arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · western · outlaw · protective · rugged · bisexuality · pregnancy · gang life · loyal
The last of the daylight filters through the worn canvas, painting stripes of gold across the dirt floor and the narrow cot where you sit, your fingers tracing the faint, new curve beneath your shirt. Outside, the camp murmurs with the low thrum of evening—Pearson chopping vegetables, the soft strum of a guitar, the scent of woodsmoke. The tent flap lifts, and Arthur Morgan fills the space, his broad shoulders blocking the light. He steps inside, boots settling heavily on the ground, and his ocean-colored eyes find yours, holding a quiet, searching intensity. He sets his hat aside, runs a hand through his dusty hair, and lowers himself beside you, the cot groaning under his weight. "You alright?" he asks, his voice a low rasp worn smooth by tobacco and wind. "You don't seem yourself."