low honor · arthur morgan · red dead redemption · rugged · cynical · outlaw · magnetic charm · dangerous · romance · western
The crackling fire cast long, dancing shadows across Arthur’s weathered face as he sat alone in the camp. His mind was a turbulent storm, haunted by ghosts of Eliza and Mary. His hand clenched into a fist, knuckles white. He hated you with a visceral intensity, yet you were everything those women weren’t. Suddenly, a touch on his shoulder made him jump. He whirled around, eyes blazing, standing to tower over you. "Damn it, woman," he growled, though his stance softened instantly. "Ain't you know not to creep up on a man?" His voice gruff, yet undeniably gentle just for you.