WOLFISH ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

Ch. XXIII

A knock on the door was enough to make Arthur tense and you sigh in annoyance. Your aunt sure as hell had a knack for dreadful timings, didn't she?

You had shifted out of the gunslinger's lap in the blink of an eye, brushing out the folds in your clothes as you hurried to the door and opened it. You positioned yourself beside the entrance to hide the bed from your aunt's field of vision.

She stood in the doorway, knowing smirk on her face and two plates of stew in each hand. "Figured you and your friend might be hungry."

You blinked in surprise, shaking your head as if to put your thoughts back into place. Your range of expectations had been wide, but perhaps not broad enough to expect her bringing you food. It left you wondering just what exactly she was trying to do, if she knew Arthur had woken up, that was.

"Ah. Oh. Well, thank you kindly." You got a hold on both plates, simultaneously putting your foot behind the door to start shutting it. Cathy would not so easily be shunned, it seemed — her grip on the portions of stew was iron-like, and she propped her own foot against the door to stop you. Goddamnit.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, now, only one of these is for you. Pick."

"I'm leaving one out for Arthur, too." You explained haphazardly, gesticulating over your shoulder, in the direction of the bed, which you hoped you had covered up well enough. "For when he...um, when he wakes up."

Her gaze left your face and instead skipped upwards, towards where exactly, however, you were uncertain. Until she spoke, that was. "Well, he looks quite awake to me, dear."

You choked on thin air, simultaneously whirling around, finding Arthur awkwardly standing behind you, one arm propped against the open door to support his weight.

"Oh."

Nonchalantly, your aunt brushed past you, stopping in front of Arthur, to which she one again offered both plates. He took the one that contained just a smidge less. As always, he never acted like he was entitled to anything, and never expected too much — bless his soul. You were promptly given the other portion and a spoon.

No words were exchanged for a few moments. You could practically plapate the lack of conversation during the parched, awkward pause. Arthur was the one to attempt fixing it, which both terrified and relieved you.

"Thank you, ma'am." The gunslinger nodded at the soup and cleared his throat awkwardly, then tensed as if he'd just been hit by a sudden realization. He scurried to put away the plate and offer his right hand. "I'm Arthur, by the way. Arthur Ca— Morgan."

"I know. Heard a share of things about you, Arthur." Your aunt chuckled, waving him off indifferently. He had interpreted that as a sign of dismissal, and picked up the previously set aside stew, which he started eating as if he hadn't seen food in months. You followed his example and quietly nibbled away at your portion of stew as well, practically flipping your mind upside down in the search of something to say that would ease the entire situation as you ate. You found no such thing.

"And what kinda things you been hearing about me exactly, ma'am?" Arthur spoke up between two bites. He had leaned his back against one of the walls, and was curiously watching both you and Cathy.

"Just about the things you'd expect hearing from a young woman who's being sweet on someone." She answered with a sideways glance in your direction and a never dying grin. You wanted to retort — you truly did — but the way Arthur's previously stone-faced expression melted into a more gentle, amused one was enough to render you speechless.

"That so?" He asked, putting on a fake dumbfounded expression you (and surely Cathy as well) could see right through. A smirk that promised trouble blossomed on his face next. "And what did the residing horse expert have to say?"

Your aunt laughed. "Ah, she did tell you about her very lucrative career choices as well! Did she happen to inform you about her newest profession as a hunter? Her favorite prey have been bears and coyotes as of late."

Only then did you understand that these two, goddamn them, had practically signed a mental contract of partnership regarding the first thing they had discovered they shared: teasing the living hell out of you. And you were absolutely powerless when it came to their combined forces. There was nothing you could do, aside from watching chaos unfold and coming to terms with your tragic fate.

"She did what just now?" Arthur tilted his head, shit eating grin on his face. He set the empty plate on the nightstand, his watchful, amused gaze darting back and forth from your flabbergasted expression to your aunt's smug one. "The wolf hugger turned into a wolf killer?"

"Very much so, I'm afraid." Your aunt confirmed, taking both his plate and your almost empty one, making her leave. Only after embarrassing the shit out of you, of course. "I hoped you liked the stew, mister Morgan."

"The best stew I've had in years, ma'am." He answered as he watched her leave.

You sighed, folding your arms, overwhelmed by the sudden wish to sink into the wooden floor and never come out. Possibly dig an entire mansion underground, where you could spend the rest of eternity lavishly bathing in mud and in undisturbed embarrassment-induced isolation. "Ah, Christ."

"Didn't go so bad, now, did it?" Arthur chimed in, grin still very much there, on that smug, handsome face of his.

"Well, the both of you seem to enjoy poking fun at me, so it obviously felt like a joyride to you."

"Come on, don't be like that." The gunslinger tried to soothe you, though you couldn't exactly claim it was working, especially not when the smugness in his voice had only been clumsily concealed. "You're my favorite wolf hugger, and that ain't changin' because of your aunt."

"Wow, that truly does help." You sighed, but could not stop a smile from blossoming on your face as well. He grinned wider at that too, and you had to shake your head at how childish this entire situation was. "Damn you, Arthur Morgan."

"You're late to the party, I'm already damned." He answered, sauntering over to the bed, where he tiredly plopped down. He undid the first few buttons of his shirt, which had you forcing yourself to look out the window, and at the same time, wanting to peek. You decided for the first option, though it wasn't necessarily the easy one.

You heard the shuffling of material and clothes as you stared at the fields outside your window, and the way they bathed in the warm orange light cast by the setting sun.

"I reckon these should be changed." You heard Arthur mumble, but didn't turn around until you were asked to. "You know where my satchel is? I got some spare bandages there."

The sheer willpower it took you to not stare at his naked chest like a braindead fool was unmeasurable.

"I— I have some. In a, in a drawer, somewhere, let me—" You turned around, making a beeline for your closet, in front of which you kneeled and began digging through the drawers at its bottom in the search of what Arthur had asked for.

It didn't take you more than a good thirty seconds to retrieve what he had requested, though it felt like an eternity to you. You returned to his side, handing him the bandages. You swallowed down the rush-like feeling in your stomach, settling down on the bed beside him. "Need any help?"

"Nah. I'll be jus' fine." Arthur answered absentmindedly, unrolling the bloodstained bandage around his shoulder, checking the stitched up injury before putting a new bandage over it. All of a sudden, an ironic chuckle rumbled in his chest.

You tilted your head and quirked an eyebrow, which he picked up on.

"Was just thinkin' about how ironic this is." He clarified, tying together the two ends of the bandage. "We both got injured in the same spot. You said you preferred fightin' against people, I told you I preferred animals over people. 'N here we are. Don't know why it's so funny to me." He admitted.

"Fate, if something like that truly does exist, is a rather cruel little thing." You agreed, carefully setting your palm over the covered injury, ever-so-demure in pressure. There was the slightest hitch of breath in Arthur's throat as he looked at you and smiled. "I read that in a book somewhere, I think."

"I ain't inclined to agree — look at us. The wolf-huggin', bounty huntin' horse expert and the foolish excuse for an outlaw." He said, as if he were drawing a conclusion. "Fate ain't cruel. It just really likes pokin' fun at everyone."