He doesn't get why you do what you do, but he's perfectly happy with his role: just lay there and keep you company.
You have no expectations of him, just his presence is enough.
He will listen when you tell him the stories of your Sims families. He will lean over your shoulder to try and make sense of the way you weave the single string of yarn into an intricate pattern into a single blanket.
He surprises you by suppressing a chuckle at Trixie and Katya. Seeming not at all perturbed by the concept of Drag Queens
When it comes to TikTok time, however, he's your toughest audience. It's like every old person at the movies that makes a loud comment every few minutes.
"So, she's mad because her son is... she looks twenty, how does she have a son?"
"It's a skit."
"Wait so what's happening?"
"It's a 2020 compilation."
And then you both witness the worst thing imagineable
"...Nothing happened."
"Oh you'll like this, this cat hates everyone except his mom."
"That just sounds like every cat, hon."
"...if this is your way of asking for a cat, it's definitely not happening now."
He gets so invested; he's like those people who complain about that damn phone but lives on Facebook.
__
Leon S. Kennedy, Chris Redfield, Carlos Olivera, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Captain Johnathan Price, John "Jack" Morrison, Arthur Morgan, John Martson
Arthur calls you Treasure, when you ask why he'll say it's because you're precious ( and expensive but he won't tell you that ).
John Marston
John calls you Doll, short and sweet. He also treats you like you'll break if he makes one wrong move when you're cuddling, kissing or having a bit of adult time.
Lenny Summers
Lenny calls you Dearest to honor to way he asked you out, he knew it was a stupid nickname but when you didn't complain it stuck.
Charles Smith
Charles calls you Dove, he knows it's your favorite bird (because one landed outside of your mother's window when you were born) and honestly he thought it was an adorable nickname.
Javier Escuella
Javier calls you Ojos de ángel ( or Angel eyes ) because he said every time he looks into your eyes he swears he's looking into the eyes of an angel.
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Well this one was short and the next one will be short as well.
Summary: When Arthur and the gang are out in Valentine, you can’t help but notice that he left his journal by his bedside, unattended. You’re aware that Arthur is never careless enough to leave something so valuable to him in camp and see you see it as an opportunity. Upon reading his journal, you discover something that changes everything…
Word count: 2,000
Author’s note: My first Arthur fic! It’s been a long time coming. This is also cross-posted on my AO3. I do not consent to my fics being posted anywhere else, or translated without permission. If you enjoyed this fic please reblog as it helps increase support!<3
Masterlist
You saw it as an opportunity.
Arthur, John, Micah, Javier and Sadie were out in Valentine, following Dutch’s well-convoluted plan to rob the local bank. They’d been gone for three hours already and with Micah part of the team, you dreaded to think how they were getting on. Dutch and Hosea had gone to scout out a manor northwest of Lemoyne, in Scarlet Meadows. Hosea was following a lead he’d heard from a guy at Emerald Ranch – that apparently, a well-off family were residing over there. An excellent opportunity for a cash grab, Dutch was also sure. Lately, any possibility of getting money, Dutch got excited over. You didn’t understand why because the ledger appeared more filled out than ever. Perhaps it was merely nothing more than a sin of greed, although you were in no position to question it.
Mary-Beth, Tilly and Karen were doing laundry as Miss Grimshaw supervised, and Miss Molly O’Shea was napping in Dutch’s cot. She’d been sleeping a lot recently, you’d noticed. Uncle was nowhere in sight, probably sleeping or drunk or getting himself killed by Raiders. And Abigail was with Jack, nursing him back to health as influenza he’d developed after your time in Colter hadn’t yet subsided. The camp was empty. Not a soul in sight.
There was a small crate in the corner of his tent and organised neatly atop was a framed photo of his mother Beatrice, a small vase of flowers that were native to New Hanover, and a beat-up leather journal that he kept close to his bedside. Arthur was so protective of his journal, you’d often tease him for it. Sometimes, you’d admire him from afar. After a hard day, he’d often sit by the lake, slumped against a tree, jotting down his thoughts or filling the pages with doodles of his ventures.
And this time it was calling out to you.
You wondered why he hadn’t taken it with him. Had he really just ‘left’ it at camp? Forgot to put it in his satchel before he left this morning? You were hyper-aware that you’d more than likely never get this chance again. The curiosity was begging to be explored and you took one final glance around camp before slowly inching towards the crate by his bedside. Arthur’s tent was really just a canopy and once you were under you felt a pang of guilt in his heart. You shouldn’t be snooping around his business like this. He had done nothing to warrant you doing that.
It wasn’t malicious. It was harmless. Just a little peek…
You sat on the edge of Arthur’s cot and picked up the journal, feeling the worn leather between your fingers. Undoing the clasp, you pulled it open midway and were greeted with an illustration of a girl. It was the back of her, so there was no way of making out her face, but as you took a closer look at the pattern on her ranch boots, you couldn’t help but recognise the embroidered swirls and shapes. They were your ranch boots, and Arthur’s illustration was a depiction of you. It was dated noon, 5th July 1899, just a few weeks ago. It appeared to be a drawing from observation, and you were pictured helping Pearson put away an assortment of canned goods.
It took a moment for it to dawn on you. He’d drawn you.
Now you were invested. You turned to the next page to see a verse of words:
‘Sometimes I wonder when she sleeps
Is she ever dreaming of me?
Sometimes when I look into her eyes
I pretend she’s mine all the damn time’
To the left of the words was another illustration of you but this one had a lot more detail. A delicate flower was placed in your hair and this time, you could see your face. You could see the shape of your nose and the creases in the corner of your eyes when you smiled. It had never been so clear. Your gaze flicked back towards the words as you reread them over and over again. Could they have really been about you?
Surely not. Arthur had never done anything to suggest that he’d had these feelings for you. As far as you were aware, he was still hung up on Miss Mary Linton. You’d never met her before. You’d only heard tales from Hosea, how Arthur was sweet on her and she broke his heart to the point he didn’t want to leave camp for days. You couldn’t imagine Arthur that way. You supposed that since then, he had changed, and maybe since meeting you, he’d changed again.
On the outside, Arthur was rough. His skin was sun kissed and his clothes were old, his boots were muddy and he could go months without shaving. You’d heard stories of his questionable temperance but with you, he was patient and soft and gentle. You’d seen him be kind around little Jack too, and that relationship spoke volumes since John was mostly absent from his son’s life. Arthur was a good influence on Jack. Hell, you could argue he was the best influence around camp in general. Although he was often gloomy and he would, on occasion, pick fights with Micah or Bill, you saw through that. He had a good heart, wether he believed it, that didn’t matter.
A loud cough interrupted your thoughts. You froze, and it was like you could feel time moving. Arthur’s journal was still in your hands and you could feel the eyes of a cowboy bore into your back. You hoped and prayed it was anyone but Arthur. At least then you’d be able to potentially mangle yourself out of the fact you went behind your friend’s back. You wanted to put the journal down, hell, you needed to, but it was like your feet were glued to the ground and your hands were locked in place.
“What you doing snooping through my stuff, girl?”
Oh, it was Arthur. You winced under his question and took a deep breath. You carefully placed the journal back on his bedside, just as it was before you took it. Perfect. Like it hadn’t moved an inch. Not that it mattered anymore…
“Well?”
Fuck. You cursed under your breath. Say something. Anything.
“Now, why you talkin’ like that? Like I’m holdin’ you up at gunpoint? Turn around and look at me.” He cut you off, his question was rhetorical and his voice stern.
You immediately obliged and spun around on your heel. Your stomach was in knots. You wish you had never looked. Never betrayed him like this. Arthur’s eyes were a piercing blue like you’d never noticed, and his lips were curled into a frown. But still, he remained stoic. It’s like he was trying to appear unbothered, but you could see right through him.
“You know now why I let nobody look in here?” Arthur muttered, leaning over you and snatching the journal from his bedside.
You nodded apologetically and watched as he stuffed the journal into his satchel.
“I’ll be on my way now.” Arthur tipped his hat to you before turning around. He paused and when he was looking away he muttered, “’Am sorry if… you thought it was weird, miss…”
Your mouth felt dry as you watched him walk away.
Weird? He was worried that you thought it was weird.
You chased after him and caught up pretty quickly, placing the palm of your hand flat against the broadness of his back. “Arthur, what you wrote in there was the sweetest thing… not weird at all, I promise.”
Arthur stopped and looked down at you, still frowning.
“I just had no idea you felt that way,” You continued, shaking your head. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I overstepped your boundaries and we can just forget about it if that’s what you want…”
To clarify, forgetting about it was the last thing you wanted to do, but alas, this wasn’t about you anymore. You would do anything for Arthur’s forgiveness and if that meant pretending like today never happened, then so be it.
“Forget?” Arthur whispered. “You really expect me to forget about this?”
You pursed your lips together, holding back a sigh. “I don’t think you should. I know I’d struggle to forget what I saw in there… but also, I don’t want to forget. I… I’ve been sweet on you since the moment I met you, Arthur. Tilly and Mary-Beth would always tease me for it. Abigail knew too, but she said you’d never be interested in pursuing someone in camp. Hosea made it seem like you were still hung up on Miss Linton, and so I never said anything. Oh Arthur, you’ve always been so kind to me. So gentle and soft, you’re different to the others…” You placed a hand on his bicep and Arthur practically softened into your touch.
“I’m a bad man,” Arthur shook his head gruffly. “I’ve done bad things.”
“Haven’t we all?” you snapped back, exasperated. “I may just do the chores around camp but you forget my history, Mr Morgan. All of us are Van Der Linde’s and we are not good people. Hell, I struggle to even tell the difference between good and bad anymore. But when I’m with you, I feel good. Really good. I feel safe and protected and God, Arthur. When I saw you felt the same way… that you think about me in the same way…”
Arthur cut you off with a kiss. His lips were soft and plump and contrasted with the roughness of his stubble and quick-growing moustache. You let out a small gasp when his lips crashed atop yours but quickly melted into it, bringing your hands up to his head and running your fingers through his dark blonde hair. His tongue tasted like fresh mint and other herbs you couldn’t quite recognise, and you had never been closer to his musky familiar scent. Arthur’s big arms wrapped around your body and he held you tight against him. When he finally pulled away, he nudged his nose against yours and lingered for a moment, staring into your eyes.
“Forgive me for saying miss, but if it wasn’t already clear, I think I’m in love with you.”
The revelation made you giddy, your heart racing in your chest with the thrill of it all. You couldn’t believe it. Abigail…. Hosea…. They were all wrong. Arthur actually felt the same as you.
“I’m in love with you too,” you squeaked, tears filling your eyes as Arthur enveloped you in a hug.
When you finally pulled away from him, it was only to ask him another important question.
“Do you forgive me for what I did, Arthur?” you asked him sadly. Arthur could see the guilt; it was written all over your face.
“If you didn’t do that, none of this would have ever happened,” Arthur smiled, pressing his index finger to your chin and picking your face up so you were looking at him in the eyes. He was smiling. He was okay…
“I s’pose that’s true,” you shrugged. “I’m still sorry, and it won’t happen again.”
“I believe you,” Arthur said, lacing his fingers with yours. “Now let’s go grab some of Pearson’s broth and we can take it to the lake. I think we have a lot to talk about…”
You smiled, feeling your cheeks heat up. You and Arthur walked side by side to the campfire and the entire way you felt yourself bubbling with anticipation over what was to come next.
