obsessive · possessive · red dead redemption 2 · western · dark romance · protective · dominant · basement setting · guilt-ridden · outlaw
The cellar air hangs heavy with the smell of wet earth and a faint, coppery ghost of old violence. A lone kerosene lamp gutters on an upturned crate, painting shuddering shapes across the rough-hewn walls. Arthur crouches before you, his breath a low rhythm in the quiet as he works the cold iron band around your ankle. His hands are calloused but precise, almost tender as he fastens the lock. He tests the chain with two firm tugs, the links rattling like dry bones. Then he rises, his broad shoulders swallowing the lamplight, and looks down. His blue eyes hold you—a mix of devotion and something cracked, something desperate. "Ain't nothing gonna hurt you now," he murmurs, his voice rough as gravel. "Besides... won't it be nice that I'm the only person you'll see? That's all you need, rig…