Bards Crossings • Arthur Morgan x Reader

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐕

Finding solace in the wood pier built into the shore of Clemens Point, you began to feel more comfortable in Lemoyne. The constant warmth and summer months made camp chores bearable, spirits and morale restored. By mid-afternoon, you'd made your way around the horses in camp, chipping away as best you could at the muck that had accumulated in their hooves over the last few months. Ending the grooming session with a brush down and a sugar cube.

"Makin' good work of those horses, (y/n)." Micah's voice met your ears. His compliment felt sincere, but knowing the Gunslinger meant you knew this offering wouldn't come alone.

"Thanks." You replied flatly, trying to appease the man so he would clear off.

"Y' not shy are y' darlin'?" He slithered. His tone low, bringing his body closer to you. A red shirt on his back stained with months of mud and bloodshed, greasy blond hair clung to his scarred cheeks; underneath that same big valley hat you shot a bullet through in Strawberry, wishing it hadn't missed.

"Back off, cowpoke." You snarled as you stood to Micah's level, playing on his favourite term of endearment for anyone who challenged him.

"Woah—woah, easy there darlin'," He tried reasoning with you, playing innocent. You knew his type, mainly due to time spent less-wisely in Saint Denis; the only good thing to come out of it.

"Y' ain't puttin' out 'cause y' Arthur's little whore, huh?" Micah hissed a low chuckle at you. He'd provoked you past the point of caring if you got thrown out of the gang, for stabbing this piece of shit with the hoof pick you gripped tightly in your hand.

Lurching for him, you felt a tight forearm around your waist, suddenly tugging you back.

"What's goin' on?!" Charles growled from behind you as you raged, trying to escape the grip he had on you. "I ain't repeatin' what he just said to me." Charles released his grip as you brushed your skirt down, readjusting the blouse back over your shoulder. Heat flamed in your cheeks as you tucked your hair back behind your ears, desperately trying to regain composure.

"Leave her alone, Micah." Charles squared up to Micah, in attempt to diffuse his unwanted advances on you. "Ah—I was just teasin', wasn't I, (y/n)?" Micah flashed a sleazy wink at you as he swaggered back into the safety of camp.

"You alright?" Charles' soft tones soothed you, dissipating the ire Micah brought to the surface.

"Yeah—he called me a whore 'cause I stood up for myself." Preserving some privacy to the relationship blossoming between yourself and Arthur.

"He done the same with Jenny—we lost her in Blackwater." Charles' admission hurt your heart; the fragility of life within the gang present evermore at the mention of a fallen member.

"She was sweet on Lenny—I think Micah took advantage of her though." Charles narrowed his eyes at Micah, heading towards Dutch's tent.

"I'll kill him if he even tried." Your hatred for the Outlaw laced your tone. "I wouldn't doubt it." Charles chuckled, melting away your anger.

"Hey (y/n)," Abigail shouted over from her tent, "Arthur asked me to catch you when y' weren't busy—he said somethin' about meetin' him and Hosea by the moonshine wagon?" Abigail's blue eyes examined your face.

"Oh—okay?" Her ominous instruction confused you as to why Arthur and Hosea wanted you to join them.

"John was gon' go but Dutch has asked him to look in to somethin' else—seems to be a lot goin' on 'round here lately." Abigail scoffed. She kept to her chores and took no interest in the goings on of her partner; nor the gang. Partly because she didn't want to know, more so because she worried about John.