Bards Crossings • Arthur Morgan x Reader

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐕

"I was frightened for my life—but, someone I didn't see, t-they shot the rope." Wide, hazy eyes concentrated on Hosea, you clung to Arthur's neck whilst he twisted the cap on a seventh bottle of whiskey.

"W-wait," you slobbered foolishly, "for a chickEN?!" Swaying a little in Arthur's lap.

"Yes! A chicken." Uncle and you exchanged bewildered gazes.

"Anyways, there was a riot, and the townsfolk lynched the Sheriff instead." Hosea wheezed a breathy laugh, slapping his knees with the kicker of the story.

You screwed your face to Uncle, "Bullshit!" You grinned at Hosea, in two minds whether to believe him.

"I know I lie for a livin', (y/n), but this is Gods truth." He stood from his seat, patting Uncle's shoulder on the way past.

You whipped your head towards Arthur, "naaahh, he's lyin'? A chicken!" The Outlaw shook his head, "I ain't sure what t' tell y', princess." Grinning through half-lidded blue eyes.

"You youngin's make me sick, lovey n' all." The older man struggled to his feet, "I'm goin' t' bed." Swaggering his way towards the house.

Sniggering at Uncle's remark like two teenagers, you and Arthur were few of the remaining stragglers of the party. Abigail and John watched the pair of you whispering sweet nothing's into each others ears. They'd tucked their son in some time ago, quality time very much needed.

"Get a room, Morgan." John rasped.

Abigail batted her partners arm playfully, "leave 'em alone, John."

She watched on, chin glued to her hands supported by elbows propped on her knees, "It's the happiest he's been in years—thanks to (y/n)." She winked her blue, glassy eyes at you.

"C'mon, cowboy, let's get chu' to bed." The Bayou sky just starting to lighten, it was easily about to break sunrise. Bird song signalling you would not be attending to camp duties till after midday at the very earliest.

Arthur swept you off your feet, landing you in a bridal-style carry through the doors of Shady Belle. Abigail and John hushed each others laughter whilst you squirmed in Arthur's arms. You loved this new side to him; playful and silly like a big kid.

You waved goodnight to Abigail and John through wheezed laughter cramping your lungs. Arthur kicked the door shut with his boot, throwing you gently on to the cot bed.

The next few moments were a lustful blur. Warm, liquored pecks trailed your neck, Arthur supported your head under his arm; the other hand smoothed over every curve to your frame.

You cupped his stubbled cheek, pulling his lips in the direction of yours. Deep, intoxicating kisses pulled your body's closer, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist.

You made quick work of loosening the buttons of Arthur's linen shirt, whilst he shuffled you out of your skirt, barely coming up for air.

Pleasured moans escaped your lips, signalling to Arthur you wanted more. The cowboy sat himself up on the bed, pushing his hair away from his forehead.

"Is—is everything okay?" You smirked, laying on the bed doe-eyed and ready for the taking.

Arthur took another gulp of the bottle of whiskey he'd made you carry to bed with you, "it just ain't very proper, is it." His pectoral muscled twitched as he rubbed his back nervously.

"What's that meant to mean?" You propped yourself up, furrowing your brow at Arthur. He seriously lacked in pillow talk expertise.

"I mean, here, yknow—like this." Gesturing sheepishly to the small room you shared; with Dutch, Abigail, John and Jack as neighbours.

"Arthur—I ain't bein' funny or nothin', but in case y' hadn't noticed, we're Outlaws." You pulled the thin sheet over your legs, the hopes of rekindling the moment dwindling fast.

"And y'r loyalty to Dutch will keep us here even longer." Hot and bothered without any release, frustration escaped your tone.

"N' whats that meant t' mean?" Arthur slurred, pulling his shirt loosely back over his shoulders.

Afraid you'd upset him, you quickly stood up reaching for Arthur's arm, "I mean—it ain't gon' be proper anytime soon, so it's either we do it this way or never!" Protesting your innocent meanings, you already regretted the tone you'd let slip so easily.

"Y' sound just like Mary." Arthur's words sliced deep, sending rage surging through your body. Alcohol fuelled the fire racing through your blood.

"I ain't nothin' like her," you spat pulling your skirt furiously over your legs.

"How'd y' even know about her?" Arthur scoffed in confusion, his turquoise irises narrowed in on you.

"Hosea told me, y'know, since you got such a way with words!" You shouted, throwing your hands in the air.

Too late to take it back, the word vomit hit the floor like a bag of sand. Out in the open, there was no turning back now. Silence fell over the pair of you, what was supposed to be your first romantic evening, quickly spawned into the second argument you'd had; forcing you to question the duration of this already strained relationship. Laboured breathing from a furious Arthur flicked your eyes towards him.

"And, if y' don't want me findin' out about her, I suggest y' get rid of her portrait, too." Always desperate for the last word, you once again let your temper get the better of you.

The Cowboy snatched his buckskin coat from the chair in the corner of the room, thrusting the door open he stormed down the stairs.

Unsatisfied with the lack of reply, you followed him hastily out the door. "I gave up my life for you, Arthur, she didn't, so don't you DARE compare me to her." You screamed down the stairs, pausing until you heard the main doors of Shady Belle burst open.

"Fuck!!" You screamed, slamming the door to the bedroom shut.

Flinging yourself on the cot bed, regret kicked you in the stomach. A severe overreaction to a passing comment and lack of communication lead to you being alone, in the bedroom you were supposed to be sharing with Arthur. You pressed yourself close to the wall, praying the adrenaline soaked up some of the hangover that already thundered through your temples.