More Than an Odd Job || John Marston x Reader
Chapter I to my multi chapter fic "More Than an Odd Job", you can find the full story on ao3 or wattpad. Link down below.
Summary: Who knew getting a handsome man to fix your porch would take you across the country? You went from being a stay-at-home wife to a widow that is learning how to shoot and rob banks within three months.
It was later in the afternoon and the sun was still out and shining while you attempted to fix up your broken porch. Earlier you tried to get mail and your leg fell through the rotting wood creating a giant hole right in front of your door. The house was fairly old and needed to be freshened up every now and then so it was bound to happen at some point.
Your knees dug into the old floor and your pants picked up splinters as you measured the exact length and width of the hole. Using your ruler you took measurements and wrote them onto a piece of paper that was held down by a box of nails. You squinted when the sun shined right at you, sunburns already starting to develop on your arms.
There was a lot of work for you to do.
“Need help over there?” a man shouted to you, stopping his horse in front of the property. You looked up from the broken floor and squinted your eyes at the man. He wore a hat but you could see his dark shoulder length hair poking out of it and swaying in the wind. The guy looked fairly young, around your age, nothing like a creep so you didn't think to reject his offer right away. You really needed that help.
“Y’know I ain’t against that idea.” you yelled back with a chuckle, using your hand as a shield from the sun's beams. The man swiftly got off his horse and hitched it at the post in front of your house. It was a beautiful Hungarian halfbred he rode, with a brown coat and a white mane, not a combination you've ever seen before. “What’s the problem here?” he asked, walking up your stairs before seeing the ugly break in the floor. “Oh,”
“Yeah..” you said, pressing your lips into a thin line. Your lack of progress was a bit embarrassing.
He shook his head with a sigh and crouched to assess the damage up close. “Nothin’ you can’t fix. Just need sum nails and wood. You got that right?” he asked and looked right at you when you nodded and pointed to the container of nails.
Now that he was closer you could see his face better, his eyes were dark grey in color and he had a nice stubble that you eyed whenever he was close. “Oh and a saw.” he added, fluttering his eyes from the beam in the sky, "Everythin’s in the shed.” you say standing up and introducing yourself.
“John.” he said standing up, reaching out to shake hands with a small, almost unnoticeable, smile. You looked down in hesitation and pulled off your glove to shake his hand. The shake was firm, you could feel his rough, calloused hands against your smooth ones. “So,” he began, “You live alone?” you shook your head and threw the gloves on the floor. “I live with my husband, Albert Cowen.” you waved at John to follow you to the tool shed behind your house. He raises a brow at your response.
“How come are you doing this then?” he followed after you, closing the gate behind him, “I mean, I’d assume a man would do the heavy work.”
You kept quiet for a moment, contemplating what to say before responding to his question. “Well, he works all day and I have nothin’ else to do besides chores.” he hums, not exactly satisfied with the answer but he doesn’t pry about your husband further. Instead he looked around your backyard where there were two run down chicken coops that were seemingly empty with a greenhouse nearby.
“I take it you don’t do things like this often then.” he follows up, watching with curiosity as you unlock the shed. “Wonder how you figured that out.” you joked and he laughed, earning a smile from you that he couldn’t see. “There are so many broken things around the property, you’d be amazed.” you said opening the shed to reveal the different tools you stored.
His eyes widened and eyebrows raised slightly at the sight. How do you have that many available tools and not a single thing is fixed? John thought about what you said and offered again. “Why don’t I help you with that as well? I’m already here.” he watched as you pulled out a small wooden plant from the back of the shed.
“My husband is coming home soon and he aint exactly alright with me talking to other men. Let alone asking for help from them.” John heard that and furrowed his brows. He could tell that Albert wasn’t the best husband to you from how you described him. “I could come around tomorrow and help. If you want me to.” he asked, wanting nothing more than to help you with the work.
You looked at him in thought and handed him the saw while carrying the wooden plank. “..That would be great actually.” Without a second thought John took the plank from you, “I can definitely come around tomorrow mornin’. There ain’t much for me to do besides this.” he tells you before turning on his heel and walking back to the front porch. “My husband leaves at eight.” you informed him.
After you closed the shed you jogged after him to catch up, closing distance fairly quickly. “Thank you so much, I don’t think I said so earlier.” you thanked him and watched as he placed everything down, silently admiring his strength. “That’s no problem ma’am.” he responded and you shook your head frantically “Oh no no, just call me by my first name. Please.” You didn’t look that old? Right?
John nodded with a small smile, “Will do.”
“Alright.” he cleared his throat and looked at the note you took earlier. “These the measurements?” he asks, looking up at you as you agreed. “The ruler is right there.” you pointed to it and watched as he began sketching the measurements onto the plank. His movements were smooth and precise, you eyes couldn’t help but linger on his bare hands, scarred with visible veins across them.
You coughed to clear the lump in your throat, “I could uh, get you something to eat if you’d like. My way of repayin’ you." There was fresh baked bread in the kitchen and some caviar in the cabinet waiting to be eaten. On second thought, maybe you should've offered some money instead..
John looked up at you again with a noticeable smirk on his face that made your face feel hot, you weren’t sure if it was him or just the sun. “I won’t say no. I haven’t eaten a proper meal in days.” he said. “..Do you like caviar?” you asked and he tilted his head in confusion. “What?”
“Like, caviar? Y’know? It’s fish eggs.” you explained, forgetting you’re privileged enough to have even a lick of caviar in your cabinet. John was skeptical but agreed to give it a try. It was better than eating burnt turkey at his camp.
As you went back inside you almost tripped on the doorway, you cursed under your breath and shut the door right behind you. Now you were definitely getting red because of him. You felt a bit guilty but who could’ve blamed you, anybody would fawn over a handsome man doing their porch. His handsomeness paired with the willingness to help. Yeesh.
While John worked on the porch you washed your hands and prepared something to eat for the both of you. You cut two slices of bread, spread butter onto them, and layered a good amount of black caviar on top. The bread was still warm and its aroma filled the house, your mouth was watering at the smell.
There was a loud knock at your door that startled you. You licked the mixture of butter and caviar off your fingers, wiping them on the towel real quick before running over to the door. John was on the other side, sun hitting the side of his face where a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. “All done,” he said, moving out of the way to show you the finished work.
“Oh wow, that fast?” you asked, looking at the patched up floor. It just needed one coat of paint to match all the other boards. “If you know what you’re doing it doesn't take long.” he took a jab at your skills. You laughed and invited him in.
Once inside he looked around your cozy home, it was clear to him a woman made this place the way it was. You locked the door and walked past him, “Here,” you handed him his plate of bread and caviar. John took the plate, looking at it closely, eyeing the little black eggs on his piece of bread. “They’re fish eggs, they’re not gonna come alive.” you say, leaning on the kitchen counter.
He shrugged and took a bite, his expression going from skeptical to pleasantly surprised. You reached to eat your own piece. “You can sit down, you don’t have to eat standing.” you gesture towards the table but he waves his hand, eating the rest standing.
When he finished his piece he licked his fingers clean from the butter that got on them, there was even a little bit of caviar left on his mustache. “You have a little something on your face,” you say pointing at that area of your own face with a smile. He looked at his fingers when he tried to wipe it off but nothing came off.
“Here,” you got him a napkin and he was able to wipe it off. “Trash is in there,” you pointed to the cabinet under the sink. John opened it to find the trash and a leaking pipe with a bucket underneath collecting water. You weren’t lying when you said there was a lot to fix in your house.
“Why don’t you just hire a plumber?” he asks, confused as to how you have such a big property but don’t even buy a service to upkeep it. “Albert thinks it’s a waste of money. He always says he’ll do it but never does.” you say, watching him throw away the dirty napkin and close the cabinet. “Does he expect it to fix itself?” John says, getting irked at a man who isn’t even there.
From what you’re telling him, your husband sounds like a lazy bastard. Which wasn’t far from the truth.
“How about this, I come over tomorrow and fix your sink and get started on that chicken coop back there.” he proposed, putting a hand on the sink, letting the rest of his body lean on it. His other hand on the gun belt. You tried to be polite and looked out of a window where the chicken coops were. “You saw the chicken coops?” you didn’t think he’d notice. “Yeah, saw how run down they were. Did you ever use them or did they just sit there for a decade rottin’ away?” John asked jokingly.
“You’re not even wrong, they came with the house since the previous owners had chickens.” Albert wanted to get chickens to house in there but you protested against it because the conditions of those chicken coops were far too dangerous to hold living animals in. It’s not like you didn’t want them, you just couldn’t leave them in such an environment.
He persisted with the idea but ultimately forgot about it over time. Your husband wanted home grown eggs or whatever but he wasn’t the one that would have to do all the manual labor to take care of them. Never thinking about anyone but himself.
“So do you want to get rid of them then?” he asked with a raised brow, tilting his head, not exactly sure what you wanted. You eventually looked back at him, “I want to restore them. Maybe get some chickens to keep me company after.” he chuckled at your words. “Guessin your husband aint enough?”
You shook your head with a loud sigh, “Don’t even get me started.”
John looked at the clock and realized the time, “Shit, it’s getting late, I should really go now.” You looked at the clock aswell and nodded, Albert was just about to be home anyway. “Anything you need me to prepare for tomorrow?” you asked as he began to head out the door, “Don’t bother, I’m sure you have everything in that shed of yours.” he said as he walked down the stairs to his horse.
“Alright then, stay safe.” you told him as you leaned on the doorframe, watching him leave. His hair blew in the wind as he got on. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning.” he said to you, calling you by your name when saying his goodbye. Your smile faded when he was no longer in sight.
Everything felt so empty after he left. He was your first human interaction outside of your husband in weeks. Even before you got married you were always isolated in your house, trapped with your shitty family that did nothing but ridicule you for doing something that didn’t fit their standards. You thought when you’d get married that you’d atleast have a bit more freedom, but you were stuck in the same torturous loop again.
Your social interaction was the people walking by your house and saying hello. As many weirdos and perverts there were, you still came out to greet everyone that came by in hopes of someone making your day more interesting. Interactions like the one you had with John were rare, everybody was always busy and hurrying to get to town. Or they knew you were married to Albert and didn’t want trouble in case they were caught.
Now it was just you, your thoughts, and the crickets outside. Lovely.
You went up to your room and changed into a casual dress now that you weren’t working outside. The rest of your time was spent preparing dinner for when Albert came home. You made chicken noodle soup with the remaining ingredients left in the kitchen.
As you were about to finish with the soup, the door unlocked and Albert walked in. Drunk like any other day. “Drunk again?” you asked, not even looking at him as he came through the door. Albert replied to your question with another question. “What’s for dinner?”
“Chicken soup.” you took the pot off the stove after it finished cooking. He took his shoes off and tossed his jacket on the couch. “Whats with the porch?” he asked another question. You looked at him, thoughts of your interaction with John running through your head. “I fell in this morning and had to replace it. The wood is rotting, we’re gonna have to replace the whole thing.” he rolled his eyes at you.
“Why would we replace it if it works? You fell in once right?” he asked, “Well yeah?” you could tell what he was going to say next just by the wording of his question. “See then only that part needed fixing.” he said, grabbing a spoon from the kitchen drawer. “Give me double, I ain’t eat lunch today.” he kissed your cheek from behind, the smell of alcohol lingering on your face making you grimace .
When he turned away you quickly wiped it off with your shoulder. You poured him the soup, double just like he asked and carried it to him. The sight of him made you want to scream. Half-way unbuttoned shirt, red lipstick stains, and even hickies poking out of his shirt. You weren’t mad he cheated, you were mad at the audacity he had to come in without an ounce of shame.
“I’m gonna go upstairs.” You tell him to which he doesnt give a reply.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/78387256/chapters/205488166
Who knew getting a handsome man to fix your porch would take you across the country? You went from being a stay-at-home wife to a widow that
