HIGHWAYS & BYWAYS ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

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[WARNING! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT. FEEL FREE TO SKIP.]

"It's really easy to get confused, since some planets can also look like stars at first glance. The thumb rule to telling them apart is that stars twinkle, while the light that bounces off of planets is pretty consistent, so those don't." Arthur nods at your words, eyes fixated on the sky.

Your head is laid on his clavicle, hand splayed on his chest, your legs tangled with his. You note that he's reacting more positively to physical contact now, which puts a smile on your face.

"So how 'bout that one?" He points upwards, arm outstretched. You shift closer to him, tucking your head under his chin, lips brushing over his neck as you try to figure out the answer to his question. Arthur tenses, which is a problem easily solved by pressing a butterfly kiss to his jaw.

A stuttering breath escapes his lungs, then he goes slack once again. He's getting used to you, to your touch, your words, and everything else that comes with affection. It's not an easy process, and reassurance is needed plentifully — but you'd have it no other way. Relearning is often just as tough as starting with a blank slate.

"What would you say it is?" You whisper. He blinks a few times, shrugs only with his left shoulder, the one that's not tucked under your head.

"Planet, I reckon?"

You follow his finger with your gaze, then give a nod. Your hair tickles Arthur's jaw, which earns you the exquisite sound of a hybrid between a hum and a chuckle from him.

"It is." You confirm; he smiles, squeezes your frame against his chest lightly. "Jupiter, I think."

Arthur exhales in what seems to be amusement, then closes his eyes. You know that look, a little too well by now. He's about to say something to put himself down in a joking manner. But that doesn't mean you'll have it. "You're too smart for the likes o' me."

"Nonsense." You respond, sitting up, his pelvis between your legs and hands braced on top of his diaphragm. "You just don't give yourself enough credit, Arthur."

"Thought that wasn't a good thing to do." He clarifies, then props his elbows behind himself to sit up. "Takin' credit for everythin'."

"Obviously not. But treating yourself like your worst enemy is not going to do you any favors either, Arthur."

He looks at you like you've revealed a great secret to him, but shrugs it off just as quickly with a shake of his head. You can't help but wonder who's hammered all those awful thoughts about himself into his brain, and wish to deliver a kick in the privates to that person. But you don't dare ask for names. Not yet.

"It matter that much to you?" His words aren't spoken in a defensive manner, but in a genuinely curious one. He can't believe you care, even after everything that happened, he's taking nothing for granted. Arthur lies back onto the blankets, and his left hand travels to your hip again. He doesn't squeeze, doesn't hold, just acknowledges your presence. You grasp his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers. A smile shimmies over his face.

"Of course." You answer, squeezing his hand. Arthur looks at you like you're some form of divine blessing, especially when you lean over him, bracing your palms beside his head and kissing him like he deserves all the goodness in the world.

Arthur responds with reverence, lips brushing against yours like he wants to spoil you with every sweet word out there, but has lost his voice. His arms hold you against him, and you feel like your bodies are two puzzle pieces made to fit together. All is right in the world.

You part, forehead rested against his as you catch your breath. Arthur shifts to sit and holds you flush against him on his lap, warm, so warm in the chilly summer night air.