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allthemeniveloved · 3 days ago

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It Will Come Back - John's Ending

Summary: The beginning of John's ending.

wc: 5.1k

Tags: brief mentions of violence, quick smut, dom!John Marston, unprotected p in v, deeply insecure JM, slight breeding kink if you squint, author deeply craves JM family content

ao3 link

a/n: Just a reminder that this chapter follows part 8, not the last two chapters posted as those belonged to Arthur's ending. (John's ending is the true ending in my head.) Sorry it took me all week and hopefully I can post the finale tomorrow!

The rowboat creaked softly as Arthur and Sadie glided across the dark waters toward Sisika Penitentiary, the faint sound of waves lapping against the hull blending with the eerie silence of the night. Arthur’s hands gripped the oars tightly, his jaw set in grim determination, while Sadie sat in the stern, her rifle resting across her lap. The tension between them was palpable, each stroke of the oars drawing them closer to the towering stone walls of the prison.

As they approached the eastern side, Arthur slowed the boat, scanning the perimeter for guards. Sadie leaned forward, her sharp eyes sweeping the wall. “Looks clear,” she murmured, her voice low but steady. “Let’s get to it.”

Arthur secured the rope to a rocky outcropping beneath the wall, his movements quick and deliberate. The weight of what lay ahead pressed heavily on him—getting in, finding John, and getting out alive felt like an impossible task, but turning back wasn’t an option. He hauled himself onto the rocks, extending a hand to Sadie as she followed.

Inside the penitentiary, the corridors were dimly lit and silent, the oppressive air thick with the faint scent of damp stone. Arthur moved ahead, his revolver drawn, every step deliberate as he scanned for movement. Sadie stayed close, her knife gleaming faintly in her hand as her boots barely made a sound on the cold floor.

It wasn’t long before they encountered a lone guard patrolling the hallway, his lantern swaying in his grip. Before the man could react, Arthur surged forward, slamming him against the wall with one hand and pressing the barrel of his gun to his temple. “Not a word,” Arthur growled, his voice low and deadly.

Sadie stepped in quickly, her blade pressed against the guard’s throat as she leaned in. “Where’s John Marston?” she hissed, her tone sharp enough to cut.

The guard stammered, his wide eyes darting between the two of them. “Block C,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Third cell on the right.”

Arthur’s grip tightened, his gaze hard. “Good. You’re gonna take us there. Real quiet-like.”

The guard nodded frantically, and Arthur pushed him forward, keeping the revolver trained on his back. The three of them moved quickly through the winding corridors, the faint echoes of distant footsteps keeping them on edge. When they reached Block C, Arthur shoved the guard against the wall, his voice cold. “Open it.”

The guard fumbled with his keys, his shaking hands struggling to find the right one. “Hurry up,” Sadie snapped, her knife gleaming in the dim light.

Inside the block, a familiar voice called out from the shadows. “Arthur? Sadie? Is that you?”

Arthur’s gaze snapped to the source of the voice, relief washing over him as he spotted John in a cell near the end of the block. He was slumped against the bars, his face pale and bruised but unmistakably alive.

“We’re here, John,” Arthur said, his voice tight. “Just hold on.”

But as the guard opened the heavy iron door, panic struck him. He shoved backward, throwing himself into Arthur and shouting for help. Arthur reacted instantly, slamming the guard to the ground with a rough punch that sent the man sprawling. The clatter of his keys hitting the floor echoed through the corridor, and Arthur snatched them up, tossing them to Sadie.

“Get the door!” Arthur barked as the distant sound of boots and shouts began to grow louder.

Sadie caught the keys and rushed to John’s cell, her movements quick and practiced. Within moments, the lock clicked, and John stumbled out, his legs unsteady but his resolve clear. “You came for me,” he rasped, his voice thick with disbelief.

“Damn right we did,” Sadie shot back, gripping his arm to steady him.

Arthur turned, his revolver already raised as he fired down the corridor, buying them precious seconds. “No time for a reunion,” he snapped. “Move!”

The three of them bolted through the prison, Arthur and Sadie covering their retreat as alarms blared and guards swarmed behind them. By the time they reached the boat, John was panting heavily, his strength fading fast. Arthur shoved the boat off the rocks, leaping in after Sadie as she fired one last warning shot toward the guards on the shore.

“Row, Arthur!” Sadie barked, keeping her rifle trained on the shrinking figures in the distance.

“I’m rowin’!” Arthur growled, his muscles straining as he pulled at the oars, the boat cutting through the dark water with every stroke.

John collapsed into the boat, his chest heaving as he leaned back, the exhaustion evident in his face. “You didn’t have to do this,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

Arthur glanced over at John, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the tension still thrumming in the air. “Yeah, we did,” he said gruffly, rowing with steady strokes. “Your woman would’ve had my damn head if we didn’t.”

Relief washed over John’s face, his eyes widening as he sat up straighter, despite the exhaustion weighing him down. “She’s alive?” he rasped, his voice thick with emotion, the tension in his shoulders loosening at the thought.

Every night in that cold, dark cell, John’s thoughts drifted to you, no matter how hard he tried to block them out. He’d lie awake on the hard cot, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, his mind replaying every moment you’d shared, from the way you smiled to the sound of your laughter. The worry gnawed at him constantly, a relentless ache in his chest as he imagined what dangers might be closing in on you while he was stuck behind bars, powerless to protect you. He wondered if you were safe, if you were holding up, or if the chaos that seemed to follow the gang had reached you, too. On his worst nights, when the silence of Sisika felt unbearable, he feared that he’d never see you again, that his failure to be there for you might cost him the one thing he couldn’t bear to lose. The thought of you kept him going, but it also tore at him, each passing day a reminder of how far away you were and how much he needed to get back to you.

Arthur let out a heavy sigh, his gaze fixed on the dark horizon as he rowed. “We’ve been survivin’, but it ain’t been pretty,” he muttered, the weariness in his voice clear. “And I ain’t even told you about Guarma yet.”

John leaned back against the edge of the boat, a faint grimace crossing his face. “Guarma?” he echoed, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not sure I even want to know.”

As the lights of Sisika faded into the distance, the weight of their escape settled over them. For now, they were free, but Arthur’s mind was already racing with what came next—getting John back to safety, and what that safety would mean in a world that was growing more dangerous by the day.

The salty breeze off the water bit at your skin as you paced the length of the dock, your boots scuffing against the weathered planks. The faint sounds of laughter and clinking glass spilled from the nearby saloon, but they were drowned out by the pounding of your heart. You couldn’t sit still, couldn’t relax, not with the weight of your worry pressing down on your chest. Arthur and Sadie had been gone for hours, and the gnawing question in your mind refused to let go: What if something went wrong?

You stopped at the edge of the dock, staring out into the black expanse of water. The moon’s reflection rippled faintly against the surface, but beyond that, there was nothing—no sound, no movement, just silence. You wrapped your arms around yourself, the cold creeping into your bones despite the heavy coat you wore. The thought of John, trapped behind those stone walls, twisted something inside of you. You hadn’t seen him in so long, and the fear that you might never see him again threatened to choke you.

Then, out of the darkness, you spotted it—a faint shadow moving across the water. At first, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you, but as the shadow grew closer, you recognized the shape of a small boat. Your breath hitched, your heart thundering as you stepped closer to the edge of the dock, your fingers gripping the wooden railing. The closer the boat came, the clearer it became: Arthur, Sadie, and…

“John,” you whispered, your voice trembling as relief surged through you.

As the boat bumped against the dock, Arthur leaped out first, steadying it as Sadie climbed out after him. And then, there he was—John Marston, battered and exhausted but alive. He moved slowly, his legs unsteady as he climbed onto the dock, but the moment his eyes met yours, everything else fell away.

John caught you, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he buried his face in your shoulder. “I missed you,” he murmured, his voice raw and thick with emotion. “God, I missed you so much.”

You held him like you’d never let go, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as you sobbed against him. “I thought I’d lost you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Arthur and Sadie stood a short distance away, watching the reunion with a mixture of relief and quiet understanding. Arthur cleared his throat after a moment, breaking the silence. “We don’t have long,” he said gruffly, glancing toward the lights of the trading post. “It ain’t safe to stick around.”

John pulled back slightly, his hands still on your waist as he looked down at you, his expression soft but serious. “He’s right,” he said quietly. “We can’t go back to camp—not yet.”

You nodded, wiping at your tears as you tried to steady yourself. “Then we’ll figure it out,” you said, your voice firmer now. “We’ll go somewhere safe.”

Arthur stepped closer, placing a hand on John’s shoulder. “You take her and lay low for a while. Sadie and I’ll head back to camp, keep Dutch and the others off your trail.”

John nodded, his grip on you tightening briefly as he looked back at Arthur. “Thank you,” he said, his voice heavy with gratitude.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you murmured, your voice trembling with sincerity. “For everything. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Just don’t make me regret it,” Arthur replied, his tone gruff but carrying a faint warmth. He tipped his hat to you before stepping back toward the hitched horses, Sadie following close behind.

As the two of you watched them disappear into the night, John turned to you, his eyes filled with the kind of relief and longing that made your chest ache. “C’mon,” he said softly, taking your hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

The warmth of his touch and the sound of his voice steadied you as you followed him into the woods, leaving Van Horn and the chaos behind for a moment of fragile peace.

As you guided Dahlia into the woods, her dark coat blending seamlessly with the shadows, you felt John shift behind you, his arms loosely wrapped around your waist for balance. The tattered prison uniform he wore caught your eye, and you couldn’t help but glance back at him with a faint smirk.

“You know,” you teased lightly, your voice breaking the stillness of the forest, “you might want to get out of that outfit. Can’t exactly go strolling around town looking like you just broke out of Sisika.”

John let out a low chuckle, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as Dahlia navigated a rough patch of ground. “Guessin’ you’ve got somethin’ in mind, then?” he asked, his voice softer now, the weariness in it tempered by his amusement.

You nodded toward the saddlebags hanging from Dahlia’s sides. “Packed a change of clothes for you,” you said lightly. “Figured you might need a little more than your charm to blend in.”

John’s chuckle deepened, the sound warming the cool night air as he leaned forward slightly, his voice low near your ear. “Always takin’ care of me, huh?” he murmured, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you heard a faint note of relief in his tone.

The woods were quiet, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the cool night breeze and the faint crackle of the small fire you’d built. Shadows danced across the forest floor, their flickering light catching on the lines of John’s face as he sat close behind you, wearing the fresh clothes you’d packed for him. His shoulders were still tense, his body tired from the ordeal, but there was a warmth in his gaze when he looked at you that made your chest ache.

By the fire’s warm glow, John held you tightly, his arms wrapped around you as if he were afraid to let go, the tension in his embrace mirroring the storm of emotions swirling between you both. His face was buried against your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, and the faint tremble in his hands betrayed the calm he was trying to project. You could feel his heart pounding against your back, a frantic rhythm that seemed to echo your own as the weight of the past weeks came crashing down. He didn’t say much—he didn’t have to—because the way he clung to you, the way his fingers gripped the fabric of your shirt as though you might disappear, said everything. The fire crackled softly beside you, its light casting flickering shadows across his face when he finally lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours, raw and glassy with emotion. “I ain’t lettin’ go of you again,” he murmured hoarsely, his voice thick, and you nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks as you tighten your grip around his arms, vowing silently that neither of you would have to endure this kind of pain again.

You leaned back against John’s chest, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite the heaviness of the past few weeks. “You know,” you said, tilting your head to glance up at him, “I did try to warn you about that Saint Denis bank job. Told you somethin’ about it didn’t feel right.” A low chuckle rumbled from his chest as he tightened his arms around you, his lips brushing the top of your head. “You were right, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice laced with humor and regret. “Don’t think I’ll ever hear the end of it, will I?” You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not a chance, Marston,” you teased, the warmth of his chuckle blending with the sounds of the forest.

John’s voice was low, almost hesitant, as he spoke, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the blanket he had draped across your shoulders. “I’m glad Arthur was there to look after you,” he said, the words deliberate but carrying a nervous edge, like they’d been turning over in his mind for days. His gaze flicked toward the fire, avoiding yours, but the tension in his jaw betrayed the swirl of emotions beneath the surface. “I hate that I couldn’t… that I wasn’t there,” he added, his voice thick with guilt. There was something else there too—a faint twinge of jealousy simmering beneath his words, unspoken but clear in the way his hand tightened slightly against your back. When he finally looked at you, his eyes were filled with a mixture of gratitude and regret, his vulnerability stark in the flickering light. “But I’m here now,” he murmured, almost as if reassuring himself as much as you. “And I ain’t lettin’ anyone else do my job again.”

John’s arms tightened around yours, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder. You placed your hands gently over his, your touch soft and steady as you tilted your head slightly to catch his gaze. “John,” you murmured, your voice calm but firm, “you don’t have to carry that guilt. You did everything you could, and it's not your fault.” You paused, letting your words sink in as you laced your fingers with his, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “And Arthur? He’s your brother. He wasn’t replacin’ you—he was just doin’ what family does. Lookin’ out for me because he knew you’d do the same for him.” John’s breath was warm against your neck, and you leaned back into him, squeezing his hand gently, “You’re here now, and that’s what matters. That’s all I’ve wanted.”

John’s voice was quiet, almost vulnerable, as he murmured against your shoulder, his grip tightening slightly around you. “I think Arthur kept you safe because he still loves you,” he said, the words slow and heavy, as though they’d been weighing on him for weeks. “Not because of me. And… I don’t think he’s ever gonna forgive me for this—for us.”

His words made your chest tighten, and you turned in his arms, shifting so you could face him. The flickering firelight illuminated the worry etched into his features, the guilt lingering in his eyes. Gently, you cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as you held his gaze.

“John,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the ache in your heart. “Arthur’s hurt, I won’t deny that. But this isn’t about forgiveness, and it’s not about blame. What happened between me and him is in the past. You didn’t take me from him—I chose to be with you because I love you. Please don’t let it eat at you.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes searching yours for reassurance as his hands rested against your waist. “But what if—”

“No,” you interrupted gently, leaning closer, your forehead resting against his. “We can’t change the past, John, but we can choose what we do with now. I’m here, with you. That’s what matters.”

He exhaled slowly, his breath warm against your lips as he nodded faintly. “I just… I don’t wanna lose you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“You won’t,” you promised, your hands slipping to the back of his neck as you pulled him closer. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

John’s hands cupped your face with a desperate tenderness, his calloused fingers brushing your cheeks as his forehead rested against yours. “I missed you,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with emotion, his breath warm against your lips. “God, I missed you so much. I’ll never leave you again, darlin’—never.” His words spilled out like a promise, each one laced with the ache of all the time you’d spent apart.

Before you could reply, his lips crashed against yours, the kiss deep and consuming, fueled by the longing he could no longer contain. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him to straddle his hips as if he needed to feel every part of you to believe this moment was real. His kiss was anything but gentle, a raw mix of passion and relief, as though he were pouring every unspoken word and feeling into the connection. When his hand threaded into your hair, his grip firm but reverent, the way he held you made it clear—he wasn’t letting go again.

You couldn’t suppress the low moan into his mouth as his fingers tugged firmly on your hair. You pulled back slightly, breathless, gazing into his eyes, your fingers threading through his hair. "John," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, and you leaned in again, molding your bodies together as his lips and his hands explored yours with a rough tenderness. You could feel his heartbeat pounding against your own, the steady rhythm echoing through you like a drumbeat. As the kiss deepened and their tongues tangled, you lost yourself in the heat of the moment.

John's lips trailed down your neck, leaving a fiery trail in their wake, as he pulled back from the kiss. His large hands slid down your hips, gripping your thighs firmly, and he lifted you off his lap, supporting your weight effortlessly. With your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, he turned you over, pinning you to the cold ground beneath you. His eyes softened as he looked down at you, his body hovering over yours. "My sweet angel," he breathed, his voice thick with desire.

You met his gaze, a sly smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you reached up to brush your fingers along his jaw. “I’m no angel, Marston,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing, though the warmth in your eyes betrayed the depth of your feelings.

A slow, crooked grin spread across John’s face as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “I suppose angels don’t go fallin’ into bed with ex-prisoners, do they?” he drawled, his voice low and rough, the teasing glint in his eyes making your heart flutter. “Guess that makes you my kind of angel.”

“I suppose it does.” You whispered.

He lowered himself onto you slowly, your bodies connecting with a sigh. The feeling of his hardness pressing against your core made you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders. He groaned, his mouth finding yours once more, his tongue dancing with yours as he worked to remove the barriers between you two.

"I need you, sweetheart," he whispered, his rough voice sending shivers down your spine. "I've been waitin’ for this for too damn long."

His hand slipped between your legs, his fingers trailing up along your aching center. You moaned into his mouth, arching your back as he found the spot that made you gasp.

"Please, John..." you pant, your hips bucking against his hand.

He pulled back, his eyes blazing with desire as he stared down at you. "You're so fucking wet," he growled, his voice dark and rough. “This all for me?”

Your delicate fingers gripped his bicep firmly, “All for you, John, I want to make you feel good.”

“Darlin’...” he rasped in disbelief.

“You've been through enough. Use me.” Your voice was firm.

John's eyes were blown with a possessive lust as his hands gripped your hips, spinning you atop the weathered blanket and flipping you onto your stomach in one fluid motion. You gasped as his weight settled heavily across your back, the force of his body pushing you down into the rough material beneath. He hiked your hips up sharply, arching your back until you felt exposed and vulnerable, your chest pressing flat into the ground.

One large, rough hand seized the back of your neck, holding you in place as he leaned in close, his lips hot against your ear. "You sure you want me to use you, darlin'?" he growled, the deep timber of his voice sending shivers down your spine. It wasn't really a question—it was a demand, filled with pent-up hunger.

His free hand roamed down your body, fingers digging into the soft curve of your waist before trailing lower, teasing at the heat between your thighs. "Thought about you every damn night in that cell," he rasped, his voice thick with lust. He bit down on the tender skin of your ear, his teeth grazing you just firmly enough to make you gasp.

"You're mine," he snarled, his hand tightening around your neck as his hips ground against you from behind, letting you feel every hard inch of his arousal. "And I'm gonna remind you every night."

With that, he pulled back slightly, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs, spreading them wider apart to align you with the persistent, throbbing pressure of his erection. When he entered you with one deep, forceful thrust, the air was driven from your lungs in a broken moan. He set a relentless, punishing pace, each vigorous drive of his hips forcing the breath from your body, his fingers clenching around the back of your neck as though to claim you.

John's large, rough hands gripped your hips as he moaned loud enough for any passerby to hear, "Fuck, darlin'," he panted, his voice thick with lust. "You're so goddamn tight.”

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His teeth latched onto your sensitive skin, a low growl rumbling through his chest as his hips snapped forward with a sharp thrust.

"Ngh - John," you whimpered, your hips bucking back against him.

One hand released your hip, trailing down to where you were joined, his calloused fingers circling your sensitive bud with an expert touch. You could only gasp and moan, your fingers scrabbling against the blanket as he overwhelmed you with sensation.

"That's it, angel," he panted, his damp breath hot against your ear. "Let me feel you fall apart."

And there you were, about to come undone underneath him when an unbidden thought flickered through his mind—a vision of you holding a child, your child, with that same warmth and care. The image struck him like a bolt of lightning, so vivid and startling that it made his chest tighten. But just as quickly as it came, he pushed it down, burying it beneath layers of doubt. She’d never want that with someone like me, he told himself, his jaw tightening as he forced his gaze away.

John's rhythm faltered for a moment, his hips stilling as he processed the unexpected image that had flashed through his mind. But then, spurred on by your increasingly desperate moans and the way your body seemed to flutter around him, he redoubled his efforts. His hips began to move again, each powerful thrust sending shockwaves through your body.

The combination of his skilled fingers and the deep, throbbing heat of him inside you was too much to bear. Your orgasm crashed over you in a wave of pleasure, your body trembling and shuddering beneath him as you cried out his name. John's rhythm finally broke, his body stiffening as he pulled his cock out of you, and it was followed by the small slapping sound of hand on skin. You tilted your head to watch the way his cock shone in the moonlight as he fisted it, eventually spurting out ropes of cum onto your back. For a long moment, you both simply lay there catching your breath, his chest heaving as the adrenaline and lust began to ebb from his system. The look in his eyes was distant, almost lost, as if he'd been swept away to some invisible place.

Your breath underneath him forced his mind to come to as he quickly grabbed his discarded undershirt to clean up his mess. Finally, he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him so that you lay draped across his chest. His large, calloused hand stroked lazily along your spine as he let out a long, contented sigh. His arms circled you loosely, one hand tangled in your hair as the other drew lazy lines up and down your spine. The contact was intimate and tender, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before.

Before he realized what he was saying, the words slipped out, low and tentative. “You ever think about… y’know… havin’ a family someday?”

The question hung in the air between you like a delicate thread. When you tilted your head up to look at him, his face was already red, his eyes darting to the fire like he could burn away the embarrassment. “I—I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammered quickly, his voice rough. “Just… forget I said anything.”

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment, your expression softening. “John,” you said gently, moving to sit closer to him. “Did you mean it?”

He hesitated, “Yeah,” he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just… thought about it, is all. Ain’t sayin’ you’d ever want that with someone like me, but… can’t help what crosses my mind.”

His vulnerability made your chest ache, and you reached out, your hand resting lightly on his arm. “John,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm. “I think about it too.”

The look of surprise and relief that flashed across his face was enough to make your heart swell, the weight of his unspoken hope finally lifting as the two of you lay there, naked bodies intertwined, still glistening with sweat.

You looked at him, your eyes steady and full of emotion as you leaned closer, your voice soft but firm. “Why do you think I was trying so desperately to get you to run away with me back at Shady Belle, John?” you asked, the weight of your words sinking into the quiet around you. His breath hitched, his brow furrowing as the realization dawned on him, clear as day in the flicker of firelight reflecting in his eyes. He stared at you, his lips parting slightly as if to say something, but no words came. The truth of it hit him hard—you’d wanted a life with him, one far from the chaos and destruction of the gang, and he’d been too caught up in loyalty and doubt to see it. “You didn’t want me to run away,” he murmured finally, his voice hoarse with disbelief. “You wanted us to run away.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you leaned back slightly, the tension between you easing just a bit. “I didn’t think you were as tough and dense as all that, Marston,” you teased lightly, though the warmth in your voice softened the jab. His lips twitched into a faint smirk, but his eyes still held the weight of realization, the hint of a chuckle slipping out as he shook his head.

“We gotta settle down someplace safe, someplace where we can actually build that life together.” Your eyes searched his, a quiet determination behind your words as you pressed on. “If that’s what you really want, we’ll figure it out—but not here, not like this.”

John’s gaze softened as he laced his fingers with yours, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “I know,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with quiet resolve. He held your eyes for a moment, the flickering firelight reflecting the weight of his determination. “We’ll find someplace… somewhere it’s just us. I promise.”

You didn’t say anything, your throat tightening as his words settled over you. Instead, you nodded softly, your fingers tightening around his as you leaned into his warmth.

“Okay.”

꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰

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