ᴍᴜʟᴛɪғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ | ᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴡ ғɪᴄs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ɴᴏᴛᴇs

Meant for You (Arthur Morgan x male!reader)

Summary: It was supposed to be a surprise.

Warning: ARTHUR MORGAN SIAK, suprised, Arthur being suspicious Male reader, a gift, love, wholesome, misunderstanding

based on this request, tq!

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The gang noticed first.
How you'd been slipping away.

At first it was just an hour or two. Then entire mornings. Some nights you were gone 'til well after moonrise, returning with mud on your boots and excuses on your tongue.

"Was checkin' the traps."
"Horse needed a run."
"Had a lead on a quick job."

No one asked too hard. Everyone has their own secrets. But Arthur? He noticed every time. Not because he was suspicious—not at first.

But because he cared.

Arthur Morgan wasn't a man who liked uncertainty. He'd seen too many people lie with a straight face. And when it came to you—the only man he'd ever let that close—any change was enough to wake something tight in his chest.

The kind of tight that made his jaw lock and his thoughts spiral. Especially when he found your satchel one night, half-opened by the fire, with a note from a gunsmith inside.

Not a name he recognized. Not one of their usual fences or contacts.

A place near Saint Denis.

The signature? "Final payment due upon pickup."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He sat with Hosea that night, smoking his cigarette down to the filter.

"Y/n's been actin' strange," Arthur muttered.

Hosea arched a brow. "Strange like takin' an interest in someone else... or strange like takin' interest in leavin'?"

"Strange like... like he's hidin' somethin'."

Hosea looked at him evenly, then smiled in that knowing way he always did. "Arthur, my boy... you ever consider maybe he's hiding something for you?"

Arthur didn't answer.

But it stuck in his head like a burr.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next morning, your horse was gone again.

So Arthur saddled up and rode after you.

No hesitation this time.

He followed the faint tracks eastward, past the river bend and towards a stretch of road that eventually curved into the outskirts of Saint Denis.

You were careful. You always had been. But Arthur had followed blood trails in the snow. Mud was child's play by comparison.

He caught up to you just outside an old workshop on the edge of town. You were talking to someone behind the counter—a man in a worn apron with black powder stains on his sleeves. Something small and gleaming was laid out in a velvet-lined box.

Arthur stayed in the alley across the street, watching from under his hat brim, fingers twitching near the butt of his pistol.

His chest ached, and he didn't know why.

Fear, maybe.
Or anger.
Or that same creeping feeling he'd known when Mary left him behind. Again and again.

Then you turned. Lifted the box. Thank you man. Tucked something carefully under your arm like it was fragile. Like it mattered.

Arthur felt something give way in his chest.

He stepped out into the street.

"Where have you been?" he said, voice sharp.

You froze.

Turned around slowly, wide-eyed. "Arthur?"

He stalked towards you. "You've been disappearin' for days. Hidin' receipts. Talkin' to people I don't know. What the hell are you doin'? You think I wouldn't notice?"

You glanced down at the package in your arms. Your throat bobbed.

"...It was supposed to be a surprise," you muttered.

Arthur stopped, confused. "A what?"

You stepped forward, slowly, and placed the box in his hands.

"Open it."

He hesitated.

Then undid the clasp.

Inside sat a Schofield revolver — but not like any he'd ever seen.

The barrel was blackened steel, etched with silver scrollwork. His initials were carved near the trigger, subtle but clean. The grip was dark walnut wood, engraved with the image of a deer and a wolf, standing side by side beneath a crescent moon.

You cleared your throat. "Figured... the deer was you. Strong, quiet. Wild but good. The wolf's... me, I guess."

Arthur stared at it. He didn't say a word.

You ran a hand through your hair, voice low. "I know you ain't good with birthdays. I didn't want to make a thing of it. I just... I've never really had someone to give somethin' to before. Not like this. Not someone who matters."

Arthur blinked.

You kept talking, nervously now. "Didn't mean to make you think I was—hell, I don't know. I just wanted to give you somethin' that'd last. Somethin' to remind you that not everyone leaves."

The silence between you stretched.

Arthur finally looked up, and for once… he looked overwhelmed.

No scowl. No anger. Just something cracked open behind his eyes.

"...You think I don't know you care?" he asked softly.

You shifted your weight. "Didn't wanna assume."

Arthur took one step forward, then another. He set the box aside and stood in front of you, close enough to smell the road dust on your jacket.

"I've been waitin' for the other boot to drop. Thought maybe you'd realize I ain't worth the trouble. Or maybe you'd run off with someone who didn't keep his soul locked up in a box."

You frowned. “Arthur—”

"But you didn't," he cut in. "You just went and did the dumbest, most thoughtful thing I've ever seen."

You tried to laugh. "Can't tell if that's praise or not."

Arthur didn't laugh.

He leaned in, one rough hand resting on your jaw, and kissed you.

Firm. Steady. Tasting of smoke and hesitation and all the words he couldn't say until now.

You sank into it, letting the tension break between your shoulders.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

"You're an idiot," he whispered. "But you're my idiot."

You grinned. "Well. I was hopein' you'd keep me."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Arthur wore the new gun on his hip the next day.

Didn't say a word about it when Dutch asked. Just shot a glance your way across the fire, and you smiled back, quiet and full of something good.

Hosea nudged Arthur later and said, "Nice gun."

Arthur grunted. "Yeah. It is."

And when you climbed into his bedroll that night, both of you quiet beneath the stars, he didn't say much—just reached out, fingers twining with yours.

But he didn't have to say it.

You already knew.

He loved you.

And if that wasn't written in the stars, it sure as hell was etched into steel.