#second time writing rdr it might suck womp womp

[whoyacallinyellow]

Pastures New

John Marston x F! cowgirl reader

Spoilers: RDR2 chapters 1-3 (just in case) Content: 18+, John is an asshole, angst, possessive, canon typical events / violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes. Type: third person limited (wc - 1540) / pc: pinterest

Summary: You have not been with the gang for very long. You’re leaving a little earlier than John expected, feeling betrayed by your actions, he snaps at you.

John stood perched up against a tree at the end of the camp path, it had been an uneventful nightshift at Horseshoe Overlook, like every other night that is. A part of him nearly craved a fight, but Dutch was keen on preaching patience, or something like that— maybe he could just doze off for a few minutes, no one would pay any mind, he’s still recovering after all. John was beginning to relax, with the trees gently rustling, the crickets chirping… a horse trotting quietly from camp—

Must be one of the boys going out on a lead, he peaked out from under his hat, pulling his worn body from the trunk. 

“Who’s there?” John’s sharp words sliced into the night, creating a soft “easy,” from an unexpected voice. 

“Whatcha doin’ out this late?” John hollered, his gruff tone softening and showing much more surprise than he first anticipated. 

“Evenin’ Mr. Marston.” Your voice loomed as you wowed her horse in front of him, the stallion's coat shining off his lantern. John’s eyes scanned you from head to toe, with a satchel hung around your frame, and rifle on your back, he ogled at you in unintentional disgust.

“Got a lead?” He finally inquired suspiciously.  

“Not quite—“ you began through a sigh, unsure how to break the news to your short-tempered companion. Shifting his weight from foot to foot in anticipation, your unusual tranquil tone began to make John nervous.

“I’m headin’ out.” You suddenly concluded, words that nearly sounded foreign— words that felt like a rip of a bandage to John. But after all, you were always trying to rile him up. Getting him all flustered was a near hobby at this point. 

John erupted in bitter laughter, his harsh chuckles carrying throughout the thick trees and brush.

“Tell ya what, darlin’— how’abouts I take ya fishin’ tomorrow.” John proposed boldly in the midst of his laughter, taking any chance he could to dig under your skin. A sorry excuse he called payback for the torment he received from you. But to his dismay the comment earned not much of a word from you. Something about John brought out your confliction, your usual straightforward thoughts were mixing with your fondness of the outlaw. 

“There ain’t much ‘ere for me, John.” You spoke lowly, unsure how to properly convey your thoughts to the brickhead. John swallowed dryly, you waited for him to speak, expecting a ‘am I not enough for ya, woman?!’. 

But instead he tried to catch a glimpse of your face in the dark path where you both resided, for some sort of explanation. Knowing the all too familiar look in his bloodshot eyes, along with the small line his lips formed into, his anger overpowered any desire he had to rationalize with you.

“What’er you talkin’ about, girl?” John demanded, his arms crankily gesturing towards you. 

“You know very damn well what I’m talkin’ about.” You snapped immediately, your harsh words hissing towards the stubborn outlaw. 

“It’s over John— your ol’Dutch is gone looney! I pity the damn cocksucker who can’t see that.” You shouted, staring up your nose at him.

John shook his head in frustration, deeming this a match he yearned to not fight sober, it was so damn hard for him not to get upset— especially when it came to you. 

“How ‘bout you sleep on it— I’m afraid I can’t let’cha go on by your lonesome in the middle of the night.” John calmly compromised, but to be fair— he wasn’t asking. 

“Give me a break, Marston— Ms. Adler could just abouts spit on me right now, ‘nd I don’t fancy myself on your bad side— I’ve seen what you’ve done to that there O’Driscoll boy.” Your voice came out with an uncharacteristic shake, nearly resembling the whine of a child.

John’s fingers dug into the leather of his belt, his grip tightening with every passing moment as he gnawed at the inside of his lip. 

“C’mere, girl.” John’s brash instructions eventually left his gritted teeth, he did not have the patience nor energy for your silly antics. 

To John’s surprise you hesitantly obeyed, meeting the ground before him with a small plop. 

The space in between you two closed a bit, his body heat radiating off you, turning the aura oddly intimate.   

Yet you could not bring yourself to look at John, his smug eyes burned through you, wondering when he should speak— seeing you this vulnerable was a sight for sore eyes. Maybe he enjoyed it a little too much. Your usual cocky attitude held no chance against him, they were still outlaws after all, and a lot of them at that. Watching you squirm from simply being under his authoritative gaze made his ego violently soar. 

“Hey now, look at me.” He instructed through a breath, you shook your head with a huff of protest. 

“Fuck you, Marston.” The words burned right through him, bringing his power trip to an abrupt halt.   

After quick consideration and no second thoughts, John decided he was not having it—in one swift motion his calloused fingertips met with your jaw, craning your head up to meet his dead-eyed gaze and freshly healed wounds, which only put emphasis on how he towered over you with dominance. 

“Oh, there ya are.” He teased cunningly with a hum, admiring his beat hands on your soft skin, which resembled silk under the blue moon.  

John thought the worse you could do was shoot him point blank, or scream bloody murder to alarm the gang— just to spite him. He reckoned you did not have the gall for either. 

Your frightened doe eyes glistened off the moonlight that broke through the treetops, face remaining unable for him to read. 

“I reckon you behave.” John murmured shortly, the cooed rasp in his voice nearly sounded sickly sweet. He decided to leave you to interpret what the full extent of his words meant. 

He tightened his grip ever so slightly, causing a burning pain to vibrate through his bloody knuckles from an earlier altercation. A part of John hoped he did not hurt you, while another part so desperately wanted to leave a small reminder of who you belonged to— how could you leave him this soon? Right when things were getting back on track.

“If… if you do so much as to speak— I’ll hunt you down my damn self.” John growled through gritted teeth, his words slithering out in a near whisper. 

An empty threat you have summed up to being all talk, but John knew you would not challenge him under these circumstances

You were not surprised by his words, knowing the man would not have taken your departure easily, especially after nearly dying and all. You exhaled gently, face softening under the small illuminance of John’s lantern, now placed at your feet on the forest floor.

John squinted in sudden discomfort, his once gripped hand now resting gently on your cheek, causing regret and shame to wash through him, the subconscious movements just proved how sweet on you he was. 

“‘M sorry, little miss.” John mumbled softly, realization dawning upon him as the guilt began to eat him inside-out. 

Without speaking you hoisted yourself on your tiptoes, placing a gentle kiss on the outlaw’s newly healed cheek. An embarrassing gesture he was just beginning to get used to— who would have thought he would still get loved on with that nasty scar. 

“Jus… just be a good girl, alright?” John murmured huskily, desperately trying to backtrack his prior threats. 

As your lips retreated John’s heart beat increased in anticipation of what you would do. After planting a small kiss on his lips was almost enough for him to ride off into the night with you. 

He broke away, running his beat hands down your shoulders as he thought of what to say. 

“I can’t.” Was all he mumbled to himself, despite your lack of words. 

“But at this rate— maybe.” He chuckled meekly, leaning away from you to prevent any more of your convincing. 

John was so focused on you that he barely noticed the stallion fidgeting anxiously due to the commotion, small snorts and stomps of protest could have nearly been enough to alarm one of the gang joining him on patrol. 

“Whoa, easy now boy.” John hushed, beginning to adjust the saddle and bedroll you lazily threw on in the dark. 

“That scared bastard’ll buck you off at the snap of a twig.” He stated, reaching his hands towards the stallions freshly groomed coat— oh how you desperately tried to get the ol’bastard to tolerate you. 

“Hey now, that bastard is my ticket outta’ere— or perhaps ours.” You defended the poor beast with a shy grin. 

John sighed, finally hearing the suggestion come from you out loud and not just his racing thoughts. The fact that if you would have led with that offer, he might have accepted without second thought. Before John could dig himself out of his trance you mounted up. 

“Farewell John.” You mumbled, fighting the uncertainty in your voice that John so clearly caught on to— he wasn’t the village idiot everyone thought he was, surely. 

“Go on.” You breathed with a small click of your mouth. John watched his greenhorn cowgirl disappear into the night. Evidently the same girl who could barely mount properly weeks ago— the same damn girl who nearly got her insides turned out by the same damn stallion— the same damn girl he would follow around camp in a drunken stupor for one more kiss before bed. 

“fuckin’ idiot.” 

John spat, to himself or you, he could not quite tell. He was not exactly sure what stopped him from racing after you through the warm summer night before losing you for good, or why he wanted to in the first place— maybe it was to laugh in your face when things didn't go your way— maybe it was to prove to you that Dutch’s plan would work— maybe it was to take you for all you’re worth and donate your share to gang, fair and square— or maybe it was for reasons he was conflicted with, thoughts kept quiet he was not sure he could rationalize just yet.  

All he knew was for now, the gang needed him. 

~

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