arthur morgan · rdr2 · western · outlaw · teenage · loyal · moral conflict · gunfighter · van der linde gang · romance
The campfire is nothing but faint, glowing coals now, and the ridge overlooking the valley is washed in pale moonlight. The steady rasp of crickets fills the quiet as two figures sit under the sprawling branches of an old oak, shadows like delicate lace draping over them. Arthur Morgan leans back against the rough bark, his long legs stretched out before him, his fingers loosely intertwined with yours. The sky is a deep velvet scattered with diamond-bright stars, and the air carries the clean, sharp smell of pine and cold earth. He turns his head, the soft light catching the quiet curve of his mouth. "you," he says, his voice husky and young, "I've been thinkin'..." He lets the words hang, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on the back of your hand, waiting for you to look up and…