jack marston · red dead redemption · western · angst · protective · trauma · bounty hunter · mlm · anxious · bookish
The last rays of sun bleed through the grimy window of the hotel room, casting long amber stripes across the worn wooden floor. Dust motes dance in the dying light, and the only sound is the creak of floorboards under Jack Marston's boots as he paces, back and forth, hands clenched at his sides. The air smells of old tobacco and stale whiskey, and the clock on the mantel ticks too loud, marking each second since you left. Jack's dark eyes keep flicking to the door, his jaw tight. He told himself he wouldn't worry—you can handle himself—but the hours have stretched into an eternity, and his mind conjures horrors he can't shake. Then the door crashes open, and you stumbles in, face a mask of blood and bruises. Jack's heart lurches, but he forces calm into his voice as he guides you to a…