WOLFISH ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

Ch. X

So this was Arthur Morgan.

Or was he, though?

There was no way of knowing for sure, not without looking at the poster. And with him practically two meters away from you, just digging through your satchel to pull out a bounty poster that could potentially have his face on it did not seem like the brightest idea.
A part of you spurred you on to act already, to wait for him to fall asleep and then tie him up and drag him to the nearest town, but the other screamed that a man like this could never do the things Arthur Morgan had done. So why do such horrible things to a man that had not only saved you, but seemed genuinely kind? Especially if you weren't certain of his true identity.

The whisper-like sound of pencil scribbling on paper coaxed you out of your thoughts. When your eyes followed the source and landed on Arthur, you felt tempted to believe you were hallucinating or just seeing things in the shadow of his tent. He lay on his stomach in the makeshift shelter across from yours, a small, leather-bound notebook clutched in his left hand, pencil in the other. The long, curved lines he traced on paper confirmed that he most certainly wasn't writing anything, but actually...drawing? You blinked again, your mind still unwilling to accept that yes, the man you suspected of being a coldblooded murderer, was, in fact, scribbling away in what seemed to be some kind of journal.

This couldn't possibly be Arthur Morgan.

Feeling watched, he had the impulse to glance back at you over the brim of his hat briefly before setting the journal aside and cocking a brow at you. A questioning hum was the placeholder for what you guessed was meant to be a dry, simple 'What is it?'

Flustered to have been caught staring, you looked down at your hands, starting to twiddle with your thumbs. "I was just...wondering what you were doing."

"Nothin'." He answered plainly, reaching to store it away his satchel.

"Didn't look like nothing to me." You insisted and crawled out of your tent, towards his. "Were you drawing something?"

Arthur stopped, drumming his fingers against the leather-bound cover, hesitating for a second. "I guess you could...say that."

"Can I see?"

Taken aback by your straightforwardness, he answered quite reluctantly, opening the journal slowly. "...sure."

You ducked your head to fit in his tent, then sat down cross-leggedly beside him, left thigh lightly grazing his side when you leaned over him to catch a better glimpse of the notebook he was flipping through. Arthur tensed, but said nothing, and continued looking for the page he had been working on, passing other scribbles and paragraphs of writing before you had the chance to get a proper look at them.

He slowed, turning over a page that contained a drawing of some kind of fluffy animal, a dog, maybe, and stopped at the most recent one. A rough, but vivid, dynamic sketch of the white Arabian you'd caught today, in a sideway view, captured in all its glory while it galloped through the snow, mane fluttering in the wind.

You were awe-struck, wordless, amazed. The love and care put into it, every muscle and vein and tendon and detail, in spite of it being nothing more than a draft—

Not knowing what to expect from your lack of words, Arthur spoke up with an awkward cough, moving to close the journal shut. "Well, it ain't nothin' too impressive, just—"

You put one hand over his in an attempt to stop him. Gingerly, you dipped your fingers between the pages to open them once more. Unaware of the closeness and captured by the drawing's minimalistic but enticing nature, you leaned towards his frame to have a better look at it, which was enough for your shoulders to touch. "It's amazing, Arthur. Really. It's the Arabian, isn't it?"

He swallowed thickly and then nodded, which you deemed sufficient for an answer.

"You got all the details right, too. It looks...natural, if that makes sense? Almost like a picture." You clarified, letting your fingertips drift over the page, as if to make sure that it was, in fact, a drawing. 'Blizzard' was written in the lower left hand corner in cursive, but struck through with a single line. Below it, there was a 'Sno', also cut through, and finally, plainly stated in the upper left hand corner: 'White Arabian'. Had he tried coming up with names for it?

Arthur closed the journal shut before you had the chance to inspect it any further. "I wouldn't go so far as to sayin' that. 'S just a terrible sketch, that's all."

"If that's horrible then I'll be more than thrilled to see your good sketches." You joked, watching as little clouds formed in front of his mouth and nose when he chuckled.

"If a wolf don't cut you down before that, sure." He answered on the same tone, which earned a both amused and frustrated huff from you.

"Let's hope you'll be there to save the day once again, then."

"Don't get your hopes up, ruinin' folk's days is my favorite pastime."

"Well, I beg to differ, mister Callahan." You smiled at him brightly. "You've proved to be good company so far."

His reluctant, almost shy reaction to your compliment lead you to believe he was not used to receiving those, or just horrible at it. And yet, in spite of that, you found yourself grinning childishly and thinking it was adorable. What had gotten into you?

"I reckon you've been...quite entertaining as well." Arthur answered, tilting his head downwards to hide his face from you. A moment of silence followed, in which you almost wanted to apologize for flustering him, but were surprised when he raised his head enough to meet your gaze, expression garnished with a smirk. "Especially your exquisite horse tamin' techniques."

"Oh, shut up!" You growled playfully. "It's not like you didn't get bucked off either."

"It ain't my fault, I was just watchin' and learnin' from you, jus' like you said." Arthur answered with a defensive shrug. "Don't think there's much more you can teach me about wolf huntin', though."

"Mister Callahan!" You begun, faking infuriation and rising to your feet. You were trying to hold back a idiotic grin, and Arthur had obviously taken notice. "I'm going back to my tent if you keep tormenting me like this!"

"About time." He answered cheekily, pulling his hat down his forehead to cover his eyes before letting himself collapse on his back.

You shook your head in amusement and made your way back to your tent, which thankfully was not more than a few steps away. You crawled inside the cramped space, finding Lobo's curled up form inside it. You ran your fingers over the fur on his head, then laid down beside him, letting your eyes drift shut.

The sound of fabric shuffling came from Arthur's tent, followed by a reluctant: "I didn't actually offend ya, did I?"

"What?" You glanced over at him, discovering nothing but honesty on his expression. Did he actually mean it? Of course he hadn't hurt you. "No." You answered truthfully. "Who even takes offense that easily?"

"Just set foot in a saloon in Saint Denis and I guarantee you'll find a fella or two like that."

"Well I'm not some fellow in a Saint Denis saloon." You clarified with a soft smile.

"I know, just...makin' sure, I guess. Would hate gettin' murdered in my sleep."

"Maybe don't save strangers from wolf attacks next time, then."

Arthur pulled his hat back over his eyes. "Maybe."