Mar 29, 2025
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Ch. 14 of United Duality
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
pony up
Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader
Summary: John and Abigail continue to argue. You and Jack are both stuck in the middle, so you make the best of it by teaching him to ride.
Warnings: Toxic relationships, arguing, strong language
Word count: 1,464
A/N: Two chapters in one day - PHEW!! I have to say I’m pretty pleased with how this one turned out. If you didn’t catch my earlier post there will be a bit of a break between today’s updates and Ch. 15 so I can take a moment to read and rest and make sure the coming chapters are as good as they can possibly be. I feel like a broken record saying this but thank you all so much for your support!!!
Series masterlist • AO3
—
You take to the Heartlands like you were born to endless green and not the cracked desert of your youth. Valentine makes boasts of civilization, despite Hosea’s stance on its mud and morons, but the wilderness that surrounds it is what captivates you. Sprawling and wild. Half-tamed and raw. Unbroken. The chirping cry of the eagle and mournful bugle of the elk command a symphony in your soul that begs to be set free. Each night your heart stampedes the open plains with the wild horses, and each morning it returns when the songbirds first sing.
Then the fighting starts.
“You ‘n me is one thing, but you could at least show up for the boy!” Abigail says this morning.
“Jesus, woman, quit naggin’ me!” John snipes back. He’s supposed to meet you to go fishing. You have a feeling that might not happen.
“I ain’t naggin’! If you would just—”
“I don’t have time for this. Ghost and I—”
“I don’t wanna hear another goddamn word about Ghost!” she all but screams. You flinch, even over by the hitching posts as you are. “What about me, John? What about our son?”
John’s eyes go hard. “What about you?”
It’s a low blow, even for him, and the backhanded slap that hits his face a moment later is no great surprise to anyone.
What is surprising is that when Abigail marches away, she marches toward you. You shift a little in place but don’t run, much as you’d like to. She points an accusing finger and doesn’t stop until it jams into your chest.
“You—” she chokes past the tears in her eyes, but when she sees the look in yours she can’t finish the sentence.
Because what is there to say, really? That she would kill for John to spend as much time with her as he does with you? That she wishes he would wait out for her when she goes into town, or comes back from the creek with baskets full of laundry that he’ll help her carry home? You know that already. The same as she knows, deep down, that you’d give anything for him to look at you with that same want in his eyes when he sees her. To have him come to your bed every night and wake together every morning. And isn’t it just sad? And aren’t you just fools?
“You watch out for him out there,” she finishes lamely, and you grasp her hand that’s still on your chest and squeeze the apology that’s lodged in your throat.
“Sure, Abigail. Take care.”
You let her go and she walks away, glaring at anyone who dares stare. John doesn’t say a word when you hand him his reins and head down to the river.
—
Days later, you’re sitting next to the fire enjoying a morning smoke with coffee strong enough to feel in your teeth. Pale, pre-dawn yellow streaks a sky marred only by your curling whisps of smoke. For once it is blessedly, blissfully quiet.
“Morning!” a bright voice chirps.
You close your eyes and take a deep, calming breath before turning to snarl at them, only to be met with an unexpected face.
“Jack,” you say, trying not to sound surprised. Or mean. “Where’s your ma?”
It’s not that you dislike the kid, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t try to steer clear of him most of the time. Just seems better that way.
“She’s at the river. Reverend is supposed to play with me but he’s sleeping again.”
Fuck. Of course he is.
You look around to see if someone - anyone - is around who can watch him instead, but most folks have already headed into town, and the girls are surely with Abigail doing the washing at the river. Fuck.
“Well, hey,” you fumble, “why don’t you ‘n me do somethin’ while we wait for him to wake up?”
“Really?” He sounds so excited. It breaks your heart a little.
“Really.”
You’d been planning to ride out, maybe find a horse to fence, but instead you while away the morning playing every game imaginable with little Jack. He’s way too smart for you, listing off the wildest names you never heard of while you play pretend. You’re Penelope. Telemachus. Charybdis. He always gets to be Odysseus, who must be the hero. Then he wants to go hunting for bugs, so you dutifully lift rocks only for him to squeal when centipedes and beetles come creepy-crawling with all of their legs and pinchy parts. Then he tells you it’s your turn to pick something. You try to wrack your brain, but the only thing you can think to ask is if he knows how to ride on his own yet.
You smile when he says no.
“About time you learned, then.”
With a sweet chestnut Morgan who sometimes packs for you on hunting trips as a model, you take your time explaining how important it is to take proper care of your horse. How to brush with the grain of the hair. What every piece of tack does. You thought he might get bored, but the kid absorbs information like a sponge. He asks question after question, until finally he hits you with one you aren’t expecting.
“Why are you called Ghost? Aren’t ghosts scary?”
“What,” you say, “I ain’t scary enough for you?”
He suddenly looks nervous, so you smile and ruffle his hair.
“Relax, kid. I only scare bad guys and little shits who don’t mind their ma.”
“What’s a ‘little shit’?”
You raise a brow at him. “Take a guess.”
He laughs.
There’s just enough room at the edge of camp for you to work in, so under watchful eyes you let Jack lead the mare over. He’s terribly proud of himself.
“Ready to mount up?” you ask, then don’t give him a moment to think about it before lifting him up and into the saddle.
He stares at you with wide eyes, scared and excited all at once. You remember the feeling.
“Breathe, kid,” you remind him. “And get those feet in the stirrups. Sit deep. Shoulders tall.” You touch a hand to his stomach. “If you’re strong here, it’ll help you both balance. Less likely to fall.”
He nods, trying to do everything at once. He’s only halfway successful, but it will all come with practice. You lead the mare in between and around picketed horses, twisting and turning but keeping a steady pace. Every few strides you remind Jack to tilt his heels down, or square his shoulders. His little brow furrows with concentration.
You don’t even realize how much time has passed until the sun sits high in the afternoon sky, and Abigail returns with the girls and baskets and baskets of laundry.
“Reverend!” her shout rings through the clearing. “Where the hell is my son?”
“Over here, Mama!” Jack calls from atop his mount.
He’s graduated to guiding the mare in circles off the lead, but you’re still close by. She’s being a wonderful sport about it, eyes half closed while she putters about barely registering the butterfly kicks her young rider gives.
Abigail stops short when she sees you. Before she can say a word, Jack smiles and cheers for her attention to show off his new skills. He makes the mare turn left, then right, then beams over at the both of you.
“That’s,” Abigail starts, “Well, that’s real fine, Jack. Did you say ‘thank you’?”
“Thanks, Ghost!”
“Sure, kid. Any time.”
The emotion that shines in her eyes is hard to place, but it brings a fragile smile to your face that she mirrors.
You help Jack down and he runs up to hug her skirts, smelling of sweat and horses, you’re sure.
“Should Jack help cool her out?” Abigail asks.
You huff a laugh. The mare hasn’t broken a sweat. “I’ve got it. You two go on now.”
They turn to go, Jack racing off ahead, but Abigail stops and turns back. “Ghost?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.” There’s so much packed into those two words, years of misunderstanding trying desperately to heal the pretty blue hurt in her eyes. The desert cracks in yours.
You tip your hat, nod in understanding, scared that if you try to speak no words will come.
—
John finds you later.
“Heard you an’ Jack had fun today.”
You cut your eyes at him but keep your head on straight at the shirt you’re mending. It’s a botch job, but at least the hole will be gone. “Sure. Good kid you got there.”
“Ain’t so sure he is mine.” His laugh is humorless. Caustic.
“Does it matter?”
He’s silent for a long moment before admitting on a sigh, “I don’t know anymore.”
You don’t either.
Husband for Hire – Epilogue
Bakugou x Fem!Reader 🌸 Stardew Valley Crossover 🌸 Word Count: 2.9k
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!!: past cheating (backstory), pregnancy
Short snippets from the following year.
Spring
Bakugou stands beside you on the porch as two trucks rolled onto your farm loaded with panes of glass and frame pieces. The ground slightly gives beneath their tires, but not enough that the work will still get done and they’ll still be able to leave. The passenger door of one truck opens and Ochako hops out.
She dusts off her slacks and surveys your land. Bakugou can practically feel waves of irritation rolling off you. Your arms cross over your chest and you straighten. He chuckles silently to himself and pulls you close against him. Placing a kiss against your temple, Bakugou hopes that you feel all the love he sends through it, and smiles when your body softens against him.
“I’m not a fan of this,” you break the silence.
“I know,” he murmurs, his lips grazing your skin, “It’s just for a day.”
Your anger cracks and your arms slide around his waist, anchoring him against you. “Did she have to personally deliver everything? We could’ve bought everything from Robin.”
“I don’t want her here either, but I got this for a fraction of the cost. It’ll be fine.” He rubs small, reassuring circles on your back. “The contractor will be here tomorrow and oversee the actual construction.”
“Fine,” you grumble. When Ochako looks in your direction, you press a terse kiss to his cheek and walk down the wooden steps. “I’m going… somewhere not here.”
“I’ll text you when she’s gone.” He gives your hand a final squeeze before letting go.
You disappear down the path towards town. Probably to the beach – that’s where you go when you want to think or need a distraction.
A voice he hadn’t heard in nearly a year speaks to him. “Katsuki.”
All the warmth you left you vanishes. An icy wall forming between him and his ex. “Ochako.”
Tentative footsteps walk up the creaky steps. “Is she not going to stay?”
Bakugou snorts. “Are you asking me if my wife, who you insulted last time you saw her, is going to stay while you’re on our property? No. She’s not.” Flaming embarrassment erupts across her face.
Amber eyes drift to the path you left on. “I never got a chance to apologize…”
It takes all his will power not to roll his eyes. An apology? Anything coming from Ochako would be meaningless and shallow in your eyes. “She won’t hear it. She’s very forgiving, but push her far enough and you might as well be dead to her.” Ochako winces slightly. Wind whips through her hair and she tucks the loose strands behind her ear.
“Will you let her know that I’m sorry?” she asks hesitantly.
Bakugou raises an eyebrow. “Will I get the family discount?” An interesting bargain that would show him just how sorry his ex really is.
Ochako seems to weigh the benefits internally before coming to a decision, but it takes too long for Bakugou’s liking. “Yes.”
“Then yeah, I’ll tell her. But that doesn’t mean she has to forgive you. You acted like shit.” His words hang heavy between them. A crew of workers start unloading the trucks.
“Katsuki can I be honest?” Ochako blurts out. He says nothing but holds back a scathing retort. “I thought I could win you back, back then.”
Bakugou’s jaw clenched shut and he can feel his teeth protesting at the strain. Taking deep measured breaths, he doesn’t speak until his vision clears. “You lied about being in a relationship and saw another guy behind my back. I found out the same night I was going to propose. There was no way you would ever win me back.” Turning, eyes wide with shock meet his. He never knew if she knew that he was going to propose or that he found out about the other guy. It ate at him for months following their breakup — the stinging hurt of betrayal in his chest. And he’s not proud of what he did when he was trying to figure himself out.
But now it doesn’t matter. “I tolerate you because for some reason Mina likes you being around for ‘old times’ sake’ and Ei likes Mina.”
The words he never got to say. The confrontation he never got to have — granted his anger about it dissipated over time. He was no longer overflowing with rage about it like the night he found out. Now it’s more like a grain of salt in a wound; it stings, but doesn’t last long.
Ochako fidgets next to him uncomfortably. She clears her throat and starts to make her way down the steps with whatever shreds of dignity she has left. “I’ll write this off as a gift on the books then. I’m… glad you found someone again. You deserve it.”
Summer
Bakugou tightens his grip around the well-worn handle of your axe and swings it. It connects with the pine tree on the edge of your property, the vibrations traveling through his arm. Pulling it out swiftly without breaking his momentum, his hand slides down the shaft as he lines up another swing. Thwack.
His muscles ache in the best way possible. It’s proof that he’s contributing and gaining skills he wouldn’t be able to get in the city. Stepping back to admire his work and make sure that the tree will fall where he wants, he kneels down next to the little pond and dunks his hands in the cool water. Scooping it up, he pours it over the top of his head. Small streams trickle down the sinews of his arm.
Heat instantly dissipates and Bakugou runs a hand through his wet hair. The slight breeze cools the slight layer of sweat on him. Droplets run down his forehead and tickle his skin. Lifting the edge of his shirt, Bakugou uses the hem to wipe it away. The damp cotton clings to his skin.
With the heat more tolerable than last year, Bakugou is willing to risk the sun and grabs the collar of his shirt at the back of his neck. Pulling it over his head, he uses it to wipe his forehead one last time. Drying his hands off, he tosses the spent shirt to the side and picks up the axe again.
The gate to the cow pen creaks open, and Bakugou turns at the sound of someone choking. That someone happens to be a wide eyed you. Your chest rises and falls rapidly and your bottom lip is firmly between your teeth. The small ego boost as your eyes rove over his body is enough for him to act on.
Spreading his arms to showcase himself, he asks, “Like what you see, Sweet Pea?”
“Yes,” you swallow thickly and clear your throat, “Yes I do.”
“Take a picture,” he winks, “It’ll last longer.”
“No, no,” you shake your head, your eyes still glued to him, “I’m pretty sure I won’t forget this. Ever.” Bakugou lets out a loud laugh and raises the axe again. If you’re going to watch, he’ll give you a show.
A few minutes later, the tree is down, and Bakugou swings the axe hard so it’ll stay lodged in the stump until he can find a shovel to dig it out.
“Can I interest you in some lemonade?” you ask, a glass of refreshing lemonade in your hand. Condensation beads run down the clear cup. When you left and had time to get this, he’s not sure, but he appreciates it. His fingers graze yours as he takes the drink from you and hears you inhale sharply. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you ravenously at him, your eyes trailing down his body until settling on-
“You know you can touch,” he smirks.
A hungry smile crosses your pretty lips, and those beautiful eyes he’s lost himself in before light up gleefully. “Katsuki,” you purr, “I want to do way more than touch.”
Fall
Bakugou paces his office and stares at his two degrees hanging on the wall above his work space. A voice talks at him through his phone, but he doesn’t listen. There’s a silence before the voice asks if he has any questions.
“No, I don’t. Thank you,” Bakugou says stiffly. He ends the call and stares at his phone as the screen goes dark.
You mark your place in your book before looking up at him from the bed. “Who was that?”
Bakugou walks over from his office and sits on the edge of the bed. He runs his fingers along the stitching of the quilted blanket Evelyn gifted the two of you last winter as a wedding present. His brows furrow slightly as he replays the phone call over in his mind.
“I got an offer to work at a place that makes medical equipment.” Good pay, located in the city, and benefits Bakugou used to dream of.
“Fabricating?” you frown.
Bakugou shakes his head. “No, product design. I’d be able to use my degree.” He doesn’t need to say more. You know what that means; leaving you here to tend to the farm if he accepts.
“What are you going to do?” you ask quietly. Bakugou can hear the strain you try to hide.
“I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “It’s a big life change. I’d be commuting to the city every day. And it’s not just me now.” He reaches over and squeezes your hand. “I have you.” He rests both of your hands on top of the slowly forming bump hidden beneath your sleepshirt. “And this one.”
With your free hand, you pat the back of his hand reassuringly. “We’ll be fine if you take the job.”
Bakugou raises an eyebrow at you. “You don’t seriously think you’ll be farming when you’re heavily pregnant, do you? Or that you’ll lug a baby around with you in the beating sun during the summer?” You would. He knows you would. The image of you nine months pregnant, tottering around the uneven ground of the farm sends his blood pressure skyrocketing. Maybe he should install a pathway for you down the main rows of your crops.
Your cheeks puff up as your purse your lips. “Well, no, but we’ll make it work.” Bakugou’s already made up his mind though. In order for the job to work, he’d have a two hour commute each way. Not worth it by a long shot; he’d have to get up before the crack of dawn to make the commuter train, and get back late in the evening — far too late to spend time with a baby. Plus that would leave you with all the farming and raising a child andmaking dinner for the family. It wouldn’t be fair to you at all.
The more he thinks about it, the more comfortable he is with the decision. He never liked being stuck at a desk. Or working with others. If it were his own company that he could run out of his office, sure, he’d consider it. And stable pay would be beneficial for any harsh farming seasons, but it’s truly not what he wants.
“I’ll call them back in the morning,” Bakugou leans against the headboard and relaxes. You rest your head on his chest. His fingers find the newly-formed perpetual knot in your lower back and massage it. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to give this up for anything.”
Winter
Bakugou sifts through the mail, snow crunching under his boots as he makes his way back to the house. Two envelopes in particular catch his attention – cream colored and hand written, one is addressed to you, and the other to him. Bakugou tears his open, his eyes scanning the handwritten letter.
Dear Bakugou, I would like to give you some information about an upcoming event: the Feast of the Winter Star. It’s a time for the community to come together blah blah blah.
He flips it over and sees a name written on the back. Pam. And he draws a blank.
Slipping his boots off, he sees you lying on the couch. “Who the hell is Pam?”
“Hm? Oh, she’s Penny’s mom. She used to be the bus driver,” you say, “But now she spends most of her evenings at the bar.”
“You guys had a bus out here? And we take the train everywhere?”
He sees your shoulders move up and down in a slight shrug. “Well, it’s really only bus service out to Calico Desert. Anyways, why bring up Pam?”
Bakugou flips his letter back and forth a couple more times, trying to see if there’s any information about Pam; what she likes and dislikes, hobbies, literally anything. “I’m her secret gift giver apparently.”
“Oh did they arrive? Where’s mine?” you ask and make grabby hands. Rocking yourself up from the couch, you waddle over and look over Bakugou’s shoulder until you snatch the one with your name on it. You make quick work of the envelope and scan it.
“Oh I have Willy!” you coo. “I know exactly what to get him.”
“Any input on mine?” Bakugou waves his letter with frustration. Of course you would know what to get people as soon as you saw their name. It’s not like he has a database he can go to and look it up.
You tap your chin with your empty envelope. “Seeing as how the point isn’t to necessarily go out and buy something but rather give something that you put effort into… What about your special home brew?”
“The spicy stuff in the cellar? She’d like that?”
“Of course she would.”
“Guess I’ll go see what I have already bottled,” Bakugou grumbles and slips his snow boots back on.
Questionable stairs creak under Bakugou’s feet. Feeling around blindly along the wood paneling, his fingers find the light switch. Dim light fills the cellar. Around him, oak kegs line the walls. Each one silently working on turning fruit into wine. But there’s only one he’s interested in.
In the opposite corner, all on its own, one keg has a sign taped to the flat surface that reads Katsuki’s Do Not Touch. He had asked you to set aside one for him that he could experiment on. With his free time — and in secret — he’d read everything he wine-making and brewing beer. You offered to teach him once you found out, but you were busy enough with normal farming operations and growing a child.
No, this is specifically his, and he’d come up with a damn good recipe that combines apricots and peppers that play off each other to create a sweet heat that Bakugou likes. Off to the side he has a slightly aged 6 pack that’s ready for consuming. All he’d need to do is slap a bow on it.
The Feast of the Winter Star approaches like a bullet train and is there before you know it. The whole town square is decked out, a giant tree covered in a slight dusting of snow and glittering ornaments, long tables covered with food and mismatched chairs, and even garland wrapped around the light poles. Most of the town is already there, and Bakugou spots his target.
“Pam,” Bakugou says gruffly and then pauses. What does he say? I made this and I hope you like it? Too cheesy. I’m your secret gift giver this year. Not in a million years. “It’s got a bit of a kick to it.” He holds out the six pack and sees her eyes widen.
“Hey, hey!” Pam pulls out one of the bottles and nods approvingly. “Now this is really something! Thanks a million, kid.” Bakugou’s eye twitches at being called a kid, but he nods once and walks back over to you. All around him are people, families, giving gifts and eating food. But he would like nothing more than to be home with you.
“It looks like Jas is headed this way,” you whisper and waddle off with your gift for Willy.
A small girl of maybe six or seven years old approaches him, “Mr. Bakugou, this is for you.” She hands him a wrapped box. The contents roll around and clink against each other. “I found these in the river when I was looking for crawdads.”
Bakugou takes the lid off and sees three large red rocks rolling around. They remind him of dragon eggs he’d seen models of at some nerd shop Sero brought him to one time.
“Thank you, Jas. They’re beautiful.” Bakugou smiles at the small girl and gets an ear to ear grin from her before she skips away. Gift given and gift received, he’s officially done socializing.
“Oh, magma geodes,” you whisper to him and look over his shoulder. How did you manage to sneak up on him? “If you break them open, they’re really pretty on the inside. Or so I’ve heard.”
“Let me guess, they’re normally found in the lower parts of the mines?” Bakugou asks pointedly, “The parts people haven’t explored yet?”
“The internet is a fascinating place,” you say airily, sticking to your story.
“Oh yeah?” he says and leans his head against yours. “Wanna take ‘em home and find out?”
You press a quick kiss to his cheek before taking the lead.
“If you wanted to go home, all you had to do was ask,” you laugh. He catches up daily and laces his fingers through yours.
“Then take me home, Mrs. Bakugou.”
End
A/N: And that’s a wrap! Thank you all for reading – if you left comments I definitely saw and appreciated. If you’re looking for more Stardew AU and haven’t seen it already, mindninjax’s To Shape A Home is currently ongoing!
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Father Ardelian my brother in christ you are not beating the horny for christ allegations
UDLTTOM Ch. 14 in a Nutshell
Walburga: I cHaLlEnGe YoU tO a WiZaRdS dUeL!
Harry: