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"Ah—hah. Mmm…"
Midnight. With everyone asleep, it was the perfect time for illicit behavior. Who hides in the bushes? No one in the camp could guess. After a successful day of robbing and partying, the last thing on the gang's mind was what happened after they all fell asleep. Everyone in the camp came together to celebrate, drinking all their sorrows away and singing their hearts out. Happy. Complete—for a brief moment. They didn't care about each other's secrets. For now, it was oddly quiet—
Except —
"AH!"
"Keep it down, girl."
"I—I can't, John…"
The answer to the question is simple: hiding a few feet away from the camp, into the forest, were John Marston and you. An outlaw and a drifter who found refuge among other people like her, running from an otherwise cruel fate. Here, you found yourselves irresistibly drawn to one another behind everyone's backs. It started innocently enough, as friends who teased one another constantly. The secretive looks between the two of you, done in secret (or so you thought), were full of meaning. The attraction was there, and one day, you took it too far. Being drunk was not an excuse, but the fact that you were sent alone on a mission, far away from the others, was the perfect opportunity to let desires loose. It started with a kiss, sex—
And more sex—
"You like to call my name, don't you?" The rugged dark-haired man whispered in your ear, making you shiver. "But you have to keep quiet, baby. You don't want them fellas to hear your sweet voice, now do you?"
You didn't, but at the same time, it had a certain appeal. How many times have you told John to come out clean to everyone? Most of them weren't stupid and gave you two looks varying from amusement to disapproval. Even Mrs. Grimshaw took you aside once to scold you; as if any of this was your fault. When you joined the gang, your first plan wasn't to bed the available men, especially not one with a child. It just happened naturally. Can't someone fall in love, no matter what? But people judged anyway, especially when a man was with a kid by another woman who wanted more out of the father: a more active role in the child's life.
Still, that didn't stop you from pursuing this forbidden romance further. Right now, it didn't stop your drunk minds from finding each other, rutting like animals in the shadows. Him deep into you, grunting into your ear while you bit your lip harshly in order not to let loose the profanities that usually came out of your mouth. It was too good to let go, even if you felt guilty whenever you made eye contact with Abigail; she could smell the unfaithfulness, the stench of another woman trying to take what was hers to begin with. To make matters worse, Jack seemed to love you, and it didn't take him long to call you endearing names that melted your heart.
'That's unfair!' you sometimes wanted to cry; because they all knew John and Abigail—they weren't gonna work together. They fought too much, too often, and John, although he adored little Jack, wasn't very interested in having a family. He was there for them both and would always help them, but there was nothing there. Or so John told you countless times when you got so frustrated by the situation that you demanded him to choose.
'In due time, I'm still trying to piece my life back together,' he usually told you, sweetening his words with a kiss and an embrace. You were putty in his hands, and you couldn't tell him 'no.' You were in love, and he did say that he'll choose you in the end. 'There's some things me and Abigail need to figure out first.'
But months passed before anything happened in this direction; and you were getting tired of the gossip behind your back. Abigail was somewhat hostile towards you, making you cry every time she insulted you. Little barbs here and there about how you cook or ride a horse that seems playful at first; but you knew better. You told John all this, but he did nothing about it. He said to ignore her since he'll talk with her, but he never did. So, all you did was avoid contact; and, at the same time, stayed away from John. You guys were too obvious. Maybe it was time for something different.
However, you couldn't deny him altogether. You needed him like air. You accepted his embrace, his loving kisses—and the way he knew where to touch you. You loved this man, oh so much, and it was a pity he was making you suffer so much.
"Ah—I'm close, John," you whisper, feeling his cock hit the right spot rhythmically. He always knew how to fuck you, so it was no wonder he made you orgasm so quickly. He enjoyed hearing you like it, too; he usually got more into it when you yelled his name. Told him how well he fucked you—and that you wanted more.
"Shit, woman," he grunted as he picked up the pace, faster and more erratic. Your moans were honey to his ears, and you felt the pleasure riding up your spine, closer and closer, until—
"Dammit."
You curse in unison, both coming at the same time. John quickly pulled out, spreading his semen all over your bareback. You accepted it like a good girl, just like he wanted you to be. Obedient, yet rebellious enough to make him interested. It was a game you played that was satisfying for both.
"That was good," John mutters, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt. You were still too stunned and dizzy to move, resting your hands on the tree trunk. It took you a few seconds to recover from feeling so damn dirty, but when you were done, the cum dry, you simply pulled down your long skirt. When you (rarely) went on a mission, you adopted the pants, but you preferred to entice John somehow when in camp.
It worked 99% of the time.
"I'm glad you liked it," you breathed out dreamily, turning to face him. This handsome man you wanted just for yourself, with his scars and long, greasy black hair—what was there not to love? Still, tonight was not the night for forgiveness. A wave of melancholy washed over you as you examined him, wearing that foolish grin of his.
"No kiss today, hun?" he asks, stepping a little closer to you, seductively grabbing your chin. His eyes—and drunkenness—promised a round two later; but from your point of view, there will be no seconds. You were tired, deep despair settling in your bones. You loved this man to death; there wasn't anything you'd not do to keep him safe—but you felt as if he wouldn't do the same to you. Why should she pursue such a relationship if the feeling is not mutual? There were decent men out there, even if Sadie did not believe that. Only her husband was decent—but you wanted a decent husband too. Was that too much to ask for? Was it just that foolish of a dream?
It seemed so. A long time ago, your mother taught you never to fall in love. But you did it anyway, and it wasn't working out the way you wanted to. You wanted to cry about your miserable fate, to be second in one's choice, but you were strong enough not to do that. Not in front of John.
“Hey, [name]?” John inquires softly, tilting your head up so you could look at him. You keep his gaze, now slightly more sober and worried. For a moment, it fools you into thinking he cared for you, but you knew that wasn't true. "You ok?"
You shrugged, the cold of the night seeping through your skin, "Just tired is all."
"Did Mrs. Grimshaw put you to work again?"
"Nah, it's not that." Was this the right time to tell him that—that it might as well be over? "I'm just tired of...of us."
"Wh—What?" he stumbled upon his words, confused. "What do you mean?"
"You'll go back to her, won't you?" you accuse, without remorse and being mean about it. You still respected him for who he was, regardless of his awkward way of treating the two women in his life. Abigail wasn't faring any better in this battle, and it made it even worse that she had a child with the man she loved. And you knew how hard it must be for John himself to make this decision; this whole situation got complicated because of HIM.
And still, you couldn't blame him. You were an outsider, after all.
"It's complicated, sweetheart," he says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You accepted the gesture, but a part of you wanted to rebel, to push him away from you. "You know I have to take care of Jack and—"
"I know, John, but it doesn't make it easier." Unfortunately, tears started rolling down your cheeks, invisible to John's eye. "When I think that you're there with her, touching her, kissing her, doing all these things you do with me—" you shake your head and can't go on.
"I'm going to fix this, I promise. You just have to be more patient."
An incredulous laugh escaped your lips, almost sarcastically. "You promised before, John, and nothing changed."
"What's gotten into you tonight?"
"I'm tired of waiting." You grabbed his face, making him look at you. "I want you. And I want you only to be mine. But you—" you let him go, just like the hope of ever being his. "You want the best of both worlds, John Marston, but you can't have it. It's me—or her."
When he doesn't respond, at a loss, you push past him, "I'm done."
John doesn't try to stop you, and you go to your tent, away from his prying eyes. You go and cry yourself to sleep, heartbroken. Tomorrow will be a better day, hopefully, one that will answer all your questions. It will give you an answer to what you should do and how you should handle this better. You gave John all you had—now it was his turn to repay the favor.
**
You barely got a cup of warm coffee in your hand when someone yelled out your name. You almost dropped the hot beverage as you turned to face the one that called you. It was none other than Abigail, and your heart leaped involuntarily. The woman was fuming. What did you do, aside from fucking his lover last night while she was sleeping? You panic, thinking that this was it; the charade was over.
And indeed it was.
"You! Whore !" Abigail snarls, coming up to your face and pushing you slightly. "Why are you sleeping with my man?"
You managed to spat out a bit weakly, "I am not—"
"Yes, you are!" she was attracting everyone's attention, and your cheeks flamed red. Where was John? Why wasn't he here to stop this nonsense? " John told me everything last night. How you seduced him from his child and me! Do you have any soul? How could you do that?"
"He came to me!" you protested, although it wasn't entirely the truth. You both came unto each other. That didn't change the fact that you ruined somebody's life. Which you felt guilty about, for sure, but it was John's choice as much as yours.
"Don't you lie, harlot!"
Abigail grabbed your wrist and held it tight. You struggled a little bit trying to escape, but she wasn't letting you go.
"Stop it!"
"Stay away from 'im, you hear?" she shakes you like a doll. "He's going to choose my son and me, and you can't come in between! Find someone else to—to fornicate with."
"Let me go!"
She does, and you rub your wrist, wincing. The anger was boiling inside you, but you didn't want to lash out. It wasn't fair to feel this way, but you did want to protect your man anyway, even if he was guilty of double-crossing.
But—
"Stay AWAY!"
"It's not my fault he chose me, Abigail," you say before you can stop yourself. You wanted to take the words back, but you were angry and hurt, and you were tired of this shit. You wanted to get back at her—and you did, judging by her expression.
"You bitch!"
Abigail's palm connected harshly with your cheek, making your head jerk to the side. You stood there, amazed, until you saw her move in again; this time, with a punch. Before you could protect yourself from the incoming harm, someone—Mrs. Grimshaw—caught Abigail's hair and pulled her back. She yelped, but you couldn't see anything anymore. A body blocked you from harm: Arthur Morgan.
"Y'all right, Miss [name]?" he whispered in his gruff voice, and you nodded, seething. How you wanted to scratch Abigail's face off for doing this to you—your blood was boiling, and you wanted to fight her. But the shame and bitterness were stronger. Tears stung your eyes; why was this happening to you?
You wanted to run away.
"What did you do that for?" Mrs. Grimshaw yelled in the background.
"She stole John! Everybody knows it!"
"Have you ever thought that maybe it was your man that went wrong here?" Abigail says nothing. "I don't want no fighting here."
"But—"
"Go back to your son and stop embarrassing yourself." You heard footsteps, and you almost sighed in relief; until you saw Mrs. Grimshaw coming to you, thunder and lightning. "And you—put your head in order. You only cause trouble. Next time I won't be so forgiving."
You could only nod in shame, tears spilling down your cheeks—again. You felt like running away from here, from these people you called family. All you did was fuck things up, but you still wanted to stay here. There was nowhere else to go.
"C'mon," Arthur takes you gently by the shoulder and guides you farther from the camp, away from prying eyes. "Let's get you outta here." You don't go far, just down by the river's bank, sitting on a log carefully placed there. It was relatively secluded, as much as it could be, but at least no one was going to bother them. You both sit down on the log, and you cry without caring that Arthur was there. The man lights a cigarette and smokes in silence—not asking any questions. You like that about Arthur. Always there for everyone yet acting like he doesn't care. But he did.
He always did.
"What should I do, Mr. Morgan?" you ask, sniffling. "I love John, but he…" You shrug, helpless. "It's like he doesn't care. He hurts both of us, yet he chooses neither. I don't know what to do anymore, and I—I can't take it."
Arthur shakes his head as if he's helpless. In this situation, what could he do?
"Well, all I know Marston's an idiot for doing this. I'd punch his scarred face in if I see 'im." You can't help but laugh at that; Arthur was such a sweetie. Why didn't you fall for him? It would've been so easy—he had other things to worry about, he would've never played you like a fiddle.
"Yeah, but it is wrong that I still love him?"
Arthur shrugs, "Love—I'm no expert. It's complicated to understand. But if this hurts you, you should stop." That made you sad, but you listened to him anyway. "There's nothing shameful in letting go. You can love someone from afar. I know I do."
"Oh, Arthur," you sigh. "I wish I'd loved you."
That makes the man laugh, and you along with him. You were friends, but sometimes, maybe Arthur was a way better pick. Slowly, the grumpy cowboy puts an arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer to his body. You rest your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes for a few seconds to let your tears dry. It was peaceful—and the sting in your cheek didn't hurt as much. Abigail's words were getting further away from your mind; why should you listen to that woman? Your love for John was strong; it can surpass everything. So, why should you care?
"[name]!"
It didn't surprise you to hear John's voice calling your name. You had faith that he would come to get you. No matter if it was bad or good news, you straightened up, backing away slightly from Arthur. You weren't ashamed to show affection to another man, especially not Arthur. If John gets jealous, realizes how easily he could lose her to others, maybe things will change. All for the better.
"What are you doing here?" the man asks, clearing his throat awkwardly. He was probably trying to decide what the hell was going on here, but you were going to offer no comfort. "Are you ok? I heard what happened—"
"And now you came to what?" Arthur, having kept quiet until now, stood up from his spot and faced the other man. They measured each other, each trying to protect a woman they held dear. You stood, not daring to intervene. Not because you couldn't, but because John needed to understand one thing clearly: he could quickly lose you.
"I came to—" But John stopped, almost at a loss for words. You waited with bated breath for his answer; he wasn't going to choose you. He straightened, lifting his chin to gaze at Arthur without being afraid of a punch, "I came to take her back."
You could breathe again, a veil lifting from your head and clearing everything. Arthur continued to stare at his partner, glaring—then backing down. Not because he was afraid, but because he saw something he liked in Marston's eyes. But then he approached John's face, shoving a finger to his nose, threatening. "If you don't take care of her, you'd better not show your face in this camp again. And I don't care how long you've been with us."
Turning away from the man, he took one long glance at you, seeing if you were alright. You nodded, grateful for his intervention. He truly was a good friend. He grabs the back of your head and brings it closer to your lips. You see, in the corner of your eyes, John starts to move, but he needn't be afraid. Arthur kissed you on the forehead—a slight caress that held his parental affection. You appreciated it and watched him go away, leaving you and John alone.
Silence. You looked into his eyes while he stared back into yours, afraid to make the first move. But you were patient. You weren't going to bridge the path between you—your door was already open. John has to take the last leap towards a complete relationship. And he did. Took the first step towards you, not warily, but surely. He grabs your hand and slowly places kisses on them, reverently.
“I’m sorry, [name]. Sorry for keeping you waiting. And sorry for—" he caresses your bruised cheek with a calloused palm. "—for Abigail. I shouldn't have let her go this far."
You lean into the touch, closing your eyes. Finally, you felt at peace. Finally, you had him. You won. While it was a bittersweet victory, it made you happy. Abigail will hate you even more now, and Jack—what will happen to him? You don't want to come between them. You never will. But you and John—that was another story.
"It's ok," you whisper back. "We can start over."
His hands cup your face lovingly; his gaze melted your heart. You could feel the love there, the regret of pushing you away. But you didn't care. He wasn't going to push you away anymore. And he promised that with a long and passionate kiss.
A kiss that promised forever.