HIGHWAYS & BYWAYS ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

━ i

Of course you'd seen him around. He is impossible to miss, after all. Gruff, tall, dark, tough as nails, built like a brick shithouse and the most gorgeous eyes you'd ever seen on a human.

Arthur goddamn Morgan.

It is safe to assume that just about every woman (and even some men) that have set foot inside John's humble countryside home have ogled him at least once. You can't claim to feel exactly proud for being on that list as well, but you are on that list, and that is the relentless truth.

You suppose even the simpelest of pleasures come with a price, and this time, it's the damage your pride takes when you hurry to avoid Arthur's gaze when he looks up from young Jack's scribble. Your small glass of amaretto never fails to become captivatingly interesting during those instances.

John had used the pretext of it being his son's birthday to stuff his home with as many guests as the lovely little place could handle countless times now, and you can't complain. It's a wonderful occasion to get tipsy and laugh like an idiot while being surrounded by both people and the gorgeous nature in the periphery of Blackwater — who are you to say no to such an offer?

That had been the case every year until now, unfortunately. This time, things are different. It isn't an adult party with a pretext anymore, this time, it's a proper kiddie birthday party, with little, similarly aged guests included. As well as balloons. And cake. Though you don't mind those. You mentally curse the fact that Abigail had put Jack in daycare this year, where he'd made a lot more friends than you'd like to have watching you try to get drunk.

Arthur, John's best friend, has taken it upon himself to momentarily entertain the younger guests, and you assume it's so that John can have a word or two with Abigail in peace.

Arthur's squatting down now, in a weak attempt to not intimidate the children with his size, which seems to work very little for everyone aside from Jack. He tells the boy something, then ruffles the kid's head playfully, earning himself a pout from Jack and amused giggles from the other young guests.

One of the kids — a young girl in a pink dress with cartoon imprints — runs over to a nearby table, retrieving a round piece of plastic. A frisbee.

Arthur accompanies the children to the front door and opens it for them, letting them all step outside before he follows under the insistence of Jack. On second thought, maybe you could use some fresh air too, seeing as the May weather is getting increasingly warm as of late. Besides, the sun is just about to go down — you might as well enjoy the view.

You go after them, but not before pouring yourself another glass of amaretto.

Arthur is standing on the front porch, leaned forward, elbows set on the wooden railing as he watches the group of kids run around wildly in the huge yard that John's home benefits of. The muscles on his upper shoulders shouldn't be so damn visible through the dark material of a black button down shirt, and it's as much intimidating as it is attractive. The setting sun is only doing him a favor, bathing both him and his surroundings in a warm, dark orange light. It almost makes him look...soft, though you even feel bad for daring to think of it.

You're not exactly sure what to make of Arthur just yet. He seems too rough for you. Too brooding, too dry, too calloused by whatever events have shaped him to be this way.

You hesitate for a second. Maybe he wants alone time and you're intruding? You haven't spoken to him much, not at this party, nor on any other occasions. You just know his face, his demeanor from observing it at numerous other events, but that is where your knowledge about John's best friend ends. You don't know John himself all that well, either, if you are to be honest. Abigail is the one you're best aquatinted with.