Bards Crossings • Arthur Morgan x Reader

𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈

'(y/n), a sweet girl I first set eyes on in Valentine, punching a man who tried to put his hands on Karen, has joined us. It was my fault, I used her as an excuse to get to Micah in the Sheriff's office in Strawberry. Something I regret. She seems just as messed up as the rest of us. Somehow I think she will fit in just fine.'

'She told me she's from Hennigan's Stead, her mother and father got caught up in some horrible business — she was on her own pretty much until she got to being a bounty hunter. It made me nervous bringing her back to camp, but Dutch seems fine about it.'

'I aint ever seen a woman walk about town with gun's on her back so confident. If I ever get on her wrong side and I am a dead man! I don't intend to, the opposite in fact. She got these beautiful (e/c) eyes that see right through my rough person like no woman has — not even Mary.'

'As for (y/n), I hope I will not make a god awful fool of myself once more, but somehow I imagine I shall.'

                                               •

Stirring of various muffled voices outside your tent signalled it was time to get yourself together. Tilly and Mary-beth were already gassing at the coffee pot, a short distance from the canvas tent you were curled up in. Karen rolled over once again, her blue doe-eye's staring straight into yours.

"What?" Being unable to hold your laughter, "You know what! Y' dirty girl!" Karen teased you, prodding her finger into your arm.

"Y've got some nerve," you returned, "Y' were hangin' off Sean's lips like flies on horseshit!" The pair of you cackled together. The headache once more shot through your head like a freight train.

Karen noticed your palm cradling your forehead, "Yup," she started, "that's what drinkin' with us gets y'!"

Miss Grimshaw burst her way through the tent, "C'mon, girls, up!" She ordered like a drill sergeant. "We got too much t' be doin' to be layin' about like this all day." Susan folded her arms, raising a brow at the pair of you, looking up at her like two disobedient school children.

"Okay, okay—Jesus, Grimshaw." Karen pushed her self off of her bedroll, swaying slightly.

"I'll allow y' both a coffee before y's get started." Miss Grimshaw stormed out of the darkened tent, allowing you both to get dressed.

Nausea pooled in your stomach, unsure whether it was alcohol or the anxiety of facing the gang after the fool you made of yourself the previous night. You nonchalantly made your way towards the coffee pot, your method to pretend like nothing ever happened; keeping your head down in whatever tasks were assigned to you.

"Good mornin', (y/n)!" Lenny chirped at you. "Mornin'." You replied in a flat tone. There was nothing good about this morning, in fact, it was unbearable.

"Did y' have fun last night? Y' so funny when y'r drinkin'." Lenny's chipper tone provided you reassurance, "I did, thanks Lenny." You smirked back at him, remembering the conversation held between him, yourself and Charles.

You closed your eyes as you took a sip of coffee from a tin mug, cradling your finger tips tightly around the hot metal, hoping the caffeine would revive you somehow.

"Y' look like shite." An Irish accent startled your lids back open. Rolling your eyes at the fiery haired Irishmen.

"I'm fine myself, must be the Irish blood coarsin' true me veins!" Sean's loud voice was insufferable.

"Sean," You croaked, "Be quiet." His husky laugh belted; opposing your desired request for peace.

"Mind," he started once again, "You n' Ar'tur looked awful cozy last night didn't y's, dancin' n' that." He poked further. You poured the remaining coffee out of the metal mug and walked over to Pearson's wagon.

"Aw, (y/n), I was only messin' with y'!" Sean shouted over to you; ignoring his offering of an apology.

The rest of the day ticked over slowly, the sun felt extra hot on the exposed parts of your skin, whilst you washed yet more linen. The opportunity to get out of camp for a few hours was most appealing, paranoia overcame you; feeling like yours and Arthur's drunken foolishness was the hot topic on everyone's tongue. No one gave you the inclination that this was the case, you put it down to the violent hangover that was still lingering in your system.

Heading back to camp, a sigh of solace exuded your lungs at Abigail informing you that Arthur and John had headed out to inquire about a train robbery. A conversation postponed for another day, you soothed your conscience.

"You look relieved?" Abigail interrupted, confusion painting her face. "I—well, I am, in a way." You admitted, "means I don't have t' face up to the moron I made of myself in front of him." You attacked yourself with your words.

"Don't be so stupid, he's sweet on you, don't be beatin' y' self up about it." Abigail's tender voice soothed you once again. You could tell she wanted to pry further, her mouth opening and closing again, shaking her head; thinking about how to approach the subject.

"We didn't do nothin'," you started, "oh my gosh, (y/n), I've been dyin' to know all day." Her childish giggle forcing a smile to tug at the corners of your mouth.

"I just woke up in his tent, I don't remember much else," You lied, pushing your way through camp with the heavy linen basket you hauled into the centre.

You remembered everything.

The way his lips felt on yours; the way his finger tips traced every curve of your body; how his kisses tasted like whiskey and cigarettes, and you desperately wanted more.

Knowing this could never be, you blinked away the memory. He's too much of a good man for you, berating yourself once again.

Wrapping your wash skirt underneath your legs, you set yourself down at the wooden table next to Karen, Mary-beth and Tilly tucking into Pearson's broth.

Twilight hue's once again settled over camp; you tuned in and out of the gossiping, cackles and giggles with the girls. Your mind trailed to other places, however, unable to extinguish the ever-burning fire deep within your stomach. You pined for more of the Gunslinger you knew you could never have.