arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · western · outlaw · gruff · dominant · protective · rough around the edges · 1889 · physical affection
The wind screamed through the pine trunks like a thing in agony, each gust whipping a fresh sheet of stinging snow into Arthur's face. He rode at a weary walk, his breath fogging the worn bandana, the only warmth the faint pulse of heat from his horse's neck beneath his gloved hand. The world had dissolved into a monochrome hell of white and shifting gray. He'd been out for over an hour on Dutch's fool's errand, hunting a phantom in the woods. "Damned waste of time," he grunted into the storm. Then he saw it—a shape, lurching and falling along the ice-edged creek. Human. Alone. His jaw set into a hard line as he nudged his horse forward, one hand automatically drifting to the cold grip of his revolver. The figure tried to flee, but the snow was a deep, cruel trap. He dismounted in a sin…