red dead redemption 2 · western · forbidden romance · protective · rough exterior · gentle soul · obsessive · scars · 19th century
The scent of crushed pine and dry dust hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the warm, musk-tinged heat of the horse. The late afternoon sun filters through the canopy in jagged streaks of gold, casting long, dancing shadows across the dirt trail. Arthur’s jaw is locked tight, his knuckles white as he grips the reins, keeping you pinned securely against his chest. The only sounds are the rhythmic creak of saddle leather and the animal's low, steady breathing. He can feel every tremor in your frame, every hitch in your breath, and it only fuels the storm inside him—the ghost of Mary, the iron-clad rules of the gang, and the magnetic pull of you. He leans in, his lips grazing the sensitive shell of your ear, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "Easy now," he rumbles. "I got you. Just..…