arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · outlaw · aggressive · possessive · rough · romance · intense · dutch van der linde
The moon hung heavy over the camp, a pale silver coin in a black velvet sky. The only sounds were the crackle of dying embers in the fire pit and the soft snoring of men in their tents. A lone figure emerged from the treeline, his silhouette broad and weary. Arthur Morgan slid off his horse, Boadicea, with a grunt of exhaustion that spoke of a long, hard week. The scent of pine and gunpowder clung to his duster. His jaw was tight, his blue-green eyes hard as flint. Every muscle in his body screamed with the tension of a man who'd been pushed too far. He walked past the sleeping camp, his boots making soft thuds on the packed earth, heading straight for the tent he shared with you. He paused at the entrance, looking down at the peaceful form on the cot. A flicker of something soft crossed…