Just here to say I have published a new part! 😅 I hope you all enjoy it. It is rather short but my other parts I plan on publishing will be longer. Thank you all for the views and votes I appreciate it. Remember I do accept feedback as long as its respectful and not rude. Also if you have any questions go ahead and ask or simply pm me. Thank you all again.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s)
Word Count: 15696
Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Pre-Canon, Dom/sub, Daddy Kink, Humiliation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink
Summary:
Arthur comes over, still unhurried. He stands beside John, looking down at the fire. He’s got one thumb still tucked in, but the hand nearest John is hanging loose, nice and easy.
"We were," he tells the fire, "until some good-for-nothin' brat walked in."
There’s something there, a thin tickle, a piece of bait on a string. John doesn’t look up. In the bottom corner of his vision, Arthur’s boots shift.
Summary: “John didn’t know what to say at the time, struck so suddenly by a hollowness at Dutch’s words. A part of him couldn’t help but feel like it was unfair, the only thought crossing his mind being why did it have to be me? As if things in his life were too good to be true. That it was only fair Dutch came along to put John in his place and that he be shown the harsh reality of life.”
An au where John and Arthur were both young teenagers together. Dutch is the reason John leaves for a year when he tells the young boy it's for an important mission related to the gang. Of course, John doesn’t want to go but has little choice, so he promises to send Arthur letters during his absence. Little does he know, things are far from how they used to be upon his arrival back.
This leads into the main story of RDR2, which it will be set around but from John’s perspective.
CHAPTER ONE ON ARCHIVE
“Hey, you awake yet?”
The world came alive through sound of the wind rustling trees and birdsong before John opened his eyes. His sense of vision took a moment to focus on the blurry image of a teenage boy with dirty blonde hair before him.
“Obviously not. What do you want, Arthur,” John groaned in a voice of annoyance, rubbing sleep away from his eyes.
“Well, first of all, to be quiet. No need to wake the whole camp now.”
John turned his head away, trying to hide a smile. It was just like Arthur to start something mischievous this early in the morning.
“What time is it anyway?” Not able to fake irritation any longer, he peered over his shoulder at Arthur. The older boy gave him a smile but said nothing as he stood and darted away.
For a moment John didn’t move, tempted to stay curled up in his bedroll for a couple more hours. The satisfaction of ignoring Arthur and knowing how much it would bother him almost enough encouragement for him to see it through. Only after a minute did he crack and admit defeat by pushing himself up out of bed.
Finding the nearest shirt, he pulled it over his head and lightly made his way through a silent camp. Early signs of dawn were yet to show as the ground was still cast in shades of blue. Making sure not to tread on any of the slumbering bodies scattered around, he followed the unmistakable silhouette of Arthur towards where the horses were kept.
“Hey!” John hissed, “you tryna get us in trouble or somethin’?”
“Always.” Arthur looked at John with intensity while still smiling. John averted his gaze, feeling his cheeks get warm, suddenly thankful for the cover of night.
John rarely saw Arthur in a serious mood. It was a quality they didn’t share, but one he always admired. He always wished he could be more like Arthur that way, but growing up the way John did hardwired him as a boy afraid of his own shadow. He never had the privilege of being a kid or making friends to get up to no good with.
The only life John ever lived was on the run. With no parents to raise him, he turned to a life of petty theft to get by. Until the day a man named Dutch Van Der Linde saved him from a sentence most young thieves endured. Until that man took him in as part of his own family of outlaws. Until he met Arthur.
Though in no way did Arthur have a proper upbringing either, John knew him never to have to fend for himself. The world was a cruel one John and Arthur were all too familiar with, John only learned people dealt with it differently. For Arthur, that meant taking nothing serious at all.
“You just going to stand there like an idiot, or are you gonna come with me? Arthur hoisted himself onto his dappled mare in one flourish. He then looked down at John expectedly when he still hadn’t moved to his own horse.
John let out a sigh, “if Dutch finds out–”
Arthur rolled his eyes, “Dutch won’t know anything.”
“But–”
“Oh my God, Marty, just get on your damn horse and follow me, will ya?”
After one last reluctant look behind his shoulder, John gave in and climbed on top of his horse. Quietly, they steered towards the edge of camp. They almost reached the border when the unmistakable noise of someone tutting made John tense. Both their heads swung around to meet Hosea standing there, loosely holding onto his rifle.
“What’re you two boys up to, hmm?”
John cringed at his own stupidity at forgetting the fact that they always had someone on guard. Even if they got lucky enough for it to be Hosea, the old man always having a soft spot for the two. Dutch would often say too much so, but Hosea never paid it any mind.
“We just wanted to do some fishing,” Arthur spoke. “I heard this time is best by the creeks.”
Hosea looked skeptical, though he only shook his head. “Well, since you’re heading out anyways, could you do an old man a favor and drop off this letter in town?”
Arthur nodded eagerly, taking the envelope Hosea held out.
Hosea gave a stern look before letting go. “And remember to be keeping out of any trouble,” with that he slung his rifle over his shoulder, turning away to continue his early morning patrol.
They shared a triumphant look between each other before high tailing it out of camp as fast and as quiet as possible. Once they left the perimeter, the two rode steadily for a while.
The sounds of the surrounding forests were still prominent as the sun was far from rising. Crickets still chirped away as John followed Arthur’s lead. He felt himself finally relax, letting out a deep breath. John liked it when it was just the two of them, it was probably the only time he ever felt fully himself. He never told Arthur how much he enjoyed his company, though he had a feeling Arthur felt the same.
It didn’t take long until Arthur started humming one of his songs, the way he always did. Things never stayed quiet for too long with him. It was probably John’s favorite thing to hear in the whole world, setting his mind at ease. He felt the pressures of life lift to where he thought of nothing at all.
Arthur could’ve taken them anywhere and John wouldn’t have minded, but all too soon did they reach their destination when he finally broke the silence.
“The spots just up here.”
The trees they rode in opened up to reveal a small clearing at the edge of a cliff. Below was the familiar giant lake the gang had settled near. The sight made John a little uneasy.
Arthur dismounted and hitched his horse to a nearby tree, John following suit. He continued following Arthur right up until they were a couple steps from the end of where the grass cut off. John was hyper-aware of the wind that threatened to blow him over. He peaked his head as far as he could see over the cliff’s edge, too scared of moving any closer.
“Let’s jump off.”
John spun around in bewilderment to face Arthur, “are you kidding?”
Arthur didn’t say anything as he smiled wickedly at John with a wild look in his eyes.
“Do you have some sort of death wish, Arthur Morgan?” John furrowed his brow at him.
“I’ve done it before, we’ll be fine.” Arthur took a couple of steps back, “don’t think about it, just do it.”
John hesitated, unsure.
“Stop it, you’re thinking!” Arthur held out his hand, “do you trust me?”
Looking down at Arthur’s extended hand, John made up his mind. He knew that no matter what, he would always trust Arthur. With no further hesitation, he grabbed onto Arthur’s outreached hand. The seconds that followed passed by in a blur. He held on tightly as he sprinted and then jumped. John squeezed his eyes shut, feeling weightless as he waited for the waters to swallow him whole.
John held his breath, wondering if this might be the end after all. Then, suddenly, he was engulfed by water. Frantically, he flailed his limbs around trying to reach the surface. When he did it was only for a brief moment before getting lost in the waves they’d created once more.
He felt something grab onto his arm and pull him up, gulping in air when he broke the surface once more. John blinked to see Arthur holding onto him, the wild look he last saw replaced by worry.
“John?”
John coughed, choking out, “I-I can’ swim!”
“You-WHAT,” Arthur sounded petrified, “why didn’t you say so?!”
“YOU TOLD ME… NOT TO…THINK,” John sputtered out between gasps of air and water.
Without another word Arthur wrapped his arms around John’s chest, dragging him towards the shore. Once they got in the shallows, John crawled onto the sands and collapsed. He breathed in and out of his lungs, greedy for air. His chest rising and falling at a significant pace as he lay, exhausted.
“Are… you okay?”
He squinted over at Arthur, still out of breath. After a second, John’s composure cracked. Stifling an escaped snort by bringing a hand to cover his face. Arthur's eyes went wide momentarily, dumbfounded. Then he, too, began laughing. The two of them couldn’t hold back as they began howling with laughter as they lay upon the shore. Flat on their backs, John had to hold his ribs from the pain. Though it was unbearable, he’d never felt so light before.
“Why are you laughing?”
“I don’t know,” there were tears in John’s eyes as he turned to look at Arthur now. They both turned away as they were struck with another bout of snickering.
When he could finally breathe again, he sat up. His clothes still weighing him down from being soaked, but it didn’t bother him.
Arthur sat up, too. “You’re a strange one, Marty.”
John looked back at him again, his face hurting from smiling so much. He expected to see Arthur’s cheeks still dimpled from amusement, but instead, he just held an expression of awe.
Feeling flustered, John quickly looked away. Letting his long, lank hair cover his face to hide from the other boy’s view. “Should we, um, should we go into town to drop off Hosea’s letter?”
“Yeah, we probably should,” Arthur stood up and brushed himself off. He didn’t even seem bothered from his still damp clothes, so John didn’t either. Arthur offered his hand to help John up, to which he took gratefully. The climb back up was steep but over before John knew it. Their horses were still hitched where they’d left them, grazing in the overgrown grass. They mounted up once again and set off towards the town they knew to be closest to their camp.
Hollowcrook Point was a quaint town but had the all they needed. There was a train station, saloon and general store cluttered along a gully. Short bridges and winding pathways connected to make the place maneuverable. At the highest point stood a stable, which overlooked the surrounding land. Overall, John quite liked it here.
The sky was just beginning to lighten as they rode in. Leaving their horses outside, they headed into the post office inside the train station. Their task was easy enough, Arthur handing the station clerk the letter and some coins. John felt it was over way too soon, not wanting to leave for camp already.
Their steps were slowly paced as they exited the station, almost like they both felt the restraint to return.
“I suppose we should head back, then.”
John shrugged, “I suppose so.”
“Or…”
John glanced at Arthur hopefully, hanging off his words. A sly grin was back on his face, “come on, follow me.”
“What-you haven’t even said what we are doing!”
Arthur was already running further into town, giving John no choice but to follow. They ran through the muddy streets, the scarce townsfolk of the early morning barely paying them any mind as they flew through. Soon, they came up to the stables, Arthur turning a sharp corner behind one of the barns. John chased his form, almost running straight into him.
Arthur motioned to a ladder beside him, “quick, climb up here!”
“Okay,” John reached for one of the rungs on the ladder, pulling himself up. After a few steps he looked down, “aren’t you coming, too?”
“Not yet, I’ll be right back, just wait for me on the roof!”
Before John could respond, he was gone. John sighed, continuing to climb up until reaching the roof. He scrambled onto it and sat waiting for Arthur. The breeze felt slightly warmer as the day was about to break, dawn threatening to spill over the horizon.
His head snapped toward the way he came up when he heard someone ascending. For a moment he panicked that it might be some farmer telling him to ‘get off his damn roof’, but was relieved to see Arthur’s blonde head appear instead.
“Where’d you go?” John questioned him. Arthur answered by holding up a small, crumpled bag in his hands. John grabbed at it excitedly, knowing all too well what the coloured stripes of the bag implied.
“You got us candies?!” He eagerly opened the bag to reveal its contents. Triumphantly, John pulled out a hard mint candy. Popping one in his mouth, he savored the taste on his tongue.
Arthur took a seat next to him, “just in time too!”
John finally understood why Arthur brought them up here, as the sun began to rise over the horizon. Instantly, orange and light red hues broke across the clouds like a painting from some fancy museum. John wanted to capture the moment as if it were, desperately trying to take it all in.
“You know, it never gets old,” Arthur stared forward, mesmerized by the sight. “It’s so vibrant, it’s like no other colour could ever compare.”
John hummed in agreement, though he couldn’t help but disagree, thinking of how a certain shade of blue always seemed to take his breath away more than any sunrise ever could. When Arthur looked over with a smile, John saw exactly that and felt lost for air.
“No.” John repeated, “it never gets old.”
With the sun on their back now, John and Arthur rode back towards camp. The day had barely begun yet John felt as though a lifetime had passed between Arthur and him. Every day was something different with Arthur, John knew it to be anything but boring. It felt whole and right. As long as he was with Arthur nothing could go wrong.
He looked down at the palm of his hand that wasn’t gripping the reins of his horse. A slight smile pulling at his lips as John remembered the earlier events of that morning. Already anticipating the next time he could put his hand in Arthur’s to feel that same tenderness. How warm he felt, and how safe it all made John feel.
“Almost back, now,” Arthur brought John back from his thoughts.
“Come on, let’s ride faster!” Arthur made a clicking sound, his horse gaining speed as he moved to gallop in front of John. He did the same, catching up to match Arthur’s pace. They were back before they knew it, the sight of their tents and wagons coming into view as they approached.
Once their horses were taken care of, the two made their way into camp. Only after stepping a single foot in did Dutch already appear before them.
“You boys were gone for some time,” he held a stern expression as he waited for an explanation. They both shared a guilty exchange, John avoiding Dutch’s gaze.
“Well…” Arthur began. “We were actually just-”
“Running an errand for this old man” Hosea appeared out of nowhere beside them. He placed a hand on each of the younger boys’ shoulders.
“Thank you, by the way,” Hosea continued, looking at them each with gratitude. “I could’ve done it myself but God knows I don’t have the same enthusiasm as your youth.” Arthur and John both nodded. Hosea looked up at Dutch, “I hope this wasn’t a cause for any issue?”
The corner of Dutch’s mouth twitched, then he smiled. “Of course not, it’s no matter.” His eyes flicked toward John, “a word, son?” His tone was flat once more as he motioned for John to follow.
John glanced at Arthur with worry, who gave him a reassuring nod, “Hey, I’ll see you later, okay?”
John turned back toward Dutch, knowing he had little choice but to follow.
-
Dark shades of indigo settled over the land as night fell once more. John stared into the fire in front of him aimlessly. The flames burning into his eyes, he sat lost in thought. He couldn’t wrap his head around how the best day of his life had turned into the worst. When he had reluctantly followed Dutch earlier that evening, he did not expect the events that followed.
Once alone, he told John about a mission. A mission that involved John leaving the gang for a while and required the utmost discretion in its completion. John didn’t know what to say at the time, struck so suddenly by a hollowness at Dutch’s words. A part of him couldn’t help but feel like it was unfair, the only thought crossing his mind being why did it have to be me? As if things in his life were too good to be true. That it was only fair Dutch came along to put John in his place and that he be shown the harsh reality of life.
“You will be gone for a while.”
Dutch talked and John listened, eyes cast down as if being scolded. He spoke of a city called Blackwater, a place John had never heard of before. He was to travel there alone and work at a stable. Everything was perfectly planned out by Dutch down to the last detail.
“You are just a simple young boy looking to do some honest work.”
That was how Dutch put it. There was a man on the inside that would ensure John would be taken in. He would keep his first name but give no last, he had to be invisible.
“You will leave in two weeks’ time.”
There was no disagreeing with Dutch, there was only acceptance. So when John didn’t say anything but nod along with what he was saying, Dutch did not see the fear that claimed John’s every racing thought while he stood there. He would be alone for this, and it terrified John. The last time alone being the months following his father death, which rooted a deep fear of solitude within him since.
“I have faith in you, son.”
He proceeded to give John a triumphant slap on the shoulder, but he saw through Dutch’s clever and honeyed words. That he was only a pawn for plans held in higher regard to him. Dutch may have raised John, taught him how to read and write and hunt and kill. Practically everything he knew, but never once did he teach him to think above his own worth. Never once did John feel unconditional love from Dutch as a father would. Unlike Arthur, he was not his first son. And unlike Arthur, he was expendable.
John prodded at the fire with a stick, watching the embers rise into the night sky above. He felt defeated at knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do about the situation. There was a sinking feeling every time he thought about leaving, but more than anything he dreaded telling Arthur. John had to, of course, but he did not know how.
John went to sleep that night with the intention of telling him the following morning. Then one day turned into two, thinking through how the conversation would go. Besides thinking of how to tell him, John battled between finding an opportunity to speak with Arthur and building the courage to do so. Overall making the entirety of it extremely agonizing.
After a few days passed spent going over details with Dutch, John went out hunting with Hosea and Arthur. Dutch almost insisted, saying it would help John take his mind off of the planning before he left. Though he was thankful for the distraction, John couldn’t concentrate enough to catch anything. So he hung back for most of the morning while the other two focused. Both were successful in their endeavours, Hosea catching a deer and Arthur managing a couple of hares. When noon arrived and John still hadn’t found anything, Hosea suggested he pick some of the surrounding berries while he loaded up their haul.
John was grateful for something to do, so he grabbed one of the empty satchels off his horse and began scavenging not far off. He worked his way around the edge of a wood, making sure not to stray too far. Mindlessly, he collected some winterberries, not noticing anyone approaching.
“Hosea’s heading back, I told him I would help you out for a bit before doing the same.” Arthur came walking not far off, tying the reins of their horses nearby.
“Thanks,” John held out his hands, full with berries. Arthur pulled out his satchel slung across his shoulder and opened it for them to be placed in.
“What’s been going on with you, Marty?” his tone was soft, concern creasing his features.
John realized this was the first time since the other morning that they were alone. “What do you mean?”
Arthur scoffed, though his expression was worried, “come on, somethings up. You’ve been spending all your time with Dutch, and when you ain’t you seem real distracted.”
John blinked, unsure of how to respond. He thought to brush it off as nothing, then feared he might not get another chance to tell Arthur. John felt himself hesitating too long, so he told Arthur.
“I have to go.”
“you-what?”
“I have to go. Somewhere. For a mission.” John swallowed, “I’m not really supposed to talk about it but… It’s something I have to do.”
Arthurs eyes dropped to the ground, “oh.”
“Dutch told me it’s something for the gang, said it’s real important. I’m not even supposed to tell you as much as I am.”
John felt lost for words, he knew telling Arthur would be difficult. He went over how this exchange would go so many times in his head yet now that they were here it made no difference. He shuffled awkwardly, wanting to reach out to Arthur to fill the absence with meaning that words could not.
“I wanted it to come from me.”
Arthur nodded, blinking. “I, uh. I’m glad it did,” he looked up at John with glossy eyes. “do you know how long you’ll be gone?”
John sighed, not knowing entirely himself, “quite a few months, from what I can gather.”
Arthur nodded again, hands on his hips. “When do you leave?”
“A week from now.”
“I see.” There was a pause as everything hung in the air between them.
Arthur tilted his head towards the sky, suddenly back to cracking his smile, “God, I’m going to miss you, John Marston.”
John let out a laugh, “thought maybe you’d appreciate a break from me.”
“Never. Not you.” Arthur looked at him once again, the smile fading. He took a step towards John, slowly reaching for his hand. Gently, Arthur intertwined their fingers. John felt his breath catch from the contact but didn’t say anything for fear that the moment would not last.
John dared not move as he became aware of the wind rustling through the trees as they stood together. He didn’t want to let go, feeling so safe as Arthur held onto him.
“You better send me letters.”
John opened his mouth to answer, but Arthur continued, “they don’t have to be specific or nothin’, and, uh, only if you want to…”
“I will.”
Shock momentarily struck Arthur at what John could only assume was surprise at his determined compliance. Arthur’s expression melted back into his smile. This time it reached his eyes, making John’s heart tighten from the sight.
“I promise.”
“Okay.”
The two of them stood there for as long as they could, moving only when they knew it was getting too late. It was an unspoken acceptance between them as they started to make their way back. The silence felt nice, letting John take in the time together before having his world turn upside down. He reminded himself that it wouldn’t be forever, trying to push it to the back of his mind for the time being. For the rest of the walk back to camp he thought of nothing other than the hand he held onto. And even once their hands fell apart, John continued feeling a tingling sensation across his palms and a smile he just couldn’t seem to hide. For all the concern he felt, he held onto the belief that soon enough everything would go back to the way it was.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Donation fic for mercyme, who asked for Undead Nightmare, RDR1/RDR2, John Marston/Arthur Morgan. Post-canon after RDR1, when Seth steals the mask and everyone comes back from the dead. Excerpt:
The windows of the ranch were barred by boards, as was the door. The porch was dusty and fetched up full of tumbleweed that had grown thickly over the floorboards. Beecher’s Hope looked like it’d been abandoned for a while. Bewildered, John was slowly circling the ranch when he came to the rain barrel. The face that looked back at him through the reflection made him startle backwards with a yell. John belatedly peeled his gloves an inch back from his wrists. What he saw was somehow worse than what he was braced for. He’d died long before Abigail had. The decay was worse. The bones of his arm winked up at him from under the glove, and the sleeve of the coat that John had been buried in. Muscle was growing slowly over it, flesh repairing itself before his eyes. John peeked back into the barrel. His nose was missing, as were his cheeks, but skin was starting to grow back over his teeth.
“What the hell?” John whispered. He patted himself down. Someone—maybe Jack and Abigail—had buried him with his guns, a pouch full of ammunition, and some of the trinkets that he’d been fond of carrying with him during his travels. A dried rabbit’s foot and some gewgaws—and the bottle of holy water from the Mother Superior in Los Hermanas. It burned with pale blue fire in his palm, but it didn’t hurt.
Someone was riding into the ranch, their tack ringing against the heavy clop of their horse. John pocketed his belongings and drew his pistol. It was long rusted and useless, but in the gloom maybe that wasn’t too obvious. He peered out from behind cover against the old ranch. The rider sat on a familiar horse. A ghostly mist fed away from the Pale Horse’s flanks, its front half the colour of drying blood, its hindquarters bone-white. Its unnatural bright blue eyes with their pinpoint pupils swept the ranch. It was bridled in black leather and ivory. Its rider was a big man in black, his features in shadow under the brim of his hat, his coat twisting over the pale flanks of the Pale Horse.
John shrank back against the house. Was that Death himself, come to seal John back into the grave? While John was trying to figure out a quiet way to sneak off, a familiar drawl broke the dusty silence. “Come on out, Marston. I know you’re here.”
What. John poked his head out from behind the house. “Arthur?”
Want a fic from me? Donate to the Rainforest Trust. Details here (x).
