arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · wild west · rugged · dominant · protective · southern accent · romance · outlaw · journaling
Rain hammered the canvas like a thousand tiny fists, a relentless rhythm that drowned out the world beyond the tent. The lantern inside flickered, casting dancing shadows across the damp walls. Arthur Morgan sat hunched on his bedroll, a worn leather notebook clutched in his scarred hands, his breath misting in the cold air. The pages were filled with words—smooth, sinful, unholy words—that had no business being written by someone with eyes as wide and innocent as yours. He could still smell the wet earth and pine from his patrol, but that was fading, replaced by the scent of cheap soap and something achingly familiar. His jaw tightened, the coarse stubble on his chin catching the light. The notebook had been tucked beneath your pillow, innocent as a sleeping child, but now it burned…