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utterlyazriel · 3 months ago

Text

to see you just right

word count: 5k... my freakin sweet spot apparently synopsis: Shooting practice reveals your less than stellar vision. Arthur determinedly hunts down some glasses for you and you realise what details you've been missing out on. mutual pining, friends to lovers (almost) set during horseshoe overlook ! this is my first rdr fic so... be nice <3

Times like now, squinting at the bottles in the distance, the question of why the gang still kept you around bugs at you like an incessant horsefly.

I mean, you knew why—you've been running with the Van Der Linde gang for a couple years now. If you hadn't already proved yourself as resourceful and sharp-minded, you would've been kicked to the curb quite some time ago.

But you certainly weren’t a hunter. Nor a shooter.

You weren't even very good at picking pockets.

What you had was keen ears; good for picking up leads and the hushed conversations of businessmen with deep pockets. Not to mention your adeptness at stitching up bullet wounds, better than anyone else at camp.

Yes, yes, you weren't useless by any means.

But still... that didn't mean you could shake the envy of others' skills. It didn't take away that simmering, uneasy feeling as you stared down the targets in the distance, helplessly blurred to you. The shot from your last bullet still rings out.

You can already tell it hasn't hit its mark.

Just hit the fucking target. You think to yourself scoldingly.

You're not sure why this is so much harder for you than just about anyone else in the gang. And as much as it isn't your job, you've grown determined to be able to handle yourself if trouble ever comes knocking.

You thought that with a gunslinger as fine as Arthur Morgan himself, you'd learn a thing or two — a foolish idea that's dissipating quickly before you.

Adjusting your clammy grip on the pistol cradled between both palms, you shift your stance and squint again, rolling your shoulders back.

Empty lungs. You pull back the hammer and line up your best shot, feeling the kick of the recoil.

The lack of shattering glass is answer enough, but even so you lower your extended arms an inch or so to see closer. Scrunching your eyes to try focus, you wince at what you can make out.

No bullet holes on any of the crates, all six bottles still standing.

You're beginning to sorely regret asking for shooting practice when it only seems like a surefire way to prove yourself a fool. And in front of Arthur no less.

Arthur who—well, you'd be lying if you said you weren't fond for.

Quick to boil, your frustration wells, an itch behind your eyes. You drop your arms, lowering your gaze to the ground with another sigh.

"How you do this every damn day is a miracle to me."

You force a half-hearted laugh into your words. It's better than letting him hear that wallowing, pitiful feeling you can feel rising up your throat.

"It's jus' lots 'n lots of practice," Arthur says gently, his voice somewhere behind you.

Christ knows his intense, watchful gaze isn't helping you either.

You can't help but feel it burning into your back every time you raise the pistol—and every time you fail miserably.

Your frustration rises again and you finally lift your head, turning back to the cowboy.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," You say sincerely. "I— this was a mistake." You begin to hold the pistol out in your outstretched hand, grip lax.

You don't get very far before he's stepping in closer, his hand reaching up to yours and pressing your fingers to close around the grip again.

"C'mon now," He rasps. "Yer not just gonna give up 'cos it's hard, are ya?"

Skin against skin is enough to draw your heart up your throat, rabbiting fast and all too revealing. You pointedly ignore the spike in your pulse and let him manoeuvre you, his hand moving up to nudge your shoulder. You face the targets.

Six bottles in the distance glint tauntingly beneath the afternoon sun, as if teasing you for your failure.

"Arthur," You sigh dejectedly.

It's kind of him to keep offering encouragement but you only need ten minutes of this to realise it's a severely lost cause. "It's not use, I'm awful—"

"Hush," Arthur cuts you off, voice gruff this time. "You ain't no such thing. Just—"

He hovers just behind you, the heat of his body blazing against your back. With a quiet hum, his fingertips square out your angled shoulders, fixing your stance. They trail down to minutely adjust the twist of your hips, pressing one further forward gently.

The sun seems to burn brighter suddenly. You fight to keep your face forward and pray Arthur can't heart the traitorous inhale you give at his touch.

"'Kay. Shoot again." He murmurs lowly, his hands retreating but staying close. "Lemme watch closer this time."

You're not brave enough to tell him that you're even less likely to hit the target with his close proximity.

Instead, you just follow his instruction, raising the pistol to the bottles once more. Slowing your breath as much as your racing heart will allow, you squint.

"Wait," Arthur's voice interrupts.

You falter, suddenly unsure. Moving out from behind you, his hand comes up to push the gun down, barrel facing the dirt.

Standing close, he tilts his head up, his eyes assessing you intently from beneath the brim of his hat. It's as though he's looking at a puzzle he can't quite figure out.

After a moment, his eyes cast out to the shooting range he's set up for you. You get a stolen glimpse of his chiselled jaw before he's stepping forward, broad shouldered, with one hand resting on his gun belt.

Turning to face you, he takes a few wide steps back, then halts, raising his hand.

"How many fingers?"

Brows raised, you will yourself not to scoff. "You bein’ serious?"

Arthur doesn't move, only his head tilting forward an inch, the brim of his hat dipping lower. He smiles wryly. "Humour me."

Dropping your arms, you let the gun swing idly to your side. With a shrug, you focus on his hand.

"Two."

Arthur nods. He turns and paces back til he's in line with the bottles this time. It's far enough from you that the details of him begin to blur out, but you can still see his figure just fine.

"And now?" He calls out, voice raised to reach you over the distance.

Your careless shrug from before is nowhere to be found. A sudden sheepishness crawls up within you as you quickly try to strain your gaze.

God, is he even holding up a hand at all?

You don't get a moment to guess before he's approaching you once more, his features getting sharper as he draws closer. You can see his smile, a rare sight. He seems to have solved his puzzle.

"What was that for?" You question curiously.

"It ain't yer aim, that's for damn sure," Arthur says, coming to a stop before you.

His blue eyes assess you once more, before he extends his hand out for the pistol at your side. You hand it over wordlessly, waiting for his explanation. A dragonfly swoops by you with a loud hum.

"It's yer eyes." He says, holstering the pistol without a glance.

You blink, confused at the implication. You're sure if there was something wrong with your eyes, you'd know about it at your grown age.

Your confusion must be clear on your face because Arthur continues, resting his hands on his gun belt casually.

He nods to you. "Not all bad. 'Betcha can see just fine up close. But in the distance, not so much."

"Oh," The word escapes in a soft breath.

It hadn't really been something you had considered—that your poor performance shooting was due to that blurriness surrounding the targets. That it was due to anything other than you being utter shit at shooting.

Turning your stare out to the bottles again, you blink and squint, as if to check. You realise he may just be talking truth.

"Lord, I think you might be right." You admit, a relieved laugh colouring your tone. The frustration you felt from earlier drains rapidly, taking with it your souring mood.

A different part of you deflates at the knowledge you'll never get better at shooting. Cursed vision. You wrinkle your nose in distaste, pushing down your bitterness.

Arthur gestures to the horses with one hand, lesson clearly over.

The pair of you begin to meander back towards your horses hitched in the treeline. Side by side, it doesn't escape you the nearness you're inclined to, drawn to him, a flower facing the sun.

The leather of his jacket brushes your bare arm. You think you must be suffering sunburn, considering how your skin seems to burn in response.

Eyes flashing in his direction, you think you see a hint of colour on Arthur’s face.

He’s tilts his head, his features covered by the brim of his hat, so you can't be sure. You chalk it up to a wishful imagination.

Always unknowable. Maybe it's his private nature that's part of what allures you to the man.

Pushing forward, you approach your mare, Dragon, with a gentle greeting. You're rewarded with the butting of her muzzle against your palm, a smile curling onto your lips instinctively.

“Y'know, chances are, you're not nearly as awful as ya think.” Arthur says, his tone softer than usual—perhaps sensing your blue mood.

Despite talking to you, he keeps his gaze steadfast on his own horse, Hypatia. He dotes on her with a loving pat, hands usually meant for violence, now gentle.

After a moment, he says. “I’ll see what I can do fer you at the general store.”

Pleasant surprise curls up in your stomach in a sharp bloom.

“Arthur,” You say with a smile, sounding a bit awed. He does look up at you this time, blue eyes bright from beneath the edge of his hat. “That’s very kind but, well, you needn’t do that—“

"I ain't makin' you any promises," He cuts your rambling response off. "I'll just have a look. That alright?"

Feeling your face glow warmly, you force yourself to meet his strong gaze. "Alright."

Then after a moment, you say, "I guess I'll allow it."

Arthur guffaws lightly at that. He pushes up on strong legs to mount Hypatia in one fluid motion, one he's done countless times before. You watch, pretending you aren't staring at the powerful flex of his thighs as he settles into the saddle.

Christ alive. It takes effort to avert your eyes, stepping up to sling yourself into your own saddle.

“If she allows it…” Arthur repeats, almost incredulously, his head tilted toward you. There’s a tug on his lips, like he’s holding back his smile, even as he shakes his head at you.

A laugh titters out of you and you nudge Dragon forward, if only so he can't see the grin on your lips.

And if you spend the ride to camp lingering on the feeling of his hands covering your own hands, adjusting the twist of your waist?

Well, that was your own damn business.

—

After your shooting lesson, Arthur leaves camp for four days.

Some bounty given to him by the sheriff in Valentine that he was tracking up into the mountains — at least that’s what he’d said as he bid you a polite goodbye, early in the morning light, the day after your lesson.

You’d murmured your drowsy goodbye over your coffee cup, eyes barely open — making Arthur snort quietly — and then watched intently, your sleepy gaze softened, as he disappeared between the trees on Hypatia.

Perhaps you’d been too spoiled with his company in these last couple weeks.

He hadn’t taken any longer jobs, always back at camp for the evening, with a tip of his hat to you. Always prepared to lend a helping hand or to escort you and the girls into Valentine. You'd almost call yourselves friends. The familiarity of his presence was something you'd gotten used to.

It was one of the good reasons you found yourself particular afflicted with him — Arthur Morgan was far kinder than he ever gave himself credit for.

And far nicer to look at than he seemed to think so too.

To say you’re a bit put off by not having your usual pretty-boy cowboy to provide somewhere nice to rest your eyes wouldn’t be a lie.

“Someone’s head in the clouds.”

The jeering words from Karen pair with a playful nudge to your shoulder.

Distracted, the dish in your hands slips and lands back in the water-filled basin with a splosh. Narrowing your eyes at Karen, you fish it out and resume your abandoned scrubbing.

“Ain’t sure what you’re talking ‘bout,” You hum, nonchalant as you can manage.

Liar. You’d definitely been casting your gaze towards the trail that leads into camp and slipped away into a daydream, sweet as the cowboy’s eyes you were imagining. Surely he wouldn't be away much longer, right?

“Mmhm,” Karen says, telling you exactly how much she believed you.

At her side, Mary-Beth smothers a giggle in her palm. Clearly your attempts at subtlety are wholly ineffective.

Despite your intent glances as you work your way through the remaining chores of the day, none prove to be fruitful. The sun lazes across the sky and sinks toward the horizon and even then, Arthur is absent.

Your lovesickness abates with a sigh. The outlaw could be gone for weeks at a time, you knew that. If it was a shorter trip, he'd be back already. Tonight, you depart from around the campfire earlier than usual, heading back to your shared tent with Mary-Beth.

It’s with an absentminded hum that you potter around, straightening out the space as the sunlight dwindles. You had worked hard today and it’s filled your bones with a weariness ready for sleep.

An oil lamp burns on the crate acting as your bedside table, casting a mellow, amber colour through the tent. The idle sounds of the wildlife of Horseshoe Overlook fill the background, mixing with the crackle of the campfire.

Maybe you should journal a bit, before bed. Eyes narrowed, you scan your cot for the little book you keep nearby—you had used it just last night.

Coming up blank, you huff and crouch to your knees to hunt for it. Countless times you’ve fallen asleep with it in your hand and found it gone in the morning. It worms its way down the edge of the tent with a mission to escape you, you swear.

Peering beneath your cot, the red leather of the book gleams back at you. You smile and reach out, having to duck a little further to reach it, giving a victorious little aha! when you close your fingers around it.

Shifting back, you sit on your heels, right as someone clears their throat behind you.

Spooked and not unlike a deer, you startle with a violent jump. Whipping around, pulse jumping, your panic recedes as you narrow your eyes at the cause of your panic.

“Christ, Arthur,” you seethe at him. You put a hand over your racing heart to calm it. “You damn near scared the mickey out of me.”

“My apologies, miss,” Arthur says, tipping his hat. He sounds sincere but even so, you catch the glimmer of amusement on his lips. “Weren’t my intention.”

He’s lingering at the entrance of your tent, not quite entering. His big hands rest of his gun belt, hovering somewhere between casual and proper.

How Arthur manages both is a mystery to you; every bit at home amongst the rough of tumble of camp, yet ever-so polite to you.

He treats you like a gentlemen treats a proper lady; though both of you are neither.

Pushing to your feet, you let your journal drop atop your cot. Then you regret it, wishing you had something to occupy your hands. The all too familiar buzz of nerves that come with being sweet on someone makes you prone to fidgeting.

You brush down your skirts just to do something. “And just what was your intention?”

Amusement abiding, a different expression skitters across Arthur's face. He raises one hand to scratch the back of his neck.

“Gotcha somethin',” He murmurs, dragging his hand forward, across his beard. Rather hastily, he stuffs his hand into his satchel.

He digs for a moment and then pulls his hand out, extending it out. Something shiny glints in the low light of the tent, resting in his big palm.

You step forward and squint for a moment, realising with a jolt of unexpected delight that it’s a pair of round spectacles.

An infectious smile tugs the corner of your lips up, your eyes brighter upon seeing the gift he’s brought you. Your hand reaches out, then halts in mid-air, glancing back up at him.

“May I?”

“‘Course. They’re for you.” Arthur grunts, feigning nonchalance even as he beckons you to take them from him.

Smile turning to a grin, you pluck them out his hand, stepping closer as you do. You turn them over in delicately, drinking in the details greedily. They’re finely made.

With an ebb of guilt, you realise they must’ve cost him a fortune. If he paid for them, that is.

“Took me all the way out past Emerald Ranch to find a fella who did them.”

Gaze snapping up, the ebb of guilt grows. He hadn’t just got them for you, he’d gone out of his way to find a spectacle maker specifically.

There’s a silver lining to the guilt — the feeling sprinkled through your chest like gunpowder, kicking up sparks. He certainly had to be keeping you in mind, to some capacity, to do such a thing for you.

The thought of being more than a passing thought in Arthur’s mind is enough to set the gunpowder alight. Your chest glows brightly like a firework.

“What happened to just having a nosy in the general store, hm?” You ask.

“Well, now,” Arthur begins, giving a hesitant cough as if it’ll cover the sincerity of his actions. He tilts his head down, the brim of his hat covering his eyes, as he always did when he felt too seen.

After a pause, he says lowly, “I know how much you wanted to shoot.”

“That’s... mighty kind of you, Mister Morgan.” You say, hoping your voice doesn’t betray the racing of your treacherous heart. “Though, I’d hate for you to go to all this trouble if they don’t even work right with my eyes.”

Holding the pair of spectacles up, you unfold the arms and peer through the lenses. They’re certainly magnifying something—Arthur looking further away in the one lens you peer through. It’s almost like a funhouse mirror. The smile on your face widens, cheeks nearly aching.

“That don’t matter,” Arthur says. He pats his satchel gently. “If those don’t work, I got three more pairs in here.”

“Three?” You lower the glasses, bewilderment colouring your voice.

“Where the devil did you get so many?”

“Turns out, folk rich enough to take the stagecoach can usually afford ‘em.” Arthur chuckles.

Somehow the image of Arthur out there, picking through the loot box, then demanding folk hand over their eyewear is enough to inspire a laugh out of you.

You stifle your laughter behind your hand, endeared even more when he opens his satchel to prove it, a shy smile on his lips.

Sure enough, he draws three more pairs out. Even the thickness of the glass even varies from pair to pair — god, who knew one could be so thoughtful whilst robbing?

“You know, that might be the most sweet thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

The words come out softer than intended, your affections surely obvious.

You don’t risk a glance up at Arthur’s face, too fearful your feelings are written over your own, plain to see. In doing so, you miss the dusting of pink across his own cheeks.

Arthur clears his throat, sending a single prayer for strength to a god who’s surely abandoned him. The way you sound, he’d almost believe you’re sweet on him.

“Cmon, then,” He says, adding a touch more gruff to his voice. “Better try them on after all the damn time I spent hunting them down.”

You roll your eyes at his faux annoyance. There’s no real heat to his words.

Tilting your face down, you bring the pair up to tuck over your ears hesitantly. The world around you shifts as the lenses settle. Your sight is sufficiently more blurry than it was a second ago.

“Woah.” You murmur, looking up just to check.

Arthur’s figure swims before you, entirely out of focus. You blink, unbeknownst of the way the glasses magnify your eyes to a comically large size. It makes Arthur's smile grow, teeth peeking out, knowing for sure you can’t see for shit.

“Not those.” He says decidedly and when you slide them off, he’s already holding out the second pair, arms unfolded this time.

You mutter a quiet thank-you, feeling warmth creep your neck at the simple, polite motion.

This pair, when you slide them on, has a rather different effect. Instead of the blurriness alike to being underwater, the entire world sharpens.

You inhale at the difference. The sounds of the campfires and people around you dims and you blink rapidly, eyes jumping from detail to detail. There's something new to notice in every corner.

Head dipped down, you can pick out the individual blades of grass underfoot. The stitching on the hem your dress, the same as on the sleeves, you can see properly now. As in, see the stitches.

You swish you dress, watching, entranced.

Arthur’s comment during shooting practice may have been wrong —saying there was nothing wrong with your vision up close — because suddenly everything seems so much more. Maybe you’ve been blinder than you think.

Swinging your head round, you survey the inside of your tent with a renewed interest.

The fraying hole in your blanket, scribbled words in your opened journal, the splinters in your wooden crate bedside table — things you normally need to see up close, clearer than ever.

“I take it those ones are workin’ just fine.” Arthur says amusedly, having watched your wide-eyed and wandering gaze.

At the sound of his raspy voice, your head jerks up — and then your heart lurches forward with a hiccup, nearly tripping over itself.

Arthur is… He’s… Holy heaven, has he always been that handsome?

A dozen new details spring out at you, little secrets you've been missing. You can see the crook in his nose from being broken too many times. A scar you’ve never noticed on the edge of his chin, given away by the small patch in his beard.

He has freckles, dozens of little ones, from all his time spent under the baking sun. They gather at the edges of his eyes, blending into the crows feet. You can trace the cupid's bow of his lips.

It occurs to you that you should totally, definitely say something. You’ve been silent too long, just taking in the lines of his face, awed, but your throat has dried up.

Lord above, he’s pretty.

How are you expected to continue your day with the knowledge that Arthur Morgan might be the prettiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on?

Lord, if you’d been fond of him before, you’re surely smitten with him now.

Arthur shifts uncomfortably under the attention, taking your prolonged silence for the worst. His already jittered nerves fry under your stare and he ducks his head to hide himself from you.

“Probably can see what an ugly bastard I am, now you can see proper.” He huffs offhandedly, scratching at his beard and keeping his gaze low.

It hadn’t occurred to him, this downside of fetching this gift for you. You’ll see him clearly now — flaws and all.

“What?”

You sound a mixture of bewildered and crestfallen and it draws Arthur’s gaze up.

Your eyebrows have knit together in the middle and you take another step, bringing you closer together still.

Arthur forces himself to keep breathing, even as his nerves flutter. It’s an awful lot like one of Mary-Beth’s books, where she talks about romantics getting butterflies.

It feels more like a hive of bumblebees, Arthur thinks, trying to shove the feeling down. ‘Sides, the two of you weren’t romantics. You didn’t see him that way.

“Not in the slightest.” You say, eyes never leaving his face.

Arthur isn’t sure what your expression means but even as the attention makes him shift, something within him more selfish preens. Having your undivided attention when he’s surely unworthy of it has him standing a little taller, chest puffing out more.

“Say, has anyone ever told you that you have…” Your voice trails off, your words soft as the dawn’s first rays of light. Arthur forces himself to meet your eye again. “A little bit of green in your eyes?”

This time, you don’t miss the flush of colour that creeps up Arthur’s neck.

He clears his throat, breaking your stare so he can rub the back of his neck; a futile attempt to cover his nervousness.

How in the hell else is he supposed to react to you all but waxing poetic about his eyes? You, enigmatic and more beautiful than a mayflower in the spring?

He’d wanted your attention, getting you the glasses, but now he has it, he’s melting beneath it like butter in the sun. He's a grown man for heaven's sake. How is it that you can make him nervous like nothing before?

“No, er, can’t say they have.” He says, stealing a glimpse back at you.

God, Arthur was a fool. You look even more beautiful in the spectacles. He’ll surely embarrass himself with his besotted stare, unable to curb his fondness for you.

There’s something new in your expression too. Your smile turned more feline, as if you’ve clued in to something he hasn’t.

His hands fall to clutch his gun belt, prepared to retreat and perhaps spend his evening drowning himself in the river to escape the mortification of feelings. He's giving himself away — and if he isn't, the heat colouring his cheeks sure is.

“Right, well,” He nods, clearing his throat once more. “If they workin’ jus’ fine, I’ll leave ya be.”

“Will you let me thank you first?” You ask tentatively.

Arthur doesn’t know what that means but he nods nonetheless. He tries to keep himself from fidgeting, his hands flexing on his belt all the while. Blue eyes dart from you, to the ground, then back to you.

You only need another half-step to get close enough to do what you wish. Pressing up onto your toes to reach, you bestow a gentle kiss onto Arthur's cheek, just above the scruff.

It takes a great deal of courage to keep your eyes steady, heart in your throat, as you sink back down onto flat feet. You don't relent your closeness.

For one long moment, you drink in the politely stunned expression on his face. This close, you can smell the scent of cigarettes and woodsmoke on his clothes. It makes your head spin. Makes your heart tremble. Your lips still sear from the kiss.

Though your heart threatens to bruise your ribs with how hard its beating in your chest, you refuse to regret your boldness.

Besides, as Arthur seems to grapple with what's just happened, his smile and blush return in equal measure.

"...Why'd you think she left dinner so early? She's probably—oh!"

Mary-Beth's voice cuts through the charged air.

Snapped from your tender reverie, you tear your eyes from Arthur and take a timid step back. You're well aware it's too late and both Mary-Beth and Tilly had seen the nearness you had been sharing with Arthur. You'll be hounded about it tonight, no doubt.

"Sorry, didn't realise we were interrupting." Tilly finds her voice before Mary-Beth does, the latter spluttering her agreements. Before they can retreat, Arthur cuts in.

"Weren't—" His voice comes out rougher than usual and he clears his throat, hat tipped down. "—interrupting nothin'. Don't worry bout it, I was just leavin'."

He takes a few steps back and then pauses, heaving a heavy breath as if he was gathering his strength. Still lingering just beyond the entrance of your tent, you wait with baited breath.

Arthur's eyes dance over to the other girls. If you could be bold, hell, so could he. He finds your gaze.

"Shootin' tomorrow? You 'n' me?" He asks, voice low.

If you didn't know him so well, you might miss the slight apprehension in his tone. As if you'd say no.

You have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip to try contain you smile. Your fervent nod betrays your excitement anyway.

Arthur smiles then, more brazenly than you've seen before, before he bids you a goodnight with a final tip of his hat.

—

The crates where targets once stood are now gloriously empty, the six shattered glass bottles banished to a life in the dirt.

You stand, pistol still smoking in your grip, and grin triumphantly. The sun glints off the delicate frames of your new spectacles. Your vision is clear and your aim is true.

Hovering just behind you, as he had some days ago, Arthur hums his contentment. "'Atta girl."

You turn, looking over your shoulder at him, and in an instant, your smile in reflected back. More reserved than your own, but entirely for you. Arthur nudges you to look forward with a gentle hand, gesturing to something out in the field.

"See if you can hit just the edge of the crate next. We might make a gunslinger of you yet."

You huff, leaning back an inch to feel more of his warmth. Arthur smiles to himself, well aware of your tactics.

His hands drop to your hips, twisting them in a minute adjustment they don't need, just to hear the slight stagger in your breath.

"Why, Mister Morgan," Your voice is threaded with humour, exactly the colour of sunlight. "I'd nearly think you're just making excuses to put your hands on me."

With a low hum, Arthur lets his hands drag up an inch to rest on your waist. Your skin is warm, as is your smile. He can pretend the hot buzz of the day threatens make his knees buckle, though he knows it's entirely your effect.

"Maybe. That a crime?"

"Even if it were," You say, gaze slicing back to meet his. The taunt of a smile on your pretty mouth rivals all the beauty Arthur's ever seen. "Thank heavens you're an outlaw."

—

i get the privilege of bugging @illyrianbitch @wildfloweroutlaw with this new fic <3 heheh thanks for the hype that lead to this actually getting finished n posted !!

#writing a new character is like AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH #anyways. hi rdr community :D i'm new here!!#prepared to write some yearning for this cowboy <3 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #rdr2 #red dead #red dead fandom #red dead redemption imagine #arthur morgan imagine #sloane writes arthur #YIPPE I LOVE A NEW TAG!

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justauthoring · 1 month ago

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Taste of Freedom

Request: Heyyy can we get a Luffy x ready (or literally any one piece character) fic where Y/n is royalty/from a noble family and gets betrothed or is like the next of kin. Girly ends up getting cold feet, runs away and after meeting the straw hats and having a little excursion with them (or something of the sort) she’s debating whether she wants to stay with them or go back. At first she goes back to honor her family/for her people/fulfill whatever duty she has and amidst her short absence Luffy comes to terms with his feeling and essentially gets his girl back, kidnapping her/crashing her wedding and she becomes a permanent member of their crew and they live happily ever after type beat Requested by: Anonymous

Pairing: Monkey D. Luffy x F!Reader

A/N: Maybe this blog will become a Luffy fan blog... Literally every request I received since my last One Piece fanfic has been Luffy (lets be clear I'm not complaining lmao). So, here's another Luffy fic as a result lol :)

Also! Please keep in mind that I'm only on episode 279 of One Piece and I am making my way through the series. So if you request something that has to do with later episodes, just be patient with me!

Word Count: 3,829 (Also, not spell-checked... lol)

The skirt of your dress weighed heavily in your hands.

Your dresses were always heavy. Dressed in the finest silks, with petticoasts and corsets and lines and lines of fabric draped over you. Everything was heavy. Adorned in jewels and intricate hair designs. You were never, ever allowed to not look your best.

But everything felt heavier today.

The weight you've always been able to bear. Mainly because you had no choise to otherwise. But it was too much for you; standing in that room, surrounded by people you didn't know... staring up at the eyes of a man twenty years your senior.

A man you were meant to marry.

Needless to say, you couldn't do it. You just couldn't.

In the midst of the wedding, you'd gotten cold feet. You'd ripped your hands from the man, and only because you'd surprised everyone, had managed to flee the ceremony.

Not unscathed however, becuase you were currently be chased across the harbour by your family's and the man you were marrying's family.

You'd lost your heels somewhere along the way. Kicking them off because they hurt and inhibited how well you could run. You'd ripped off a bit of your skirt to lessen the weight. And you'd been running for so long. Your feet ached, you're sure the soles of your feet had been torn apart by the ground beneath you.

Everything hurt. You were tired, exhausted and you just needed to get away.

You needed one ship--one ship to take pity on you.

Inhaling sharply, your face twists in panic when you realize the knights are growing closer. You were getting to the end of your wits and the chance for an escape was slipping through your fingers by the second.

If you didn't find a ship to get away on and soon, you'd be dragged back to the wedding. And this time, there would be no escaping.

Slowing to a stop, you twist your head, spinning round to try and find someone who looks like they'd be willing to take a stray on their ship. Especially one that was currently being hunted down by the islands guards.

Stumbling backwards on your feet, you can feel yourself hyperventilating, breath quickening. You knew that if you were caught, you could only imagine how much trouble you'd be in. And your fiance? He'd seemed nice enough, at least... somewhat. But you figure he wouldn't at all be impressed that his bride-to-be ran away.

You continue shuffling backwards on your feet, skin coated with sweat, when you feel yourself bump into something.

It causes you to jump, fearing it's a knight or maybe even in your fiance, body spinning around in panic. Only, it isn't a knight or your fiance. It's a boy with a bright red jacket and a straw hat on his head. There's also a large piece of meat in his mouth that he swallows in two seconds in front of you.

You blink back at him.

"You okay?"

It takes you half a second to realize that the boy's asked you a question. You blink, again, heart still pounding and still breathless and then, feeling utterly hopeless, you shake your head;

"No."

The boys face twists, wiping the crumbs from his meat off his face as a concerned expression falls on his face. You're stunned by the genuine look of worry, from a stranger no less.

"What's--"

"There she is!"

Body freezing, your head snaps round, seeing that the guards were close; extremely close.

Knowing this is probably your last chance, you turn back around to the boy, grabbing his hand with both of your own and meet his gaze. "Please," you breathe, "help me."

He glances at you, then past you at the guards that are growing closer and closer by the second. Whatever conclusion he comes to about why the guards are chasing you, you don't know. It doesn't matter either because the brightest smile curls onto the boys lips and he shifts your hands so now he's holding onto you.

"Okay!"

He tugs you with him, nearly sweeping your feet beneath you as you scramble to catch up with his pace.

But you barely have time to care about that. In a few seconds, a ship comes into your few and Luffy is bounding towards it without any hesitation.

"What--"

"You need to get away, yeah?" The boy asks you, grinning back at you. Slowly, you nod. "Okay, then... come with us!"

You're on the ship deck in the next few minutes, staring at a group of people who stare back at you with bewildered expressions. The boy, still grinning ear to ear, greets his friends as if nothing is amiss, asking if there's any food to eat.

"Luffy," one of them calls, a girl with short red hair. "Who is that?"

"Oh!" Luffy calls, spinning around to face you. "This is..." His face falls, blinking. "What's your name?"

"...Y/N." You answer, still bewildered.

"And why is she on our ship?" Another boy with a long nose asks.

"Who cares!" Another one asks, a blond man with heart yes who comes bounding towards you. He takes your hand in yours and presses a kiss to it. "You're absolutely beautiful, Y/N-chan."

Your cheeks warm, embarrassed and still bewildered.

"She's joining our crew!" Luffy cheers, pumping his fist in the air.

Your face twists, lips parting. "Oh, um... No... I just need to--"

"Where did she go!"

"I think she went over here!"

"We can't let her get off the island."

Whatever you'd been about to say is needless in that moment as muffled calls of panic from the guards swarming the harbor are loud and clear to the rest of the crew in that moment.

All of their eyes shift back to you, blinking.

"They're after you?" The black-haired woman asks you, voice soft.

You nod, nervous.

There's a beat of silence and you're not sure if, despite Luffy's nonchalance, they might ask you to get off. You're even about to fall to your knees and start begging, but before you can, Luffy speaks up.

"We should probably go," he says through a mouthful of food. "Before they realize Y/N's here."

Everyone turns to look at him, and then, the man with green-hair and three swords who'd been standing further back steps forward, a smirk on his lips as he turns to the crew.

"Captain's orders, right guys?"

Your eyes widen when you realize he means Luffy.

Everyone starts moving, perfectly in sync as they get the ship ready to go.

"Are you hurt anywhere?"

Glancing down at the voice, you blink at the... reindeer staring up at you.

Taking a sip of the tea Sanji, the blond who'd called you beautiful, prepared for you, you try not to squirm at the intense pair of eyes staring at you.

Luffy, who'd followed you down the kitchen after Nami, the red-haired girl, and Robin, the black-haired woman, got you a change of clothes, hadn't stopped staring at you since you sat down. Sanji was preparing you a plate of food while Nami sat next to you, asking you questions about what had happened.

The rest of the crew was in the kitchen, sans Zoro was keeping a lookout on deck.

Chopper, the reindeer who'd talked to you, had looked you over for any injuries despite your assurance that you were fine. He was only satisfied once he'd confirmed it for yourself.

"And they wanted you to marry him?"

Nodding, you pull your gaze away from Luffy. "Yeah," you whisper, glancing down at your tea cup with a frown. "I just... I couldn't go through with it."

"Well, obviously," Nami breathes from beside you. "I couldn't imagine being married off to a man twenty years older than me."

Eyes widening, you turn to Nami in shock.

"It's a good thing you found our captain, huh?" Robin smiles down at you, stepping towards you. "You're safe with us."

"I'll keep you safe, Y/N-chan!" Sanji calls from the kitchen.

When you look to Chopper and Usopp, the smiles on their faces are just as warm and reassuring.

Something flutters in your chest.

"Thank you," you breathe, a weight fading from your shoulders. "Seriously... I... I just--thank you so much."

Leaning into you, Nami grins; "it'll be nice to have another girl on board! Right, Robin?"

The older woman nods; "of course."

"Y/N!" Chopper calls, pulling your eyes down on him as he bounds up at you. "You can come to me if you ever feel under the weather."

His eagerness pulls a gentle smile to your lips, eyes softening down at him. "Thank you, Chopper."

"Luffy."

Turning away from Chopper at Nami's voice, you turn towards her, before shifting your gaze to Luffy, who is still just staring at you.

"Luffy!" Nami calls, face twisting as she reaches forwad to bop Luffy on the head. He jumps in response, blinking.

"Ow!" He calls, holding the offended spot with a frown. "What was that for?"

"Stop staring at Y/N!"

Your cheeks warm at her blatant call out, squirming in your seat as Luffy pouts at her.

"I was just looking!"

"And it's weird!"

"Nami," you call, reaching out for her. "It's... It's okay." Then, turning to Luffy, you smile at him. "Thank you for letting me on the ship, Luffy. I really appreciate it. And I promise I won't stick around too long."

You expect him to return the smile with that bright grin you're used to seeing him on your face at this point, but he never does.

"You can stay as long as you need."

It's been a few weeks since you've joined the Straw Hat crew on the Going Merry and it was needless to say you loved every moment of it.

Beyond just the freedom you're experiencing that you never have before this moment, everyone on the crew was so incredibly kind. It was such a different experience to be with people who actually cared about you as a person outside of your statuse.

It was nice to actually have friends.

Though, you'd be lying if you were to say there wasn't a certain someone who didn't make you feel more special than the rest.

"Y/N!"

Looking up from the book Robin had let you borrow, a smile curls on your lips when you see Luffy bounding over to you. He reaches you in seconds as per usual due to his rubber body, almost barreling into you as you lean back.

When he lands, his face is inches from yours and you desperately try to ignore the race of your heart.

"Luffy," you greet, trying to keep your voice steady. "Is everything okay?"

"Perfect!" He cheers, effortlessly energetic like he always is. "But I have a question for you!"

Tabbing your spot in your book, you set it aside. "Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

You let out a sharp laugh. "Reading," you explain, despite the obvious. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah," Luffy nods, eager. "I don't want you to read anymore."

"Oh?"

"Come fish with me instead!"

For further emphasis, Luffy's hand wraps around your wrist, tugging.

"Okay," you submit, knowing that Luffy wouldn't have needed to even plea with you. You'd let him drag you anywhere. "I'll fish with you."

Luffy's eyes sparkle. "Really?"

"Really."

"Watch out!"

Barring your arms in front of you, you brace for the hit you expect to feel, only to feel nothing happen.

A moment passes by before you slowly let your arms drop, confused, only to see a familiar back of red in front of you.

"Luffy!"

Luffy, who took the hit from the bad guy for you, glances back at you with a wide, effortless grin. The sight makes your stomach erupt in a flutter of butterflies, heart racing.

"Are you okay?"

Numbly, you nod.

"Stay back," he says, voice warm. "I'll keep you safe."

"You can have the rest."

Head resting in the palm of your hand, the smile on your lips is soft and completely lovesick (not that you're aware) as you push your plate towards Luffy.

Mouth full of his own dinner, Luffy's eyes sparkle.

"Really?"

You nod, voice a warm hum; "I'm not hungry."

In seconds he's shoveling your food onto his plate, beaming.

"Thank you, Y/N/N!"

"So..."

Raising a brow at Nami, you tilt your head; "so?"

She glances at Robin who's standing next to her, both of them grinning like they know something you don't.

"Anything you want to tell us?" Nami asks, smirking as she crosses her arms over her chest.

You blink at her, then Robin, before shaking your head; "I don't think so?"

The two look at each other.

"Maybe something about our dear captain?" Robin suggests.

Your face twists; "no?"

The two chuckle, shaking their heads and you feel thoroughly confused.

"Okay, if you're sure."

"No, wait," you call, moving to stand when they shift towards the door. "What are you guys talking about?"

Robin sets a hand on your arm, squeezing reassuringly. "It's best to let you figure this one out on your own."

You let the cool night breeze brush through your hair, enjoying the feeling of it.

The freeing feeling of it.

A moment later a pair of footsteps bound up behind you, pulling your eyes off of the night sky and behind you, seeing Luffy.

"Hey," you call gently. "What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," Luffy shrugs, oddly quiet compared to his usual loudness. "Didn't like you up here alone."

You snort. "Usopp is up on the crows nest," you remind.

Luffy shakes his head. "Not the same."

He moves to stand next to you, his arm brushing against your own. The touch sends shivers down your spin, and you quickly avert your gaze in front of you.

"Are you happy?"

It's not the question you're expecting. With a frown, you shake your head at Luffy. "Of course," you say earnestly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I just wanted to make sure," Luffy shrugs. "I... I don't want you to leave."

"Oh," you breathe.

"Yeah."

"Okay," you find yourself saying. "I won't leave then."

Luffy turns to look at you and his expression is vulnerable in a way you've never seen.

"Okay."

The Straw Hats had docked at a new island.

Usopp and Luffy had all but bounded off the second you'd docked, Chopper not far behind. Robin and Nami told you they were going to do some shopping but you declined their invite to join, wanting to rest on the ship.

Sanji was gettin groceries and Zoro was napping on the ship as usual.

An hour into just reading, you decide you're thoroughly bored and regret declining the girls invitation to join them. You take a look at Zoro, knowing he wouldn't be happy if you woke him up, so you figure it shouldn't be too hard to find at least one of your friends.

You make your way off the ship, leisurely walking through the town and taking in the sights. It never failed to take your breath away when you docked on a new island and you got to see firsthand all the new sights you never would've before.

After wandering for about twenty minutes, you think you catch sight of Sanji's familiar blonde hair, turning to follow after him. Your lips part to call out for him, but you quickly stop yourself when you catch sight of something else.

Or someone else.

Everything in you freezes, muscles tensing as your heart starts with panic.

That's your fiance.

Breath hitching, you try to move, intending to turn back the way you came before your fiance catches sight of you. But just as you have the thought to do so, you lock eyes with him.

He recognizes you instantly.

The second he moves towards you, you stumble back, moving to run away. You make it a total of five steps before a hand latches around your wrist, tight and painful.

"There you are."

In seconds, there's guards flanking around you, effectively blocking off any escape.

"Your family's been looking everywhere for you," your fiance hisses. "How dare you embarrass me."

Luffy comes bounding onto the Going Merry with a wide grin.

He'd found something cool on the island he wanted to show you and refused to explore any further until he brought you there. Chopper and Usopp had gone on ahead, but he'd told them he was going back to get you.

Only, you're no where to be found.

"Zoro!" Luffy calls, voice loud and pitching as he races over to his first mate. "Zoro! Zoro!"

The swordsman face twists in annoyance, eyes blinking open to stare up at his captain with a frown.

"What?"

"Where's Y/N?"

"How should I know?"

Luffy huffs; "she stayed back with you."

"And I've been napping." Zoro grunts.

Frowning, Luffy turns, instending to race down to the kitchen and see if you're maybe there. But before he can make it to the door, he hears footsteps rushing towards the boat.

He straightens out, thinking it's Y/N but when he reaches the end of the ship, he sees Nami and Robin and no Y/N.

And they look concerned.

"Luffy!"

"What?" Luffy calls, "what happened? Where's Y/N?"

"She's... She's--"

"We saw a man and a bunch of nights dragging her onto a ship," Robin explains when Nami can't. "She was crying."

"You're an utter embarrassment!"

Head bowed, your nails digging into the palms of your hand as your mother continues to scream at you, voice blaring. Your cheek still stings from the slap she'd given you the second you entered the room.

"I cannot believe you would ruin tarnesh our reputation like that," your mother roars down at you. "Running away in the middle of your wedding? How dare you!"

Swallowing thickly, you inhale sharply; "I'm... I'm sorry, mother."

"You will be."

You hear her heels click away and slowly, you raise your head to watch you. She moves towards the door to your bedroom, opening it before she turns back to you.

"You will not be leaving this room until your wedding tomorrow." She bites out at you, "be grateful your fiance is still willing to marry you after all you've put him through."

The door slams shut behind her.

It takes a moment before the tears fall, a sob breaking past your lips as you fall to a heap on the ground. Your heart aches painfully at the thought of how quickly things had gone wrong.

The second your fiance had found you you'd known that any freedom you'd found for yourself was gone. There would be no escape now. You'd known that if you were ever taken back, you'd never get away again.

And now, after tomorrow, you'd be married.

Luffy appears in your mind, and you think back to that night you promised him you'd never leave. You'd meant it then, even though your chest had twisted at the words. You didn't want to leave. You'd have spent the rest of your life with the Straw Hat crew and Luffy if you could've.

But deep down you'd known you'd never truly escape your fate.

"I'm sorry," you cry, knowing Luffy can't hear you. "I'm so sorry."

The stares are piercing.

Everyone's watching and this time, measurements have been put in place to make sure you can't run away like you had the last.

The wedding dress feels more like your own personal prison than anything else in that moment. You're miserable and you refuse to pretend otherwise. Your mother had hounded into you that morning that you were to be on your best behaviour and well you wouldn't fight them, you certainly weren't going to act like you were happy about any of this.

You drone out the sound of your fiance signing your life away. You refuse to look at him.

Your eyes stare holes into your own feet, trying to ignore the panic coarsing through your body.

It was even worst than the last. You'd had a taste of what real freedom felt like and for it to be so cruelly taken away from you felt like your own personal hell.

"Y/N."

You're tugged, the tone of your fiance's voice sharp as you blink out of your own thoughts. He's glaring down at you and the officiator is staring at you impatiently.

Oh. It was your turn to say 'I do'.

Inhaling sharply, your lips part, voice a tremble as you try to force the words out.

Except, you never get the chance. In the next second, the door to the room busts open with a loud bang, breaking off the hinges and shattering into the crowd of people who shriek in response.

Your fiances hands leave yours as he stumbles back in fear.

But you just continue to stare at the entrance, waiting for the dust to clear because something akin to hope is blooming in your chest.

Sure enough, as the dust clears, you see a familiar straw hat.

"Y/N! Where are you!"

Your face breaks out into a grin, the brightest you've ever smiled. You're gathering your skirts in your hands, moving to run down the steps and bound over to Luffy.

Your fiance grabs your arm before you can.

"You're not going--"

Without a second of hesitation, you swing your fist back and drive it right into his face. Exactly like the Straw Hat crew had taught you.

He tumbles to the ground with a panic cry of pain, and you laugh.

Actually laugh.

Not wasting anymore time, you make your way down the stairs, weaving your way through the dispersing and panicked crowd. You see your mother along the way and she's yelling at you to come with her, but you ignore her.

Nothing else matters more than reaching Luffy.

He's delivering a sharp set of kicks at a guard when you reach him, breathless.

"Luffy."

He halts at the sound of you, tossing the guard to the side as he grins at you.

"Y/N/N!" He cheers, "we've come to kidnap you!"

Letting out a laugh, you shake your head. A newfound determination settles in you and you close the distance between the two of you in seconds flat, grabbing him by the cheeks and press your lips against his.

He stills in front of you, and when you pull back, his blinking at you wide-eyed.

Before he lets out a sharp laugh; "do that again!"

You just giggle, shaking your head. "We should focus on escaping first, no?"

"Oh," Luffy blinks, "you're right."

He grabs you, wrapping his arms around your waist and picks you up, hefting you over his shoulder as you laugh. Luffy despite everything is careful as he carries you, turning to the rest of the crew that watches with bemused expressions.

"Princess captured! Let's go, guys!"

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #op #op x reader #one piece luffy #monkey d luffy #monkey d luffy x reader #monkey d luffy x you #monkey d. luffy #luffy #luffy x reader #luffy x you

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reignpage · 4 months ago

Text

A Cursed Encounter

Synopsis: in which you meet your fate, in more ways than one Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: cursing, mentions of death, suicide, abuse, neglect, not proofread Pt 1, Pt 2

You are your village’s burden.

Born a bastard on a blood moon, they credit you for the death of your mother who raged against God himself, vile hatred coating her lips before the light dimmed from her eyes, just as you emerged, silent.

Thrown in the care of your aunt, you fought for scraps amongst your kin who did not regard you as anything more than a family pet. They ignored you in the streets, laughed at the quiver of your lips, and cursed your gaze.

In desperate need for coin, you could only work with the dead, at the cemetery as a groundskeeper, raking fallen leaves and dusting mausoleums. It paid very little, but it was enough to get by without falling to your knees, pleading for mercy from those who sneer in repulsion.

The baker only sells you the burnt, uneven leftovers, thrusting them in your arms as if afraid to touch you. Even the drunkards of the day grant you a wide berth, muttering prayers when you pass by. As a child, your peers whispered among themselves, of how your conception drove your father to suicide, and how your birth drove your mother to madness, infecting her with unprecedented levels of insanity.

Some would approach in a gaggle, pelting younames and insults at first, and then stones, until they grew braver and would rain down barrages of fists and shoves and kicks.

As an adult, their scorn turned to indifference.

You thought their cruelty would be sated. That their malice had reached its peak, and they’ve learnt to tolerate every breath you took. And perhaps that would have been the case for the remainder of your days, alone as an outcast but living, if it hadn’t been for the drought.

A fortnight had passed since the last rainfall and the crops are dying. They bared with it for as long as they could, saving what little water the well retained, using only what was absolutely necessary to keep everyone afloat. But that hadn’t been enough.

When the first life had been taken, you were at the end of every bony finger.

They came for you in the night, dragged you from your bed with your cousins huddled together in the corner. Your pleas for reason fell on deaf ears. Their determination was set in stone, and the verdict had been cast without trial. Clawing and screaming, you were bound and placed atop a horse, taken to the forest in the depth of the night.

Marching on, an eerie silence blanketed your executioners as they stopped in a clearing, a pearly white moon lighting the way.

“For your crimes against our village, you have been sentenced to be sacrificed. Here, the King of all that is cursed in the world will take you as an offering on our behalf and bestow upon us mercy. Do not fight. Do not run. It is your duty to graciously accept your fate for the greater good,” the village Elder says as the men carry you off the horse and unbind you in sombre stillness.

Your tears have dried now. There are none to be shed any longer. Not one soul met your gaze, no one took pity, no one thought it was unfair. Not then and not now.

They disappear back where they came from, the only sign anyone was here at all are the footprints in the mud. You don’t dare follow; they would only drag you back, or worse.

But you also can’t stay here — this is the Dark Forest. All sorts of malevolent creatures live here, haunting every tree, and you’re intruding.

The villagers spoke of the reign of terror of a beast so large it towered over the expanse of the Great Mountain, with fangs sharper than knives, and eyes colder than frost. In its belly is an eternal flame, one that slowly melts away your skin and your bones until only your soul remains, trapped within its ribcage.

You have never seen such a beast and you do not want to, ever.

A branch breaks in the distance.

You run.

Legs pumping and muscles aching, you run as far as you can go, branches slapping against your body, whipping against the bare skin of your arms and your cheeks, twigs crunching, mud caking, you cry. You’re winding, meandering, weaving through the trees, searching for a way out, reaching for safety, and finding none.

The chill of the night is nipping where it can, and it numbs your face and your fingers. You don’t stop, even as you falter. Your joints are creaking with every leap. You don’t know how much further you can go. There isn’t anywhere to run to. The nearest village is a day’s carriage ride away, that is, if you manage to make it out of the forest at all.

Only when you trip against a mossy log and fall through an opening of sorts in the ground do you realise there was nothing chasing you in a moment of clarity, the one they speak of right before you face your death.

Landing against a pile of something cold and hard, you roll down, sharp things poking and prodding on your descent, until you shuffle to a stop, thoroughly bruised and disoriented.

Your bleary eyes push open.

You’re in a cavern.

Surrounding you are hills of gold coins and crowns and jewels of various sizes. Your mind cannot comprehend what you are seeing and briefly you believe you have indeed perished but, despite what you have been told your entire life, you have not been hauled to the pits of Hell.

That thought does not linger for long because the crushing pain of your journey hits you in full force. You writhe and moan.

And then stop.

You grow quiet.

You’re being watched.

There are glowing red eyes staring at you from the shadows, the warmth cast by undying torches unable to reach the corner in which it stays. They are unblinking, unwavering, and bone-chilling.

Your chest is heaving once more, that deathly fear taking hold of your heart and you shuffle back. The coins clink and rattle. You wince.

That thing steps forth into the light, revealing a creature much bigger than your imagination could have mustered. Obsidian black, its scales glint but as the light falls upon them, a crimson sheen ripples across its length, barely there. Its head is a blend of angular features and of sharp edges, horns emerging and curling back in a spiral.

Razor-sharp claws rattle the coins which clank underneath its weight and the wings. Oh, the wings are colossal, sinewy and leathering with jagged spines, and a sharp hook at every end. Its tail whip back, slowly, brushing the golden floor as if feeling each and every treasure, like you might have stolen one.

“What are you?”

A sudden drawl echoes around the cavern, banging against the cave walls until it pierces your chest. It’s a deep, monstrous growl, demanding of respect, and you know, without a shadow of doubt, that you are in the presence of the King of Curses. He hadn’t opened his mouth, and you’re left reeling, desperately trying to piece together reason and reality.

“I have forgotten how feeble-minded mortals can be,” he muses with a threatening snarl. “Do not let me repeat myself again. What are you?”

Stammering, you say, “I don’t know what you mean, my Lord.”

His head tilts and his lip curls back, revealing a row of bone-crushing teeth, each bigger than your head. Even with the distance between you, you know it would take a blink from you and your entire body would be pummelled and ripped apart.

“Are you food, or are you here to sharpen my claws?”

“I don’t wish to be either.”

He laughs. “Then run along back home and do not speak of your encounter with me to another soul, lest I find you and take you in your sleep.”

“I have nowhere to go, my Lord. And no one to tell,” you admit.

With a slow blink, his long tongue runs through his teeth as his eyes rove over your figure, likely imagining how you would taste if he sank his teeth into you.

“Leave regardless. Your bumbling ineptitude awoke me from my slumber, and I grow tired of your existence. Go and do not return.”

A red mist flows around your body, engulfing you in burning flames and you could only gasp whilst you watch your flesh disappear, limb by limb. You meet his eyes one last time and you feel something awaken inside, a click of sorts, a turn of a key.

He growls. “What farce is this?”

That is the last thing you hear before you awaken in the clearing, just as you had been left. Your night gown is clean, as are your feet and hands, and there are no marks or cuts on your arms.

There is nothing left foretelling your encounter with the great beast, except for the black mark on your chest, a brand burnt into your skin.

It’s in the shape of a dragon.

#divider by @enchantings #jjk x reader #jjk fic #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x you #jjk x you #sukuna fic

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