arms as the Blackwater heat and assurance of soon-to-come-riches washed over you. The subsequent plight, Dutch’s eyes constantly swiveling back towards you from his wagon as you had chosen to ride upon your own horse; the way he had protested against this decision, digging his heels in even despite the fangs of the law snapping at them mere minutes away. Your safety being his first priority.

You had shut him out during the short stay at Colter- furious that he had prioritized you before his duties as the leader of the gang. Furious that he had put you before young Jack, the other women, the wide span of injuries slowing the gang to a desperate stagger. But no, he had snapped at you; waving desperately towards the wagon the last of the women were piling into as you shook your head- tightening your horse’s reins. He had cast your wrist into his iron grip then, his eyes hard and swarming with anger; a mirror image to the swaths of the law’s blood coating his shirt sleeves. The blood of an innocent woman.

With shaking limbs, you had snatched your hand away and mounted before kicking your horse into a gallop, following the others who had already enacted their hasty departure.

With only mere seconds free to himself during those cold days, Dutch had tried- he’d stared determinedly at you during every speech and attempted to corner you at every given moment. You had successfully evaded his advances every time, opting to escape into the mounting snow outside of your cabin in opposition to being with a man you weren’t sure you could trust anymore. It was Arthur who successfully infiltrated your movement, joining you at one of the scarce campfires the gang had managed to light.

“You’re driving him mad, Y/N.”

“Oh, Arthur.” You shook your head, poking the embers with a stick. “You of all people know that he’s already there.”

He sniffed, a short flash of amusement crossing his face before it was replaced with sobriety. “Maybe. I wasn’t at the massacre, I didn’t see exactly what he did-”

“He killed an innocent woman, Arthur. Right in front of me and then had the audacity to claim that my safety was the most important thing to him.”

“Yes, I want to beat him senseless for the way he’s damned us too, I promise you.” He scratched his beard tentatively, almost searching for the correct words to say, “But… no matter what he did, we need to stick together, Y/N.” A pause. “And if his only source of light is snuffed out, there’s no way we’re getting out of here.”

“Don’t make this my fault, Arthur.”

“I’m not, Y/N. You know I’m not. But we are all starving and cold and tired. We need a right-minded leader to get out of here and once we do, we can judge Dutch all we want.”

You laughed then, a foreign sound in the somber setting; Arthur had grinned crookedly too, wrapping an arm around shoulder as he pulled you into his side. “Alright, I’ll talk to him..soon.”

Arthur had simply huffed, rolling his eyes and giving you a pat on the head as he rose- behind on his schedule of carrying the burden of the gang. You had remained at that campfire for some time after that, dwelling within your own conflicting thoughts.

Sitting in the bathtub, you felt the same affliction as you did all of those long years ago, even despite being so much younger and naïve at that time. You wanted to run out there, into the darkness of the forests and deep troughs of moss, into the arms of your lost love. But another part of you, the part that had grown and hardened with age, the part that hated Dutch Van Der Linde with every fiber of its existence- wanted vengeance. It wanted to provide Sadie and John with your vital blessing to go out there and capture him, kill him even.

Despite the years you had garnered since settling eyes on Dutch, you didn’t trust yourself to follow through with ending it all yourself; you didn’t trust yourself not to melt entirely within his presence. His charisma would sway you, his ability to flirt and coerce would be an instant match for your own stoic toughness. You couldn’t possibly know what he looked like anymore- but your betraying conscience conjured an image of his trimmed mustache complimenting his sharp jaw, his towering stature and taut muscles- those same muscles that had pinned you down night after night, the same ones that belonged to the only body that had ever truly pleasured you. The rings that adorned his fingers, each one a symbol of masculinity and fabrication, glinting in the moonlight as he smoked his complimentary, post-orgasm cigar.

Your insides tingled as you recalled the way he used to ravage you, the hungry glint of his eyes from between your thighs or the heavy pants that would spill from his lips as he buried his head into the sweaty base of your throat, his sex-tousled hair drawing paths against your skin, lighting the fuses beneath your jaw and throat.

Mr. Van De Linde had always been the embodiment of seduction- whether in his manipulative nature or in the coital bed you shared. You doubted that this feature had hardly changed.

Which is why you could-

“Y/N?”

You sprung from your dazed position within the tub, jumping and wrapping linens around your soaked body, “Sorry- uh- Yes?”

“Are you okay? You’ve been in there for a while now?” It was Jack, probably worried sick about you alongside the rest of the family.

“I’m fine.” you spluttered, desperately wringing out your sopping hair as you opened the door, plastering on a half-convincing smile, “I won’t burst into tears on you again, I promise.”

He simply nodded, a concerned look in his eyes that frighteningly reminded you of his own father. A look far too old for his youthful features, “I just wanted to check that you weren’t drowning in there. The bath is far too deep for me sometimes.”

Ruffling his hair, you laughed- mood slightly improved, “Don’t worry about me Jackie- just had a little blast from the past is all.”

He nodded, though a pensive look flashed across his face.

“What?”

“I don’t have many memories from back then,” you nodded, encouraging him to continue, “but I do remember you and Uncle- sorry, you and Mr. Van Der Linde.” He looked at you sadly, possibly seeing the shock and grief that instantly sunk into your face, “Sometimes, you’d be so happy but then other days all that could be heard was your fights… I remember once it got so bad that Ma wouldn’t let me out of that room in that big house. But I also remember when you went missing for a day or two, he’d practically torn the place apart with the worry that you’d been taken.” He paused again as you watched him through tear-blurred eyes, “I’m sorry that he’s come back Y/N.”

Sniffling, you wrapped your arms around Jack, allowing your tears to slip into his hair, “I’m sorry that you had to experience that, Jackie,” you pulled back, cupping his cheeks and tightening your lips, “I hope to God that you never have to deal with something like that. Promise me you won’t let it happen?”

“I promise, Y/N,”

“Good. Good boy.”

“But… Do you still love him Y/N?”

Your teeth clacked shut, the sound resounding throughout the thin hallway. Not even when you and Dutch had been together had anybody dared question the true status of your relationship- opting for sympathetic smiles or knowing looks alike in respect for their brash leader. Shaking your thoughts, you attempted a warm smile, guiding Jack towards the living room. “Love is a complicated thing Jack, part of me hopes that you’ll never have to experience the woes of it but the happiness it brings outweighs everything,” tightening your robe around your chest, you sat beside Jack before the hearth of the fireplace, “Dutch could render me happy or sad at any given moment, the power he held over me was…terrifying.” Jack nodded, his eyes glinting curiously with the fire’s light, “But I think I did love him. Maybe I still do, but that doesn’t matter anymore because he’s not a good man.”

“You deserve a good man, Y/N.”

You chuckled, a real source of warmth and comfort finally replacing the cold of the bathwater, “Maybe. I look forward to the day that I finally meet one.”

“I think Uncle Arthur was a good man.”

“Yeah.” A lone buck sauntered along the hills surrounding Beecher’s Hope, its ears pricking towards Tall Trees. “He was.”

-

Shadows of branches intertwined and floated amongst the ceiling of your room, a light breeze filtering in from the opened window. You had opted to retire to bed early, skipping the usual drinks you would share with the rest of the family around the fire. You couldn’t face them, the pitious glances and the sway of alcohol would be too much, an easy passageway into spilling your darkest secrets.

The smell of alcohol had a tendency to remind you of Dutch, anyway. The acrid taste of whiskey and cigars mixed to create an unashamedly addictive scent; the taste of it upon his lips practically doubling the initial effect.

Not only had Dutch Van Der Linde always been an object of seduction, but he had become an object of addiction too. He had been the one to tie your dependency to cigarettes during your time in the gang, having quickly picked up his habit of smoking a cigarette in the event of anything extraordinary. You would regularly smoke together post-sex, bathing in the privilege of sharing one, or even two, of his prized cigars- picking up on his ever-watchful eyes as you wrapped your lips around the blunt and puffed; always making sure to add an air of extravagance as you exhaled.

The thought had you scrambling at the bottom of your mattress, searching for the stash of cigarettes you had stowed there for the event of emergency. You swore to yourself you had quit, but living a Dutch-less existence required other outlets.

Low and behold, you had smoked the last of them after attempting to round up a herd of sheep the week prior.

You swore, jumping out of bed and pulling the mattress back further to no avail. “It’s fine.” You mumbled to yourself, checking your wardrobe and dresser subsequently, “It’s fine.”

In all honesty, you could do with the fresh air- your room had quickly begun to forego the open window and grow stuffy with the weight of your own sinful mind. Though, your objection to facing the others still remained steady- leading you to hoist yourself out of the bedroom window and onto the saddle of your horse.

Blackwater remained a constant bustle of energy even within the darkness of night, having returned to its pre-Van Der Linde glory as a portside town. The city itself acted as a constant reminder to what Dutch had done, marking the beginning of his true tyranny as the blood of the innocent Heidi McCourt had splattered along the sidewalk and his very own shirt sleeves. You had only learned her name from the bench before the boardwalk- “We remember Heidi McCourt” scratched into the base of the wood, only a minute of research informed you of exactly who that was. But upon further residence within Blackwater- you learned of the hatred felt towards the notorious members of the gang; cutouts of previous gang members pinned to dartboards and littered with darts and even bullets alike.

Despite your pardons, the people of Blackwater had never forgotten what you had done.

Your hair was longer now, providing the disguise necessary to lay low. Besides, your bounty hunter escapades had quickly taken over any true resemblance to the you that had resided within the gang; the very newspaper detailing Dutch’s return had coined you a “heroine”. It was good to know that people knew you mostly for your good, the version of yourself eight years prior would have feared your very being.

Dismounting your steed, you patted her side as you pulled out a set of twin revolvers- ever aware of the new threat that lurked nearby. The thought that he could be anywhere made you shiver despite the warmth of Summer as you jogged towards the grocer, apologizing for your late arrival as it was near closing time. The man waved you off, rolling his eyes as he continued to sweep the shop floor.

Maybe chivalry was dead, you smirked to yourself as you requested a pack of premiums. The man nodded, but before he could bend to grab the cigarettes he paled, sweat beginning to bead at his temple as he whimpered- seemingly catatonic in place. Rising your eyes to the dusty window, your lips pursed as you spotted at least four figures behind you in the reflection, all obviously armed.

“Raise your hands darlin’.” A gruff voice spoke, the traditional accent carried by the Skinner brothers.

“I’m just grabbing some cigarettes,” You spoke firmly, your hands lowering towards your revolvers, “Just let me leave and we don’t need to have any issues.”

The men began to cackle at that, you could hear the sound of them clapping at each other’s backs and howling like dogs. The shopkeeper remained cowered beneath the counter, frozen in place as his eyes pleaded at you to do something- the stoic shopkeeper from mere minutes ago was no longer present.

“You think we’re just gonna let an infamous bounty hunter like you leave just like that?” The speaker spat at the ground, a display of disgust. “Do you know how many of our brothers you’ve killed?”

Chuckling, you rose your eyes. “I think they use the word infamous for a reason, you know.” You turned, spinning your revolvers and executing two of the men in a split second; time slowing as bullets lodged into each of their skulls. Tearing through skin and bone, the sound of the bullets pinging into the wall shattered their amusement, the fallout spraying their faces with blood.

The remaining men had barely even reached for their weapons before you delivered bullets into their heart and kneecaps respectively, the latter would live but never walk again; able to enforce the resounding fear of your presence into the outlaw community. Stepping over the bodies, you leaned over the survivor- clutching his shattered legs as he screamed and cried.

“Never underestimate me again.” You spat, mimicking his revolting action from earlier.

Despite his cries, the man laughed at your statement- his rotten teeth and stringy hair coated in the blood of his assailants. “Oh, Sweetheart,” he rose to rest on his elbow, his hitched breath releasing in pained pants, “We didn’t.”

Your eyes widened, you were only rewarded for a split second to prepare for the barrage of gunfire that attacked the storefront. Rolling backwards, you surveyed the frenetic gunfire from behind one of the many shelves and calculated how grossly outnumbered you truly were- at least ten men awaited outside, the group very obviously having not underestimated you.

You quickly discovered that the shopkeeper had locked himself in the back room- leaving you isolated with the threat of the Skinner Brothers. Without a second thought, you scaled the shop counter- loading your revolvers with bullets and replacing the empty space with the money in your pockets; it would serve you little purpose now.

You had no choice but to fight, your stubbornness making cowering and hiding not an option- if you went down, it had to happen fighting. You knew that your death would be gruesome, the feeling of the rough, splintering wood against your back and the tight press of your boots against the wall would not be the last thing you ever saw. You knew that you would be waking up again. Closing your eyes, you said a prayer- for your family. For Jack’s strength and innocence, for Abigail’s love, for John’s unwavering loyalty and for Sadie’s strength. You prayed for Dutch, prayed that despite all of his evil and wrongdoing, that he would not see you in the condition you were bound to be in. That he would not be the one to inflict the pain to come upon you.

Time slowed once again as you rose, meeting the men as they slammed open the shop door- grossly outnumbered as you had calculated. Vision blurring, you shot widely- fighting for your life as men collapsed throughout the room. The flash of gunfire and the glint of throwing knives blinded you.

Finally, you ran out of bullets. The bodies of vile, disgusting men surrounded you. The bodies of the men that had terrorized your family. As an arrow lodged itself into your unguarded chest, you felt nothing but vindication.

-

Blinking, the sound of dripping rang throughout your brain as your senses faltered. Slower than usual.

You couldn’t move your arms or legs.

“I can’t-” You stuttered, fidgeting and shaking, “I- can’t…I can’t move.”

No one replied, only the sounds of your unsteady breaths could be heard, each one followed by that dripping sound. The horror of the situation dawned upon you, you had been right. You had woken up.

The skinner brothers hadn’t killed you.

Your cheeks felt wet, slicken with tears and something else as you heaved and pushed against your confinements.

Boots crunched along grass then, the sound of a rolling glass bottle rung beside your head.

“Who’s going to shut her up this time then?” A misty voice spoke nearby, it was followed by a mixture of sounds, to which your brain couldn’t decipher. It almost sounded like they were fighting over who would finish you off. You continued to cry then, your brain running at a speed faster than you could manage as the pain outweighed any coherent conscience. Finally, your eyes managed to peel themselves open.

To your horror, the dripping sound was your own blood- oozing from a cut on your arm that dribbled down through your fingers and onto the gravel below. You were tied to a wooden frame, similar to what Uncle had been tied to- though the fire had not yet been lit below you. The shine of the sun above you told you that not only had it been multiple hours, but that they were saving your sacrifice for the following night. Your body adorned a number of cuts though the arrow wound within your stomach had been messily patched up.

“They’re keeping me alive.” You mouthed, your eyes flitting around your surroundings as they welled with tears. You were within tall trees- deep in the forest and past the border lines you had previously ventured towards; they were ensuring that you would not be found.

“Have you found any takers for her?”

“Hm?” A large man looked towards a smaller man only a few steps from you.

“Any takers?” the smaller man rolled his eyes, socking the larger man in the arm, “Has anyone posed any offers to purchase her?”

Your ears rung as you squeezed your eyes closed, feigning sleep as you listened in on the conversation. They were keeping you alive to sell you, they were aware of your worth as a ruthless bounty hunter. It was their job to strip you of everything you had so they could sell a bounty hunter reduced to nothing to the highest bidder- a fate potentially worse than the fate of the Skinner brothers.

Before you could squirm frantically, the larger man spoke, “We have actually- some man spotted the poster up near Manzanita Post, claims he has some personal business to settle. Hefty sum, he’ll be here within the hour.”

The younger man grinned, his molten teeth dull in the sun’s light, “Personal? Damn, she must have taken out someone close.”

The larger man hummed as they departed their posts, moving towards the larger group of men. Your heart thumped in your chest as you squirmed- using any tactic you had ever learned from your fellow outlaws to perform any attempt at escape. But all was to no avail- the Skinners knew damn well how to hold a hostage.

Closing your eyes, you laid back. Every ounce of fight that had resided within you during that initial fight had vanished. There was nothing left, you had nothing left- all you could do was wait for what came next.

“Look at this pretty lady.” A voice spoke above you soon after that thought, a Skinner with a patchy ginger beard hovered in your eye line, a menacing grin upon your face. “What are we gonna do with you?

Fellow skinners laughed as a sharp pain, a knife, punctured your side- you’d experienced stabbings before, but not in this state. You succumbed to the urge to scream, the sound tearing from your throat and laced with terror. The man grinned, twisting the knife before wrenching it out and watching as you panted through the pain.

“It’s alright Darlin’. We all have to pay penance for our actions sometimes, seeing as you killed my father and all.”

You grinned, the feeling of blood dripping from your scabbing lips pushed aside as humor filled you, “Am I supposed to know who you’re referring to?” The mans’ eyes darkened at that, though just as he went to resume his torture, a deafening shot resounded throughout the forest.

You could only watch as the man collapsed backwards, blood spraying your already coated skin in thick beads. The background noise within the camp instantly dropped, all present turning to face their attacker- though none dared to retaliate.

“For the sum I’m paying, I’d hope my investment would be in pristine condition.”

The worst of your nightmares paled in comparison to what you saw as you turned. Dutch Van Der Linde stood at the edge of camp, tall and boisterous as ever. A repeater laid pointed within his hands, complimented by black rings adorning his fingers and aimed ready for whoever dared to step forward. The black waistcoat and linen shirts had been replaced with a silk black shirt, the sleeves rolled and the top button undone in respect of the humidity of West Elizabeth. No hat laid upon his head now, his hair curling at the nape of his neck and slicked back with pomade. He looked rich, luxurious. He didn’t look like the most wanted man in America.

It seemed that his obsession with finery had never dispersed.

You heaved, grappling at the wooden frame as you hoped, prayed, and begged for any way to escape. Any route other than having to go with him. The mere sight of him invoked sickness, suffering and fear- you felt like you had regressed, all progression made dispersed at the sound of his voice.

“Sir…You are free to take her.” The larger man whimpered, despite Dutch’s smaller frame, the man lowered himself to one knee; bowing his head. You scoffed, shaking your head as tears of anguish and defeat rolled down your face.

“Free?” Dutch sneered, his lips curling as he stepped before the cowering man, “I would hope so- seeing the state of her. What am I supposed to do with her if she looks like that?”

“Of- of course, Sir.” Multiple Skinners nodded in agreement, joining in bowing before the renowned criminal mastermind.

“Good.” Dutch spoke calmly, his features void of all emotion. You shook, in fear of what was to happen. In fear of the man you had previously thought you had left behind, the man you had presumed long dead. But part of you, the long cold and dormant part that had loved him. The part of you that yearned and starved, that had dragged you on that late-night outing in the first place- it longed for him.

Before anyone could blink, fathom the possibility of Dutch’s evolved tyranny over the years- he pressed the repeater’s trigger; ending the lives of the men bent to his will with a parade of clean headshots. You were no stranger to brutality, especially not Dutch’s, but your position was significantly more vulnerable than theirs; you could do nothing but bend to Dutch’s will.

As the last bullet sounded and the last man fell, Dutch wasted no time in slinging the repeater upon his shoulder and advancing towards you. Dutch reached you then, staring down at your dwindling and shivering form. Your groggy brain registered the crease of his brow, the red lining of his eyes and the worried curl in his lips.

He composed himself quickly, a mask settling as he moved to cut open your bindings. “The man was right, what am I going to do with you Y/N?”

-

You faded in and out of consciousness in the back of a cart- effectively bleeding out onto what felt like boar pelts. Dutch had instructed you to hold on as he fled from the camp, leaving the Skinner’s to decompose in his wake- a fleeing devil and all. The canopy above Tall Trees swirled above you, the sun remaining high in the sky throughout the journey. It could have been minutes or hours.

“Alright Princess,” Dutch said from the driver’s speech above, refusing to look back at you, “Hold on, we’re nearly there now.”

The use of your old, long unused nickname made you recoil- Dutch had always been one for sweet remarks, but he especially favored Princess- he was the beast, you were the innocent beauty. It created the rhetoric that you were to be protected, despite the major contributions you had made towards the camp on many occasions. You had to fight to be sent on missions, Dutch would respond with cold refusal; opting to insult you brashly in order to supposedly keep you safe. At his worst, you had stormed from camp; jumping onto the back of your horse and galloping away, ignoring the pleas of the gang. It was only when you didn’t return that worry had set in, three days you had been missing- later found by Arthur near Emerald Ranch. You had later learned that Dutch had practically torn the camp and nearby settlements apart; his shirtsleeves painted in red as he had searched for you- knocking down anyone in his way.

“Don’t call me that.” You mumbled groggily, using all of your energy to deliver a retort.

“What? Princess?”

You gritted your teeth, Dutch-induced-irritation felt like home- the gritting of your teeth and press of fingernails all too familiar when in his company. As the cart halted to a stop, Dutch leaped over the back of the wagon, instantly picking you up and taking you into a nearby tent.

“Okay Y/N,” he spoke hastily, flitting around the tent as he artfully bandaged up your wounds and poured health cure down your throat, “You’re going to stay alive because even though I did get you for free in the end- I’ve put a lot on the line for this.”

The utterance of your name blindsided you, the specific phonetic variation of your name on Dutch’s lips a foreign concept to you. Though at the same time, it felt right. Like returning home. But he hadn’t changed, you told yourself. He was still rude, materialistic, and conniving. You may have been better off staying with the Skinners. As he pressed into the stab wound in your side- you felt your consciousness fading, the pain blurring your vision and eliciting shouts from your throat.

“Go to sleep,” he mumbled as you felt a hand ridden with jewels caress your hair, “We have a lot to discuss.”

When you next awoke, the hum of night surrounded you as the crackling of a fire sounded nearby. You were laid upon a pile of warm pelts, a thin cross stitch blanket laid over your frame, covering the injuries that each individually created a cold ache. The tent you laid in was a decent size, though smaller than what you had previously slept in with Dutch- it was filled with mismatched furniture; pieces that he had presumably scavenged due to the inability to show his face anywhere. A thin cloth shirt lay beside you; to which you awkwardly pulled on, careful to avoid the extent of your injuries, in favor of losing your long destroyed and stained clothes. From your position you could see a horse, the Count, strong and faithful as ever though its once pristine, shining coat was greyer with what could be presumed as turmoil and age.

Dutch filtered into your vision next, sat beside the horse and facing away from you- his back solid and strong as ever, posture perfect as he cleaned the repeater that you had only seen to inflict pain. You attempted to rise from the bed, instantly wincing as a burn resounded within your side- that gained Dutch’s attention as he spun, his features wearing a look of shock.

“Finally,” He smirked, placing the gun on the ground and rising to come and meet you, “I thought you’d never wake up Princess.”

You glared at him, both for the nickname and his forceful attempts to lay you back down, “I’m a renowned bounty hunter now, you know.”

“Oh, I know that,” A grin marred his features, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes, “I’ve seen you all over the papers- the wonderful tales of justice and empowerment. Always a great read.”

“It isn’t a fantasy story to enjoy over breakfast,” You snapped, “I’m finally doing something good with my life, going straight and working alongside the law. Not against it.”

Dutch scoffed, always the cynic in the face of accomplishment “You’re nothing but a tool to them Y/N- one wrong move, one slightly unlawful kill and you’re finished.”

You cut him off with a laugh then, scrubbing a hand against your eyes in disbelief, “You are seeing me for the first time in eight years and you are seriously giving me a lecture right now?” You paused, preparing to deliver a punch, “The public are betting on me to do it you know, to kill you.”

Dutch stood then, an unbridled rage in his eyes as he towered over you, though he only spoke two words. “You wouldn’t.”

You shrugged, smirking up at him cynically, “How would you know? We haven’t seen each other in eight years, Dutch- the last time we did see each other, you betrayed me.”

“Betrayed you?” Dutch raged, “I never betrayed you; my gun never faltered in your direction though I remember you sending a number of shots my way.”

“You killed Arthur.”

Dutch swallowed, his throat bobbing; the weight of your accusation infecting the strength of his shoulders and setting stone within his chest. He spoke slowly, each word laced with venom as spit flew from the lips, “How would you know?”

“I saw,” your voice shook with anger, “I followed him up there. I saw what you did. I saw the way he begged. I saw the way you left his body lying there. If I hadn’t been there- he would have been left behind to rot.”

“I did what had to be done.” His voice cracked, emotion tiding the way over any rational thought, “I did…what had to be done.”

Shaking your head, you turned from him; the severity of your injuries rendering you useless, unable to run. Dutch refused to move from your peripheral, his gaze heady and severe upon the back of your head. “Leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Dutch paused, his fists clenched and hair falling into his eyes, the pomade long worn off, “Because, I miss you Y/N.”

“Bullshit.”

“Y/N,” Dutch was pleading now, grasping at your shoulders and arms, his hands skimming any skin he could find; the actions of a starved man, “No matter what I do, no matter where I go, who I’m with, what semblance of riches I am able to grasp- you never leave my mind,” He gulped, no stopping now, “I’ve been reading about you for years but when I saw that poster up in Manzanita Post, I went insane with worry- I thought I’d be collecting your dead body but when I saw you strung up there I felt even worse; I practically felt the pain you felt.”

“Seriously?” You spat, “You felt my pain? I was being tortured and you spin this to be about you?”

“Princess that’s not-”

“Leave it Dutch,” You growled, slapping away his encroaching hands, “You haven’t changed.”

“What was wrong with me before? I was a leader, I kept you all alive. And what do I get for that? Nothing.”

“You ruined us!” You yelled, “You ruined me! My life since leaving you has been reduced to nothing but surviving, I can’t fade into the background anymore because of the target you placed upon our backs Dutch.”

“You had a choice, you could have left whenever you wanted.”

“But, I couldn’t. Anytime I left I’d be watched like a hawk Dutch. I was finally free, but now you’ve reigned me in again.”

Dutch laughed then, a fabricated cackle as he clutched his stomach- though the grin above his face did not reach his eyes. “I saved your life, Princess.”

“My fate there would have been better than this.”

“Ah, I see.”

The two of you sat in petulant silence then, too stubborn to back down as the weight of trauma and regret outweighed any semblance of forgiveness. The stale air of silence continued for days as you recovered- Dutch would check your injuries and bring you meals whilst you were still bedbound; allowing for only small glimpses of contact as he opted to spend as much time as possible outside of the tent; favoring humidity and his horse over your company. As you recovered, you began to venture outside of the warmth of the bed- opting to explore the surrounding wilderness, ignoring Dutch’s ever watchful gaze. It seemed his possessive streak had never ended, possibly having worsened seeing as though he had the gall to stroll into the camp of some of the most ruthless killers in the state.

In your solitude, you thought of home. You thought of your little bedroom in Beecher’s Hope, a place you could finally call your own. You thought of the family dinners you were missing; Abigail’s horrendous cooking feeling like a distant memory as you ate only scavenged animal meat and local berries. You thought of nighttime bonfires, morning coffee and the glow of the sun upon the crops during the afternoons; sweat congregating at your forehead as you had earned your keep. You missed home, you missed home like you had once missed Dutch.

The knowledge that you couldn’t have both was heartbreaking- serenity and Dutch was not an amicable match. Dutch only brought destruction and suffering; you hadn’t spoken properly in days due to his inability to see the point of others, his leading mindset never faltering. Dutch could simply never be a part of a family. You glanced over at him from your perch then, watched as he brushed down The Count; taking care to smooth down its hair and whisper sweet nothings into its ear.

Everytime he acted contrary to his real self you felt your heart shatter.

You stood then, unable to bear the weight of loaded silence any longer. “I spotted a river down the hill, I’m going to go and wash myself down.”

Dutch paused, seemingly shocked by the sound of your voice, “I’ll join you.”

“Dutch-”

“No, Y/N.” Dutch spoke firmly, raising a hand towards you, “Your injuries are too severe, if you slip and open up your side, your death will be in my hands.”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed past him and sauntered down the hill; listening as his footsteps followed. The silence continued as you walked, all too aware that you would have to remove at least some articles of clothing before him. It was nothing he’d never seen before of course, but it had been years since a man had seen your body in that way- you couldn’t account for your actions if his heated gaze met yours after so long.

“Turn around.”

Dutch grinned, turning slowly with his hands on his hips, “It’s nothing I’ve never seen before, Princess.”

You knew he would say that. You merely scoffed in reply.

As you stripped, you became too aware of the sensitivity of your injuries; the ache in your shoulder, the sting in your stomach and the pain in your side. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Dutch called, back still turned.

“I don’t-” You screwed your eyes shut, dreading what was to come, “I don’t think I can wash myself.”

“Okay,” Dutch spoke slowly, turning though his eyes remained closed, “Do you want me to help you?”

Gulping, you nodded frantically, “Yes.” You spoke hastily- terrified that if you didn’t respond quick enough then the moment would be over. Part of you felt disgusted at yourself, disgusted at your lack of resistance towards the man that had broken your heart. But, the other part of you felt thrilled; electrified, brought back to life at the thought of him truly touching your skin again. Rolling back his shirt sleeves, he approached; his uncaring facade refusing to break as he helped you peel your shirt from your arms, instantly exposing your bare breasts as you had foregone upper undergarments in favor of allowing your injuries to heal. You gulped, refusing to look at him as he moved to unbutton your pants, stifling groans as you felt the linen brush over a sore spot. He shushed you comfortingly, discarding your pants to the side. Beads of sweat had formed at the base of his temple.

He began to lower you into the cool tide then, cupping water within his palm and pouring it onto your head; shushing you soothingly as he did so. His finger constantly skimmed your body- the edges of your breasts, the inside of your thighs, the corners of your mouth. Your lips pursed as you stared up into his eyes; to which he resolutely stared back, the mask finally breaking. He could’ve done anything to you in that moment- pinned you down beneath the water, stolen your last breaths.

You dwelled on whether that would be the case if anyone other than you laid within his arms.

“Dutch,” you gulped, your throat running dry as you attempted to voice your feelings, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” Your voice came out as a whisper.

Dutch blinked at you, his finger tracing a path down the side of your face- his voice croaked as he spoke, half-speaking half-groaning, “Princess.” The sound of his resistance breaking was mesmerizing and you laid compliantly as his finger began to circle your nipple; creating goosebumps in its wake.

“Tell me to stop, Y/N.”

“I- I can’t.” Your head spun as he moved his hand downwards, holding you steady as he reached down to swirl a ringed finger around your clit. The feeling of the stark cold of the ring matched with the heat of his skin elicited a guttural moan, your eyes rolling backwards as he began to pleasure you. His throat bobbed as he stared down at you, his eyes darkening and intense as he watched you break apart, a familiar mirage of the past. The semblance of a woman could break even the strongest of men.

You broke entirely, gripping Dutch’s hair and smashing your faces together; drenching his shirt in water and kissing him messily. His tongue dove into your mouth as he pinned your face against his own with his free hand, continuing his ministrations upon your clit. You groaned into his mouth, working at the sopping buttons of his shirt. You were all too accustomed to his rough nature during intimacy, often opting to pin you down and clutch your hair over soft, sweet actions. You had cared in the past, but now you couldn’t, opting to claw at his back and hair; scratching his scalp and drawing lines down his back.

Just as you reached for his pants, he stopped; pulling away with swollen lips and ruffled, wet hair- “I’m sorry Darling, we can’t do this here,” he breathed, moving his hand upwards to cup at your breast, “Let’s get you up to my tent and then we can continue.”

You shook your head, eyes pleading and begging, “We can do it on the shoreline, please we can’t stop now.” You knew that if you stopped, you wouldn’t be able to continue; the disgust and horror would set in. Dutch nodded reluctantly, a tinge of suspicion lingering in his eyes. You stumbled out of the water; collapsing together as you hastily pulled his pants from his body before lowering yourself onto his cock. He groaned huskily, his hands flying to your hips as he threw his head back. He had been craving this.

As you rocked and rolled together- you knew that this couldn't happen again. Dutch Van Der Linde was not safe- you could not let him enter your sphere any further. You moaned and cried and whimpered- relishing every last touch and taste and feeling. The sweat congregating between your bodies was slick and hot- connecting every last fiber of skin.

This couldn’t happen again, you told yourself, this couldn’t happen again.

Afterwards, you laid together at the shoreline- naked and bare to the forest as you laid in Dutch’s arms. He told you stories- stories of his time on the run, moments where he thought of you, moments where he caught glimpses of you in the paper, glimpses of you told in the fireside tales of other outlaws. You laughed, smiled, complied- gave him exactly what he wanted- you told him stories of the gang; neglecting important details though providing him with the skeletons of true stories. He too smiled, his lips curling genuinely as he placed a kiss into your hair.

Just before sleep overruled him, he informed you of his plan. His plan for the two of you, how you would travel together in his wagon; find a farmhouse and make a living there. You smiled, agreeing.

But it was the life you already had.

When dawn hit, you crawled out of his arms; allowing yourself one last look before you fled- into the dangers of Tall Trees and the semblance of home that lay just past it. You had to return to your family.

[rndmmarston]

ADULT:Jack Marston X Reader

<Not my Gif>

IM BACK, i promise I’ll write more stuff.

This boy needs some more love fr

Warnings-Sad, character death (NOT JACK OR Y/N)(Idk if those are really warnings)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

•Y/N’s POV•

It was Early in the Morning and I was out shopping around Blackwater getting stuff for Beecher’s hope while Jack was at home caring for His Mother Abigail, She was sick and honestly not looking so good, Ever since Jacks Father John got killed, She Changed A lot and so did Jack.

I walled in the General store, “Good Morning Ms. Y/L/N!” Jake (Worker) greeted me with a big smile , “Good Morning Jake” i said returning the smile, “so out getting the normal?” “pretty much” i replied picking some canned vegetable’s up “So How’s Mrs Marston Doing?” “Well Jake… Not so good, shes getting sicker by the day” “oh well im sorry.. hows Jack doing?” He asked while I put the stuff down on the counter “He’s taking it pretty hard, I think he knows what’s gonna happen with her soon” “Well Good thing he has you with him, send him my Regards, anyways that’ll be $9.30” I then paid “Have a nice day Jake” “ You too Ms. Y/L/N.”

I started to load up the wagon with all the Supplies, i hopped on the Wagon and headed for Beechers hope, I left really early and didn’t even tell Jack or Abigail good morning, well i did tell them i was leaving in the Morning.

•Jack’s Pov•

I woke up and realized Y/N wasn’t next me, I panicked for a second but then I Realized she told me yesterday she was gonna go shopping in Blackwater.

I waited around for Ma to wake up, Normally she would be up by now so i knocked on her door to try and wake her up. Nothing. “Ma?” I asked as i open the door to her room, I seen her laying there Barely breathing.

“Ma?!” I asked shaking her “please don’t leave me…not right now…” i felt tears forming in my eyes “j-jack?…” she said very fainted. “Yes its me…” “oh my sweet boy…” she said quietly putting a hand on My cheek. “J-jack can u promise me something?” “Y-yeah… whats that?….” I felt more tears rolling down my face “take my ring, and ask Y/N to marry you, shes the one Jack, shes yours, and can you protect her as well?” “Y-your ring?” “Yes son…” “ Yes i will ma..” “thats my boy, I love you…” “i love you too..” her eyes stayed just about open as she took her last breath.

She was Gone.

•Y/N’s Pov•

I approached Beecher’s hope on the wagon, i stopped it in front of the house, i hopped off and opened the back gate, “Jack! Im back from Town, Can you come help me with this?” I yelled, but Jack didn’t come outside, “Jack?” I walked up the door and opened it, it was silent. “Jack?…” I slowly walked through the house I stopped at Abigails room and seen that Abigail was laying in bed not moving or breathing, Jack was sitting on the bed next to her staring down at something Shiny.

“Jack?..” i asked quietly not wanting to scare him, he looked up at me, his eyes were red and had tear’s going down his face, “she’s gone… Forever…” “ oh Jack” I walked over to him and slowly sat in his lap pulling him into a hug, “It seems that everyone I love ends up dying….” I heard him say into my neck, “it’s ok Jack, i know how it is…” i said while rubbing his back trying to calm him down.

We sat there for a few minutes in silence. He raised his head up from my neck “ I-i guess we should go bury her..” i nodded and got of his lap he got up off the bed “…Next to Pa..”

•TIME SKIP• (Trying to shorten this up a bit)

•Jack’s Pov•

Me and Y/N stood there at Ma’s grave, Y/N had picked some flowers to put on her grave. As she did that I pulled the Ring out from my pocked and looked at Y/N ‘I promised I would’ i thought.

After that we walked backed down to the House I stopped Y/N in front of the house and grabbed both her hands, she looked at me confused, “ look Y/N, I made a promise to My Ma before she passed, Y/N… You have been a great woman to me and you’ve helped me through my darkest times such as this, you’ve been by my side through everything, and i couldn’t imagine my world with out you…Y/N Y/L/N Will you marry me?”

•Y/N’s Pov•

“Y/N Y/L/N Will you marry me?” I felt tears in my eyes, I nodded “y-yes, a million times yes” i said with a grin on my face, Jack stood up and put the ring on my Finger, “i-is this Abigails ring?” He nodded “ she gave it to me” i jumped into jacks arms, I connected our lips together i felt him grin against my lips, we pulled away breathless, “ Your stuck with me now Mrs. Marston” I grinned as he sat me back down on the ground, i still couldn’t believe it.

“Oh By the way, I still need help the the groceries”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I tried to write something sad idk Abt it, i though it was kinds weird that Jack proposed right after they mourned Abigail.

•REQUESTS OPEN•

[laukoslovergirl]

Boston's Bad Bitches (3)

Pt.1 Pt.2

Pairing: Wotherspoon!reader x the 3B's (Boston's bad bitches GC) (Platonic!Matthew Poitras, Brother!Parker Wotherspoon, Platonic!Jeremy Swayman, Platonic!Trent frederic, Platonic! John Beecher, Platonic!Mason Lohrei) 

Warnings: language

Summary: game time updates. The boys being picked on by baby spoon.

based off of the game against tampa bay 01.14.25

I had so much fun with this one

[toasttt11]

trust

April 16, 2024

Lucia bit her lip smiling softly as John gently pulled back and away from her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” John asked softly as he held her face delicately in his hands, he wished to stay with her longer but he had to pack up his apartment with everything he’s bringing home.

Lucia had told John once he got back that she told her siblings and she was sure that Jack had already told her parents too and John just smiled and said he had called his twin when he went to get breakfast and told him as well and Paul told their parents for John already.

John had an idea to ask Lucia tomorrow and he hoped she would said yes and it wasn’t too soon for it.

“Tomorrow.” Lucia repeated soflty and pressed a kiss on John’s freckle next to his lip and gave him one more soft smile before he reluctantly turned around and walked out of her apartment and she watched him the whole way until he got into the elevator and the shut her front door.

Lucia leaned her back on her front door letting out a breath and rubbing her face.

Lucia shook her head smiling to her self before she walked to the living room and smiled softly seeing John left his hoodie and pulled it on and inhaled deeply smelling John’s scent before she plopped onto the couch and grabbed the blanket throwing it over her and turning her phone on.

Lucia was just scrolling through her phone for a little while before her phone started buzzing for a facetime in her group chat with Dylan, Ethan and Mark and she answered she saw all of boys faces and smiled softly, she missed seeing them all the time.

“Cece!” Dylan happily beamed greeting his best friend.

“Hey.” Lucia smiled back.

Ethan beamed and Mark smiled happily at her.

Lucia contently listening to her boys tell her all about their week as she hadn’t been able to talk much the past few days so they had quite alot to catch up on.

Lucia was mostly just laughing and pipping in with a chirp every once in a while.

“Ok okay enough about us. What’s going on with you Cece?” Mark sweetly asked his best friend.

It was a very weird adjustment for Dylan, Ethan and Mark to not have Lucia with them all the time, she wasn’t sitting next to them in class, wasn’t in the locker room, wasn’t sitting in their booth at the cafe, wasn’t on her spot on the couch for movies nights. They slowly got use to it and it makes them pretty excited to hear about what she has been doing away from them.

“Uh..” Lucia trailed off and flushed slightly, “John asked me to be his partner yesterday.” Lucia admitted with surprisingly giddy smile.

Ethan, Dylan and Mark all shared a look they have heard all about John and at first they thought he was just becoming a good friend to Lucia but over time they quickly realized that was not what was happening.

The three were skeptical of John and rightfully so after how Mackie broke Lucia heart and Mackie was their friend before he did so.

But the three also knew they had to trust Lucia’s judgment and John had to be pretty special if he managed to get past Lucia’s walls and makes her this smiley and blush so easily.

Besides they could John the shovel talk once they see him in person.

“When did he ask you?” Ethan questioned curiously.

“He asked me last night.” Lucia answered playing with the sleeves on John’s hoodie.

“I’m happy for you Cece.” Mark smiled softly at his best friend, “If John makes you happy that’s all i could wish for.”

“We are all happy for you Cece.” Dylan corrected but still softly smiled at her.

“He’s obviously a good guy and if you trust him, we trust him.” Ethan reassured her, they were all still weary after Mackie especially with how much he had hurt all of them but John earned Lucia’s trust slowly and John never pushed Lucia once to be ready.

Lucia smiled appreciatively at her best friends and couldn’t wait to have her best friends meet John in person.

[unmaskthewriter]

You’re A Great Man, Arthur Morgan: Part Two {Sean Macguire x F!Reader}

Summary: Arthur was always a ghost of a person, but now that he’s gone, the grief will remain. The only family left is the one you’ve made for yourself. Part One is HERE.

A/N: A few of you have requested and I delivered! I will be tagging you so that you see the update :) also, the first half takes place in Yukon as that’s where the Marstons go first several years before purchasing Beecher’s Hope. I don’t make it clear but they share a house in Canada, but are neighbors at Beecher’s Hope ~ @photo1030 @12timetraveler

I do not give permission for any of my work to be copied, published and/or translated on any platform including Tumblr.

Word Count: 1517

Warnings: angst, mention of criminal activities and canon character death

January, 1900; Yukon, Canada

You lay in bed, beads of sweat slowly trailing down the side of your face. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as Abigail returns to your side, carefully handing the baby to you. The baby was wrapped in a beautiful blanket made by Abigail herself.

“It’s a boy.” She tells you as you carefully move the blanket aside, looking over your son’s features. A head full of reddish brown hair, and blue-green eyes.

God, how you wished Arthur could be here.

The baby yawned as the front door to the home burst open. Quickly, Sean and John entered, shutting the door behind them before the cold wind could blow inside. Unfortunately you had gone into labor a week early, and Sean was in town working when John had called for him.

“Where’s me girl?” Sean shrugged off his jacket by the front door, and began searching each room until arriving at yours. He froze at the door to the bedroom, holding his snow-brimmed hat over his chest.

“Oh lass…” He spoke softly, forcing one foot in front of the other until he reached your bedside. Carefully, you handed the babe to your fiancé. Sean admires the babe in his arms, checking for all ten fingers and toes.

“He’s so beautiful,” Sean whispered, “Hell… if it weren’t for Arthur we wouldn’t be ‘ere… my boy.” Sean tells his son, letting the babe’s tiny fingers curl around his one.

“Have you thought of any names yet?” A familiar voice questions. You look to see John standing in the doorway with young Jack.

“Traditionally, we would name him after me Pa-“

“Not this again.” Abigail muttered, holding her head in her hand.

“Ye of little faith, Abigail!” Sean chuckled, looking at the young woman, “We already chose a name. A strong one.” Sean stands with the babe in his arms, looking back down to him, “Artúr Macguire.”

“That’s a wonderful name. John, perhaps we should give them some time with their son?” Abigail suggested before leading her boys out of the room.

Later that night, you stood over the bassinet as Artúr slept peacefully. Sean came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you ever so gently.

“I meant what I said earlier, darlin’. If it weren’t for ya’ brother… I wouldn’t be ‘ere… I’ll always be grateful for that ol’ grouch.” Sean mentioned, emitting a small laugh from you.

“He was a bit of a grouch but he had his reasons,” You add, placing your hands over his, as his chin rested on your shoulder. A moment passes and your eyes divert to the worm satchel bag hanging from the edge of the bassinet. “When he comes of age, he will know what Arthur did for us, for him.”

1910; Beecher’s Hope

If you had asked yourself ten or so years ago if you would ever work on a ranch, the answer would be no. You were used to moving from one heist to the next, never truly considering tomorrow, only living in the moment. Despite that, John had bought a piece of property outside of Blackwater of all places, and built a ranch from the ground up with help from Charles, Sean and Uncle, but mostly Charles and Sean.

It is Artúr’s birthday.

You sit on the edge of the bed you share with Sean, the sun having barely crept up over the horizon. The room was still dark, the candles having been put out hours ago. In your hands, a journal with worn edges and pages. You felt knots in your stomach as the opened satchel sat beside you. In the ten years of having possession of it, you didn’t dare open it and seek its contents. The satchel alone was haunting you, to have something that belonged to your brother before he…

died.

You remember when Charles took you to his grave for the first time, back when the ranch was first built. Abigail had offered to watch Artúr, giving him some time to play with Jack whilst you were away with Charles.

“Oh, Charles.” You whisper, slowly dismounting the horse. His grave was facing the west, in the direction of the setting sun. Flowers adorned his grave. Etched into the wood, it stated: “Arthur Morgan: “Blessed Are Those Who Hunger And Thirst For Righteousness”. You are reminded of an earlier conversation back at one of the earlier campsites with Tilly, Hosea, Lenny and Arthur.

“When I die, I just want to be buried with friends.” Hosea admitted plainly. It made sense for him, such a simple man considering your shared lifestyle.

“Me too,” Lenny joined in, “with friends, or with family. I don’t think it matters more than that.”

“What about you, Arthur?” Hosea looked up from where he was sitting to meet your brother’s gaze.

“Me? Ah, I don’t care about that nonsense.” Arthur brushed it off, his hands resting on his weapons belt on his waist.

“Come on.” Hosea urged, taking a sip of his coffee. A moment passes as Arthur presses his lips together, thinking for a moment.

“Face me to the west, so I can watch the setting sun… and remember all the fine times we had that way.” Arthur explained.

“See, Tilly, I told you Arthur had a soul.” The old man jokes and you smile.

Your hands shake as your fingers rest on the outside of the journal. You blink away tears, wiping your eyes with the collar of your nightgown. As you prepare for the day, you can’t help but keep looking at the satchel. You hated how upset it made you, that no matter the time that’s passed, grief still had its hold on you. As the rest of the house slowly woke from their slumber, you had begun to set the table for breakfast. Sean and Artúr come downstairs, dressed for the day. Hanging on the edge of a chair was the all too familiar satchel.

“Good mornin’ love.” Sean greeted, coming behind you with a kiss to the cheek. You smiled and turned to face your son who was walking towards the table. It was adorned with a variety of hot food.

“Oh, happy birthday, my son.” You approached him and welcomed him with a hug.

“Happy birthday! Are ya excited for later?” Sean gently ruffled his son’s hair.

“Paaa, stooop!” Artúr laughs, pulling away. Sean only stands beside him with a proud grin.

“What’s later?” You question, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’m taking ‘im out on his first hunt. I thought I mentioned it. John and Jack will be joining us.” Sean explained with a tone of excitement.

“Perhaps you did… I feel like my mind has been miles away…Sit, both of you. We should eat before the food gets cold.” You insist, sitting at the table beside your now husband. Everyone eats, discussing the plans for the day. After the hunt, the Marstons would be joining you all for dinner to celebrate Artúr’s birthday.

“I have something I want to give you.” You tell him, your breath is shaky. Sean takes your hand, squeezing gently as to reassure you.

“Before you were born, your Pa and I lived a… bad lifestyle. We were criminals, Artúr. Towards the end, very bad men were coming after us, and my brother, your uncle Arthur… s-saved us…” You explain as you blink away tears, carefully reaching for the satchel and placing it on the table in front of your son. Sean lifted your hand, placing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“It belongs to ya now, son. Your uncle would have wanted you to have it..” Sean added, watching as Artúr opened the bag carefully. He pulls out the journal, along with a few other various items Arthur had collected over the years. As Artúr opens the journal, a single photo falls out. Artúr examines it closely, flipping over to look at the back.

“Oh, Ma, I think this is for you.” Artúr extends the photo to you, and you carefully take it. Sean scoots closer to look at it with you. The photo was of the entire gang standing on the porch of an unfamiliar shop. You and Arthur stood alongside each other, while Sean stood a bit aways.

“Oi, there’s me beautiful face!” Sean laughed, pointing to himself in the photo. You flip the photo over.

“Nothin’ means more to me than this gang. I would kill for it. I would happily die for it. I wish things were different, but it weren’t us who changed. We can’t change what’s done, we can only move on” - A.M

You let out a stifled cry, smiling as you look back at the photo before handing it to your son. He looks over the photo once more.

“My uncle was a good man, wasn’t he?”

“A great man, son.” Sean corrected, his eyes glistening with tears as you both listened as Artúr began to read through the journal aloud.

“I bought this new journal after the last one got destroyed in that fire all those months ago, whenever it was…”

[annwrites]

⸻ beecher's hope. ⸻

· pairing: charles smith x fem!reader · type: part of a miniseries · summary: you & charles find yourselves settled at long last. · tags: fluff, angst · word count: 1.7k

Little Arthur is seven-years-old now, and he looks just like his father. The fact fills your heart near to bursting. 

The three of you lived in Saint Denis for some time, even if you each equally despised the city, whose air was filled with toxins so thick it blocked out the light of the sun, until an old, familiar face came calling, asking for help. One with a scar and a crooked smile. 

John Marston. 

He regaled the both of you with the events that transpired which caused the final fallout of the gang. How Dutch fled like a coward with a chest full of gold, while Micah was Arthur’s demise, as well as Susan’s. 

Arthur, who saved John. Who…gave his life so John’s would go on. 

Now John is a proper family man. Or, is trying to be as much, at least. He has purchased for himself a good bit of land called Beecher’s Hope, which he means to erect a house upon for Abigail, who he intends to make his wife, and for his own little one, Jack, who is not so little anymore. Uncle is there, too, which you are glad to hear: that yet one more soul made it away from the firefight of that last night that took place upon the grounds of that cursed ridge. 

John wishes also to raise a barn, and plant crops, so he may try his hand at being a farmer. 

He offers your husband steady work, and a bit of pay, if he will aid him in his endeavors. You know Charles does not want to take his money, but you beg him to. You don’t know how much longer you can bear watching him make his way in the world with his fists. For each time he is hurt, a piece of you is ripped away with it.

John thus insists, for your sake, that he accept the coin he has to give. 

Charles agrees, if not reluctantly.

It is lovely here. A bit dry, perhaps, but quiet, and away from civilization. There’s privacy to be had, and a brand new life to make.

Abigail is all-too pleased with her new home. As well as the new title she bears of ‘wife’. You are immeasurably happy for their little family, and that John is to now make an honest living. 

One night, once all in the house have gone to sleep, you and Charles sneak out to a far-off field, where he makes love to you beneath the glimmering stars. 

As he slides between your familiar walls, which hold him firm, you whisper that you wish to bear him another child. He does what he can to oblige your request when he spills himself inside of you.

Sadie Adler has come calling with shocking news: she has tracked down, through much effort, the whereabouts of Dutch Van der Linde, and his cowardly companion, Micah Bell.

It turns your stomach that the former kept the latter at his side after what he did to Arthur and Susan, right before his very eyes of all things. That he did not execute him upon his knees, while he begged for mercy, just as he would have deserved. 

The men, and Sadie, are preparing for war. They mean to journey north—a considerable ways from home—to avenge Arthur. You refuse to beg your husband to stay, even if you scream at him with your eyes to do as much. You are terrified that none of them will make it back. 

Even Uncle, who is typically all jests and lazing about, grows serious, and tells them he wishes he could come, but his old body will only serve to hold them back. So, he takes John’s gun from the mantle, and ensures him that he will kill anyone who comes calling which is unwelcome upon his land.

You all know, without a doubt, that he means it as he takes watch on the porch with a deathly-silent disposition.

You cling to Charles with trembling limbs, and tear stricken-cheeks, as you beg him to come back to you.

“Return to me. When you do, we’ll properly begin our life together. We’ll go north, into Canada, just like you’ve always talked about. We will make a fresh start, and build ourselves up anew, with our past transgressions left behind us.”

You crush your lips to his while holding him as close as you possibly can, as you do your utmost to commit every part of him to memory. His head of beautiful black hair, his strong nose, his wide shoulders, his plush lips, his soulful eyes, and the clarity of his voice. And his hands which have held you nigh-on every night since you first met. 

You turn to John, who is just saying goodbye to his wife. “You bring my husband back to me. And you come back to your family.”

He merely replies with a solemn nod.

And then you go to Sadie. You give her cheek a soft kiss, and you wrap her in your arms. “You take care of them, and do what you have to to keep yourself safe. This world is not kind to women, so do not be kind to it, if it forces your hand.”

You take a step back while looking them each over. “Kill that son of a bitch, and leave him for the wolves to take.”

You and Abigail keep busy as best you can. There is always something which needs tended to, so the prevention of idle hands is not difficult to achieve. 

You milk the cows and goats, gather eggs from the chickens, and sheer the sheep for wool. The garden is sought to daily. Whether it is weeding, planting, fertilizing, or gathering, it never ends. 

And the house is cleaned often, what between sweeping, mopping, scrubbing, changing linens, washing laundry and dishes, and so on.

Little Arthur and Jack may not be quite so close in age, but they’ve nevertheless become fast friends, which gladdens all of you who remain here, at Beecher’s Hope, to see. Children’s laughter is the perfect cure for sadness, you think. 

In the evenings, once dinner has been prepared, and subsequently consumed, sometimes you all—once the children are fast asleep—sit on the porch for awhile, rocking and telling stories from your days in the gang. The two men who are now being hunted are never mentioned in your recollections, while all those who perished, and left to carve their own path, are.

You pray each night before bed with a wearily bobbing head, for the safety of those who are now so far away. But above all for your husband.

As you crawl into bed and clutch one of his shirts to your chest and nose, you fall asleep, imaging he is here with you now, holding you securely in his arms.

Micah is dead at long last, and you deem he should not be well enough feed for even the rats, but he is of consequence no longer, and that is what matters above all.

Dutch, meanwhile, roams free, which you find difficult to understand.

Your husband and Sadie both had desired his demise, but each deemed it was ultimately John’s judgement to make. He had known him the longest; was practically raised by him. You think that fact is what served to stay his hand when the moment finally came to act. 

Nevertheless, they have all returned, much to your and Abigail’s delight and relief. 

The night they do, you have a great feast, as well as a celebratory bonfire, with song and drink. 

Come the morn, however, the merriment is at its end, and Sadie declares she should be on her way. That the deed is done, as she completed the task she set out to do.

You and Abigail both beckon her to stay awhile longer, but free spirit as she is, your pleas fall upon deaf ears as she departs from you each with a kiss on your cheeks, and heartfelt words gracing your ears.

In due time, you and Charles are the next to follow, even if John tries, with great effort, to convince your husband to stay, and make a home for the two of you on his land. That he and Uncle both will aid him in building it. Even little Jack voices his support, and states he will cut the wood himself to raise your walls with. 

Charles is not to be swayed, however. He is still considered a fugitive, and refutes the prospect of spending his life behind bars while his wife and children are left to their own limited devices. It is his responsibility to look after each one of you, and by finding a new life in Canada is how he should achieve such an end.

“You all write to us, you hear?” Abigail states with red-rimmed eyes, and a cherry nose. 

You cup her cheek while nodding and granting her a watery smile. “As soon as we’re settled. I promise.” you swallow thickly. “I can’t thank you all enough for having us. For letting us be a part of the creation of your home.”

She shakes her head. “I should be thanking ya’ll for that. That, and more.”

She takes you into her arms once more, while Charles and John shake hands and grant each other hearty slaps on the backs. 

You will miss them so dearly, but you take comfort in the possibility of one day returning to visit. 

“We’re home,” Charles murmurs against your cheek as Arthur runs ahead of you through a field of lilac and lavender, hooping and hollering at the sight of the expansive bit of land that lies before the three of you for him to play upon.

Your child stirs in your belly, and Charles rests a gentle, steady hand upon it, thus calming the babe inside. 

“I promise to build you the home you’ve been waiting for. Right here. It will be exactly as you wish for it to be.”

You turn to him and slide a hand up his chest before cupping his cheek. You run the pad of your thumb along his lips while smiling. “I already have everything I need.” you glance toward Arthur and give a slight shrug of your shoulder. “Though, plumbing and electricity should do us well, I think.”

Charles throws his head back and laughs. “I’ll make one of our first purchases a clawfoot tub, then.”

You snicker while rising up upon tiptoes and throwing your arms around his neck, before showering him in kisses to showcase your devoted love.

[puck-luck]

*PLEASE READ THIS PAGE IN ITS ENTIRETY BEFORE REQUESTING A FIC!*

WHO

The players that I will certainly write for:

Trevor Zegras

Quinn Hughes

Jack Hughes

Luke Hughes

Cole Caufield

Mattias Samuelsson

Nico Hischier

The players that I am down to write for, but haven’t written much/anything yet:

Jamie Drysdale

Dawson Mercer

Jack Quinn

Seth Jarvis

Mat Barzal

The players that I have never written for, but am willing to consider:

Nils Höglander

Arber Xhekaj

Kirby Dach

Alex Newhook

Juraj Slafkovsky

Johnny Beecher

Daemon Hunt

Wyatt Johnston

Luke Evangelista

Shane Pinto

William Nylander

Joseph Woll

I am willing to try and write for any player that you all request!

Players that I will not write for:

Auston Matthews

Connor McDavid

Matt Rempe

Connor Bedard

Macklin Celebrini

Will Smith

John Marino (I used to write for him, but I don't really see him in That Way anymore. So I'd prefer not to write for him.)

Players who were born in or after the year 2004.

Players who were born in or before the year 1994.

Players who are married. For example, I think Mason Marchment on the Stars is sooooo… but he’s married and I feel weird writing fic about someone who is in a LEGALLY committed relationship.

WHAT

I enjoy writing both vanilla/fluffy sex AND dom/sub dynamics. I am a huge supporter of the daddy kink and a classic ‘unprotected p in v’ tag. I personally lean more into a sub dynamic, so I prefer writing men that are more dominant in bed, but I am not against writing sub!m. In fact, I have a few fics and blurbs that are sub!m and they are some of my favorites. I will also write threesomes, but it is a large undertaking, and I prefer to brainstorm that content on my own. You are more than welcome to request a threesome, but there are no guarantees I get to it.

I will not write anything with dark!characters. The closest thing to dark!characters that I will write is a bit of gaslighting, like in my frat fever and all roads fics. I love a situationship as much as the next person, but non-con content is not going to appear on this blog. That’s rape. That’s sexual assault. As someone who has experienced SA in my own life, I will not allow that content to taint my blog. We are all here to have a good time. Rape does not equal “a good time.”

I love the Hughes brothers as much as the next person, but I will not write incest. I do not support writers who do. 

In that vein, there is a limit to a lot of the content I will write. I am down to write about having sex while intoxicated, but I will not publish content where characters are so intoxicated that they cannot consent. I am down to write a bit of somnophilia, but it is always consensual and discussed beforehand. The same is true with choking, slapping, and spanking– it is consensual and, in the event that something happens in the heat of the moment, the characters stop and check in with each other. Because that’s how real life should work.

I also will not write inexperienced!reader x experienced!player fanfiction. I have a Trevor Zegras series that explored that dynamic and, while I respect the people who enjoy that sort of content, I feel like it glorifies the process of losing your virginity to a “good, caring, perfect” person in a “good, caring, perfect” time, and that is not always realistic. Most times, losing your virginity is something that you will giggle about or cringe at by the time you become regularly sexually active. I often feel like the people who request that content are the minors lurking on my account (see more on that in the next section) and I will not cater to that.

WHY

I refuse to create any content that will negatively affect people. I am a firm believer that, despite the fact that my blog is NOT safe for minors, there are certainly minors lurking on here. I was once a 14 year old on tumblr dot com. I’m not a fool. Because of that, I will not be creating content that fetishizes abuse, toxicity, power imbalance, or violence between partners. Everything that I write will be safe, sane, and consensual. I will not write anything that breaks the law or the general code of morals that 90% of people in the world follow.

All of the relationships in my fics are meant to represent normal, healthy relationships where the participants are equals (even if their dynamic in the bedroom is dom/sub).

HOW

Please use my inbox or my DMs to request! Thank you for reading this and happy requesting!