WOLFISH ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

Ch. XI

You woke up to the sound of barks and chuckles, as well as the scent of grilled meat, so you were in absolutely no position to complain.

In somewhat of an attempt to prolong the blissful moment, you didn't move, but only opened your eyes to look around. And that was something you most certainly did not regret.

Arthur was crouching next to the campfire he'd revitalized, the carcass of a rabbit beside him, which he was dutifully cutting into smaller pieces, and at the same time, defending from Lobo. Which, speaking from experience, was anything but an easy task.

"Look, if you keep botherin' me, we ain't gonna get nowhere with this. I thought we had a deal." Arthur spoke with obvious pseudo-sternness, huffing in amusement when Lobo sat down in front of him, head tilted to the side with puppy eyes. The man sighed, but could not withstand your dog's charm for much longer and cut off a small piece of the meat, which he dropped on the ground, in front of Lobo's feet. "That's the last one." He insisted, in spite of the pace at which Lobo was eating the given portion.

When the dog was done, he attempted once again using the puppy gaze. The little rascal.

"Look, I said I ain't—..." Arthur paused, staring down the dog for a few, tense seconds. Finally, he gave in, shoulders shaking from his amused laugh when he cut off another small bit. "Goddamnit." Arthur groaned, then fed it to the dog.

There was no way this man was a coldblooded criminal. Done, case closed, period.

No way in hell could a gunslinger be this gentle-mannered. Kind. It was impossible.

Your conclusion was reinforced further when you glanced at him once again, and saw him leave the rest of the meat on a grill over the campfire. He turned towards Lobo, and crouched down to the dog's level. "You ain't touchin' that, you hear?"

Without expecting an answer, he rose back up and dug through his satchel, retrieving an apple, leaving the dog behind, who had, surprisingly, listened. He approached the Arabian carefully, cooing soothing words to it as he approached. A soft pat on the neck later, he began feeding the horse the apple, then broke out in a childish chuckle when his other steed came up to him and nibbled on the sleeve of his shirt.

"Gettin' jealous, are we?" Arthur teased, then sliced the fruit in half with his knife to feed them both the same amount.

A gunslinger would not act like this. You'd seen all possible kinds of outlaws, and Arthur Callahan could not be one of them, not even if he wanted to.

And that whole Marston thing?

Nothing but a coincidence, you told yourself. Besides, he hadn't even confirmed whether it really was a man named John Marston, and you were sure there had to be more than one person in the whole country that had that damned name.

It had to be a coincidence, it just had to.

Was that a conclusion, or a wish?

You'd be damned if you knew.

"Hey!" A soft laugh interrupted your thoughts. Using Arthur's momentarily let down guard, the Arabian had snatched the hat from his head, trotting away with the headpiece tucked between its teeth. "I said give that back!" The man insisted, running after the animal, trying to take a hold of its reins or saddle.

The horse neighed but showed no signs of slowing down, instead, it encircled your camp at an alert pace, just enough to keep Arthur running.

"Stop, goddamnit!" In spite of his tone, it was quite obvious by the goofy grin on his face that he enjoyed the game of cat and mouse about as much as you enjoyed watching.

Regardless of that, you still decided to help the man out. You languidly stood up — which Arthur still hadn't noticed — and reached inside your satchel, retrieving some sugar cubes, then followed your action with a sharp whistle.

That was more than enough to pique the Arabian's attention. It disinterestedly let Arthur's hat drop and walked over to you, turning its focus to the treat you offered.

Meanwhile, he had picked up his hat and dusted it off while approaching you.

There was a certain reluctance in the way his eyes averted to his boots, as if he'd just been caught doing something he'd rather not have had anyone intrude on. "Mornin'."

"Good morning." You answered, your gaze still on the horse. The moment it had finished the sugar cubes, you gave it a pat on its forehead, then reached for the makeshift reins. Rope loosely clasped in your hand, you guided the Arabian past Arthur, to where the other horses had also been tied up.

The man followed, catching up with you. "You, uh..." He paused, maybe to recollect his thoughts or reform his words, then spoke up again. "When'd you wake up?"

He sounded almost...bashful? Why would he be?

Regardless, you decided to spare him the unnecessary embarrassment. "Just now, after it had stolen the hat from you. I'll admit it was...quite the interesting sight."

After tying the reins around a nearby tree, you finally turned around to fully face him, shit-eating smirk on your expression.

"Ain't my fault the thing's a devil." He retorted, walking back towards the campfire beside you.

You nodded, unable to stop smiling. You had no idea as to why that was the case — maybe the slightly comical situation, or just Arthur himself. But you more than certainly didn't mind the change of mood from the dull, dark shitshow your life was a big percentage of the time, so you were in no position to complain. He seemed share your opinion.

With lightheartedness still fluttering against your chest, you crouched down beside the campfire, glancing at the rabbit meat that was already halfway cooked.

"Breakfast smells quite lovely, by the way."

"Hoped so." He stated, as if preparing breakfast for a stranger was in engraved in every person's moral code, as if he wasn't showing much more kindness than you, or probably any stranger, for that matter, deserved. "Your dog did quite the good job at hinderin' me."

A sly smile settled on your features as you stabbed a piece of food with your hunting knife, then began nibbling on it. "I figured."