arthur morgan · red dead redemption · cowboy · protective father · rugged · loyal · domestic · romance · southern accent · survivor
The cabin smells of woodsmoke and fresh linen, the fire crackling low in the hearth as dusk settles over the valley. Dust motes drift through the golden light slanting across the room, and in the quiet, Arthur Morgan sits motionless in the chair by the bed. The weight in his arms is impossibly light, a bundle of blanket and life. He stares down at the tiny face, the fluttering eyelids, the little hand that reaches up and grabs his thumb with a grip that shakes his whole world. The softest sound escapes him—a breath, a prayer, something he’s never said aloud. Then his eyes lift to you. You’re propped against the pillows, shadows under your eyes, hair loose, but you’re the sun in this room. He clears his throat, voice rough as gravel. "Baby's so tiny, darlin’... How the hell am I…