hey yall just changed my username because i’ve decided im finally gonna post some fanfics for other characters :)) i didn’t want my user (essielovesarthur) to be character specific anymore so now it’s just @essieloves !!! also, i’ll get back to posting fanfics soon. i’ve just been so busy with life lately. but i finally was able to write a couple fics recently!
𐔌 cw: age gap but it's not specified, innocent reader with low honor arthur, mild corruption thoughts, he eats his own cum out your hole, breeding and very mild pregnancy .ᐟ
the gang knew arthur was hiding something, something they had no right to see, touch, or sniff across the western plains. it wasn't a grand mansion ripe for a robbery or a score that would net them a pretty dollar. instead, it was a secret that kept him absent for long hours and busy days, forcing him to ride out at dawn before the fires were even stoked and return long after the kettles went cold.
by then, everyone was too occupied to interrogate, and the air in the camp no longer carried the warm scent of stew and beer. he would arrive humming softly under his breath, smelling like clean linen, homemade roast, and floral perfumes. the sinews of his shoulders no longer bunched in tension beneath pristine, clean blouse, but melted away.
he had a pretty thing out there who cared for him, it was impossible to miss. they could see it written all over his weathered face, in the defensive scowl he slipped the second anyone teased if he’d found himself a fancy lady.
the house lay tucked in a valley where flowers bloomed in full season and grass grew long and unconstrained, a sanctuary where no horses passed with thundering hooves that dragged rattling wagons, and no loud voices shattered the peace. travelers passed the other way, drawn toward a weathered wooden sign welcoming them to strawberry, a town nestled between towering pines and lush, emerald meadows.
yet it stood apart where timber walls looked in silence, adorned with lacy curtains and a fence rails mended by arthur’s own gritty hands, splashed with fresh white paint. kitchen hot with working stove, slow roasting the choice cuts of an elk he’d brought down on his ride back, wild sage and lavender bundled to hang from the rafters, the crisp scent filling every corner.
gathering into a heavy, fragrant trail that seeped through the propped open window panes and drifting out to timber line, teasing the hungry bellies of wolves and foxes that lurked behind. it was a place he could find blindly, as no matter how many hundreds of miles of trail lay between you, his horse would always find the way back.
he comes to the porch where you stood waiting, framed by the flower pots lining the wooden windowsill, the dress hemline caressed by the summer breeze in the very same way it stirred the petals. he dismounted his horse, offering an ever so gentle pat to its mane. his guns rattled softly within their leather holsters with the heavy, rolling sway to his broad hips, spurs catching slightly on the grass below.
you threw your arms around his strong neck the moment he came within reach, finding his sun bronzed skin still warm and rich with the scent of woodsmoke. chestnut brown beard prickling your plump lips as you pressed a kiss to his mole dotted cheek. that high pitched squeak escaping you when his large palms found their familiar place upon your tempting ass, fingers kneading into the pert globe with a tight, shameless grip.
he flashed a dopey, affectionate grin that depeened his crows feet when you chastised him with a flustered “arthur!” yet made no attempt to escape his embrace, choosing instead to lean deeper into the solid weight of his brawny chest.
arthur’s cerulean eyes snagged to how your hips shimmied as you arranged the dinner, eyelids drooping hooded. his tongue slipped lazily across his upper teeth, catching for a brief moment against a sharp canine before he sucked it back in, gaze utterly devouring you. plated on painted porcelain beside his broad arm resting across the tablecloth was a rich spread, mashed potatoes and juicy meat that had soaked in fresh herbs and vegetables.
he rolled his tattered cuffs up past ropey forearms to burly biceps, allowing you to trace the sight of veiny, hair dappled skin before you moved to pour him a glass of lemonade, fussing over him to ensure he was well fed.
within moments, his ruddy cheeks were stuffed with your cooking, weathered fingers wound tightly around the fork as he mixed the food on his plate. tawny eyelashes fanning low over chiseled cheekbones when his eyes fluttered in pure delight, chewing mouth letting out nothing more than a muffled, appreciative hum that vibrated through his chest as contented rumble.
younger than him by an age that would raise far more than mere questions, one had to wonder, what business did a man like him have beside a doll like you? why a hardened outlaw was sharing a bed with a girl who looked like porcelain? he had seen blood, he had spilled blood, he was a man built from violence, his hands had broken jaws and triggered the guns that populated shallow graves.
you, on the other hand, were born to wear whispering silk and win over rooms with nothing but a glance. you were meant to never know the face that violence wears, huddled beneath his arm in bed, the eiderdown comforter slipping down your tangled, naked bodies, tracing a gentle fingertip across the bullet scar on his shoulder and whispering “why would they do that to you?”
arthur would only close his eyes with shaking head, a lopsided, tired smile breaking his rugged features and curling at lips corner with a tut “beh'cuz the world’s full of bad men, sweetheart” his scarred knuckles descending over your curved hipbone with a slow, stroking caress, chapped lips leaving a featherlight touch against your hairline.
there were no concealing the evidence of his devotion upon your skin, bruises that lingered from the ankle bone and moved an upward patch, mottled hickeys and teeth bites that were sharp enough to make you keen in the way that got him even more hard. they're at your breasts, around sore nipples that get peaky when the dress fabric catches on them, provoking a tiny hiss.
your supple inner thighs, tender skin rendered to aching at even littlest movement, at your plump butt, where he laved a teasing tongue before sinking his fangs in and gnaw. but those are places where only you and him can see, while some are also a warning to other people, graced upon your form.
delicate throat looking mauled but keeping people at distance from trying anything funny, from approaching what's arthur's when he's not close to guard it with ferocity.
even though you squirm in fluster when women and men alike raise their eyebrows at those, you always trace them with slow fingertips when getting ready for bed, sitting by the mirror and shuddering once remembering his every greedy rasp. heart racing with anticipation for his inevitable return, knowing you'll arch for more.
you loved him beyond measure, giving him free rein over your body and space. welcoming him just as he was, even when he arrived with heavy boots caked in thick dirt that ruined your welcome rug, or with fresh blood splattered across the already burgundy collar of his new blouse. carrying the raw, heavy scent of sweat and the unforgiving open road upon his skin, yet it brought you no disgust.
instead, you melted into his every touch, allowing his rough, calloused thumb to press firmly into the hinge of your jaw, tilting your head back to accept the sloppy kisses he teases against your mouth seam. gentle palms flattened to the hard, broad planes that are his back, rippling as you clung to him, mouth close to ruddy ear, moaning arthur's name in a way that made gooseflesh erupt all over his corded forearms.
spine curved into a deliberate, pretty arch, rocking back and impaling yourself further on his gorged cock, as he pulled back until nearly losing the gushing heat around him, then thrusting in again, hips slamming to jolt you, breasts bouncing with the movement.
cunt pulsing around stretching intrusion, swallowing him from root to swollen tip, spongy walls clenching hot and tight, mewling a cry when his hips grounded in deep, slow circles that had your pussy fluttering and tightening, slick sopping.
teeth closing around your skin, tongue running soothing line across the pinched edge as you choked, the tension gathering at the base of your spine and making it rigid, hips rolling in slow, grinding arcs that lose their rhythm to uncontrollable. you tighten your legs around his broad hips, fingers trembling across his scarred shoulderblades and nails digging into the sweat salted skin.
every sound that get's punched out your crumpling lungs by merciless pounds goes straight to his cock, throbbing within your clamping gummy walls. “gonna give ya a babe that looks lak ya, make ya pregnant, would have to stay then” arthur panted against your forehead, ample chest vibrating through with a husky growl, and you whined a fractured “yes, yes arthur, please!”
whole body arching as he railed into your wet, eager heat, cunt snug and walls clamped with needy, wavering pulls that milked his girth and demanded it's release. roughened thumb chafing clumsy circles at your puffy clit, rolling and pinching the nub until you're creaming the flowery linens and coarse tuft at his groin.
he was right there, spilling hot ropes against the rounded lump of your cervix, seed spreading and dribbling in frothed mess between your quaking legs. his pudgy abdomen flexing, warm palms cupping your calves, holding them with immense care. and when you reached out to brush away a sweat drop that beads from his brow, he leaned into the touch, nuzzling your palm with a dazzling smile and a sweet, lingering kiss.
you wriggle when arthur tries to clean you up, face tucked to dewy cunt, licking a fat stripe from your cum daubed hole right to the ass, your fingers scrabbling against his scalp, twisted in umber brown tresses. trying to tug him away, eyes tear glazed with either fluster or utter mortification, cheeks burning hotter than they ever would from the sunburn.
yet he persisted, burly arms bracketing, tongue sweeping deep and tasting his own seed until a violent tremor seized your thighs, clamping together tightly as the sudden rush of your sweet release flooded his mouth with slick. he departed just as the sun dipped into its deep orange hue, casting a golden glow across the meadow and cooling the breeze that caressed your bare legs.
you stood at the threshold, draped only in his light brown tartan shirt, its hem hanging long enough to shadow your thighs, though the sight remained undeniably seductive. his goodbye kisses were agonizingly drawn out, lips lingering over every contour of your face, dragging past the slope of your nose to the curve of your jaw, breath faint with the honey tea you had brewed for him before his departure.
holding his worn hat firmly atop his head so it wouldn't be stolen by the wind, which seemed to howl a desperate plea for him to stay. hand drawing from your waist with heavy reluctance, finally falling limp to his side, fingertips twitching with the tales of your warmth, but he had to go.
it would not be for long, this time. when he returned, carrying a few groceries he knew you would need and a bouquet disheveled beneath his arm, you opened the door with a caution that had never been there before. lake filling the meadow with it's rush, your eyes fluttered round with pure joy as you chirped his name, a sound he had grown so deeply accustomed to.
standing with your palm carefully pressed, as if cupping something precious, right against the curve of your lower belly, which was far more rounded than before. it was not weight, nor was it the result of eating well, it was the life of a child, his child, growing right beneath your heart. you looked up at him with simmering nerves, lips bitten raw, tremors already wormed deep.
“ain't 'unna leave ya now, honey, aah swear” arthur rasped, a sudden lump in his throat scratching sharper than any serrated blade. abandoning everything he had brought, not caring where it lands, he pulled you close to cradle your dainty figure against his chest. broad, heavy palm pressed over yours, squeezing your hand against the small swell of the belly, making you feel safer than you ever had, your forever man.
hii ⭑.ᐟ its nice to meet you ⭑.ᐟ i’m an essie, too ⭑.ᐟ it’s great to see a name share love arthur & be apart of this community as well ⭑.ᐟ i can’t wait to check out your work , have a great day ⭑.ᐟ 🤭💐✨
omg no way! what are the odds 😭😭 hellooooo!!! time to check out your work too 💕
arthur morgan and his elusive little mockingbird...
pairing: arthur morgan x reader
word count: 1.3k
warnings: just pure angst, deceased reader, blood, harsh language, heartbroken arthur, i cried when writing this
a/n: this one BROKEEE MEEE!!! sorry yall :( (sike) the thought of this came to me when i was watching birds outside lol. also this is heavily inspired by the hunger games (ESPCIALLY lucy gray) and a has a brief TKAM reference :) enjoy!!
song to listen to for extra tears: Can't Catch Me Now by Olivia Rodrigo (only specifically listen to the part of the song i wrote into the fic)
But I'm in the trees, I'm in the breeze
My footsteps on the ground.
You'll see my face in every place
But you can't catch me now.
Through wading grass, the months will pass
You'll feel it all around.
I'm here, I'm there, I'm everywhere
But you can't catch me now.
No, you can't catch me now.
Arthur feels a gentle tear slip from his eye as he stands in the tall grass, blooming with various wildflowers, in front of your grave.
You loved wildflowers. Arthur would always pick a small amount and bring them to you at every opportunity to simply make you smile. It seemed as if you had a fresh bouquet every week from him. He finds himself bending down to pick a handful before gently setting them against your headstone.
Arthur carved your headstone on the side of a small boulder hidden in the patch of wildflowers for you. You always said how you wanted to be buried somewhere beautiful, with an abundance of trees and flowers to forever surround you. It took him weeks, but it was well-spent time in his eyes. You deserved it… you deserved so much better...
Arthur finds himself placing a soft hand on the rock, right where your carved name lies. He begins to slightly shake as tears begin to slip from his sorrowful eyes. It’s been about a year since you passed, but he feels guilty every living moment. The memory of that day still lives fresh in his mind...
Arthur woefully looks down at your pitiful figure in his trembling arms as he feels himself cry.
“Arthur…” You painfully whisper as you place a shaking hand onto his face, trying to wipe away his tears. “Arthur, baby… it’s okay…” You achingly choke out.
He presses a firm hand over the gushing gunshot wound on the front of your stomach. “I’m sorry—“ He wretchedly cracks out over his stream of tears. He feels as if his throat is closing up from his excruciating emotions.
“Why’re you sorry? You didn’t shoot me.” You say jokingly as you crack a soft smile, blood beginning to leak from the corner of your mouth.
“I dragged ya into this mess… should’ve left the first time ya asked…” He weeps as a fresh set of tears surge from his regretful eyes.
Your face winces with pain before you softly whisper out, “Oh, Arthur… stop blamin’ yourself…” Your voice gently trails off as your hand slips from his face and lands roughly at your side. Your eyes slowly glaze over as you look up at the trees faintly rustling above you both.
Arthur begins to softly shake your body in his arms before choking out a pained cry. “Oh, don’t do this to me, baby… c’mon, you’re okay… fuck! Wake up!” He angrily yells as he rattles your lifeless body harder.
When you don’t move, Arthur lets out a loud, anguished cry for the whole world to hear.
Arthur finds himself choking out another pained cry as he drops his face to a trembling hand. His entire body shakes as he mournfully sobs in front of your grave.
Over the tears, he chokes out a weeping apology. “I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry… I should’ve run off with you when I still had the damn chance... or sent you off to some man better than me… at least then you’d still be alive—" His voice cuts off as it bitterly cracks over the suffocating feeling building up in his chest.
Arthur continues to pathetically sob in front of your grave, head downcast toward the dirt. He feels as if he’s about to shatter into a million pieces from the intense anguish he's experiencing.
Arthur leans forward and roughly places a hand against your headstone. He begins to hyperventilate as tears cascade down his face. It feels as if he’s losing himself in a panicked frenzy.
Suddenly, Arthur’s ears pick up on the soft chirping of birds in the trees around him. His head sharply snaps up, as if hearing something he hasn’t heard in forever. As his breathing starts to calm, his tears slow from a steady stream to a soft sprinkle.
Arthur’s blurry eyes look up to the trees surrounding your little patch of wildflowers as he spots a couple of the birds responsible. He watches them playfully fly from tree to tree, without a care in the world.
Then, he notices the leaves rustling against the soft, cool breeze. He swears he can faintly hear you singing that one song you always sang when the both of you were out together. One of your favorite songs to sing...
But I'm in the trees, I'm in the breeze
My footsteps on the ground.
You'll see my face in every place
But you can't catch me now.
Through wading grass, the months will pass
You'll feel it all around.
I'm here, I'm there, I'm everywhere
But you can't catch me now.
No, you can't catch me now.
Arthur begins to feel calmer the more he looks around. He continues to watch the birds fly between the leaves as he takes a deep, slow breath.
Arthur pushes himself up from the ground when a sudden strong breeze passes through the area. It smoothly sways the tall, wildflower-dense grass and delicately stirs the leaves of the trees above. It feels like you, lovingly touching him again. He shuts his eyes as he imagines you, alive, and here with him once more.
Arthur feels himself begin to move with the breeze, back under the shade of the trees. He doesn’t really know why he’s following the direction of the wind, but it feels right. The birds continue to beautifully chirp, reminding him once more of your soft, singing voice. He really misses hearing you sing… but for some reason, it feels as if you're singing right now.
The breeze begins to let off when Arthur reaches a big, towering oak tree in the middle of the forest. When he lifts his gaze, he spots various birds moving between the branches. Now that he's calmer, he can name a few. Robins, blue jays, and one of your favorites… mockingbirds. They aren’t vividly colorful like the other birds he previously mentioned, but you loved them because of the gentle melodies they sang. He always saw a bit of you in those birds...
Suddenly, Arthur remembers a sentence you regularly said about your favorite bird: “Mockingbirds don’t do one thing except make music for us to enjoy… that’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”
You always left Arthur a little confused when you said that, because you’d never elaborate further. But after your death… it makes so much more sense to him. Of course, you were only talking about the birds, but that same sentence applied to you too.
You were the mockingbird.
You’d always sing around camp or in a local theater for people’s enjoyment. Arthur honestly thought you could’ve made a career out of it because everyone loved your beautiful voice.
And what a sin it was to take such a beautiful voice so early...
He shuts his eyes once more as he listens to the noise around him. The lovely mockingbird singing various melodies and the soft rustling of the leaves from the big oak tree all remind him of you. You had a calming presence, and he swears he can feel it right now.
Arthur continues to stand there under that tree, now at peace with a dry face and steady-standing body. He lifts his head upwards to the leaves as he lets out a soft breath of relief. “I’m glad you’re somewhere better now, darlin’…” He softly confesses his thoughts under the gentle breeze.
He’ll never fully move on from you, he knows that, with your constant presence surrounding him everywhere he looks. Whether it be in the trees around camp or in the breeze while he’s out riding. Or even in the soft singing of a mockingbird, he can still vividly picture your beautiful face. But that’s okay. He’s okay with that. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
arthur morgan calms you during a particularly harsh storm
pairing: arthur morgan x reader
word count: 540
warnings: not many, just a frightening thunderstorm ig, bit of harsh language
a/n: this is very self indulgent lolll. i was a bit freaked out during a recent storm and came up with this on the fly
You jump as the thunder cracks harshly over Horseshoe Overlook once more. Currently, you’re in Arthur’s tent, sitting on his cot waiting for him as he helps cover important things around camp from the pounding rain.
You never really liked thunderstorms. The loud, piercing thunder and bright, flashing lightning always easily freaked you out, especially at night like right now.
Another loud crack, closer now, causes you to practically jump out of your skin. “Damn it, Arthur…” You harshly curse as you worry about him out there.
A strong gust of wind pushes open the canvas currently covering the wagon. You get a peek of the chaos occurring out there, spotting several people running around and moving things about.
You feel a bit guilty for not being out there and helping, but you don’t know if you even could. You’d probably have a panic attack. Hell, you’re about to have a panic attack even though you’re under the cover of a tent. Well, this tent is pretty unreliable against the storm because at this point, it’s being constantly blown open, sending a spray of rain in each time.
You suck in a sharp breath as a big burst of lightning flashes through the canvas of the tent. You swiftly cover your ears before a deafening crack pops across the atmosphere. That definitely just struck a nearby tree. As the thunder becomes more frequent, you begin to slightly shake. At this point, it seems the thunder is popping off like gunshots you hear in your everyday life.
Suddenly, Arthur bursts through the canvas of the tent, dripping from head to toe with rainwater. Your nervous eyes snap up to his figure as you finally drop your hands from your ears. You genuinely feel more relaxed being in his presence, though you’re still noticeably quivering.
“Hey, ya alright?” Arthur gruffly asks as he changes his shirt to a more comfortable, dry one. You give him an anxious nod as he scans your distressed face, clearly seeing through your obvious lie.
“Aye, c’mere. It’s gonna be alright. We’ve had storms worse than this before.” He softly reassures as he moves toward you. Arthur gently grabs your trembling figure and engulfs you in a strong, grounding hug. You shakily wrap your arms around his firm torso and feel a breath you didn’t know you were holding leave your body.
When he steps back from you, still holding onto you, he sees a single tear leave your eye and wipes it away with his slightly damp hand. “Oops, guess that didn’t help much.” He laughs, trying to make you more at ease. You chuckle a bit at your now wetter face before another louder, but more distant, crack of thunder pops, making you faintly jump again.
Arthur firmly keeps a strong hand on you as he reassuringly says, “See, it’s already movin’ away from us. Barely did any damage.”
You softly nod as you collapse back into his figure once more.
“Thank you, Arthur. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You remark appreciatively as you hug him tight.
“Now, no need to thank me. Just—“
“Mmm, shut up and take my thanks.” You sharply cut in as you melt into his strong figure.
warnings: angst... sry we need to face the heartbreaking reality every once in a while </3
a/n: just a short little sad piece :(
Arthur Morgan, who appears to others as this big, scary outlaw that is only capable of murdering and stealing.
Arthur Morgan, who lets people believe he doesn't have a single drop of empathy in his heart.
Arthur Morgan, who saves your life during a shootout after you had been unintentionally caught in the crossfire.
Arthur Morgan, who patches you up and brings you back to camp to heal.
Arthur Morgan, who constantly checks in on you while you’re healing, making sure you’re doing okay.
Arthur Morgan, who keeps away the pestering members of the camp after seeing the uncomfortable look on your face.
Arthur Morgan, who, once you’re healed, helps you set up your own tent near his so that he can keep an eye on you.
Arthur Morgan, who brings you little trinkets and gifts from his trips, just trying to make you smile.
Arthur Morgan, who secretly draws you in his journal but never shows you, too insecure to do so.
Arthur Morgan, who makes you laugh without a care in the world, bringing a bit of light into your life every day.
Arthur Morgan, who kisses and holds you so lovingly, never wanting to make you feel worthless.
Arthur Morgan, who teaches you how to hunt, shoot, and fish after he begins to feel a bit sickly.
Arthur Morgan, who begins to draw back from you, intentionally avoiding your presence to not get you sick.
Arthur Morgan, who gets diagnosed with tuberculosis but decides to never tell you.
Arthur Morgan, who stubbornly ignores your worries about his frail appearance and persistent coughing, instead worrying about keeping you away from him.
Arthur Morgan, who swiftly gets you out of camp once the gang begins to fall apart.
Arthur Morgan, who sends you off with money and his most precious belongings: his journal, photos of his family, and his cattleman revolver.
Arthur Morgan, who briefly gives you a tight hug as you cry, gently wiping your tears away.
Arthur Morgan, who wants to do so much more, like giving you a kiss, but avoids doing so in fear of getting you sick.
Arthur Morgan, who leaves his heartbroken true love behind, alone.
Arthur Morgan, who desperately fights against Micah on some cliff, hanging on to that final thread of hope that he’ll make it back to you, even for just a brief moment.
Arthur Morgan, who lies there on the cliff, dying, and thinking only about you.
Arthur Morgan, who never makes it back to you and dies alone as the sun rises over the horizon..
aka the three times arthur morgan saves your life and the one time you (unintentionally) save his
pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader
word count: 4.3k
warnings: angst, fluff, harsh language, blood, severe to minor injuries, reader being attacked multiple times (animals and humans alike), brief scene with a man trying to assault reader, the usual rdr2 violence, micah mention (puke)
a/n: thank you for all the support on my last fanfic!!! i seriously did not think it was gonna be seen loll. anyways, i revised this one a few times and i'm still a bit iffy about it soooo hope y’all enjoy
First Time: Pre-Blackwater Massacre
Arthur was aimlessly trotting in New Austin, fresh off robbing a rich man's stagecoach, when suddenly, he heard a piercing scream break the usual silence of the desert.
As he halted his horse, which neighed at the loud noise, he took a suspicious look around. He cautiously placed a hand over his gun holster while he surveyed the vast rocky area.
Then again, another frightened screech echoed across the desert. Arthur swiftly whips his gun from its holster and moves his horse closer to the source of the noise.
The screaming gets frequent the closer Arthur gets. He believes he hears a broken “Get off of me—!” before the voice is abruptly cut off, as if suddenly muffled by something.
Taking a sharp turn around a large cliff, he spots the source of the commotion. You face down on the ground with a fat, greasy-looking man on top of you, holding a knife to your throat. He seems to be desperately trying to rip your clothes off with his free hand but is unsuccessful when you throw a leg back to kick him.
“Stay still, bitch!” The unknown man says while holding the knife closer to your throat, causing a trickle of blood to flow. The rag stuffed in your mouth muffles your cry of pain.
Wasting no time, Arthur kicks his horse into a sprint. He then halts right next to you and the man, gun pointed straight at his head. The greasy man barely has time to look up before a bullet is sent through his skull, which drops his heavy body onto you.
Immediately, Arthur hops off his horse and grabs the man, lifting him off of you. He crouches to your level, takes the rag from your mouth, and surveys you for damage. You turn your head to look up at him, still stomach-down on the ground, with fear, believing it's just another bastard trying to harm you.
Not noticing any major injuries, Arthur looks down to your fearful face, a feeling of dread setting in him once he realizes how bad he probably looks to you. He holds up both his hands so you can see them and reassuringly says, “I’m no harm to you, ma’am. Don’t know who that bastard was, but he’s gone now. You’re safe.”
Sitting up from the ground, you watch him cautiously, still unsure. The whole time you are doing so, Arthur is staying as still as possible so as to not startle you. Once you’ve settled down, still on the ground but sitting up properly now, Arthur introduces himself.
“Name’s Arthur, Arthur Cal–Morgan.” He interrupts himself, not seeing any use in lying to you about his name. He waits a moment for your response, not rushing you.
You speak up quietly, still a bit apprehensive as you give him your name. He softly nods before gently holding out a hand to help you up. For a long moment, you eye it before feebly placing your shaking palm into his still, grounded one. He helps you up with one strong, effortless pull, which slightly knocks you off balance. He grabs your waist to steady you as you grab onto his bicep.
For a brief moment, you look into each other's eyes before he notices a bit of blood still dripping from the shallow cut on your neck. He breaks apart from you and moves to his horse. He digs through his saddlebag and pulls out a loose cloth, holding it out for you to take. You grab the cloth and hold it over the leaking cut on your neck.
For a long moment, you curiously watch him, debating on telling him why you’re out here. He did save my life… shouldn’t hurt. You briefly think.
“I—I was headin’ to Tumbleweed, lookin’ for work. My family kicked me out… said I was too much of a burden… ‘cause I wasn’t bein’ womanly. Couldn’t find a husband quick enough for ‘em.” You finish off softly, looking out to the vast desert. For a brief moment, Arthur stares at you, trying to find anything to say, but you speak up again.
“Ain’t got nothin’ to my name now… never really did, I guess.” You pause for a moment. “No way to get anywhere, Mr. Morgan. The damn bastard killed my horse… well, she wasn’t mine. I picked her off some hitchin’ post.” Your eyes widen at what you just admitted. Shit, why did you say that? You just met the man! He could turn you in! Your thoughts begin to spiral as your heart rate kicks back up.
But before you can continue overthinking, he speaks up. “Got a place you can go… uhm—we’re all outlaws. But don’t think you’d mind after that admission.” He slightly chuckles. A moment later, you nod in agreement with a soft smile on your face. Any place will be better than that wretched home.
Second Time: Blackwater Massacre
It’s a typical, relatively peaceful morning at the up-and-coming port town of Blackwater. Currently, you are in town by yourself shopping for a few supplies you need and pickpocketing unsuspecting civilians.
A lot has happened since you and Arthur first met one another. You’re closer now and often spend your rare moments of free time together. A few of the camp members may say he’s sweet on you, but you don’t seem to believe so. He’s just acting as he always has.
You sneakily slip your hand into an unaware man’s pocket who is looking at a selection of farm supplies through the store window. Suddenly, a loud gunshot breaks the usual noise of the town. The entire place goes quiet before more shots begin to pop off like fireworks. The man, whom you just robbed of his pocket watch, bolts into the store he was looking into as the town descends into utter chaos.
As people haphazardly bump into your still figure, you try to locate the source of the gunshots. Once the shots get closer, you bolt and take cover in a nearby alleyway, trying to think of the next plan of action. You’re about to make a move to another alleyway, closer to your horse, when you hear a very recognizable voice yelling. “Push in on them!” It’s Dutch. And you assume he’s shouting out to some of your fellow gang members. What the hell is he doing?
Racking your brain for a reason he’d be shooting up Blackwater, you suddenly remember a conversation Micah was having with Dutch. Micah was telling him about a relatively unguarded ferry they could rob for loads of cash. He told Dutch that it was enough to get the gang on their feet.
But… you’re confused. Dutch was still considering the ferry plan along with Hosea and Arthur’s (more reasonable and safer) real estate scam plan. Why the sudden change? You wonder…
As you try to think of a reason, you hear the rough sound of hooves stomping from the opposite side of the gun fire. Peeking your head from the alleyway, you see Hosea and Arthur hopping off their horses to take cover behind some crates, joining in to defend their gang. You decide that there is no better time than now to make a run for your horse and get the hell back to camp.
Breaking into a sprint, Arthur shouts your name. He continuously bellows at you, saying something unidentifiable, but you don’t stop to figure it out.
Reaching your startled horse, you forcefully throw yourself over into the saddle before snapping the reins hard. You sharply turn her toward Arthur when a deafening shot rings out, louder than any you’ve heard before.
You don’t initially feel the pain, just a strange burning sensation in your shoulder. Your grip on the reins loosens before you slide off and hit the ground hard. The air gets forcefully knocked from your lungs. Trying to catch your breath, you instinctively reach for your burning shoulder and see a load of blood come back on your hand. As you’re shakingly staring at your red-stained hand, a man in a black suit and brown bowler hat appears before you with a gun to your face.
So much just happened, you can’t even process a thing. A thousand different questions race through your foggy brain. Why did I fall off my horse? Why is my shoulder burning so bad? Who is this man? What the hell is happening? Am I…dying?
Just when you hear his gun click back, the man suddenly jerks backward and roughly falls to the ground. You watch him go down with a furrow in your brow before someone grabs your arms and pulls you down an alleyway, making you yelp out in pain.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” You hear a rough, shaky voice swiftly spit out. Turning your spinning head to see who’s speaking, you see Arthur on his knees desperately digging through his satchel looking for something.
“Arr–thur?” You slur as you try to figure out which of the three you're seeing is really him. His head snaps to you, eyes deep with a sense of urgency, before he pulls out a cloth bandage. You watch as he leans forward to gently but quickly wrap your now hurting shoulder up. You whimper in pain, to which he begins to profusely apologize. “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry. I know, I know, darling… just hold still, alright? You’re gonna be fine. Gonna be okay. Gonna be just fine…” He trails off, seemingly trying to reassure himself more than you.
He finishes wrapping up your shoulder, sniffing slightly as he gently lifts you into his arms. Looking up into his beautiful blue-green eyes, you think you see a tear roll down his grimy face. He briskly walks down the alleyway to his startled horse. You softly ask with concern, “Why're you cryin’, Arthur?” before your vision begins to go black.
Third Time: Hunting Trip
About a month after the whole Blackwater mess, the gang is set up in Horseshoe Overlook, a little secluded spot not too far away from the simple cattle town of Valentine. You have mostly healed up by now. Your shoulder is still a bit sore when you move it too fast, but you’re alive, thanks to Arthur Morgan once again.
While the gang was hiding in the mountains, desperately trying to flee from the law and the Pinkertons, you were fighting for your life.
Arthur checked on you almost every hour when he wasn’t out doing things for the gang. You don't remember much of the early healing process since you were always passed out, resting. But more often than not, he was by your side.
Now, he’s walking up to your side again at the girls’ tent with an inquisitive look on his face. At his approach, you look up from where you're sitting on your bedroll and give him a soft smile before asking, “Can I help you, Arthur?”
He watches you for a brief second, as if momentarily entranced, before breaking eye contact and looking down at his boots. He quickly speaks up, fumbling over his words. “You—do ya want to go out huntin’? Know you get tired of bein' locked up in this camp and all.” He gestures around said camp before looking back at you.
Initially, you’re a bit shocked. Not because you never went hunting with him, but because he was the one who kept you locked up in camp while you healed from your injury. In fact… even after you were mostly healed.
“Uhm—“ you say as you watch him, trying to figure out if he’s being serious. After a moment, you stand up from your spot with a soft smile and say, “Sure, Arthur. Thank you.”
He nods and gestures for you to follow him to the horses. You grab your bow from your storage chest and follow behind him. Once the both of you reach his horse, he hops on, then reaches down a strong hand to grab yours and pull you up behind him. You wrap your arms gently around his torso and he tenses a bit before setting the horse into a trot, exiting the camp.
The ride is initially silent before you get curious and ask, “So where are we going?” He doesn’t respond for a long moment, but when he does, it’s a simple, short, “Big Valley.”
By the time you arrive, the sun is beginning to set. Arthur brings his horse to a halt near some trees and hops off to hitch her up. Before you can get off the horse, Arthur grabs you by the hips to help you down. You give him a grateful smile before grabbing both bows from the back of his horse and turn to hand him his.
Taking a deep breath, you examine your bow that you haven’t shot since before your injury. “Hope I still got it.” You softly say as you put your quiver on.
Arthur looks over at you, a soft look set on his face before gruffly saying, “I bet ya do. You’re a smart girl.”
You slightly blush and look away from him out to the open field, where you spot several pronghorns peacefully grazing on the tall green grass. He slowly begins to move forward, trying to not startle the creatures. You shortly begin to follow behind him and keep your footfalls silent.
Arthur crouches down behind a boulder near the winding river that cuts through the field. He carefully sets his bow and aims at an innocent pronghorn munching on a strand of grass about thirty feet away. You crouch down next to him, breathing slowly as you watch him release the arrow into the pronghorn's skull, which sends the nearby ones away in a panicked frenzy. He swiftly moves over to the pronghorn, lifts its corpse, and then brings it over to his nearby horse.
Now, you scan the area, looking for something you can kill. You spot a bit of movement up the river and see a buck, drinking from the water. You slowly take an arrow from your quiver and lift your bow upward. Just when you’re aiming for the kill, something jumps out and knocks you on your back.
Landing harshly onto your previously injured shoulder, you let out a head-splitting scream as you fight against what you now recognize as a cougar. It slashes at you with a clawed paw, but you block it with your bow before it snaps at the cougar's weight.
You frantically try to hold it off by blocking it with your arms before a loud gunshot rings through the air. The heavy cougar lands harshly on top of you, but a terrified-looking Arthur quickly pulls it off. He swiftly examines you for injuries before grabbing you and pulling you into his arms, breathing heavily. You tightly reciprocate his hold, as the weight of the situation lands heavily on you. The both of you stay like that for quite a bit as you process the terrifying moment together.
After a moment, you slightly step back from him, still gripping his jacket, and look into his now calmer eyes. Your shaky voice speaks up. “T–thank you, Arthur… you’ve done saved my life a third time. Don’t know how I can repay you...” Both of you slightly chuckle at this.
Then he roughly says something that shocks you to your core. “You bein' alive is payment enough for me.”
At this admittance, your eyes widen and your jaw drops in surprise. You’re about to say something else, though you're not exactly sure what, when he steps back from you and kneels down to the cougar's carcass, beginning to skin it. For a long moment, you watch him, trying to figure the elusive man out.
Once he’s finished the general skinning, he grabs the cougar's paw and roughly cuts out one of its claws. Getting back to his feet, he moves over to you and holds out the claw for you to take. Your eyes dart down to the bloody claw and back up to him in confusion.
“Good luck charm for when I’m not around t’ save ya.” He says this with a sarcastic tone and sassy smile on his face.
“Alright, smart-ass…” You respond with a feigned annoyed grumble as you grab the sharp claw from his hand. He only laughs at your reply as he picks the cougar’s pelt off the ground and takes it to his horse.
Your eyes sharply follow him. You notice the way his hips slightly sway as he walks… and the way his back muscles flex when he stuffs the cougar pelt under the pronghorn… and the way… Damn, what the hell has this man done to you…
The one time you save his
It’s a warm, sunny morning in Horseshoe Overlook. After your most recent close call, which resulted in Arthur saving your life again, you both have gotten even closer than before. A few of your fellow gang members have even come up to you asking questions about your relationship with Arthur, to which you say a disappointed, “It’s complicated.” The tension between you two has become electrifying, especially after a couple of heated moments that almost led somewhere…
For instance, the night after Sean's rescue from the bounty hunters, there was a full-blown party happening in the camp. People were singing, dancing, drinking, and having an overall good time. Initially, Arthur and you were just having a couple of drinks together casually chatting, which led to a bit of dancing, which then led to you two sneaking off, which then led to him pushing you up against a tree, his lips so close to yours… before Bill stumbled by the both of you, puking in a nearby bush.
The second time… was a bit more private… but somehow even more disappointing than the first. You were out riding with Arthur in the vast field of the Heartlands, looking for a bunch of yarrow to pick. Finding some, the two of you got off his horse and began to collect. When you had about a handful, you turned to put it in his saddlebag before suddenly bumping into Arthur, who happened to be walking behind you. He grabbed your arm, steadying you, as all the yarrow fell from your hand. But you weren't paying attention to that. You were paying attention to the sharp, intense way his eyes were locked onto you. Sucking in a sharp breath, you slightly began to lean toward him. He seemed to be reciprocating when, as quick as lightning, he broke his hold on you and moved away, continuing to pick yarrow as if nothing had happened. Your eyebrows had furrowed in confusion and hurt. You wanted to ask him about it, but he seemed suddenly so closed off you don’t think he’d respond if you did.
A few days after that whole awkward situation, Arthur and you were a bit distanced. You’d actually been meaning to ask him exactly what the two of you are, but he kept intentionally avoiding you. Finally, you decided enough was enough, which is why you’re currently walking up to him at Strauss’s wagon. But, by the look on his face when he's talking to Strauss, he already seems very annoyed. Great.
He runs a hand down his face before harshly turning away from the man and toward your direction. He spots you but doesn’t say a word as he walks right by you toward his horse.
Furrowing your eyebrows in irritation, you begin to follow after him, the annoyance evident in your voice as you call, “Arthur? Arthur!” He doesn’t say a word as he quickly hops onto his horse and turns to exit camp.
“Arthur!” You call out after him again, but he still doesn’t stop, only flinches slightly at the hurt tone in your voice.
Stubbornly deciding not to give up, you hop onto one of the other men’s horses and begin to follow him, quickly catching up with him just outside of camp.
“Arthur! Will you stop for just a minute?!” You yell furiously, to which he brings his horse down to a trot, still not looking or talking to you.
When your horse catches up with his, you slow him down a bit and watch his tense body language. Either he’s really bothered by your presence or by that conversation with Strauss.
“Arthur, I’ve been meaning to talk with you.” You speak firmly as you try to look into his downcast eyes.
He just slightly hums in response, like he’s too drained to properly answer.
Your face softens at this. Feeling a bit bad for him, you decide to ask, “What’s the matter, Arthur?”
“Just—Strauss and his damn debts he has me collectin’. Can’t seem to get no one else to do it. Guess the others ain’t scary-lookin’ enough.” He grumbles as the two of you continue to slowly ride toward Valentine.
You don’t respond for a moment, just letting the silence resonate, before speaking up with a simple “You don’t have to do it, Arthur. Nobody’s forcing you—”
“Then who else will?” He harshly cuts in as he snaps his head toward you, finally looking into your eyes with his fiery ones. You bring your horse to a stop in the middle of the trail, which results in him stopping too.
He continues to stare at you, waiting for your response. Instead of giving him one, you pull your horse off to the side under a shaded tree. He watches you in confusion before doing the same. You hop off your horse, him following shortly after, and look up at the leaves as he approaches you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. It’s silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves and nearby birds chirping.
You break the long silence first. “Been meanin’ to talk with you, Arthur.” You gently say when you turn toward him, your eyes locking fiercely onto his.
“Me, too.” He gruffly responds as he steps a bit closer to you, one hand delicately placed on his gun belt.
“Hmm…” You briefly hum before saying with a soft smile, “You go first.” He nervously shifts his weight as his hand tightens around the gunbelt and breaks eye contact.
Clearing his throat, he looks back into your eyes, various emotions swimming through them before softly speaking up. “Been meanin’ to ask you, about—about… uhm…“ He nervously begins to stumble over his words.
You watch him with a soft smile before curiously flicking up your brow. He roughly clears his throat once more, trying to keep some sort of composure. He’s about to speak again before you finish his sentence for him. “About us?”
His eyes snap to your soft but fierce ones as his jaw slightly drops. “Yeah… I uh… I don’t know.” He pauses for a moment. By the look on his face, he seems to be debating something. He takes a sharp breath before saying, “I like ya…I really do…but I don’t think you should be tangled up with some bastard like me. You’re too damn good for me, darlin'.”
You stare at him for a long moment in shock, the look on your face making him even more nervous. “I—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ‘ve—” He’s suddenly cut off by your demanding voice.
“Shut up, Arthur.” You utter a bit harshly, but with good intention, as you break the distance between the both of you and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him toward you. He’s a bit thrown off balance before he grabs your hips and pulls you impossibly closer to him. You’re leaning toward each other, lips about to meet, when the loud, recognizable yell of a man makes the both of you jump.
It’s Bill… again. “What the hell’ve you got my horse for?” He’s yowling out, ignoring the way you two are holding each other as he grabs his horse’s reins.
It seems Arthur has finally gotten fed up as he lets out a quick, “He ain’t ruinin’ shit again” before swiftly dropping his lips down onto yours. If Bill says anything, you don’t hear it as you passionately kiss him back. It’s a fiery moment, fueled by the sizzling tension that has been slowly growing between you both since your first meeting. All those times he’s saved your life… all those fleeting seconds of want come crashing down into one burning kiss.
When the two of you finally break apart, you're both breathing heavily, foreheads resting against each other as you soak in the moment. You softly chuckle as a warm feeling passes through your being. Arthur is about to say something when Bill’s husky voice breaks in, “Well, glad you two got that sorted out.” He says before walking off with his horse.
Laughing together, he reaches down and grabs your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as he leads you to the base of the tree. He pulls you down to sit on his lap with a soft, loving smile.
“Glad you finally grew some balls.” You giggle as you place a soft hand on his face.
He sassily rolls his eyes before responding, “Bill’s second interruption was my last straw.”
“Had a lotta straws then! ‘Cause it took you long enough.” You cheekily reply.
He pauses for a brief moment and watches you with soft eyes before saying, “Sorry, you just make me real nervous.”
“Well look, you didn’t have nothin’ to be nervous about. I like ya back.”
“Ya do? Well, shit, should've made that obvious.” He pertly responds with a sarcastic smirk on his face.
“Oh, shut up… ya smart ass.” You respond, leaning forward to kiss him again but softer this time.
When the kiss breaks, you both soak in the moment, eyes closed as your foreheads rest together. Neither of you speak another word, the peaceful silence under the rustling tree saying enough. At this point, you’ve both forgotten about the debt collection Arthur was initially so pissed about. And eventually, when he does remember, he decides to take your advice and chooses not to do it. Neither of you ever realized it, but you saved his life that day. You gave Arthur another chance at living, unbeknownst to the both of you.
NUMBER 1 RULE: PLS BE NICE!! no negative nancy's on this blog! cause i am quick to block people. also please remember i am a person with a life OUTSIDE of the internet so i may go without posting for extended periods of time
DO NOT repost or feed my work through AI.
request rules
i only write for fem!reader. i will write fluff and angst for either headcannons, blurbs, or short fics (maybe some longer ones too if i can stay motivated lol) but at this time i will not be writing smut. remember that i have the right to ignore or reject requests if i feel so.
who i write for
at this moment, i mainly write for arthur morgan butttt i probably will write for some others in the future :)
gummygunk
dailybridgerton
yousharknotpass
blakekathryn
andulkaphoto
