When the Night is Over (218398 words) by MeepySlow
Chapters: 25/25
Fandom: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Characters: John Marston, Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith, Abigail Roberts, Original Characters
Additional Tags: Post Chapter 6, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Morgan Lives, Friends to Lovers, Fast Burn, First Time, (and many times after), Suicidal Ideation, complicated sexuality, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Canonical disturbing Murfree Brood-style violence, Existentialism, Developing Relationship, road story
Series: Part 1 of When the Night is Over: Stories
Summary:
“I’ve gone crazy,” he concludes aloud.
This must be the answer, because his dreams are never this stable, and he doesn’t believe in ghosts. He’s finally lost his ever-loving mind. The grief must have been too much. He’s become one of those men driven insane by tragedy.
“It’s me,” Arthur says, voice raspy around the edges. “You’re not crazy, John.”
_
John spends two years trying and failing to move on. Returning to the States, he makes the most unlikely and infuriating discovery of the new century. Life has provided a second chance, and John refuses to let it go to waste.
_____
I just posted the last chapter of my long fic. I'm sad and nervous and really grateful to have finished this fic. I'm going to sleep now.
Got a weird douchey comment about John’s eye color on a fic today. Like go eat roocckss. I wrote them brown because everyone decided they were brown based on the first game, and then rdr2 proved they were gray, but like? Who tf cares. Sometimes I make them brown because I like that. And it’s a weird thing to complain to a fan writer about?
Anyway, go read my fic Rare by roxashasboxers and say something nice lol It’s Morston with omega John hell yeah
Title: In Stride (ao3 link)
Pairing: Arthur Morgan/John Marston
Word Count: 2020
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: AU - canon divergence, older Morston, PWP, fluff, established relationship, endearments, slice of life, erectile dysfunction, dry humping, masturbation, anal fingering, comeplay, present tense
A/N: I was struck with a vision of John coming all over Arthur and this was the result. Also, dialogue and narration is written in "cowpoke" diction.
Summary: Arthur makes sure John still gets his.
summary: John finds Arthur’s festive spirit a little lacking as he struggles to move on from the past.
A gift for @yeehawpurgatory for the @rdrevents 2022 Secret Winter Exchange
pairing: Arthur Morgan x John Marston
a/n: For those whose Christmases are a little harder some years ❤️ Happy Holidays everyone
1907 was gone as quickly as it had come, and Christmas was in full swing at the Marston’s.
The moon hung high over Beecher's Hope, its residents blissfully unaware of the night chill. A fire roared in the stone hearth, filling the teeming ranch house with a warmth that matched their festive spirit.
Smiles were shared all around, faces warm with drink in celebration of the folk that gathered. It was a long journey for Charles and Sadie both, coming from opposite ends of the country to spend the holidays at the little homestead.
Laughter swelled again at a wry quip from Charles, sending Uncle into a fit of defensiveness that only made everyone laugh harder. Chairs had been dragged in from the living room, wooden legs scraping against the floorboards as they took their seats at the feast Abigail had prepared for them.
The sounds poured out of the house merrily, falling on deaf ears of the resident that sat alone on the big wooden porch.
A star-filled sky stared down at him; great luminous bulbs against the inky-black night. The wooden chair creaked as Arthur leaned back, taking a long drag off the cigarette that rested between his lips. The cherry glowed bright, just as bright as the stars, smoke filled his lungs. Pulled at the edges that never felt quite right after his illness.
His gaze fell to survey the ranch, searching for any signs of trouble hiding beneath the cover of dark. Not that he’d find any. But the spot on the porch, his preferred scout location, offered a sense of comfort that relieved the fears long embedded in the back of his mind.
Old habits die hard, he supposed.
The quiet of the night was interrupted by the sound of the front door squeaking hinges. Heavy boots thudded across the wooden porch, their occupant given away by a stride that Arthur would recognize until his last breath.
“John,” he greeted gruffly. The man nodded as he settled into the seat by Arthur’s side.
Arthur reached into his chest pocket to grab another cigarette, holding the tip to his own before passing it over wordlessly.
“Doctor says you ain’t supposed to smoke these things no more,” John chided pointlessly, his fingertips brushing against Arthur’s as he took the offered smoke.
The older man scoffed, returning his gaze up toward that big, dark sky. “Already gotten more time than I should have, no use getting greedy,” he huffed.
They fell into silence, nothing but the burning of paper and howl of coyotes in the distance, yelps that reminded the world they were there.
“Been out here a while,” John finally said. “Got Abigail all worried.”
Arthur only grunted in response, offering no explanation. His gaze was pointedly fixed as he continued to scan the horizon.
“Been out here the last couple of nights too,” John tried again. “Everyone’s sittin’ down to eat. Abigail’s got a plate set out for you.”
“Yeah, well I ain’t been much company as of late,” Arthur relented. He grabbed his hat from its place on his knee and placed it atop his head. Rising to his feet, he kicked at John’s boot where it rested on the wooden porch. “C’mon,” he motioned. “Let’s check fences.”
John held back his protest that they’d checked fences hours before and lifted himself out of his chair. Arthur grabbed the repeater leaned against the railing and the two men started towards the front gate.
The horses nickered as they passed the stables, tempting Arthur to abandon his chore and take solace in the privacy of the barn. Should have known better than to stay close to the house, where prying eyes could linger on him. He tossed a longing glance at his mount, the desire to tack up and ride away without a word of explanation making his fingers twitch.
Pushing those thoughts away with a frown, he returned his attention to the task at hand. They worked in darkness, both aware of the futility of the job. But neither brought it to the other’s attention, walking the perimeter under the guise of purpose.
When they’d put some distance between themselves and the house, Arthur broke the weighted silence.
“I ain’t trying to worry Abigail,” he said roughly. “I just…ain’t trying to ruin everyone’s Christmas spirit.”
John listened patiently, keeping his stare on the fence line as he waited for Arthur to continue.
“Christmas…it’s not like it used to be when we were kids. Nothin’ seems ‘merry and bright’ anymore. Not after everything that happened. I…,” he paused. “I miss them.”
John let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, nodding solemnly. “I understand,” he said. “I miss them too.”
“D’you remember that year Hosea sent Dutch and I out to get a tree? Said it was important that camp had a big ol’ tree to decorate for you and Tilly.”
“Sure,” John answered. “Bessie adored it. Looked just like the Christmas cards, she said.”
“Right,” Arthur smiled. “‘Cept Dutch didn’t quite tell the whole story that night. We’d been looking for hours for the perfect damn tree. Kept passing over some decent ones so that Dutch could find one that was just right. Couldn’t tell me what it’d look like when I asked, but he promised he’d know it when he saw it. So we kept looking and looking. Dragged those horses probably 15 miles trying to find the thing!
“Eventually he found it, but it was right in front of some poor bastard’s house. ‘Course Dutch said he had plenty of fine trees and shouldn’t mind sharing. So we waited until they left and started cutting it down. Had it just about finished when the old coot comes flying out the front door, waving his shotgun around and just hollerin’! I’m half-stuck beneath a damn spruce tree while Dutch’s trying to spin some yarn so the fella don’t shoot us right then and there!”
Arthur’s laughter bubbled over as the story unfolded, the sound like music to John’s ears after so long without it.
“What the hell did he do?” he asked.
“He convinced him that we were sent out by the town’s orphanage to find the perfect tree. Said we were lookin’ to lift the children’s spirits or something like that. Even helped us load the thing out and sent us back on our way, damn near ready to anoint us saints!”
“Sounds like Dutch,” John laughed, his smile wide as he shook his head. “Never could figure out how he came up with that nonsense. How come I never heard that story?”
“Dutch asked me not to tell anyone,” Arthur admitted, scratching his chin through the greying hairs there. “We were so young, you remember how everyone used to worry.”
“All that seems so long ago,” John said somberly, his voice heavy.
“Sure does,” Arthur agreed. “A lifetime ago.”
A thousand memories flashed through their minds, the faces of loved ones lost dancing amongst the stars.
“It ain’t just them I miss this time of year,” Arthur added, the lightness of the story not enough needed to lift the heaviness in his heart..
“I miss the rest of them too,” John agreed. “Susan, Javier. Hell, even Sean.”
“Eliza and Isaac,” Arthur added, his gaze far beyond the horizon.
John frowned, hesitant about his next words. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Should’ve remembered.”
“Don’t be,” Arthur dismissed, ducking his face beneath the brim of his hat. “Weren’t your wrong to right. But God, some days I look at Jack and can’t help but think about him. He’d be damn near a man now, same as your boy’s coming to be…Watching the two of you work this ranch together fills my head with all kinds of foolish dreams. Hell, I should’ve buried those next to them long ago.”
John knew there wasn’t much he could say that would bring Arthur peace. Arthur would never allow those wounds to heal; keeping them open as some kind of penance for the sins he believed he’d committed. Instead, John closed the distance between them and raised his hand to grip Arthur’s shoulder.
“Dreams ain’t foolish, even if an old fool’s the one dreaming ‘em. Just because you ain’t in the dirt with him, don’t mean you can’t dream for him. Do them things for him. You live, you work this land with us. You carry him with you so he works it too.”
Arthur took in a shaky breath, placing his hand on top of John’s and squeezing tightly. Their fingers interlaced, the feeling of scarred knuckles against rough calluses keeping him grounded.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“‘Course. Now come up to the house before Abigail drags you up there herself. Not sure who I’d be more scared of barging out here; her or Sadie.”
“Aww, they mean well enough. Least they’ve got Uncle to pick on for now.” Arthur chuckled, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and starting back towards home. “Abigail cook up that charred beefsteak again?”
“She did,” John winced.
“Christ, I thought she’d forgotten how to do that to beef.”
“Cattle across America hoped she had,” John teased.
As their boots thumped back up the steps of the porch, Arthur glanced over his shoulder to take one last look out at the homestead. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, an honest one for the first time in days.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Arthur was taking long breaths to calm himself down... His eyes met John's who quickly felt Arthur's hand slowly sliding from his cheek, to his neck trailing fire as it did so, and from his neck, it fell to John's shoulder. It rested there for a moment, John was so confused despite blushing from Arthur's touches until he watched Arthur's other arm come up, his other hand resting on John's opposite shoulder.
Without warning, Arthur slowly started walking forward, guiding John backward. John furrowed his brows but he didn't fight it, the look in Arthur's eyes beginning to make his heart speed up, what was happening? The slow waltz sped up and suddenly John was shoved against the trunk of a tree, Arthur's hands coming up to catch John's cheeks as his lips slammed into John's.
John gasped at the sheer force behind Arthur's actions but melted quickly into it. The kiss was powerful, it only lasted a few seconds but when Arthur pulled back, John's knees felt weak as he looked up at Arthur, both panting despite the kiss not taking longer than ten seconds. They had been holding back for so long... Their eyes were locked and their breathing synced up to one another. John quickly reached up and wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck, pulling him back a second time.
When he felt John pull him back for more, Arthur knew they were done fighting this. Instinct guided them as their tongues met once more, rough and rushed, wanting to make up for lost time. Like before, Arthur dominated John only this time, John's hands began wandering, one coming up to explore Arthur's soft freshly cut hair while the other ran down Arthur's back, exploring his muscle structure.
Arthur's hands quickly lowered from John's face to his hips, pulling him close and pressing their bodies against one another. The next time Arthur's lips parted from John's they quickly met John's neck, John shivered and released a shaky breath as he felt Arthur's lips beginning to tickle and tease him. He had never let a woman do this to him, it was such a submissive gesture at and yet, feeling Arthur explore his skin in ways that no one had done before was so erotic that John couldn't deny it.
Hearing positive reinforcement, Arthur's hands gently snuck under John's shirt, resting his palms against John's sides, his skin hot to the touch. He was surprised at how much fun he was having, he wanted more, he needed it. However remembering how close they were to camp, Arthur managed to pull back once more. John's face was as red as a cherry, huffing out small breaths and staring up at Arthur in dismay from having stopped.
"... We can't do this here." Arthur eventually breathed out, reaching up and wiping his mouth before glancing around them to make sure they were still alone, John sighed but knew Arthur was right. "At least not out in the open during the day like this... Besides, Miss Grimshaw asked me to tell you to get your ass back to camp, she had work for ya." He mused, smirking down at the disheveled young man, John frowned.
"You're terrible." He growled as he shoved Arthur away, Arthur chuckled softly in response as he put his hands up in mock surrender, however, he caught John's wrist as he went to storm off, when he pulled John back, his pout reversed as he looked up to Arthur once more.
"... I'll tell you what." He began, John eagerly listening. "... No one's gone hunting for a while... I bet Miss Grimshaw would release you to me if I offered to go." He explained, John gulped, he didn't want to get his hopes up but he could only imagine what their little hunting trip would entail, but Arthur quickly released John and shrugged. "If you want." He added.
"O-Of course." John replied quicker than he was proud to admit, he quickly gathered himself before he looked to Arthur.
"... Let's go then." Arthur concluded and nodded back towards camp, his eyes hooded with lust at the thought of getting John alone.
When they began venturing back towards camp, they were silent. They had a secret to keep now after all... A secret that could possibly blow up in their face... But it was worth the risk.
John didn't know when "I want to be like him" had stopped being true.
Or maybe it had never been.
Maybe that only had been what he thought was true, because everything else seemed unthinkable and hopeless at best and horrible and terrifying at worst.
