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isolatedrose · 22 days ago

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A Message In The Water (Part I)

Part II

Part I

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Mermaid Reader

Summary: Arthur picks up your precious jeweled comb, leading to a chance encounter between the two of you. He thought you were the stuff of legends. Reader is a mermaid.

Word Count: 3.9k AO3 Link

You have never been this close to the shore before, much less this close to a human. But what could you do? The burly man with the hat and the gun (plus whatever weapons he could have on hand) took your jeweled comb. You cursed yourself for being so careless.

The man sat on a stool at the edge of the wooden pier along with all of his other belongings scattered across the wooden planks, your precious comb included. Luckily, his holster and gun were laid to rest with the rest of the items as well. You just needed to be quick and stealthy, at least in theory.

Your tail swished back and forth in the water as you kept yourself in one spot, the water lapping at your face as you tried to hide as much of yourself underneath the surface. While your main objective was to retrieve your comb, your eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the man. This impressively large human you noticed, hulking in form, was actually hunched over a notebook, silently sketching on the parchment pages. What could he be doing, you wondered. A man as intimidating as him could kill not just one, but several men, and even more easily a mermaid. But his intent seemed to be capturing the picturesque view of Flat Iron Lake.

You brought your hands together and dived into the depths, bringing yourself closer to the edge of the pier, circling around it to avoid his field of view. You broke through the surface of the water, and reached out to grab the wooden post closest to your comb, keeping yourself steady against the lake’s currents. You craned your neck to peek at the man, and seeing he was still focused on his notebook, you dared to stretch your arm out on top of the wooden planks. You were so close, the comb glittering in the sun as if to beckon you to return it to its original owner.

Just a little more, you thought, outstretching your arm and fingers as far as they could reach, your other hand gripping the edge of the pier. Your fingertips were just about to graze the comb before you heard the unsheathing of metal. You froze in shock and horror at seeing a knife lodged in the wood, just millimeters away from piercing the palm of your hand.

“What in the hell—”

Your frightened eyes darted to the knife grasped in the owner’s hand, and then to his face. His journal was discarded to the side, his lethal reflexes taking priority over his leisurely activity. His expression mirrored yours, eyes widened and lips parted in surprise and shock. You snatch your hand back to clutch to your chest, eyeing the man warily. You were this close to closing a limb and your comb.

He’s speechless, his mouth moving to attempt to form coherent words. While Arthur Morgan has robbed and been robbed, he’s never thought someone would use underwater tactics to get the one up on him. But when he took a closer look at you, he was coming to a realization that something was off. Your wet hair was clinging to your skin and trailing behind you in the water, and he swore he saw something sparkle in the water, reflecting light.

He slowly pulls out his knife that was jammed in the wood and returns it to its sheath. “Miss?” Is that the appropriate title to call you, he wondered. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” He raises his hands up to show his nonviolent intent.

Your head lowers in the water as your eyes nervously flick between him and your comb. He takes notice of this and directs his attention to the object. He remembered he picked it up along the shoreline of the river, fascinated by the jewels adorning it. He’d never seen anything like it before, as it gave off its own luminescent reflection and glow. He thought it could pick up a good price if it got sold, and he could add the earnings to the camp ledger. But the gems looked to be so otherworldly that he wasn’t even sure if the pawnbroker would accept the piece unless it was clearly made of gold or diamonds.

He gingerly picks up the comb, and your eyes follow it. How can she hold her breath for that long? “Is this yours?” His voice sounds gravelly to your ears, but softens at realizing what you were looking at. He holds it out to you in his large palm.

You still don’t move as you cautiously look between him and your comb. What if he pulled that knife out on you again?

“Go on.” He nods towards his hand, extending his arm further to you. “It belongs to you right?”

You lift your head fully out of the water now, realizing that he truly was trying to return your comb back to you. You drift closer to him and grip the edge of the dock while your free hand reaches for the comb, water dripping from your outstretched arm. Your fingertips grip the comb’s spine, but not before your skin makes contact with his palm, which was rough and callous to the touch. Being so close to a human, even touching one was such a novel experience for you.

You allow yourself to take one last curious glimpse of him, but you made sure to not overstay your welcome. You fully enclose your hand over the comb and swiftly draw your hand away, whipping your body around to dive back into the lake’s depths.

Before you took off running, or swimming as Arthur was witnessing, his jaw hung open at seeing your iridescent tail flick up at the surface of the water and disappear along with you.

—————

You thought you would stay away and keep your distance, attempting to be cautious after your last visit to the lake’s shore. But all caution was thrown out the window at every instance you would see the same man from before at the wooden docks. He didn’t come everyday, but it was more frequent than the usual human visitors. Sometimes he’d come with his journal like last time, others he’d bring a fishing rod. If he’d exhausted every other activity, the man would just sit there with his stool, gazing along the water’s surface as if he was waiting for something, someone.

You dove head first in the water, and kicked your tail behind you to make your way to the wooden dock, avoiding his line of sight. You circled around a wooden pole just like last time, quietly inching closer, plank by plank until you were near enough to catch a whiff of his cologne. The scent was unfamiliar to you, as it one that couldn’t exist underwater. Everything you’ve observed so far from this particular human was so intriguing to you.

You thought it would best to gently alert him of your presence. Hopefully he wouldn’t be equipped with his knife this time. You softly knocked at the wood by his feet with your knuckles.

He immediately sits up straight, his ears perking at the sound. He turns to the source, and his eyes settle on you. He stares at you in disbelief, awe and wonder clear in his expression. The man takes off his hat and holds it to his chest, as if doing so would better clear his vision at seeing you again.

“It… it’s you!” He exclaims breathlessly. “I thought last time I was dreamin’ in broad daylight.”

You remain silent as you quietly observe him, taking in all of his features. You wondered if all humans looked like this one. He carefully draws closer, taking down to one knee on the wooden plank you were holding on to. This time, you allowed your tail to lay buoyant on the water’s surface, the water lapping at the scales catching the sunlight. His eyes are gawking at it in astonishment, realizing that he wasn’t imagining things.

“You are real.” He grasps his bearded chin, amazement clear on his face now knowing that the tail did belong to you. You still remained wordless during this exchange.

He shakes his head and collects himself, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry about last time. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just, you startled me, that’s all.” He rubs the back of his neck. He’s beginning to feel restless at your silence.

You nodded your head gingerly, hoping to show him that you understood. His blue-green eyes light up with relief at getting an actual response from you, a small smile touching his lips. Were you imagining things, or was your heart starting to beat just a little faster?

“My name’s Arthur.” He thumps the rim of his hat against his broad chest and then tips it towards you. “And you, Miss?”

You opened your mouth, but no words left your lips. The sound was as if you were fogging up a glass windowpane.

“You… can’t speak?”

You shake your head. You lift yourself onto your elbows to hold onto the ledge.

“Well, here.” He turns to reach inside his satchel to grab something. “I got a pen and some paper. You can write it—”

Your arm springs forward to stop him, your fingers enclosing around his wrist. His eyes widen as he freezes in his tracks but lets you guide his hand closer to you. You look at him intently and motion with your eyes to your joined hands, entreating him to follow along. Arthur begins to get the message as he angles his torso towards his palm as you hold it up for the both of you.

You begin to draw into his palm, the residual water from your fingers leaving behind a trail of letters. Your index finger slowly drops off at the edge of his palm at the last letter, and you turn your head back to look at Arthur.

“Is that your name?” Despite the water-etched letters already disappearing, he keeps his eyes on you with rapt attention.

This time a small smile graces your own lips, and you nod, pleased at his understanding.

“You know, I’m with a group. Our camp’s just a couple miles down that way.” Arthur cocks his head inland, a place impossible for you to set foot without any feet to walk on. “I asked them if they knew anything about mermaids.” He shakes his head and chuckles at the memory. “I damn well could’ve grown a second head the way they laughed at me.”

You listened to him intently despite being clueless to what he was talking about. For some reason, you could listen to his voice for hours. But your meeting was cut short at the sound of hooves rapidly approaching.

“Oh, that must be them.” Arthur glances over his shoulder. “Wait! You’re leavin’?” His brows furrowed in dismay as you were about to dive off into the water.

You conveyed your concern with your eyes as you looked between Arthur and the trees. While you exposed yourself to a human, he was the only exception. You didn’t want your existence to be known by others with less than good intentions.

“I understand. Look, I won’t keep you.” He places his hand down on the space of the wooden dock right in front of you. “I’ll see you again though, right?”

You hesitate with your reply, but you couldn’t lie to yourself. You did want to see him again.

“I’ll be here tomorrow, same time. Promise me you’ll come back?” His eyes pleaded with you, and you knew it would hurt you to say no to him.

You quickly nodded your head. You didn’t wait for his response once you saw horses and their riders beginning to break through the trees, kicking your tail to propel yourself under the water’s surface.

—————

You met him every day after that. While there was a communication barrier between the two of you, you both made do with your hand gestures and his guiding questions. Once, he asked you where you came from, and you realized that pointing in the general direction left much information to be desired.

Arthur brought with him a map the next time to show you. He unfurled the parchment, and you placed your finger on the Lannahechee River before following the river’s path until you reached Flat Iron Lake.

“Why did you leave?” He asked.

Your eyes turned solemn, your fingertips brushed against the city that was Saint Denis, its bustling industrialization tainting the waters and forcing you to leave your home.

And he continued to bring many things to show you, as well as your own treasures, despite little in quantity they may be. A lone mermaid such as yourself in these waters couldn’t afford to have many worldly possessions. This was why you were so determined to retrieve your comb at the risk of being discovered.

Arthur even one time brought his horse to introduce to you. You were stunned at seeing one for the first time, and you hesitated at first to approach it as Arthur led the horse to the shoreline where you were waiting.

“She doesn’t bite. Well, she does but only if you cause her grief.”

You looked between him and the foreign creature in awe, a thrilled smile forming on your lips. It comes closer to you as it bows its head, but you couldn’t help pulling away in surprise.

“She wants you to rub her head. Go on.” Arthur keeps a hold on the lead as he beckons you forward, bending down at the waist with his palm facing upwards.

You allow Arthur to guide your hand to the horse’s muzzle and feel its breath puff against your forearm. Your hand delicately moves back and forth against the creature’s coat, fascinated by the foreign sensation against your palm. The horse bobs its head to encourage your pets, and you let out a breathless laugh.

Arthur gives you an approving smile as he pats his loyal steed’s neck. “I reckon she likes you.” While your attention is trained on the horse, his eyes are transfixed by the image of you full of wonder and amazement. He’d brand the scene in his mind if he could. But the closest he could get was sketching in his journal. The next time he’d see you, maybe he’ll build up the courage to show you how he sees you in his eyes.

—————

You absentmindedly traced the cracks of the dock’s wooden post, occasionally peaking over the planks hoping to see a familiar figure. By now, Arthur would hitch his horse and make his way towards the shore, his face brightening at catching sight of you.

A couple days passed by, and you weren’t too concerned. But then those days turned into weeks. The worry transformed into fear at the possibilities. Has he grown tired of you already? Or even worse, he told your secret to his group? Even with all of the negative thoughts swirling in your mind, they all converged to one point. You missed him. You wanted to see him, just as much as when he begged to see you again all those meetings ago.

Just as you were about to dive back into the water’s depths, your ears perked at the familiar sound of hooves galloping in your direction. Caution was thrown out the window as you lifted yourself up on the wooden dock in full view to hopefully catch sight of the person you wanted to see most.

You were elated to find that it was Arthur. But his usual friendly demeanor was replaced by a grave expression on his face. He hitches his horse nearby and makes his way towards you in the water.

He kneels down at the dock. “You should’ve checked that it was me before you showed yourself.” Arthur admonishes you but not unkindly.

Your tail flicked restlessly in the water as you looked up at him and drank in his features. You cocked your head to the side, curious as to why he hadn’t paid you a visit in so long.

Arthur looks over his shoulder to double check his surroundings. “I’m sorry I haven’t come in a while. Our group’s been put through the wringer, and we lost one of our own, a kid. We also got enemies on our trail, so we had to leave the area.” His explanation comes tumbling out, and you did your best to listen and make sense of it.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back again.” Upon seeing your crestfallen face, Arthur is quick to reassure you. “But I swear I’ll come find you again. I just need to take care of some things on my side.”

You nodded hesitantly, not sure of the implications of his situation, but there was nothing else that you could do.

“Our camp’s moving towards the swamps, closer to St. Denis. Place called Shady Belle. It’s near where you used to live.”

Arthur looks back again, a more urgent tone rising in his voice. “I have to go.” Just as he was about to stand, you reached out to grasp his arm, a silent cry coming out of your mouth to stop him momentarily.

His eyes widened in surprise to be stopped in his tracks. You entreated him to give you his hand, and you placed the same jeweled comb that allowed the two of you to meet into his palm.

“No I… I can’t take this.”

You shake your head and urge him forward by closing his fingers over the comb.

Arthur hesitates at first, but then he turns to stow away your treasure in his satchel. “I’ll keep it safe. You know, it’s like I have a little piece of you I can carry around.”

A warm flush envelopes your face at the idea, and you nod in agreement.

“I’ll see you soon.”

—————

You didn’t wait for him to come. Instead, you went to him. If the alligators didn’t eat you, that is.

The swamp waters were harder to navigate, with all of its algae and murkiness. You were careful to avoid any vegetation that would catch onto your tail fin.

Eventually, your head peeked out of the water, and you saw the outline of a worn down, two story mansion, with a camp set up along the front porch. You kept your distance though, remembering that Arthur was with not just one but multiple humans.

You swam along the outskirts of the swamp until you reached the backside of the mansion, finding purchase on a wooden dock similar to the one at home.

Meanwhile, as Arthur was upstairs in the dilapidated mansion, his eyes caught the glint of familiar iridescent scales flitting through the swamp water. He could recognize them anywhere. He rushes down the stairs as quickly as possible without drawing suspicion from the gang, occasionally looking over his shoulder.

He kneels down at the dock and urgently whispers your name. At the sound of his voice, you emerge from underneath the water, a bright smile on your face that Arthur swears makes his heart ache.

“The hell you doing here for?” He’s all astonishment.

Out of all of the times, you wished you could speak now, form the words you wanted to say to Arthur. Express how you feel. How you missed him so desperately that you sought him out yourself. But the only thing you could do was reach for him.

Arthur catches your hand without hesitation. Your breath hitches at him pressing your palm to his cheek, not caring about the water touching the scruff of his beard.

“What if someone saw you?” His brows furrowed in worry. “The water here’s not safe, you know. It’s teeming with alligators.”

He notices the bits of algae caught in your hair. “Look at you.” His fingers move to pick them out of your locks. “You’re too pretty for a swamp.”

You close your eyes, and Arthur takes this chance to dust his knuckles over your cheek. A shiver runs down your spine and all the way to your tail at the intimate touch.

“You should’ve waited. I would’ve gone to you.” His voice is soft.

You open your eyes at that and shake your head, your expression forming into a sulk.

“I… I have to tell you something.” He’s hesitant, a little fearful even.

You cock your head to the side in curiosity.

“The way you look at me�� the way you make me feel. It almost makes me think I’m a good man.” He smiles bitterly.

You shook your head fervently. Why wouldn’t he be anything else but good?

“No, I’ve done bad things, horrible things. All for the sake of… well now I don’t know anymore.” Arthur’s eyes are distant as his gaze is trained on the ripples caused by your tail undulating in the water.

You sensed that you were losing him. You reach up and clasp his face in your hands, trying to ground him back to this moment. He’s startled at first, but then his eyelids lower as your fingers smooth out the lines in his forehead, tracing his eyebrows. Your thumb gently rubs back and forth across his cheek.

“You make me want to be better.” His voice is a low murmur. He lowers his head towards the water, towards you, as his lips press against your forehead. Your heat picks up pace in your chest, a rosy pink staining your cheeks. He stares at your lips in longing, and you didn’t realize how you unconsciously raised yourself out of the water to meet your lips with his.

The two of you were just a hair away from a kiss before noises erupt from the camp, and the two of you whip your heads towards the source. You heard Arthur curse under his breath.

“They’re back.” Arthur returns his attention to you, but his eyes are now frantic. “I can’t have Dutch see you. You gotta get out of here.”

You didn’t know who this Dutch was, but based on Arthur’s tone, he was a person that was a danger to your existence. You nodded resolutely.

“Go, now!”

You give him one final look before you dove under the surface of the swamp.

—————

You didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye. There was no guarantee you would see him again. And like how Arthur said, the swamp was a danger to you. You could’ve been an alligator’s next meal.

Just as you thought the water was getting clearer as you swam, you didn’t realize the dark shadow that was descending on you, a fishing net to be exact.

An underwater gurgle escapes your throat as the net latches around you. You darted back and forth, clawing at the netting to try to escape its clutches, but it was no use as you were being lifted out of the water.

You weren’t able to fully process the sensation of completely being a fish out of water as the net dumped you on the floor of an massive, industrial-looking fishing boat.

There were shouts and exclamations from a group of humans at witnessing what they just caught. Other crew members rushed over to see the commotion.

“What the hell?!”

You were breathing fast, hyperventilating even as you thrashed about, your tail fin lodged in the net’s openings.

You felt helpless as these foreign humans crowded around you to catch a glimpse of the once thought mythical creature.

“Captain, what do we do with it?” One human speaks up, his eyes practically bugging out of his eyes at the sight of you.

The leader of this fishing boat was also left speechless. But he eventually collects himself.

“What we always do with a catch. Sell it.”

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #reader #x reader #angst #romance #fluff #reader self insert #arthur morgan x reader

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lilacs-stars · 9 months ago

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a night to remember

this is part 2, recommended you read part 1 first! (to avoid confusion) pairing: james hook x fem!reader (requested) (note: reader is glinda the good witch's daughter) SUMMARY: one day, you find a mysterious note in your locker from a certain pirate. who knows where it'll end up taking you—and your interesting relationship with him. GENRE: very wholesome despite the intro (I swear), fluff, some teasing and banter, reader being oblivious, mutual pining, just relationship cuteness overall CW: not much, mentions getting tipsy (not from alcohol), one little dirty joke if you squint hard enough WC: 7.5k

A/N: the title was inspired by the song of the same name by beabadoobee and laufey (I recommend listening to it while reading, as it sets the mood nicely!) james hook is literally so gentleman coded you can’t convince me otherwise. also I randomly thought of male characters using "m'lady" and now I'm obsessed...this was made to be pure, feet-kicking and giggling inducing fluff, so enjoy! thanks again to the anon who requested this, hope you like it! please leave feedback and suggestions, hearing your thoughts makes me so happy! :))

You stare down at the drink in your hand, the realization of what it is slowly dawning upon you.

Mouth agape in pure disbelief, you glance up at the man sitting in front of you. The devilish glint in his eyes, rivaled only by the shine of his metal hook, sends chills down your spine—making it terribly clear why he brought you.

Oh god, you think. How in the world did I get here?

You make your way through the bustling halls of Merlin Academy, trying your best to not get jostled by the ruckus of the crowd.

Honestly, who puts people’s classes on the sixth floor and their lockers on the first? you mentally grumble, finally reaching the dreaded staircase that you climb up and down dozens of times each day.

After descending the five flights of stairs, you’re completely out of breath by the time you reach your locker. You tap the lock with your pointer finger three times, a magical device inside reading your fingerprint. It clicks open, and your locker door swings out towards you.

Reaching to place your books inside and take out some new ones for the rest of the day's classes, you’re shocked by something that slips out as soon as the door opens. A white piece of paper sways back and forth as it falls to the floor, right next to your feet.

You bend down to pick it up. Upon closer inspection, you learn that it’s not a piece of paper; it’s a small packet, stapled in the corner. At the top, in neat, printed letters, are the words “ENCHANTMENT OF MAGICAL OBJECTS: UNIT 3 WRITTEN TEST.”

Below it, a line is provided for the student's name. Scribbled down in a fancy, yet somehow still messy and barely legible font, is the name “James Hook.”

He left me his test? you question. You don’t even bother wondering how he broke into your locker; after that little incident where he stole your ring, you have resigned yourself to not being surprised at his so-called “bad boy” antics. He is a villain, after all.

This test was one that your class had been preparing for quite some time. It mainly centered the theory of enchantments, with the most difficult one being the Aiming Spell. Thankfully, you had taught Hook most of the material during your study session last week, specifically focusing on helping him improve his Aiming Spell (although maybe he got a little too good, considering how he pulled off that ring trick).

Your confusion regarding the test placed in your locker lasts only a second longer, until you notice that in the top right corner, a big, circled "87%" is written in bright red pen.

The number stays for a brief moment, before the red ink rearranges itself on the page, morphing into a “B+”.

Wait…that’s really good. For him, at least, you think. Is this really all because of your one tutoring session? You have always thought that you’re pretty good at teaching other people, but you never considered yourself a miracle worker. He must think it is because of me, I guess. Otherwise, he wouldn't have left this in here.

Even though you know you’re probably not supposed to, your curiosity gets the better of you, and you flip back the front cover to check what he got wrong.

As soon as you lift the top page, another piece of paper falls out of the test. This time, it’s smaller, a faint beige color tinting the sheet.

You reach down once again to pick it up as you notice that this one is actually an envelope. Glancing at the back, which appears to be empty, you flip it over to the front side. It bears a wax seal embossed with an emblem of two crossed pirate swords.

Carefully peeling back the top of the envelope so as to not rip the delicate paper, you pull out the note inside. There isn’t much writing on the plain paper, but it’s in the same handwriting as before. Very intrigued at this unusual occurrence of events, you read the few lines of text keenly.

“Friday, 6 pm. The Rogers Place.

Make sure to wear your fanciest dress.

Meet me there. I’ll be waiting.”

...What? You’re too stunned to even think. What is this? There’s no way he’s actually asking you out…on a date.

This has to be a joke, right? A study session was one thing, but this, this, meetup, is something entirely different. He even asked to meet you outside of school. You've heard before of the restaurant he mentioned, although you've never actually gone there yourself. Based on what you've gathered, it's a popular, rather formal place run by Eudora Rogers and her young daughter, Tiana, in memory of her beloved husband.

So why in the name of the heavens would James Hook ask you, someone who has no dating experience whatsoever, of all people, to go with him to dinner? “Wear your fanciest dress”? What is this guy thinking?

In utter disbelief, you flip over the note, checking the back to make sure you haven’t missed something. To your surprise, there is some writing scrawled on the back, which reads: “Your payment for helping me pass my test.”

Right…so…he’s asking you out on a—no, it’s not a date, you remind yourself, yet again. He’s simply doing a nice act to return the favor. This was probably the only thing that came to his mind. Silencing the little voice in your head that whispers, “Why would the first thing that came to his mind be asking you out to dinner?”, you stuff the envelope and note in your bookbag, holding on to the test to give back to him sometime.

As you walk down the hallway, rushing to get to your next class, you don’t see the figure lurking behind the corner at the other end of the corridor.

He smirks, knowing he has you right where he wants you.

This one? No, it’s too casual.

How about this one? No, it’s not fancy enough.

This? Too sparkly.

That? Not sparkly enough.

You sigh, flopping onto your bed amidst a pile of dresses. It’s a few hours after school let out, on the day you’ve been anticipating all week long. And, not surprisingly, you can’t decide what in the world to wear. After all, it’s not like you’ve been out on lots of not-dates to know what a typical outfit would be like.

You stare up at the ceiling, sighing again for what must be the hundredth time this night. At times like this, you seriously wish you had a roommate. You've always had your dorm all to yourself, and sure, it is really nice most of the time. You can relax and unwind in solitude, with no one distracting you or pestering you with trivial matters while you study. However, there are the rare few occasions where you long to have someone close, to help you out or give you advice.

After holding up quite a few more dresses in the mirror, you finally decide on the one with the fewest number of cons, from the mental list you made for each dress. Slipping it on—albeit with much difficulty, since who designed dresses to be so frilly to the point where you can't even find where to put your head?—you stare at your reflection, completely enamored by the person you see staring back at you. You’re not really used to wearing fancy things like this, which is probably the reason why you barely recognize yourself.

Twirling around, head over your shoulder as you keep your gaze locked on the mirror, you realize why people have always told you that you have a striking resemblance to your mother. Your outfit consists of a ballgown-style dress, which really is the only type you have in your closet. Even though it’s a bit uncomfortable, the fitted bodice making it rather hard to take a full breath and the off-the-shoulder neckline compelling you to constantly tug it up to prevent it from slipping, it still is absolutely gorgeous. The short sleeves complement the torso, and the full skirt, all puffed up with layers of tulle, swishes elegantly as you move around. The bodice is densely embellished with small rhinestones, mostly at the top, with the gems growing sparser farther down the dress. A few crystals are set into the skirt just below the waistline, creating a scattered, shimmering effect reminiscent of the stars in a night sky.

Even though you aren’t a fan of fancy dresses, you must admit, you absolutely adore this one.

Finishing off the look with some jewelry and accessories, you take one last look at yourself in the mirror. You've never been one to be arrogant, but it's still hard not to think that even though this is certainly not a date, maybe, just maybe, Hook might be a little more interested in you after tonight.

“Um…hi?” you say, timid voice rising into a question from your uncertainty.

After getting dressed, you made your way to the restaurant. Fighting the deep-rooted urge to get there early as possible, you took the long route, not wanting to be the first to arrive. I’ll make him wait for me this time, you decided with an evil little smirk, thinking back to the day of your study session and the long minutes you had agonizingly spent wondering if he was going to show up.

Now, you stand in front of the reception desk, peering up at a waiter ordering papers. Fiddling with the lace gloves covering your hands, you add, “I don’t know if my name is ion the reservation or anything…”

Honestly, you’re not quite sure what to do at this point. All Hook had instructed you was to show up at the restaurant at this time. Part of you had expected him to be waiting by the door, but now that you see he isn't, your nervousness rises.

“Are you Y/N?” the server questions, glancing down at something on the small podium-like stand.

“Uh, yes, I am,” you reply.

“A young man has made a reservation for the two of you. He’s already waiting for you out on the patio. If you’ll follow me,” the waiter informs you, grabbing a menu from his stack and leading you through the bustling restaurant.

You follow him, feeling incredibly bashful as you swerve around tables and people alike. You finally reach a large set of doors in one of the seating areas, which the waiter opens for you.

Stepping through the threshold, you sense the cool rush of the evening air welcome you out. The sky has already begun to dim, a few faint stars gleaming against the dark backdrop. Spread out in front of you is an array of tables, most of them small enough for only two people. The low lighting, coming solely from flickering candles and glowing lanterns strung throughout the area, paired with the singular rose set in a vase at the center each table and a faint, slow jazz song playing somewhere in the background, makes for the most romantic of settings you could have possibly imagined.

Your breath is completely taken away as the server leads you through the arrangements of seats. It’s sparsely crowded, with only a few couples seated here and there, each enjoying an amorous dinner.

The server stops at a circular, two-seated table close to the edge, overlooking a magnificent view of the city down below. A few feet in front ahead and sitting with his back towards you, the only object of your thoughts for these past few hours turns his head in your direction, probably upon hearing the clacking of your high-heeled shoes.

Although you’ve tried your best to convince yourself that this, in fact, is not a date, you simply can’t deny the way his entire expression light up at the mere sight of you. Hook stands up, unabashedly eyeing you up and down slowly, taking all of you in.

A small smile tugs at his lips as he takes your hand in his, once again bowing down to place a kiss on your ring—it appears that this has become a routine, which you can't exactly say you mind.

You don't miss how he pauses for just a moment, noticing the way your ring is still on your ring finger, unchanged from the place he left it. Holding your breath, your heart beats faster as you worry about what he thinks of it. To your relief, he doesn’t say anything, instead kissing the gemstone and straightening back up again, but not before ever so softly—yet still with obvious intentionality—brushing his lips against your finger, deliberately tracing your skin with an agonizingly slow pace as his warm breath sets your every nerve on fire.

“M’lady,” he breathes, standing to meet your gaze. His casual nonchalance is a stark difference from the way you struggle to regain your composure, hating how even the smallest of actions from him can elicit such a reaction from you.

As you study him, you notice that he had a significant wardrobe change too; instead of his usual pirate attire, he dons a dark maroon frock coat, embroidered with intricate swirls and designs. He definitely made an attempt at looking a bit more classy, with his hair neater than usual and the collar of his shirt tidily done. You could even swear that his hook looked more polished than usual, and that he carried the faint, odd trace of expensive cologne.

The server leaves the menu on your table and walks away with a polite nod of his head. Hook steps over to the chair opposite the one he had been sitting in, pulling it out for you in a manner that is far too gentlemanly for what you're used to seeing from him, gesturing at you to sit down with a wave of his shiny metal hook.

Overwhelmingly flattered, you walk over, smoothing your skirt beneath you as you take your seat. Hook pushes your chair in, before going back to the other side of the table to take his own seat.

Not sure what else to do, you pick up your menu and glance over it. “Decide what you’re going to order yet?” Hook asks you.

“No, you?”

“They already took my order, but I told them to wait on preparing my food until you had ordered as well.”

They already took his order? How long has he been here? you wonder. You glance at your wristwatch, seeing that it’s only a few minutes past six o’clock. Deciding to shrug it off, you go back to looking at your menu, despite not being able to fight the voice in your head that whispers about how you should've gotten here earlier, that he had probably been waiting for you, all alone, for quite some time.

“It’s so hard to decide,” you say with a halfhearted laugh, trying to fill up the heavy silence. You peruse the menu more carefully this time, marveling at how many different dishes are listed. Finally, after reading through the entire thing a few more times, you settle on the one that sounds the best.

After only a few moments, the server comes back around and takes your order. “A fine choice, ma’am,” he comments as you tell him your choice of entrée. You notice that all of the waiters here wear fancy black suits and come with a pristine white cloth draped over their arm. Huh, how fancy, you think to yourself. I never knew this place was so formal.

“So, Hook,” you begin, “Why did you bring me here?”

“Didn’t you read my note? It’s a thank-you for helping me pass my test. The teacher was very impressed with my score, you know,” he responds indifferently.

You give him a small sigh, paired with a gentle smile—your attempt at hiding the twinge of disappointment dancing in your eyes. “I did, but you didn’t have to treat me to dinner. A simple note would have sufficed.”

Hook looks at you, dark brown eyes wide and holding your gaze with an intensity you’ve never known. “Sufficed? I don’t want to just suffice. I want to give you a memorable night. An unforgettable experience.” “I don’t think I could ever forget a charming pirate with a hook for a hand,” you laugh, teasing him lightly. Instead of laughing along with you, Hook stares at you for another moment, studying you with slightly scrunched brows and an indecipherable expression on his face. You grow uneasy at his burning look, shifting in your seat as you wonder why he’s watching you so intently.

However, the tense awkwardness in the air lasts for only a minute, before Hook breaks into one of his famous smirks as he replies, “Oh, charming, am I? I know you can’t stop thinking about me, love.”

“Th-that’s not what I meant!” you cry, leaning across the table to give him a small push. He breaks into a laugh, his lips curling up into yet another genuine smile as he leans back just out of your reach. His mirthful expression makes you realize that he had been simply joking, causing your face to burn up as your mind replays your rather dramatic reaction. Honestly, you can never really tell whether he’s being serious or just messing with you.

“Settle down, love. Wouldn’t want you ruining that pretty dress of yours,” he responds, twisting to the side again to prevent getting smacked by you.

You two continue making small talk, still partaking in your teasing, only slightly annoying banter. Before you know it, a waiter is walking towards your table with two platters, one in each hand.

The server sets down the plates on your table, the dishes both looking absolutely delectable. Along with the food, he places two matching beverages in front of you two.

You thank him, and he bows again before leaving. Turning back to Hook, you watch with a slight arch of your eyebrows as he raises his drink in the air.

“A toast,” he says. “To continuing our little dates.”

You roll your eyes, not bothering to correct him this time. Lifting your own glass, you add, “And to you continuing to get good grades.” He smiles at this, before lifting the drink to his lips. Perceptive as always, you notice how his eyes follow your hand as you bring the glass to your mouth.

A sudden, fleeting doubt crosses your mind at his suspicious behavior. Glancing down at the drink skeptically, you notice its unique bright red color. You lower +it slightly and sniff it, then bring it down from your face, fixing a glare at Hook. “You think I don’t know what this is?”

“Oh, I know you do. That’s what I was counting on, at least.”

You persist with your glare. You've spent many hours reading up on different potions and elixirs, so you're no stranger to the drink in your hand. It's a popular one known as the Lovers' Lascivious Lure, a beverage with a fruit punch-like taste, plus a little kick. The real reason for its fame, however, is the touch of love potion that gets mixed in. Not enough to truly make someone fall in love with you or intoxicate them, but rather something that is favored by couples looking to get a little tipsy in love on their night out.

You set the glass down on the table, not breaking your gaze away for a second as you continue to glower at the person sitting across you.

“It’s rude to not drink after a toast, darling,” Hook says, raising his eyebrows at you.

“I don’t care, I’m not drinking that,” you reply irritatedly.

“Fine. Your loss, love.”

You watch in complete shock, eyes blown wide and mouth agape as Hook brings his drink up to his lips again, tipping back his head as he gulps the entire thing down in one go.

“I’d drink yours as well, darling, but I’d hate for you to be forced to walk me home, instead of the other way around,” Hook spouts with a bit too much added expression, slightly swaying as the effects of the potion kick in.

You continue to stare at him, concern etched into your features, knowing full well that this drink is designed to be sipped slowly throughout a leisurely dinner, one with much idle conversation and flirtatious looks. Not to be downed all at once. You honestly don’t know what the side effects are to consuming a large amount very quickly, but you pray that the potion is weak enough so as to not cause actual harm—or any other effects—to him.

“So, love,” Hook drawls in a low tone, leaning in. “Anything you feel like telling me?”

“You’re the one who drank the liquid courage, not me,” you point out, fixing him with another look. “Honestly, I’m not sure how much longer you’re going to last like this.”

At your words, Hook’s dazed expression suddenly disappears, instead replaced by a very serious, stern face. “Oh, I assure you, love, I can last very long.”

You blink, a tad confused at why he said that with such a strong conviction. Brushing it off, you look down at your food again, your mouth already watering. “Come on, our food’s going to get cold, and it looks far too delicious to waste.”

Hook agrees, unrolling his utensils instead of shooting back a one-liner, much to your surprise. You’re even more taken aback at the way he drapes the white cloth, which previously held his cutlery, over his legs as he begins to eat, keeping up with his very proper etiquette. He does everything with utterly perfect decorum, from holding his fork and knife in the correct positions to cutting all his food into little pieces. You honestly don't know why this comes as such a shock to you; he has been employing rather polite manners all evening, after all. It appears, you realize, that you’ve always subconsciously believed the stereotypes that pirates are unruly creatures, which therefore must mean they eat messily.

Apparently, this pirate doesn’t.

You both make small talk as you enjoy your food, which is every bit as delicious and succulent as it looked. All the different components are cooked to a perfect degree; not raw or difficult to chew, but not burnt, either. Rich, deep, aromatic spices have always been the staple of this restaurant, and for good reason. You have no clue what flavorings they used, but whatever they are, they taste unlike anything you've ever eaten in your entire life, like an otherworldly meal sent from the heavens. To top it all off, the food also comes with piquant side dishes, followed by desserts that are absolutely decadent and make you melt with every bite you take.

After you both have had your share, Hook motions to the waiter for the check. You had slipped some extra cash into your handbag before coming, not sure what the expectation would be for who paid. As the waiter returns with the small black book in his hand, you turn to Hook.

“I can pay, if you want,” you offer.

Hook quirks his brow as he gives you a look, before reaching into his coat pocket. “Come now, don’t be ridiculous, love. What kind of a man would I be if I didn’t pay for you? Especially considering that I was the one who asked you out.”

You blink hard, barely aware of your small nod towards him, your mind racing as the waiter gives Hook the check. You blankly watch him scribble a signature before handing it back, trying to process what he just said. “...asked you out…” Does that mean he actually considers this as a date? Especially since he offered to pay for you…Heavens, what is going on?

Your eyes trail the waiter as he leaves, just as Hook turns back to you. “All finished?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “So…what now?” You aren't quite sure whether or not he's planning on walking you home like he mentioned earlier, but you do know that you're not ready to part quite so soon. Averting his gaze, you instead choose to look down at the candle flickering in the middle of your table. It is now very dark outside, to the point where the flame’s meager light shines with a bright luminosity. Entranced by the fire, you stare intently at its dancing movements, attention fully consumed by how the flame appears to be practically alive.

“Now,” Hook says with a glint in his eyes, causing your head to snap back up, “I have something to show you.”

“Something to show me?” you repeat. “Show me what?”

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see once we get there, love.”

“Once we get there? Hook, where are we going?”

He gives a smug, knowing grin. “You’ll see. Just be patient, darling.” He notices the skeptical look you still have, so he adds, “Trusting me last time turned out good, right? So trust me one more time. I promise you’ll like your surprise.”

You consider his words, hating how he had a point. “Fine,” you huff. “Lead the way, I guess.”

You start to push your chair back to get up, but Hook chides, “Ah ah ah, no you don’t,” standing up himself before walking behind you. He grips the back of your chair and pulls it out for you, before offering his good hand to help you stand too.

Once again, you’re rather shocked at his well-mannered behaviors and courteous gestures. As you accept his outstretched arm, you wonder how in the world this is the same person who was, only a few days ago, leaning back in his chair with his feet up, flinging magical disks across the room.

Getting up, you hesitate for a moment, freezing in place now that you’re level with his eyes. You haven’t been this close to him since that pivotal day during your study session, and your breath gets taken away once again by the proximity.

His angular features and sharp jawline catch your attention, causing your legs to stagger as your gaze wanders down to his soft, plush lips, which definitely stand out amidst the rest of his chiseled face. You had never noticed how his eyeliner also traces his bottom lash line, making his eyes pop whenever he widens them, or how part of his hair swoops to the side and slightly covers his forehead. It dawns on you that you’ve always overlooked the two small silver earrings that dangle from his ears, or the chain around his neck with a cross on it, usually hidden by the collar of his shirt.

Not aware of how you’re just standing there paralyzed, you commit to memory the small details about him you’ve never really seen before. Even though the inside of your head is alive and bustling with a plethora of thoughts, outside, you two stand in terribly awkward silence.

Hook clears his throat, snapping you back to reality. “Come along, darling. We wouldn’t want to be interrupted by curfew again.”

Tightening his grip on your hand, which still holds yours, he leads you through the entrance you had used not so long ago while bidding farewell to the waiter. You continue up the hill to the woods behind the restaurant, Hook refusing to give even a single hint as to what big surprise awaits you.

The trail through the trees starts off easy enough, although still rather difficult for you to traverse in your tight dress and voluminous skirt. If I had known I’d be taking a hike, I’d have worn something more suitable, and much more comfortable, you think, but ultimately decide to keep your mouth shut. After all, Hook had been spoiling you all evening. The least you could do was not nag him about every last thing.

The farther you go, the thicker the branches that block your path and scratch at your arms with their sharp claws get, and the denser the underbrush that tries to trap your feet and swallow you whole grows. After a quarter hour of consistent walking, the trail all but disappears, until only a small path carved by the footsteps of a few brave souls remains. You have to hold up the edge of your full-length skirt the whole way to ensure it doesn’t get all dirty and muddy; by the time you’re nearly done, your arms ache just as much, if not more, than your legs.

You and Hook travel mostly in silence, the sounds of your heavy panting and the crunches of leaves and branches underfoot filling up the empty air. You trail behind him, sometimes struggling to keep up, although he does happen to notice this and slows down his pace after the first few minutes.

Occasionally, Hook gives a short, crisp, “Watch out for the rock there, love,” or “The branches here are really low, I’ll hold them up for you.” You always respond with a clipped “Yeah,” or “Okay, thanks,” trying to mask just how out of breath you've gotten from the difficult climb. Early on in the beginning of the hike, you had to let go of his hand, favoring holding up your skirt instead. Still, in areas where the ground is rough or rocky, or the footing becomes difficult or rather steep, Hook always turns around and offers his hand to you and helps pull you up, or reaches out his hook from overhead for you to grab on to.

The noises of the night accompany you the entire time: the soft chirps of crickets, a few croaks from a frog somewhere out of sight, a creature or other scampering through the bushes, a rare call from an owl, and the whispering of the leaves above as a cool breeze passes through them. After a few more minutes of walking through a maze of nature with trees so thick—their only rival being the velvety blackness of the night—the pace of the trek finally slows down. You've long tired of always having to hold one arm ahead to ensure that you don’t get smacked in the face by an unsuspecting branch, so you're overwhelmingly relieved when Hook finally says, “We’re almost there.” “Finally,” you mumble between breaths. “I think my limbs are just about to fall off.” You can’t really tell in the pitch-black darkness, but you could have sworn that Hook gave a small smile at your words.

Once you reach a thick tangle of branches and vines that completely block your path, you both come to a stop. You watch as he pulls them back and to the side, even slicing through some with his hook. He beckons you forward with a courteous, “Ladies first,” a grin dancing on his features.

You walk through the clearing and onto a wide ledge overlooking the entire city. The view knocks the breath out of your lungs, despite your body already screaming at you for more oxygen. All thoughts of your strenuous hike vanish from your head, except for one that reminds you the arduous journey was absolutely and totally worth it.

From all the way up here, you can see the entire land. The shimmering lights of the large cityscape below you steal your heart, while the small village houses and mountains beyond them, creating the faintest of outlines against the horizon, capture your soul. This vantage point allows you to see everything; every bustling street filled with people rushing to get home after a long week, or frolicking around on a night out. Every house, every drawn-back curtain, but a mere speck in the constellation of human activity, a testament to the splendor of life. Twinkling lights sprawled below you paint a shimmering mosaic, reflecting the celestial canvas of stars hanging above you.

You stare in pure awe, almost forgetting about Hook as he approaches you from behind. “Enjoying the view, love?” he whispers softly, his voice closer to you than you expected.

You startle, turning backwards with a sharp inhale. “Oh…yeah, it’s just…breathtaking.” Unable to think of the right words to describe it, you decide to settle for an almost shameful understatement of the view's beauty.

You’re not quite sure if you imagined it, too caught up in your head, but you hear something that almost sounds like a soft, “Just like you.”

“Huh?” you ask, turning back around to face him.

“I said, I told you you’d like it,” Hook repeats, although you still hold your suspicions. “All you had to do was trust me.”

“And how can I be sure you aren’t planning to push me off the edge?” you question, teasing him.

“Well, you can’t,” he replies, walking over to the ledge. “But if I do, I’ll let you drag me down with you. If we go down, then we go down together.”

You giggle, choosing to take his words at face value only and not read into them too much. After all, your heart can only take so much in one night.

Hook crouches down, using his good hand to support him as he sits down in front of you, keeping one foot hugged to his chest as he dangles the other off the side of the cliff.

He glances over his shoulder at you, patting the space besides him. Cautiously, you walk over to the ledge, joining him on the ground.

You both sit there for a moment in silence, looking over the magnificent scene. You can tell that Hook finds comfort in the lack of conversation, but it feels too heavy for you, and so you decide to finally break it with the question that’s been on your mind this whole night.

“Hook?” you ask gently.

“Hmm?”

“Why did you bring me here?”

He turns his head slightly to glance at you. “I thought you’d like the view,” he replies, looking at you with a confused expression.

You take a quick breath, preparing yourself for the difficult words you’re planning to speak next. “No, I mean, why did you really bring me here tonight?” He opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off, adding, “And don’t lie to me.”

His mouth closes shut again and he hesitates for a moment, contemplating his next sentence carefully, before responding, “I’ve already told you.”

“What, that you wanted to thank me for helping you get a B-plus on your test? Yeah, that excuse won’t work on me anymore.”

“No, not that.” He turns his head back and runs his good hand through his hair, making his neatly combed style look a bit more windswept than before. “I wanted to ask you out on a date.”

“…What?”

“I already told you that it was a date, love. You just chose not to believe me.”

It’s your turn to whip your head to the side this time, now facing directly towards Hook, who’s still looking straight ahead at the scenery.

“I-I didn’t…truly…I thought you were just joking when you said that.”

He glances at you again, a roguish grin forming on his lips. “Oh, darling, I don’t joke about much. Especially not with you.”

Again, you choose not to read too deeply into his words, trying to break your awful habit of overthinking. Instead, you press on, wanting to gain as much information as you can from him. If nothing else, at least a few answers might help put your mind at a little more ease. “Why’d you want to ask me out? I’m not exactly…”

Your voice fades away as your brain catches up with your far-too-fast mouth, realizing that saying “I’m not exactly the most desirable person to date” may not do you any favors.

Hook turns to look at you with an expectant gaze, and you know that you can’t sweep your little slip-up under the carpet that easily. Gods, he’s observant. “…the most popular person at our school,” you finish.

“Hmm, true,” Hook concurs, tilting his head with a tone as if he’s never considered that point before. You were half-expecting him to disagree, more out of courtesy than honesty, so you’re a bit taken aback when he agrees with you.

“But I don’t care about popularity.” Ah, so there’s that socially obligatory politeness. You don't really believe his words at first, yet the way he says it so sincerely, so genuinely, makes you wonder if he truly is being honest.

“So why’d you want to take me out on a date?”

“Because, love, you’re different from what I’m used to,” he replies. “You’re kind, soft, pure. You intrigued me.”

You recoil at his words, a deep, writhing anger rising out of you. “What, you only went out with me because I’m so pure and innocent? So you could corrupt me?” you spit, having heard this little skit far too many times before.

“No, not like that. Not at all.” Hook twists his body to face you more, and although you’re still mad at him, you can’t deny the hurt and pain that swirls in his voice and eyes at your accusations. “You’re…you’re always trying to help others. You always speak softly, always smile. You’re untainted by the evils I've witnessed. You’re like an angel sent down from the heavens. You’re not like me, love."

Hook continues, “And I don’t want to change that. I don’t want to corrupt or hurt you. I want to preserve that. Every time I’m with you, you make me want to keep you safe from the troubles of the world, the cruel things I’ve seen.

"You make me want to be around you. I can't explain how, or why, but your presence alone compels me to change my ways. To be kinder, gentler, softer. For you. It's as if you're contagious, and well, I think you've infected me, love. Whenever I see you, or even think of you, everything feels just a little bit better. The weight on my shoulders feels a bit lighter, and nothing seems as bad as it used to, as it was when I was on my own.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is...you've made me feel things that I haven't felt in a long, long time. Things that I thought my blackened heart couldn't even experience anymore. You make me feel like there's still goodness in the world...like there's still hope. Like I still have hope." You blink slowly, your mind and heart spinning alike as everything around you, as time itself, seems to slow down. You're unable to process all his words, unable to even begin to consider the implications of what this all means. “So, what you’re saying is…you only like me because I’m good?” you ask, touched by his sentiment, yet a little sad at the underlying meaning. Does this mean that if you want to stay with Hook, to maybe even be something in the future, you can't have any darkness to your soul? That you'll have to continue to be as righteous and morally correct as ever?

He gives a small chuckle. “Of course not, darling. I love when I make you snap, when you get angry at me. I love when the fierce part of you comes out. Just like it did now.” He reaches out his good hand to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, brushing against your cheek as he keeps it there, not pulling back quite yet.

You can see the hesitance swirling in his eyes, the uncertainty in the way his hand lingers by your face. By some sudden stroke of courage, the origins of which are a complete mystery to you—maybe he had the love potion added to your food too?—you shift your whole body towards Hook, keeping your legs tucked together and off to one side.

“Kiss me,” you breathe.

“I'm sorry, love, wh-what?”

It feels strange to take command for once, but it sure is nice. “You heard me. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

His lingering hand cups your cheek as you both lean in, meeting each other in the middle. Hook’s lips are as soft and plump as you imagined, almost like brushing your mouth against the petals of a rose. Placing one of your hands on the ground beside you, you put your weight on it as you move even closer.

You’ve read of intense kisses, filled with passion and fueled by lust. But this isn't like that. It is slow, sweet, intoxicating you with only the purest of adorations. Your lips hover over his as you tilt your head to the side to prolong the embrace, getting swept up in the moment whilst being completely and blissfully unaware of anything and everything besides how his lips feel against yours, how his hook traces your body as he devours you like a starved man given his last meal. How he breathes you in like you're the very air that fills his lungs, like your sheer essence is the only oxygen he needs. You bring your hand up to his shoulder, leaning further into him as he moves his good hand back and tangles it in your hair.

It ends rather quickly, the entire kiss lasting but a moment, yet still filling you with the sweetest pleasure. In that moment, you realize why people spend their whole lives searching for love; it’s one of the most endearing, profound forms of joy that one can feel, and you're certain that you just felt it.

You pull away, noticing how his gaze lingers on your lips, before looking back up at you. He gives you a captivating, yet genuine smile, one that makes your heart to ache at how perfect he is, yet simultaneously yearning for his touch, his lips, him being wrapped up in another embrace with you and never breaking away. The newfound euphoria coursing through your veins and making your mind fuzzy causes you to return his smile with a wide, love-drunk grin of your own, a deep, wholehearted devotion emanating through your gaze as you study his features.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you whisper, staring into his eyes—eyes that reflect your own.

“Always, love.”

“You were my first kiss,” you confess.

Hook brings his hand back up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. His grin grows, an endless affection swirling in his dark eyes as he replies, “I guess this really is a night to remember.”

You give a small laugh, lowering your forehead to lean it against his shoulder, seeking comfort in his hold. “You did want to give me an unforgettable night, after all.”

“Can I tell you a secret, too?”

You raise your head again to peer up at him with wide eyes, curious as to what he has to admit.

“That day, in class,” he confides, “I was enchanting those disks and sending them across the room so you’d come and talk to me. I saw how you went over to help that other kid who was struggling. So, I figured that if I struggled too, you'd come over and I could get a conversation with you.”

You raise your eyebrows. “So you could cast the spell right?”

“Oh, no, not even close, love. That was all your work. Although I might have put in a bit more effort just to impress you,” he adds with a small smirk.

You move one of your hands closer to him, placing it on top of his and intertwining your fingers together. “Well, I suppose it worked.”

You lean back into him, kissing him blissfully yet again under the watchful smile of the moon glowing high in the sky, the stars glimmering and winking down at your young love. As you embrace, the city below bustles with the joys and despairs of human life unbeknownst to you, each person a thread in the tapestry of the world. Every soul but a speck of stardust in a cosmic dance.

And perhaps that is the greatest folly of human life. All the weight of one’s burdens, all the battles fought, all the hearts and souls that love and cry, together composing of but a fleeting second amidst the vastness of forever. And yet, each person gets lost in the preeminence of their own narrative, joyfully unaware of every grain of sand that disappears into the abyss as we shuffle closer to the edge of this mortal coil. But oftentimes, one’s deepest flaw is their greatest feat, as no imperfection comes without its own merit.

So maybe that very feature is, instead, the greatest feat of humanity. To love like you’ll live forever, and to weep like there’s no tomorrow. Maybe our ignorance gives us strength, the strength to keep going every day, pretending as if we somehow have an authority and power over the galactic strings of thread that weave together the fate of our universe.

The city below you, the world outside of the little bubble the two of you have created, moves on, unknown and unknowing of you both. But in this moment, nothing else matters. Nothing besides the love and affection you and him have grown to share.

end x

<- back to part 1

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a/n: I just had to end this with some philosophical musings haha (hey google, how do you write beginnings and endings?) anyways hope you liked this, I love making fluff like this :D I love seeing everyone's comments and reactions, all feedback is highly appreciated! until next time :))

do not plagiarize, translate, remake, or copy my works, including my writing and images, in any way.

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lovesick-all-over-my-bed · 4 months ago

Text

Him going to see a musical with you and months later, you find him listening to the soundtrack out of the blue

him having an allergic reaction to something mundane and playing it off as nothing

you mentioned you like a certain fruit before and every season, it is always in stock at y’all’s house

he takes care of you when you come home wasted and does your skincare and puts your pjs on

spooning. Just spooning into late morning.

him making a homemade advent calendar out of something you love but is unconventional (books, music, jewelry, etc)

you give him date plans (self projecting) for the next year and as he’s reading it he cannot stop saying “Nuh uh” “I am NOT doing that”

you turning on breakup songs in the car and acting them out while he just looks at you confused

him getting really into 3d printing as he gets older, loves making stupid stuff

You telling him “you're just a chill guy” and him being BEWILDERED (why would he be on social media?)

Him having the man cold and being kind of a jerk but being so lovey when you’re sick

any time he wants to watch a scary movie with you, you make him watch Bluey with you after (it’s mandatory for me)

going to an arcade with his and your friends and trying to see who can get the most tickets (he lets you and your friends win…or so he says)

talking to him randomly about the many book ideas you’ll have and then getting countless emails from editors

him showing interest in your hair routine so he can do it for you when you don’t feel good/tired

going to a couples massage (booked by you) and him getting uncomfortable about another woman touching him like that

@succubusvalentine @thatsamericasass24 @ghostslollipop @sheepispink

More fic ideas because I’m alone and down bad eternally (using reverse psychology on the universe)

#Simon Riley #ghost #simon ghost riley #cod #mw2 #i don’t play video games sorry #Self insert #reader self insert #y/n #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #fanfic

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withoutyouimsaskia · 2 years ago

Text

Low (Sandman One-Shot)

GIF: Originally posted by @sigurism

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x gender neutral reader

Summary: One-shot. Reader self-insert. Angst/comfort. Morpheus attempts to bring comfort to a dreamer who is managing depression, while in his cat form.

Warnings: Angst, talk of depression

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: Hey Sandfam, can you believe it has been a whole year since series 1 hit our screens? To celebrate, I am sharing a one-shot that features our beloved Dream as Meowpheus. Hope you enjoy, let me know what you think. Would love to know if you're doing anything to commemorate today. All my love, Saskia <3

Sandman Masterlist

--------------------------------------------

If a person were allowed to view what was presently being thought inside your mind and felt within your heart, they would likely notice that your body was being a direct conduit for both.

You were often cited by others as someone who wore their heart on the sleeve. When you had first heard the phrase directed towards you, it had conjured a pleasant connotation. Showing your emotions could not really be a bad thing, could it? Humans loved love, and they loved honesty. However, honesty about less-than-positive feelings; you have come to learn that it doesn't produce the same reaction.

All endearment fades.

Infants, children, adolescents can feel as they wish. Adults must be in control.

Unhappiness is something to be fixed, avoided, quashed; an emotion to be ashamed of, this is what you have been conditioned to believe. And unfortunately, the manner in which a vast majority of people behave in response to your low moods does little to aid in changing your mindset.

"Cheer up, it might never happen", they would say, the flippant words a paralysing gut punch that leaves you wanting to scream: It already did.

You then feel obligated to double down on your efforts to flatten the emotional peaks and troughs. A dangerous pursuit, for repressing sadness in lieu of its acknowledgement allows for it to stack up and up so much that you that run the risk of it spilling forth in unfavourable, non-triggering settings.

You are a human shaped pressure cooker. Doomed to spiral at the petrol station.

There was a time when sleep brought you a refuge. Regardless of how bad your day had been, how leaden your steps, you could always find enough fervour to propel yourself into carrying out your bedtime routine and then contentedly fall asleep.

For in dreams, the act of masking your feelings from observers could be dropped; you were alone in body and mind within the neutrality of your bedroom. Sure, you had nightmares at times but you derived so much pleasure from their dream counterparts that it did not matter in the long term.

You were happy in your dreamscapes to simply be.

Until you suddenly weren't.

A new low was discovered in waking and it has transformed into one you cannot escape from, even in dreams. Each night has become a repetition. You slip into sleep and plummet to the same subconscious rock bottom.

The place where you go, the earth is cold and damp under your prone body. You lay on your side, one arm cradling your head, the other wrapped around your middle.

An ominous drone takes up residence within your mind, a constant reminder of your thoughts and feelings.

Here you remain.

Trapped in the doldrums. Languishing away. Asleep but not seeking fantasies.

Even your usual nightmares are not drawn to you for there is nothing to entice them in. What could you need of a nightmare right now? There was nothing that could be taught.

Morpheus, Dream of the Endless senses the shift. You are a blip in a sea of dreamers. As if your subconscious mind has become a daub of dark matter against a backdrop of glowing galaxies; you exist but your light is extinguished.

There is so much anguish and the King of Dreams and Nightmares feels it all too keenly, as if it were his own.

It grows in strength with each passing day and night, taking your will to carry on. The handiwork of Despair of the Endless is all too apparent, intricate and bold in its ensnarement until you are a focal point of suffering.

Unsurprisingly, this is not the first time that Morpheus has felt the sorrow of a dreamer. Having existed for millennia, he has been witness to every variety. Kinds brought on by grief, shame, fear, longing, loathing to name but a few. There is something additional afoot with you though.

The desolate clearing you have been coming to, the fact that it is the same location every night, unchanging and devoid of hope. It is unusual, and hard to witness.

Despair has you in a chokehold.

What pains Morpheus even further is that he cannot remove his sibling's influence here. He can, however, offer you a reprieve.

He will bring you a dream.

A few moments are spent wandering through your prior dreamscapes, through the aid of the book emblazoned with your name, looking for things that have brought you solace in the past. Morpheus sees a few are inspired by memories.

He knows he must do this in a delicate manner and settles on a reserved option. One that would hopefully not startle you too much. Approaching you in a humanoid form is not feasible. It was other humans that had contributed to your current state, judging by your recent nightmares.

Morpheus enters the frame upon four legs, approaching you on soundless feet. Each step is measured, the pads of each wide paw flattening imperceptibly into the cold, loose ground.

He creeps closer and takes a minute to watch you. Your eyelids are closed, forehead pinched with a frown, mouth set in a grimace.

Morpheus stands beside you and nudges his nose against the hand you are gripping your torso with. Three sensations stand out to you. The soft press of the contact. The warm breath of an exhalation. The delicate tickle of whiskers.

The latter is a something you recognise immediately; it was unlike anything else in the universe.

You open your eyes, unsurprised by the image that greets you.

Next to you stands a cat. At least you think it is a cat.

They are much larger than any feline you have ever laid eyes on, made even more immense by their black fur; wild and mussed but not in a way that suggested they were uncared for, rather that it had been blown about by an unrelenting wind.

"Hello." You push yourself to a cross-legged seated position. "Are you lost?"

The innocent little question is loaded with such pathos that Morpheus has to blink back the hot prick of tears behind his eyes. Here you were, your hope, your life force literally ebbing away and you were worried about him.

He instinctually edges a bit closer to you before you speak again, this time in a whisper.

“I’m afraid I might not be much help. I’m lost too."

You extend your arm, offering the flat of your palm to the cat as a proper introduction, one that he reciprocates by bumping his cheek firmly against your skin.

"I guess we can be lost together."

Your sad smile is utterly devastating as you scratch behind one of his almost wolfish ears. He is unbelievably soft and you reach for the same spot again.

Morpheus puts his front paws on your left knee so you don't have to stretch as far and lets you continue to touch his head.

He is aware of the science of petting a cat with its lowering of blood pressure and alleviation of stress and anxiety, and with every second, he feels a lessening of your most acute pain, like the top layers are being skimmed away.

You feel better physically too, less tightness in your muscles and more awareness in your senses. You begin to notice things like the scent of the air and the ambient temperature. It is damp and mild but nothing you can’t handle, and it is a nice thought to have.

"You're very handsome," You comment, carefully and meticulously running your fingers through the dark fur, starting at his head and ending at the very tip of his bushy tail.

Morpheus, though he was calm before, is instantly and completely disarmed by these long-form strokes and is powerless to stop the deep, rumbling purrs that emanate from within his chest.

You smile widely at your companion’s reaction.

"Would you like to sit on me?" You pat your thigh as an invitation.

Morpheus hesitates, wondering if he would be crossing a boundary of familiarity. You don’t know that he is the anthropomorphic personification of dreams and nightmares. To you, he is a cat and according to your dreams, an animal that makes you feel safe and calm.

And right now, you were making him feel the same. This was not in any way a part of his plan when he had shown himself to you but who was he to deny what was clearly happening here?

He climbs up.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” You say encouragingly, delighted by the fact that this beautiful cat has chosen to trust you.

Morpheus takes a moment to settle and then snuggles into the crook of your arm. His warmth and weight are comforting sensations. You resume your gentle stroking, and he resumes his satisfied purring.

He gazes up at you with his striking blue eyes. Stormy in their intensity, oceanic in their colour. They are eyes that seem to hold the depth of a juxtaposed universe within them; wise yet weary. Hopeful yet haunted.

You have never seen anything like them in cats or humans alike.

The more you look, the more the cat's face seems to say: "Feel what you need to. Everything will be okay." How you determine this, you do not know yet you go with it, you are asleep after all.

Overcome with emotion, you screw your eyes shut and bend down to bring your face close to Morpheus' own. You cuddle him and the tears begin to fall.

"Thank you," You say in a hoarse whisper.

A little piece of hope glistens within you. You can do this. You don't have to hide your feelings. You shouldn't.

Morpheus feels his heart bursting at this wavering of your despair.

He decides there and then that he will do this for you every night until you feel strong enough to leave this barren plane.

No words needed. Just a human and a cat. Helping each other feel less alone.

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iri-desky · 1 year ago

Note

Oooooh I saw your reblog on my post and I'm intrigued to see what you can do! >:D

If you have the time, I would like to request for a Horropedia x fem!reader for a headstart... Maybe specifically with the reader also wearing glasses? It would be funny if he asked if the design is from any movie and stuff XP

No rush and good luck! 🙌

Thank you so much for the ask, yay! I tried my best. And sorry for the wait! I had school finals ;-; Didn't really have much time nor energy to write--nonetheless, I enjoyed this!

___________

(◇BESPECTACLED ◇)

♡ Horropedia x Fem!Bespectacled! Reader

♡ Type: Narrative, One-Shot-- Reader Self Insert (denoted by (y/n))

♡ Genre: Romantic Fluff

♡ Content Warnings: None!

Enjoy~

___________

"I'll admit, I can absolutely say the first X-Ray Monkeyman movie is fantastic, although the second film is compartively sub par..."

It was a quiet evening, sunlight flowing through the windows and painting the room in scarlet and tangerine. Within the pallid walls of the foundation, you were assigned the blandest of paperwork.

Well, it would've been a quiet evening if it weren't for Horropedia's--your best friend and current coworker-- perpetual chatter.

His voice tends to carry, Horropedia's, although nonetheless you didn't quite have the heart to silence his persistent jibber-jabbering. The absolute glow on his face whenever he discussed one of his favorite horror movies or was asked about the latest horror debate was incomparable to anyone you've ever seen, a gleaming grin on his face as his glasses shimmered with a tiny, piquant starlight in the evening sun. Eyes like honey, delicate and sweet, and an intellect, serrated, sharp.

Indeed, he had not a tint malevolence of in his jabbering or gaze, just passion.

"Hey! ... (y/n)? Earth to Miss (y/n)! You alright there?...It looked like you're looking straight into the void. Careful, the void stares back should you gaze too long," He chuckled heartily, taking a swig of his coffee.

"What? Oh, nothing." You muttered, shaking your head-- you blinked rapidly in the light of the sun, attempting to reorient yourself. "Lost in my thoughts. But, anyway, I still think the second movie's better than the first." You chuckled.

He smirked as he processed your counterclaim. "Actually, while I can respect your point, the first film is definitely better than the first. Scares are higher quality, the actors give a more believable performance..."

"Well, didn't the second film have better marketing?"

"Not quite. While the second film had a more active marketing campaign, the first one was more successful. In fact, in one of their first screenings, they sold limited edition glasses similar to the pivotal artifacts from the movie. It was only sold at the premiere, it was a huge success... in fact, these glasses aren't ordinary spectacles," He stated, proudly, pushing up his own glasses. "They were in fact the glasses sold at its premiere!"

"Oh, wait," He said excitedly, rushing over to you, "Those glasses look familiar... did you get them from the film's premiere? I did, myself--" He slipped off his glasses and stepped in front of you, proudly presenting the inner pattern of the frames to you, bumping shoulders with you. He was so absorbed in his ramblings, he didn't notice the streak of pink dashing across your face. "They may not look like much, but see here? This inner pattern--it's highly distinctive!"

Your face brightened at his enthusiasm. "I don't think so, but I guess you can look sometime."

He turned up to you, and slipped on his glasses again. "Wait, lemme see here for a second-"

Before you had a moment to object, he stepped right in front of your face and was peering to the side, in an attempt to see the inner rims--in doing so, he bumped noses with you as you gasped in surprise. It took him about three seconds to realize what he was doing.

One -- he touched noses with you, brilliant eyes amber in the dying sunlight, enthralled by his passions.

Two -- he peered to the side, searching for that telltale pattern in pure, analytical fascination.

Three -- he pulled a strand of hair out of your face, behind your ear, his movements, delicate.

It was to get a better view.

After that final moment ticked by, there was a beat as Horropedia stared at your face. Then his cheeks flooded with fuschia, his eyes growing wide as saucers. His hands began to shake.

"Oh." That's all he could stutter out.

For once, he had nothing to say.

"...I guess I'll...I'll...um..."

He slowly slipped off your glasses, taking a step back--just one.

He then, shakily, slipped off his own.

He stared down at the two pairs in his hands.

"...nope...haha...yours aren't the souvenirs..."

You couldn't speak.

His head tilted up again into your direction, glancing up at you as he continued to awkwardly fumble with both your glasses in his hands.

"...(y/n)?"

"...mm-hmm?"

"...Have I ever told you...uh...you look...look...I love the way you look...with...uh...your eyes with...your eyes are really gor--gorgeous with no glasses and your glasse-"

He didn't have a chance to finish his sentence. You had cut him off when your lips touched his.

It was a gentle, saccharine kiss, his supple lips meeting yours with adoring pressure and fast succession. His kiss was zealous, albeit pure--and clearly, he didn't mind it at all.

He was so absorbed into the kiss that, several moments later, both of your glasses clattered to the floor from his hands.

He dragged himself away, his visage frazzled and--to say it plainly, an absolute blushing mess.

"...Whoops," He chuckled, reluctantly bending down to scoop up both of your spectacles. He handed yours over, hands still shivering. "I--I believe these are yours." He said with an awkward grin as he shoved on his own glasses, brushing stray hairs out of his face.

You grappled your own glasses in your hands, an involuntary smile tugging at your lips.

"...(y/n)?" He asks.

"Yeah?"

"... thanks for listening to my stupid questions."

You step back up closer to him, his flustered expression a badge of his affection.

"It's my pleasure," You smile. "And, Horropedia?"

"...yes?"

"... would you like to take your glasses off again for a second?"

_________

I had a great time writing this, but just FYI that this is my first request anywhere! So definitely feel free to give me some feedback. Hope you enjoyed!!

#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #r1999 horropedia #reverse 1999 horropedia #horropedia #horropedia reverse 1999 #Reverse 1999 headcanons #Reverse: 1999 headcanons #horropedia x reader #Horropedia headcanons #reverse 1999 fluff #Reverse: 1999 Fluff #Reader self insert #birdbox🕊️

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delopsia · 2 years ago

Text

what remains of wabang | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 6,900 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB Reader, the plot is inspired by a bizarre nightmare I had. A fumbled proposal. This could count as a dystopian AU, depending on how you interpret it (it wasn't intended). Unprotected sex (with lots of feelings!), reader comes untouched, cunnilingus. One (1) mention of the reader owning/wearing a babydoll. Royal has passed a 'gift' on to his sons. Brief Summary: Two months after Rhett mysteriously went missing, he appears from nowhere to ask you to run away with him. You don't expect to see what havoc BY9 has wreaked upon Wabang. Nor do you expect to learn new things about your cowboy.

This old trashcan couldn't be any louder.

Plastic wheels grind against the pavement, the echoes of it bouncing off the walls of identical homes. Alerting everyone on this street of the fact that you're once again taking the trash out at eleven o'clock at night. It's strange, being this close to other houses; you've grown so accustomed to your rental home in the outskirts of Wabang that you now struggle to adjust to the customs of neighborhood life. All of you packed into the same microscopic homes, like a bunch of sardines.

Temporary homes, they'd said, in the emergency evacuation notice. Meant to last no longer than a week, just long enough for them to clean up the nondescript biohazard spilled into Wabang.

But the trash runs bi-weekly, and this is the third time you've brought the can out to the curb.

Yet, when you let go of the container, ready to walk back into the shoddily constructed building you're supposed to call home, there's a rumbling that doesn't quite stop. A distant sound that seems to grow louder the longer you stand here. Sounds like a truck, but the street suffers a significant lack of headlights. You squint. Fighting to see what lurks down the dark street, unlit and empty.

It's a truck.

Too small to be anything modern, its headlights shut off as it slowly creeps down the street. Intent on not being seen, like the driver is afraid of drawing even the slightest bit of attention to themselves. And so far, they seem to be doing a great job of it. If anyone had noticed, BY9 trucks would be swarming the area by now.

Your shoes scrape against the concrete driveway as you stumble away from the road, ready to get inside before the truck crawls past your home but unable to look away from it for even a second.

It stops just short of your mailbox. Engine dying as the door opens.

A figure steps out. Dark. Still.

You bolt at the same time it does.

Racing for your half-open front door. Feet pounding against the ground as you all but tear past the crudely placed bushes by your sidewalk. Throat tight. Mouth open but can't make a single noise. Who is this? Who is this? Who is this?

"Wait!"

You know that voice.

That figure doesn't slow down as he all but hurtles toward you. Shoes skid against the dirt as frenzied feet try to stop. His body slamming into yours. A runaway train that's gone off the rails. The arms that wrap around you are the only reason you don't fall.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," words frantically uttered into the crook of your neck. Words spoken by a voice you thought you'd never hear again.

"Rhett?" Asking it feels like a dream. A sick fantasy played upon you by your own imagination. But your arms are wrapping around a firm torso, just as warm and alive as you remember. The labored breath tickling your skin feels too real to be a trick.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth as you try to speak again, struggling to so much as lift it. "Rhett, where have you been?" And even though you're asking it, you're not sure if it's really him. "It's been two..." He smells exactly how you remember, something airy and crisp, maybe a little bit sweet, like the autumn breeze. "You've been missing."

"I know, I'm so sorry," Rhett's pulling away, and you're already clinging to him. Unwilling to let more than an inch of space between your bodies. Nose to nose. So close that maybe you'll be able to keep him from disappearing again. God, those eyes. You've missed those eyes. "Please just, please, I don't—please, I don't have time to explain."

He's so worked up and all over the place that you can't follow. Palms trembling against your cheeks. Eyes so wide that you almost see nothing but the whites of them. Where has he been? Why is he so nervous?

You've never seen him like this.

"I have an apartment, and I have a job at a ranch, and I want, I want," voice wavering as he pauses to push your foreheads together, "I want you to come with me."

"Rhett, what are you—"

"I never meant to leave you behind," he's still talking. Speaking so quickly, you can't keep up. Body shuddering against yours. "I promise I was comin' to get you the night I left, but then those people started followin' me and, and, and, I'll explain it all if you come with me."

You don't...

You don't understand. People chasing him? A job? An apartment? Why didn't he come back sooner? What people is he talking about? You don't even know if you're hearing him correctly. If this is even real. There's no way this is real.

Headlights pierce through the dark. Attached to the front of a white Chevy Tahoe, bearing a familiar triangular logo on its side. BY9. Belongs to the mining group that put you all here in the first place.

Rhett's tugging on your arms. Downright drags you down behind the bushes. Crouching. Barely concealed from the view of the officer driving the vehicle as it rolls past. Eerily slow. Looking for something.

Or someone.

"Please. I can't...I can't leave you here," Rhett whispers, and you don't know if that's his heart pounding like a drum or if it's yours. A loud thump, thump, thump in your ears. So loud you're surprised the patrol officer doesn't hear it. "You're not safe here."

You don't know where he's been for the past two months. Don't know what triggered him to leave in the first place. Or why he's come back now, in the dead of the night, without warning or notice. Does this have something to do with the interview BY9 had with you right as you were moved into this temporary residence? All those questions about Rhett...were they ever meant to help you find your missing cowboy?

So many thoughts fluttering about your head. But as you watch that cruiser stalk past your driveway, and you feel Rhett tremble against you, something clicks. Your confused mind made up in an instant.

"Alright," and as soon as that vehicle is out of sight, you're rushing toward your front door.

The hinges squeal as you rush past. Snatching your blanket from the couch, on your way to the tiny excuse of a bedroom you've been given. Rhett's boots thump behind you. Spurs chiming with every step.

"You're already packed?" He's hardly stumbled into your bedroom before you're shoving one of your two suitcases toward him. The wheels rumbling across the cheap linoleum, catching on the planks that are already beginning to curl up from the ground.

"Correction, I never unpacked," you're scrambling, shoving your few belongings back into your open bag; a toothbrush, blanket, a stuffed cow Rhett bought you for your first anniversary, "We were only supposed to be here for a week."

Never did you expect him to sling that heavy suitcase over his shoulder. Bicep bulging under the weight. Knuckles white as his fingers cling to the handle. "You let 'em move y'here?" Hearing that low drawl doesn't feel real.

Reaching out and squeezing his wrist doesn't feel real, either.

"We had no choice," you mutter under your breath, almost mindless as you let him take you by the hand, guiding you back to the front door. Through an unfamiliar hallway and past a bathroom you know you've spent time inside but have little recollection of. "They issued an evacuation order and sent us all here."

Evacuation for what you're not quite sure. The paper had claimed it was a biohazard, but if it was so serious, then how did they have the time to build these miniature homes? An answer doesn't come, too distracted by Rhett leading you through the yard, shoving your suitcases into the bed of his truck.

At the end of the street, a pair of blinding headlights flicker on. Siren wailing to life.

"Shit." And Rhett doesn't need to say anything further.

You don't understand why you're scrambling for the passenger door. Hands missing the handle on the first try. Barely clawing it open on the second. All but falling into the truck, door slamming behind you. The engine roars to life. A deep rumbling that you can hardly hear over the squealing siren. Red and blue flashing from the roof of a BY9 SUV.

Rhett's hat flies off the dash as the truck lurches forward. His hands flying across the steering wheel. Rolling up into the neighbor's yard as he turns. Front bumper slamming into the corner of a mailbox.

A second pair of lights appear on your right. A sleeping car awakening. Another on the left. Then another. And another. The street alight with white, red, and blue. Sirens screaming. A sea of color that chase you down. Hot on Rhett's squealing tires as he veers to the right. Barely clinging to the pavement.

"Rhett, what's going on?" You squeak. Bouncing in the passenger seat. Scrambling for purchase on something. Anything. Your suitcases audibly slam into the side of his truck bed as he swings to the left. Narrowly avoids hitting the front end of a Wabang police cruiser. "Rhett?"

"I don't know," his voice shivers through clenched teeth. Frantic eyes bouncing between the road and the mirrors. Back and forth. Up and down. Never still for more than a second at a time. "All I know is that they ain't gettin' you and me."

Your seat belt tightens as he hits the brakes. Tires smoking as the old GMC careens to the left. Barreling down a one-way street. In the wrong direction. Blowing past the barrier arm that tries to block your path. Wood splintering. Too flimsy to stop Rhett from tearing out of this copy-paste neighborhood. Fleeing back to the safety of familiar Wabang streets.

Streets that you don't recognize.

You know there should be a little white farmhouse off to your right. Nestled next to a towering Oak tree that serves as home to a small wooden swing, and the lawn littered with children's toys. But now, all you find is a parking lot. Opening up to a sea of drill rigs. Swinging up and down.

God, they're everywhere.

"They found somethin' on our land," Rhett's saying. As if he can see the questions fluttering through your head. "Whatever it is, they're rippin' the whole town apart to drill for it."

Wabang isn't your hometown. Not by a long shot. But the sight before you has your heart twisting in your chest. That old, fairytale small town no longer exists. Those old family ranches were bulldozed weeks ago. Historical buildings and small mom-and-pop shops reduced to empty land, fodder for newly built drill rigs.

All that remains of Wabang are the streets.

Light appears in the distance. A tiny speck that splits into two. Three. Four. Five. Until all you see is blinding white. An army of vehicles speeding toward you. A flurry of red and blue flickering. A clash of voices echoes over PA systems. Orderings to stop the truck. Pull over. Surrender. We mean you no harm.

Rhett jerks the wheel to the right. Jumping the ditch and tearing straight into an open field. A small farm once stood here, but not anymore. Nothing but flat land that this old truck tears through like it's nothing. Bouncing you in your seat. Luggage slamming into the sides of his truck bed, leaving a myriad of dents in their wake.

"I hope you planned for this," yelping as you cling to the seat. Fighting to stay put.

Rhett's right-hand rises up from the wheel. Making a fist. You can almost swear that you see something move in the distance.

The truck hits a bump. Wheel jerking out from his grip. Forcing him to scramble with both hands. Forearms flexing as he forces the truck back in the right direction. "I did."

But you're running out of drivable land. A thick collection of trees drawing closer and closer. Too closely packed for his truck to fit between. He makes a fist again. So tight his hand turns white.

The trees warp.

Twisting in a circle, like a cloth spun from the center. Wrinkling and blending into a plume of blackened dust, sparkling as it dances past the truck. A bunch of tiny stars that lead to a deep, dark abyss. Towering before you, circular, like a tear in the seams of your reality.

Rhett drives straight through it.

Like a door, the hole spits you out into another field. Empty and dark. Devoid of any other vehicle but your own. The only light coming from Rhett's busted headlights and a lone street lamp, not too far away.

As you look over your shoulder, the hole closes. That cloth untwisting, returning the land to its former, peaceful glory. In an instant, those daunting lights are gone. Whisked away by the black smoke that twirls up into the night sky.

Maybe now is a good time to take a drug test because there is no way that just happened.

But the squeal of Rhett's brakes sound real, the vehicle slowing to a complete stop. Rhett's chest heaving is heaving, sweat rolling down his forehead and past reddened cheeks, as if he's just run a marathon. And that looks pretty real, too.

"I ain't pinchin' ya," he breathes, the corner of his lip quirking upward as he says it.

And that's exactly what he would say after such an event.

It takes you a moment to find your voice. "What the hell just happened?" Comes out as nothing but a croak, your throat far too dry to produce anything more.

Rhett's head shakes back and forth. Like he doesn't have an answer himself, "the folks chasin' us or the whole...hole thing?"

"Is both an option?"

That gets a smile out of him, lazily sprawling across his scruffy face. The first one you've seen in months. Hand leaving the steering wheel, reaching out to squeeze your knee. You reach down, curling your hand overtop of his, fingers slotting together.

"I think it's 'cause of somethin' related to my family," he says, after a moment, his gaze locked on your hands, "After them BY9 folks took the land, they came knockin' at our door. Took Dad...came back for Ma 'n Perry a couple hours later, sayin' somethin' 'bout how we all had a gift."

You suppose you can infer what that gift could be. "They didn't come for you?"

The hand on your knee squeezes a little tighter, making sure you're still here, "Ma told 'em I wasn't home, 'n one of 'em said they'd come back for me later." His tongue pokes against the inside of his cheek. Pushing back and forth, thinking. "I grabbed a bag 'n went lookin' for you...figured I'd ask to hide with you for a bit."

In the back of your head, you can't help but wonder what would have happened if he'd gotten the chance to hide in your home. Would they have taken you too? Would they have even known Rhett would be hiding from you?

"But then they started trailin' me," his index finger twitches against yours as he continues, "I got frustrated 'cause they wouldn't let me on your street...next thing I know, I'm goin' through a hole."

You catch yourself glancing up at the rearview mirror. Searching for any instance of the hole you just drove through, almost expecting it to still be there. But all you find is an unfamiliar pasture and a lamp post. "Where did it take you?"

"South fuckin' Dakota."

Your eyes might pop out of your head. "We're in South Dakota?"

His sheepish grin is the biggest 'yes' you've ever received in your life.

Rhett's definition of an apartment is very different from your definition of one.

When he'd said it, you pictured a small place, one bedroom, one bath, tucked into a housing complex that served as home to more people than you could ever count. A laundromat in the basement and a slightly too big parking lot with more spaces than there are tenants.

But this isn't that at all.

No, it's a bite-sized cabin tucked away in the forest. A little worse for wear, part of the railing on the porch could use replacing, and the door doesn't want to shut at first, but it's more than you could have imagined. With a tiny kitchen and an even tinier living space attached, nothing but a thrifted couch, a plaid blanket, and a television, he found on clearance.

"You got this all together in two months?" You ask, reaching out to brush your fingers against brown plaid curtains, unsurprised to find them here. You've yet to see his bedroom, but you can already imagine his comforter must bear a similar pattern and color.

"Yeah," Rhett's scratching the back of his neck. "I know it ain't much, but..."

"It's perfect," words delivered a little too quickly, not letting him finish that sentence.

His eyelashes flutter; surprised. "Yeah?" Smiling as he speaks, big and dopey, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with it. A touch proud of what he's built here. His socked feet thump across the floor, eager to minimize the space between the two of you. Big palms settling on your hips, smoothing up your sides, drawing you in.

When you daydreamed about him coming home, you'd always imagined that you'd throw yourself into his arms. Cling to him and never, ever let go again. But it's been well over an hour and a half since he raced down your driveway, and you're terrified to lift your arms and wrap them around his waist.

Because maybe this is just that. A daydream. A trick of the mind that will end when you pull him close to you, disappearing into a misty dreaminess that throws rocks at your glass heart.

"I'm so sorry I left you," he whispers into your ear with the faintest shiver in his voice.

On its own, one of your arms begins to move. Wrapping around him, weakly squeezing that big, warm body against yours. Feeling his chest rise and fall, warm and full of life. The same old cowboy that you remember from two months ago.

He doesn't disappear.

Rather than vanishing from your arms and floating away, he pulls you a little closer, arms a little tighter. Scruffy cheek scratching against your softer one as he buries his face into your neck. His breath tickles your skin, fingertips drawing invisible shapes into your clothed back.

"Just a one-arm hug?" His voice rumbles down your spine like thunder; can never stop himself from teasing, even in times like these.

Blindly, you reach up with your other arm, no longer allowing it to dangle limply at your side. Hoping to find purchase between those perfectly strong shoulders.

Your knuckles catch on the edge of something hard.

It falls, hitting the floor with an explosive, metal clatter. Silver bursts out of the tiny wooden box. Rolling in all directions. Heading into the living area, some even stretching to the kitchen, others race to the bathroom, a few strays wander between your legs, and two let themselves right into the bedroom.

"Are these...rings?" You chirp, watching one as it spirals, circles growing tighter and tighter until it falls on its side with a soft sound. They certainly look like rings, but there's such an obscene amount of them that you're unsure.

Rhett's quiet as you step away from him, crouching to pick up one of the little things. Doesn't make a sound when you roll it between your fingers, feeling the way the uneven metal rubs against your skin. This one is far too big for any of your fingers, and so are the next two you scoop up. Another is too tiny, and the one that seems the right size suffers a big crack in the side.

"I..." he starts, twisting at the hair resting on his nape, "they're...yeah. They're rings."

But that doesn't make any sense. Why would he have so many? From what you can gather, they're all similar. Made of the same silvery material, visibly handcrafted; some with etchings of letters inside, others bear empty brackets meant to hold a stone.

Rhett hardly moves as you reach for the one next to his foot. Just as identical as the rest, plain and with rough lettering on the inside of the band.

'Marry me?'

You nearly drop it. Caught off-guard by the sudden text.

"That's not..." Rhett's crouching next to you, teeth worrying his bottom lip, staring down at the engraving like it owes him money. "I...I was tryin' to make you an engagement ring."

He reaches over, scooping up a handful of rings that have collected against the wall. Moves them in such a way that you can see his attempts at asking you to marry him within the ring itself. Along with all of his deviations from the concept and the failures that came along the way. One has your name on it, the letters overlapping with the edge. Another has 'marry' written as 'mary.'

"Couldn't get it right, so I figured I'd..." One of them falls from his hand, bouncing across the floor and rolling into the bedroom. He doesn't speak again until it falls. "You know...wait 'till I could afford a proper ring."

You hum, tracing your nail against the rugged markings. Messy yet lovingly crafted. "Did you still want an answer?"

That gets him. Head snapping up to look at you, then jerking his attention back to the floor. Unable to take in your expression, fearing what he could find hidden there. "It ain't...it doesn't have to be right now. If you don't want to..."

You twist this little ring down your finger. It's uneven, not perfectly round, but it fits near perfectly, only the slightest bit loose. Made just for you.

His eyelashes flutter. Jaw slackening.

Your answer never leaves your tongue, but it's the loudest thing you've ever said.

Gradually, the corner of his lip wavers upward, "yeah?"

"Yeah," the ring feels foreign around your finger; you can't wait for the day that it feels naked without that little bundle of metal.

It glints in the light when Rhett takes your hand in his, smiling giddily to himself as he runs his finger over the ring. And it probably isn't the one he would have picked for you; there are likely nicer ones in this scattered mess of silver, but it's the only ring you want.

He presses a kiss to the back of your hand, avoiding your eye as he does so. Like the slightest eye contact will cause him to crumble into nothing. The presses another to the inside of your wrist, then a third, and a fourth, and a fifth. Slowly crawling up your arm until he's close enough for the tip of his nose to bump into yours.

Kissing him while crouching isn't easy; the gentle press of his lips against yours is enough to have you worrying about losing your balance. But then he's rising to his feet, drawing you up with him, and it's so, so easy to stumble forward and close that gap once more. Hearing him grunt against you, warm arms coiling around you in the same fashion they always have.

Oh, how could you have forgotten that he tastes like honey? Warm with a hint of butterscotch, can never seem to keep himself out of those darned little candies. Sliding your arms around those broad shoulders, fingers winding into his hair, listening to his breath catch in his throat.

It's been two months since you've last felt him part your trembling lips with his own.

Two months too fucking long.

"Rhett," you don't mean for it to come out as a whimper, but it does, and you can hardly stop yourself from hiding your face behind your hands. A little too needy, a little too fast.

But Rhett's rumbling your name in return; doesn't seem to notice your embarrassment, only pulls you closer to him. Hands roaming, soothing up and down your sides, as he pushes you backward, doesn't stop until you're right up against the wall. No way to escape from the rough hand that curls around your cheek, bringing you in to meet his burning mouth again and again and again.

Rings chime against the floor as he steps forward, jean-clad knee sliding between your legs, fits like it belongs there. Muscled thigh pressing against you, grinding up into your heat.

You don't realize you've made another noise until he grins into your mouth. Proud. A little too eager to repeat the motion, rolling upward in loose circles. Your hand falls from his hair. Nails biting into his shoulder. Panting against his lips.

"Fuck, I missed you," he's whispering as he breaks away, pressing wet kisses down your jaw, working toward your neck, "so, so much."

Words are hard to come by. Don't know what you want to say; all you know is that this shirt of his needs to come off. Tugging on the thin material, fumbling with tiny buttons that you can't seem to get ahold of.

Rhett lets go of you. Breath burning against your neck as he yanks the flannel open. Buttons flying, bouncing across the hardwood, quickly joined by his now ruined shirt.

"Need this yellow off you," grumbling directly into your ear, big hands returning to your sides, lifting the hem of your shirt. Your arms rise, and in one quick motion, he pulls it off. Dropping it to the floor, drawing you up against him, away from the wall.

Rings scatter beneath your feet as the two of you stumble into the bedroom, metal clinking and rolling with every uncertain step. Uncaring of paying attention to where you're going, distracted by wandering hands, breathy kisses, and noses bumping together.

Your back hits the mattress with an unceremonious thump, the springs squealing their dismay. That wild-eyed cowboy is on you in an instant, lithe hips slipping between your parted thighs, bare chest against yours, nipping at the shell of your ear. His forearms brace themselves on either side of your head, bracketing you in. Gives you an eyeful of the wicked veins that snake down them.

"Fuck, Rhett," sucking in a sharp breath of air. The layers of clothing between your bodies aren't enough to stop you from feeling that bulge grinding against you.

"'s it too much?" His lips brush against your ear, sends a shudder down your spine.

Your head shakes, rolling back and forth against the sheets, "not enough."

"Yeah?" Pressing his lips to the meet of your jaw, then again to your collar, "take it y'missed me, then."

He's skipping over the courtesy of more kisses, absolutely shameless, as he wraps his lips around your nipple. Big hand curling around your neglected breast, thumb working circles into it.

"Of course, I fucking missed you," it's hard to keep the bite in your tone, with that wet tongue laving over you like that, downright messy. "Idiot."

Just as quickly as he jumped to your breast, he's leaving it alone; your skin glistening with his saliva as he licks further down. Darkened eyes peer up at you all the while, once ocean blue, now dark as the night, eagerly drinking in your every reaction. Hungry for everything about you.

He doesn't need to ask you to lift your hips; they rise the moment his fingers curl beneath your waistband. Then he's pulling down those pastel yellow sweatpants, the soft ones that were in the gift BY9 left for you during the beginning of that so-called evacuation.

"Fuck, I was hopin' you were wearin' these," Rhett breathes, devious fingers skittering up the inside of your thigh, not stopping until they can slip beneath the edge of your underwear. Always so obsessed with these, despite being the simplest thing you own. Something about the dainty little bow at the top just does it for him.

"You should've warned me you were coming," you're trying to tease, but fuck is it hard to focus when he pulls your underwear to the side, exposing you to those hungry eyes of his. "I could have put on that matching babydoll."

A rough index finger strokes up between your folds, collecting your wetness. Rhett so mesmerized by the sight that he struggles to speak, "Baby, I don't think we'd even make it back t'the truck."

Historically, every time you've worn that soft lace garment around him, you've never even made it out of the room.

There are words sitting heavily in your mouth, already formulated and ready to go. But you don't get the chance to say them because Rhett's leaning down, pressing a kiss to your sex. His tongue pokes out of his lips, eagerly licking a fat stripe up your wetness.

"Can y'get the lube off the table, darlin'?" He's speaking right against your clit, lips tickling it.

The bottle is within reach, but it might as well be on the other side of the room. Rhett's lips are wrapping around that sensitive little button, makes it so, so hard to keep yourself from tangling both hands in his hair instead. Thighs fluttering around his head, hand shivering as it wraps around the small container.

It's new; the plastic still wrapped tightly around the cap. And though Rhett's short nail claws at the edge of it, the plastic refuses to tear off.

"Come on, you damn..." giving up on the correct way of removing it, he raises it to his mouth, biting at the material until it tears.

His nose wrinkles.

"Did you hurt your tooth?" Asking despite knowing the answer.

How dare he look so shy when he's coating two of his fingers with lube. Meekly grinning to himself, the tips of his ears flaming with crimson as he mutters a soft "maybe."

Dumb cowboy hasn't learned from the time he chipped his tooth while opening the last bottle.

Wet fingertips circle around your entrance, his mouth returning to your core, deviously lapping at you. Fuck, fuck, fuck that's a lot.

Sensitivity has jumped a couple of notches during his absence, squirming against the bed, unsure if you want more or if you want to run away from it. So distracting that you don't realize his fingers are pushing into you. Slow, letting you loosen for them on your own accord.

"That's it," he praises, peering up at you from beneath thick lashes, "take my fingers for me, baby."

They're impatient, curling up, massaging against your walls as he gingerly works them in and out to the tune of his lazy tongue. Drool sliding down, wetting his fingers even further. You whimper before you even realize he's found that little spot. The pad of his index finger rubbing against it. Has your hips lifting off the bed.

On their own, your hand wanders down, tangling in his messy hair. Rhett all but moans as you pull on it, wet tongue audibly working you over.

"Another," you whisper, can't get your voice any louder, "please."

That third finger isn't what you wanted. Isn't thick or long enough to give you that full feeling you've been so desperately craving. But it's a necessary evil that you've learned to put up with in exchange for no soreness the morning after.

Rhett groans, eyes falling shut as he works into a rhythm. Slow and sloppy, unconcerned with the intricacies of perfect movements, his hips grinding down against the bed. Massaging his neglected cock, still straining against his jeans.

Fuck, it's such a simple sight, but it has your head spinning. Heat burning between your legs, spreading up into your chest, heart jumping.

"St..." you can hardly speak, "stop."

Rhett freezes. Tongue halfway out of his mouth and all.

Your lungs ache for a breath that you can't quite catch, panting, fighting to form words, "close."

"Were you wantin' to cum 'round my cock instead?" He asks, lifting his head the slightest bit. His chin wet, shiny lips swollen.

You can't find the words you need to answer him, but something in your face must tell him all he needs to hear because he's moving again. Wet fingers slipping out of your pussy, reaching right for his belt buckle. It jingles as he opens it, the button hidden below damn near hanging on by a thread.

No matter how many times you've seen this exact scene, it never seems to get shorter. Time downright dragging by as Rhett tugs his jeans and boxers down his legs. Cock popping up, smacking against his left hip. The tip dripping and flushed red, angry, begging for attention. That should be all the waiting you need, but now he's reaching for your underwear, properly tugging them off, like the gentleman he just has to be.

You reach for the lube, pouring some into your palm, and admittedly, it's way more than you needed, but you just don't care. Reaching out to wrap your dripping hand around him, feeling him jump.

"Fuck," Rhett gasps, eyelashes fluttering like tiny butterflies, "didn't see you reachin' for...God, jus' like that."

It seems you're not the only one whose gotten sensitive during your time apart. Rhett's head tilts back, mouth agape as you loosely stroke him. Simple little ups and downs, with the slightest twist of your wrist.

Then you're impatiently guiding him to your entrance, already so wet with your own wetness, lube, and saliva, never mind the extra lubricant you've coated him with. His hips tilt forward, leaving no room for further teasing as he begins to push into you.

All that wetness, and he's still a stretch. The kind that has you biting your lip and your eyes screwing shut, feeling that fat head gradually open you up.

"Shit," Rhett's swearing, leaning back down, chests bumping together, pressing kisses to your quaking jaw, "forgot how tight this cute 'lil pussy of yours gets."

If you could speak, you'd remark that you forgot how obnoxiously thick he is.

But you can't. All you can do is curl your hands around his thick biceps and fight to relax. Feeling the tip of him fully slip inside. Just the tip. Fuck, there's still a whole six inches of him left, and you don't know how he's going to fit.

"Y'need me to stop?" He murmurs, scruffy chin bumping into yours. You think his voice has dropped a little.

Shaking your head, "Keep...keep going."

Looking between your parted legs is the biggest mistake you've ever made. Because the moment you make eye contact with the sight of Rhett's thick length slipping inside of your spasming cunt, you can't look away. Absolutely transfixed by the way he works his way into you, balls hanging low and heavy.

"There you go," Rhett's cooing, pressing kisses to your cheek, "takin' my cock so damn well for me, doll."

His pelvis comes flush with yours, and you think you may float right up into the clouds. Lightheaded, panting, can hardly keep your eyes open. Can't even look down again when he cautiously swivels his hips into you. Does nothing more than jostle his cock inside of you, yet it knocks the air from your lungs.

"Want me to move?" Yeah, his voice has definitely dropped a little. Rough and gravelly as he speaks.

Weakly, you hum. "Uhuh."

Oh, you've missed how his cock head drags against you, so thick that he's always massaging against that little spot. Drawing back a little under halfway, pushing back in just as slowly as he did the first time.

This is what you needed.

Your favorite cowboy on top of you, his face nuzzled against yours while he slowly fucks into you. Long, deep strokes that are so undeniably him, reaching deep into the farthest parts of you. The kind of thing you struggle to recreate with a toy. Isn't quite as thick and never brings the warmth that Rhett does. Toys don't come with a big, strong body and untamed hair that falls down to tickle your cheek. They don't give you kisses or pant against your lips with every thrust.

"Missed you so damn much," Rhett whispers against your lips like it's a secret meant to only be shared between the two of you. "Y'don't know how many times I've come back tryin' t'find you."

On its own accord, your hand reaches up to rest against his jaw. "I was so worried that you'd never come back," his hips twitch upward, cock driving directly into that little spot. It takes a second to unscramble your words. "Or that something happened—"

"No, no, hey," he's reaching for your hand, bringing it up to rest fully against his cheek. Presses a kiss to your wrist. "There ain't nothin' in this world that's gonna take me away from you, ya hear?"

Your eyes water.

So do his.

It's so much. So many feelings and emotions and thoughts floating through your foggy mind. And there's more you need to say, but you're pulling him into you. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, letting him bury his face in the crook of his neck. Hugging him tight as he gently thrusts into you.

Slow ins and outs that completely fill you with him. Kissing your sweetest spots, bringing you to flutter around him, spasming in the way he's always loved. The soft squelch of wetness, balls softly thumping against your ass each time he bottoms out. So much of this cowboy. So, so much.

The ring on your finger glints in the dull light. Imperfectly crafted but looks perfect around your finger. You don't want a new ring with a precious gem and a highly valued metal. You want this one.

"Rhett," you whimper, muffled by his broad shoulder. There's a warmth settling between your thighs. The soft kind that has your skin prickling and thighs quivering.

"I know," Rhett's groaning. Unable to keep himself quiet any longer, "I am too."

He's panting into your collar, thrusts growing uneven. A little shaky. Your legs are wrapping around his hips, squeezing tight, anchoring him to you. You could reach down, pay attention to your forgotten clit, and bring yourself to the edge faster, but all you want is this. Your cowboy in your arms, fucking you like you're made of glass, the most precious thing he's ever seen.

Your mouth falls open, whimpering into the open air, "Rhett, Rhett, Rhett." Over and over, like a mantra. Like it'll make up for all the time you've spent apart. And he's murmuring your name, whining high in his throat, your voices weaving together into a wistful melody.

One, two, three more drags of his cock against that sweet little spot, and you're gone. Head falling back against the bed, his name still shivering off your tongue as you spasm around him. Heat washing over your body, floating up into the heavens on a plush, cowboy-shaped cloud.

Distantly, you think you can feel Rhett shudder above you. Breath hot against your neck as he cums with the softest whine. You never, ever thought you'd feel this again. The involuntary jerk of his hips. The kisses he tries to press to your skin when he's too incoherent to move his mouth. The heaviness of his body as he settles against you.

It's hard to tell how long it takes you to find the strength to open your eyes. Feels like hours before you pry them open, but it's probably closer to a minute or two. The first thing your gaze drifts toward is the bed.

"Of course, you would have a brown plaid comforter."

Rhett sputters against your neck. God, you've missed that laugh. "That's what happens when 'm left by myself."

This room screams his name in every way it possibly can. Cowboy hats scattered in places they don't belong, blankets occupying every surface. There's a basket of dirty laundry in the corner, what you suppose is a bag of chips laying in the middle, and there is absolutely no reason for one of his socks to be on the ceiling fan.

You love it.

You love this.

And you don't need to say it out loud. Rhett already hears you, and your heart hears him in return.

"This place has a clawfoot bath," he says, after a moment, "d'you wanna...give it a shot?"

Why this old cabin has a clawfoot bath, you'll never understand. What other odd things have you to learn about this place? "Would this entail me having to use your three-in-one body wash?"

He's quiet at that. The biggest goddamn yes you've ever heard. "...I have bubbles?"

In the morning, the first thing you're going to do is haul his half-feral ass to the store to do some shopping. Get him away from whatever the hell monstrosity lies in that three-in-one bottle and replace the couple of items you've forgotten back in Wabang. Maybe you'll make him explain how the hell he took you to South fucking Dakota in the blink of an eye while you're at it.

But for now, you're happy to nod your head, "bubbles sound nice."

#rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #ao3 oneshot #oneshot #rhett abbott outer range #outer range fic #outer range #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott x you #reader self insert #self insert #x reader #reader insert

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themoonlovemuses · 9 months ago

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All For A Good Cause (Professor Layton X Reader) Part 2

Summary: Arriving at the Gressenheller Charity Gala, you settle in to mingle with your friends and colleagues before the events begin, and the auction stirs up some suspicions about people's intentions.

☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆

You and the professor had finally entered through the doorway, leading to the events room where this gathering would take place. As you entered, you could see all the familiar members of staff you had come to know over the coming months. The ladies in their jewel-toned slip dresses and the men in black tie suits similar to the professor’s, clinking glasses of champagne and mingling with one another as they waited for the event to begin. From your vantage point at the front of the hall, you could see groups of people admiring the auction prizes on display; ancient artifacts, gift baskets, and even a mention from a group of ladies from the history department passing by that one of the prizes was a day of the dean doing everything they asked of him.

“Well, tonight seems set to be an unforgettable night with how excited everyone seems to be.”

“I believe you would be right (Y/N). It seems that the entire faculty has made an appearance tonight.”

“It would seem so. Still, it’s nice to see everyone outside of the working environment. Able to converse without talking about work and just enjoying themselves.”

“Yes, you’re right. In fact, I would love to talk more to Dr Ohm about his upcoming research on genetically sustainable crops he has been researching. It sounds like it will be ground-breaking if is research can get off of the ground. If he can pull himself away from his beloved goats.”

“Haha! That’s true, but to be fair to the Dr, conducting this kind of research alongside his new position at the university must be a lot to take on at once. And besides, we’re not ones to talk. I think if we didn’t push each other to do your research papers and my novel, we wouldn’t be getting far in our goals either.”

“Well I can’t argue with that now, can I? Anyway, was there anyone here you were excited to talk to as well?”

“Oh yes! I would love to talk to Mrs Adetola about her class's up-and-coming study on the Inspector’s Summons Novel! I remember having to study them when I was in university so would love to hear her take on the subject. And to Mr O’Sullivan about his trip to Venice. The weather was supposed to be perfect when he went so I'd love to hear how it was.”

“Well, it seems like we both have some mingling to do. Although I do hope you will be saving a dance for me this evening, with all the socializing we will be doing it’ll be nice to catch one another towards the end of the night.”

“O-Oh! Of course Hershel!” You replied hastily, caught off guard by the sudden request from your friend. “He wants to dance with me? That’s a suddenly bold move from him. I wonder what’s that about.” You thought to yourself as he just smiled at you, amused by your suddenly flustered appearance.

“Ah! There you two are! I was wondering if you would be showing up, or if you got wrapped up in one of the many discussions you two always seem to be having!” A familiar voice interjected, breaking your thoughts of what you had just been talking about. Facing away from one another, you were met with the approaching figures of the Dean and Dr. Schrader, both dressed up nicely in tweed suits, the dean’s toupee just slightly askew from all the socializing he has been doing.

“Dean Delmona, Dr Schrader! What a nice surprise! I hadn’t thought you would be coming!” You said, greeting them both with a hug. It had been a while since you had been introduced to Hershel’s old mentor when he had visited him in his office one day. The last you had heard of him he had headed up north to conduct some research on an old Celtic clan

“Well as an old friend of the university’s, I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to get involved with all of the fun. Besides, I want to see what kind of bidding war happens on that Azran Tablet I’ve donated. I heard that some members of the school board had their eyes on my piece. But I know you won’t let it go without a fight, ey Layton?” Dr Schrader chortled, nudging his apprentice a little with his elbow.

“Hahaha! Not to worry Dr Schrader, I'm sure that no matter what happens with the auction, it will go to a wonderful home.”

“Hmm, true enough Layton, true enough. Anyway, how are you finding your first charity gala with the university (Y/N)? Not too overwhelming I hope?” The dean asked you, turning his gaze over to yourself while the others talked more about the archaeology projects they’re currently working on.

“Oh, it’s wonderful! I'm just glad to be a part of such a good cause! But it must have been a touch stressful to set up, right Dean Delmona?”

“Well that’s true, we did have a last-minute cancellation on one of the prizes for the auction; Mrs Goldfinch on the school board withdrew her prize of a vintage necklace worn by Marilyn Monroe. She did this the last two years as well so I don’t know why I expected for her to follow through with her promise this time. That’s why the prize of me being an assistant for a day’s cropped up.”

“Oh yes, I heard the history department talk about it, sorry that it had to happen this way, but at least you’ve got a lot of interest in your lot.”

“Hmm, so long as it’s the history department that wins and not Mrs Goldfinch. I swear she’s been eying me up since she got here.” He shivered, making you giggle a little at the idea of the old lady eyeing him up like a prime slab of meat.

Just in the lull of the conversation, you heard the professor cough and Dr Schrader laughing, almost bent over with how hard he was laughing at his former student. You also noticed that the professor’s face had turned a shade of red and was covering his mouth to cough. “Wonder what they were talking about that made them act so?” You thought to yourself before turning back to the conversation you were having with the dean.

It carried on this way for a while, your little group of four talking about all sorts, from Dr Schrader's newest research and meeting with old friend Thomas McLuhan and the Dean’s latest tribulations with a puzzle his darling granddaughter had given him to solve (and subsequently passed over to Hershel to solve.) Sadly, as much as you were enjoying the conversation, the event organisers soon called everyone over to begin the sit down for the dinner course to start. The dean and Dr Schrader parted ways with you both, heading to their table with the rest of the school board. Walking around the hall, you soon saw that your tables were right next to one another, Hershel nearby on the table with the rest of the natural sciences, anthropology, history, and geography departments, while you sat down with the rest of the supporting staff, a bubbly Rosa shouting at you to come over and sit next to her.

“Seems I've been summoned Hershel, don’t worry though, I'll make sure to save that dance for you.”

“Haha! I’m glad you remembered our little talk from earlier. I’ll join up with you once the speeches are done. Good luck with the auction (Y/N).”

“Thanks, and you too Hershel!” You smiled, now walking off towards Rosa and the rest of the support staff who had already sat down. Rosa easily slotted you into their conversation about kids and grandkids and their activities over the last weekend while the starters of prawn cocktails and bread baskets were placed on the table. Apparently, Rosa’s dear Ronny was back traveling up to Galway to see his girlfriend, which had left Rosa with nothing to do but spend more time and money down the markets. Meanwhile, the other talked of picnics at Nelson’s Park and other activities that happened over the weekend, as you talked about the photography exhibit you, Emmy, and Luke had gone to the week prior, the others at the table were glad little Luke was settling in so well to life in busy London since making the move and popping up more often at the university.

Glancing over to where the professor’s table was, you could see him talking animatedly with Gene Ohm, who seemed much more engaged than usual to speak to. “Well, at least he’s ended up talking to Dr. Ohm like he wanted to.” You thought as you sat there, smiling to yourself as you watched the interaction between the two. As if sensing you looking up at him, he glanced at you quickly, your eyes locking for just a second before giving you a quick smile and returning to his conversation.

“Oh ho ho! Looks like our little librarian can’t their eyes off of our archaeology professor for even one night! Ah, the throes of young love.” Mr Channari from the catering department chuckled, lifting his wine glass to his lips as you struggled to compose yourself.

“Mr Channari, it’s not like that! We’re just friends.”

“Oh, you don’t have to lie to us, honey. We’ve seen the way you two swan around during your breaks, talking about anything from Azran to the zebras at London Zoo. I swear you could talk about darning socks and that Layton would hang off your every word. And we saw how you entered the hall together, very cozy looking the way your arms were linked together” Mrs Smith commented, elbowing Mr. Channari in the side and making him snort into his white wine.

“Oh leave her alone you two. So what if they were linking arms together? Good friends can have physical affection too you know.” Rosa chided the pair, putting her fork down and dabbing at her mouth a little with her napkin.

“Thank you, Rosa. At least someone’s not out here to tease me.” You thanked her, raising your glass to your lips.

“Besides, tease her too much and you two won’t be invited to the wedding.”

Choking on your drink, you coughed into your hand as you turned a brighter red, not only from Rosa’s comment but at the way the rest of your table laughed, drawing eyes from other tables to your group. Rosa quickly cooed and apologised about teasing you, but mentioned how easy it was. Glaring at her, you took the peace offering of her napkin to clean yourself up as the main courses of roast chicken and roasted vegetables came out.

After that, the rest of the meal went on smoothly, the group apologising about making you choke, that it was all in good time and how they supported whatever it was you two had going on. Sensing your embarrassment, they quickly changed the subject to what auction items everyone was aiming for at this event (no one was surprised when you mentioned the first edition books up for grabs.) Dessert of stewed pear and ice cream eventually came out, and the staff also started handing out paddles for the auctions. The crowd murmured in excitement as the dean took the stage to announce the beginning of the auction.

“Ladies and Gentleman, thank you for coming together today and attending the Gressenheller Charity Gala! It warms this old man’s heart that we can all come together on this day to raise money for the Typhoon Disaster Relief Fund. I’ll not keep you any longer, as I’m sure that you’re all excited to see what auction prizes we have on offer. So with that, let the charity auction begin!”

After a round of applause and the Dean taking his seat again, the event managers start announcing the lots in total, the crowd oohing and aahing as certain lots are announced. The real pandemonium begins on the first lot though, as they switch things up that instead of having the ‘Dean for a day’ lot go last, they would drag it up as the first lot of the night, shocking the dean from his seat and sending Dr Schrader into hysterics. Finding Hershel’s eyes across the room, a mischievous glint in his eyes, you nodded his head at him and looked over to Mrs Goldfinch, who was practically salivating at the dean. “Don’t worry Delmona, we’ll save you from this fate.” You thought to yourself as you readied your paddle.

And what a fight it was, in the end, it seems like a war between Mrs Goldfinch and the history department. With you and the professor interjecting now and again. When Rosa asked what you wanted a day with the dean as your assistant for, you explained to her the conversation you had with the three gentlemen before the meal. Wanting to get involved, and having had a little too much wine to be the sensible one in this situation, she eagerly joined in the price-hiking scheme of yours. Higher and higher the prices sawed, until in the end the history department won by pooling their funds together for the price of £950! Much to the chagrin of Mrs Goldfinch

“£950 sold! To the ladies on table four! You’d better start scheming now for what you wish for him to do for you. What a wonderful start to the auction ladies and gentlemen! I hope this energy continues throughout the auction! Up next, is an antique set of silverware from the Victorian era donated by the school board’s Mr Grahams.” The spokesperson continued, announcing the next item. And on the auction went, lot after lot up for grabs. The professor ended up scoring the Azran tablet Dr Schrader ended up with, just beating out Mr Grahams for it. And Rosa came away with a fine gift basket of artisan goods donated by the market nearby. “Can’t wait to crack into this tonight!”

Eventually, your lot came up for the first edition of Homer’s Odyssey books. You were getting ready for the bidding, eyeing up Mrs Adetola as she also got geared up to bid. “And ladies and gentlemen, the next item up for auction is this first edition set of the Iliad and Odyssey, written by the ancient Greek poet Homer. Fit with a stunning white imprinted leather cover and gilded pages. Can I start the bidding up at £50?”

“£60!” you shouted, raising your paddle, but Mrs Adetola wasn’t too far behind you,

“£70!”

“£80!”

“£90!”

“£100!”

“£150!” Mrs Adetola stated, standing up now, much to your horror.

“£150! Ladies and gentlemen, £150! Can we get more than £150 for these fine first-edition books?” The spokesperson asked, scanning the room while raising his gavel. “£150!?! I know I saved up some money for this auction but even I can’t justify that! Oh well, guess you win some, you lose some.” You thought solemnly, lowering your paddle, accepting defeat.

“£200!” Another voice announced to the group. Looking up, you could see it was Hershel standing now with his paddle.

“£200! Can I get more than £200? Going once…” The announcer asked, looking over to Mrs Adetola. Smirking and raising her hands in defeat, she too ended up sitting back down, admitting defeat as well. “Going twice…SOLD! To the man in the fine top hat!” The announcer finished. Hershel had won the lot.

“See (Y/N). A man who wasn’t into you wouldn’t have just outbid another person to get you the things you wanted. If that’s not interest, I don’t know what is.” Rosa whispered into your ear, taking another sip from her wine glass.

“Maybe he does…” You thought to yourself as you watched on, as Hershel made his way to the stage, taking his prize from the event people. “Could he like me back?”

#professor layton #professor hershel layton #professor hershel layton x reader #professor hershel layton x you #hershel layton x reader #hershel layton x you #hershel layton #x reader #x you #reader #reader insert #reader self insert #self insert #x gender neutral reader #fluff #writing #multi part fic

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ancientwastedlores · 2 years ago

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I Can See You!

ASK: Hi can you do the I Can See You from SNTV? The scenario would be like Loki and the reader being in the same mission and secretly liking each other but they can't. THANK U IN ADVANCE🫶

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A/N: It's been a while since FREED BY FATE, which I am thrilled to say did much better than I was expecting. Thank you for continuing to read my stuff, guys :') And thank you for more asks! I hope you enjoy <3

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I Can See You

Under the cloak of the New Moon, the Avengers compound hummed with an eerie energy. Asgardian Spirits danced around Loki, whispering ancient secrets as he channeled his rituals. These ceremonies blessed the compound with a magical shield, an ethereal protection against outside threats.

Yet, this shield bore a vulnerability. Each New Moon, Loki needed an hour to rejuvenate its power, leaving the compound momentarily exposed. The Avengers, ever vigilant, braced themselves during this time, knowing all too well it was when enemies might seize their chance.

You were stationed at the front door, the only entry point your enemies would never think to use. Steve, Sam, and Tony got the more complex entry points AND all the fun.

As you stood there, Chitauri weapons and your own version of the Iron Glove in hand, you paced back and forth, itching for some excitement.

From within the building, Loki's voice surged like a divine chant, causing the very foundations of the compound to quiver. A sense of awe enveloped you, his smooth baritone intoning in a language unknown to you. It swelled, filling the air, drowning out all else, until his voice was the very pulse of your existence. It felt sacred, all-consuming. You yearned to immerse yourself in this overwhelming force, to be one with its profound mysticism.

THWACK!

Snapping out of the religious experience, you turned your head to the right. What the hell was that?

Alarms blared inside the building, but Loki's voice remained strong. You got the excitement you were hoping for, after all!

You rushed inside to where Loki was, hoping nobody had the chance to reach him yet. The voice got louder as you got closer, and the sheer energy surrounding him and the spirits visiting him stopped you dead in your tracks. This is about as far as you could go - which means it's about as far as any enemy can go.

You took a position right outside this forcefield... and waited. Shouts, alarms, and sounds of guns and clanging armors indicated there were at least 50 men to contend with, but if Tony, Steve, and Sam were handling it, it meant the enemies were dropping like flies.

Suddenly, shadows flitted in the periphery. You squinted, spotting a group of infiltrators — mercenaries from the Ten Rings, wielding strange energy blades that pulsed with a sinister glow. Their aim was clear: to break Loki's concentration, shattering the protective shield.

As they advanced, you readied your Iron Glove, releasing a blinding burst of energy that knocked several of them off their feet. Above you, the sound of battle resonated through the hallways — Steve's shield clashing, Tony's repulsors firing, and Sam's wings echoing with swift movements.

In the midst of the chaos, you held your ground, determined to protect Loki. Every so often, you'd catch a glimpse of him through the chaos. Each time your eyes met, a silent understanding passed between you. He continued his incantation, the ethereal spirits swirling around him, a stark contrast to the violence outside their protective circle.

Suddenly, a massive force threw you off balance. One of the Ten Rings, stronger and more formidable than the others, had charged towards you. Just as he was about to strike, a protective green energy barrier emanated from Loki, throwing the assailant off course.

Loki's eyes locked onto yours, a mix of gratitude and something deeper, something neither of you had acknowledged before. The intensity of his gaze, coupled with the realization that you had just risked everything for him, made your heart race.

Not now... focus.

The energy barrier was enough to make the other thugs hesitate to approach you. The leader shouted at them to continue advancing, but some valued their lives more than their jobs and fled outside. Unknown to them, the Hulk was outside waiting for them, but that wasn't your problem.

The leader glared at you, his bloodied face and gleaming sword making you wonder, for a second, how hot Loki would look disheveled and dangerous.

You shook your head to get rid of those sinful thoughts. Focus.

The leader dropped his sword and reached into his pocket. The world around you stopped, and a breath hitched in your throat. He took out a small metallic object, a cube no bigger than the dice you played Monopoly with.

The cube shimmered under the dim light, emanating an aura so potent that even from a distance, its pull was undeniable. Etched runes, eerily reminiscent of the old Asgardian scripts, glowed on its sides. It was an artifact from the realm of Svartálfar, known for its potent disruptions to magic and spells.

The leader sneered, holding the cube high. "You think you're the only ones with ancient weapons?" he barked. With a swift movement, he crushed the cube in his palm, releasing a blinding pulse of energy.

The effect was immediate. Loki's chants faltered, his connection with the spirits weakened, and a violent tremor coursed through the compound. The quake threw many of the Ten Rings off balance, some being buried beneath the fallen debris. The protective barrier around Loki wavered, and he stumbled, the weight of the entire compound's shield on his shoulders proving too much to bear without his full concentration.

Loki's emerald eyes widened in panic as he saw the leader lunging at you. With a swift movement, he summoned his scepter and projected a beam of emerald energy, knocking the leader off his trajectory and away from you.

But the damage was done. The quake grew more violent, causing cracks to appear on the walls and floor of the compound. Alarms blared, warning of structural instability, and the compound risked collapsing on itself.

It was then that you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist. Without a word, Loki teleported both of you to a safer location, away from the chaos of the crumbling compound. You found yourselves on a hill overlooking the Avengers compound. Below, fires raged, and the earth trembled, but you were safe.

Tony and Sam flew above, and you could almost see the look of utter rage and confusion on Tony's face. You hoped the non-flying Avengers were safe, and almost as if she heard you, Wanda flew out, and Steve, Bucky, and Maria Hill floated out with her, enveloped in her red energy.

Loki and you panted heavily, leaning on each other for support. The magnitude of what had just transpired weighed heavily on both your minds. The cube, with its power to disrupt even the most potent of Asgardian spells, was a game-changer.

Loki looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of relief and concern. "That cube… it's an artifact of Svartálfar. I've only heard of its existence."

You nodded, catching your breath. "And now we know what it can do."

It took everything in Loki not to pull you into his arms, and thank Odin you were unharmed. The mystical energy around him lingered, making you feel faint. You could still feel the walls shake as his chants grew louder. But now, with no Loki and no spirits on the compound, the Avengers had never been more vulnerable.

"We need to go back," you said. "I do; you stay here." "That's not happening... Loki, take me back." "Y/N, you're not a god, and you have no powers." "I'm an Avenger!" "Y/N!" "LOKI!"

You glared at him defiantly. "I'll walk there if I have to." "Then I will tie you down here."

The comment made you take a step back - his low voice and intense eyes made that comment so sexually charged you needed a minute to stabilize yourself. As if he heard your thoughts, he blushed a bright red and looked away from you.

"Could you not be so stubborn?" he asked. "The compound is literally falling apart."

Loki, taking a deep breath, realized the futility of arguing. "Very well," he sighed, offering his hand, "Together, then."

----

In a blink, you found yourselves back at the compound. The fires raged more fiercely, and the remnants of the Ten Rings mercenary group had regrouped, exploiting the compound's vulnerabilities.

Tony was in the thick of it, his red and gold suit glowing brightly against the darkness, his repulsor beams shooting enemies down like flies. But it wasn't enough. Wanda, her hands glowing with red energy, was creating barriers and tossing the mercenaries around, but she, too, was outnumbered.

"I'll handle the men," you shouted, drawing two Chitauri weapons from your side. "You get the shield back up!"

Before Loki could object, you dashed into the fray. Tony zoomed by your side, firing blasts at any mercenary that got too close. "Nice of you to join the party," he quipped.

Wanda joined forces with you, her telekinetic abilities perfectly complementing your combat skills. Together, the three of you formed an unbreakable front, pushing the invaders back.

Loki, meanwhile, rushed to the ritual site, attempting to regain his connection with the Asgardian spirits. As he began chanting, another familiar voice joined him. Thor, having sensed the disturbance, had returned. The brothers, their powers combined, created a force to be reckoned with. The chants became louder, and more potent, and the ethereal spirits returned, swirling around them.

You, Tony, and Wanda worked in perfect harmony. Using her powers, Wanda lifted groups of mercenaries into the air while Tony and you, with precision targeting, fired at them, effectively incapacitating them. Once subdued, they were effortlessly thrown into the waiting arms of the Hulk, who gleefully swatted them away like bothersome flies.

As the last of the mercenaries were dealt with, Loki and Thor's combined energies surged, the shield's power restored. The compound's tremors ceased, and an eerie calm settled.

The shield was back, stronger than ever.

-----

"We really need to find another way to charge those magical shields," Tony said, taking a swig from his glass. "An hour under a New Moon? We're practically begging to be invaded."

The party was on in the in-house bar and lounge, but Loki was nowhere to be seen. Not seeing the point in staying too long, you finished the rest of your drink and got up.

"Leaving already?" Tony asked, "Come on, it's 1 in the morning." "Yeah, but emotionally I'm 80, so I would want to be in bed by 8. Sorry."

He laughed and bid you good night, as did the others.

You made your way back to your room when Loki crossed your path.

The dim lighting of the hallway cast dramatic shadows, and Loki's silhouette stood out, his posture both regal and, strangely, vulnerable. His green eyes bore into yours, the same intensity from earlier lingering.

"You're heading to your chambers?" he asked, the question seemingly simple but with layers of emotion underneath.

"I am," you replied, meeting his gaze. "But not before I thank you."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Thank me?"

"For everything," you started. "You've been risking your life to shield this compound, putting yourself in the line of fire every New Moon."

He took a step closer, closing the gap between you two. "You risked just as much. Maybe even more," he said softly. "You could have stayed out of it. Yet, you chose to step into the fray, for me."

The air between you two was thick with unsaid words and emotions, neither of you breaking the gaze.

"I couldn't just stand by," you whispered. "Not when you were in danger."

A small smile tugged at Loki's lips. "And I couldn't imagine a world where you were harmed. Even the thought terrifies me."

Heart pounding, you took a bold step, bringing yourself right up to him. "Loki," you breathed, "I realized something tonight. With all the chaos and... watching those men trying to get to you. I-I can't ignore it anymore."

His voice was barely audible, filled with anticipation. "And what is it you can't ignore anymore?"

His maddening, magnetic energy made you feel weak, conveniently giving you an excuse to wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him towards you. You ran your hands from the nape of his neck into his hair as you lifted yourself to tiptoes and kissed him deeply. As you tugged his hair gently, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him, nearly crushing you.

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MASTERLIST

Open for new fic requests! Here are the request guidelines :)

#loki x you #loki fanfic #loki x reader #reader self insert #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston x reader

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vodkaexplorer · 2 years ago

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Serendethity Update

Chapter 12

Fandom: Metalocalypse

Ships: Toki Wartooth x F!Reader, Skwisgaar Skwigelf x F!Reader

Rating: E

WARNINGS: Read tags before proceeding. Chapter 12 is NSFW.

Love to everyone who was sending me comments and good messages over the time of my hiatus ♥️

#serendethity #metalocalypse fanfic #reader self insert #toki x reader #Metalocalypse #fanfic

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white-poppie · 2 months ago

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𐙚 ‧₊˚ Thinking 'bout Older!Toji <33

Older!Toji who very clearly needs reading glasses but refuses to wear them because "he doesn't need it." So he's just squinting his eyes trying to read whatever is written on the newspaper.

Older!Toji who's your biggest hypeman; you'll find him whistling "damn mama" at anything you wear, sweatpants, large ugly t-shirts? He's hyping you up like you're wearing designer clothes, his hands constantly on your butt, smacking whenever he has a chance. And if you whine cutely, he'll just chuckle and do it again!

Older!Toji who just refuses to fight with you even if it's for valid reason. You'd be screaming at him, and he'll wait till you tire out and just look at you with a coy smirk and say, "You done, baby?" ugh, he's so annoying.

Older!Toji, who has this weird thing where he squishes your face and then leans down to kiss your puckered lips with an audible smooch.

Older!Toji who's super clingy in the morning (contrary to popular belief) and just sags half of his body weight on you, and you can barely move. " 'jus five more mins ma," he'd whisper in his hoary voice and you'd have no choice but to relent.

Older!Toji who doesn't have the energy he used to have in his younger years, so after particularly tiring days, he just wants to lay his head on your lap and have you run your fingers through his hair and he's out like a baby...except the fact his snores could wake up the entire neighbourhood.

Older!Toji who loves wearing the black compression shirt and grey sweatpants combo just to see you salivate over him. He pats his thighs and gestures for you to sit on his lap before burying his nose in your neck and pressing a kiss on your shoulder.

Older!Toji fell in love with you all over again when he let you shave his face after you insisted. He just looks up at you with his intense eyes, being so silent you can't even tell if you accidentally hurt him or something, and after you're done, he grabs your hand and whispers out, "I swear to god, I am gonna marry you again."

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isolatedrose · 14 days ago

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A Message In The Water (Part II)

(this is a repost because tumblr flagged it as mature for some reason T-T)

Part I

Part II

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Mermaid Reader

Summary: Arthur picks up your precious jeweled comb, leading to a chance encounter between the two of you. He thought you were the stuff of legends. Reader is a mermaid.

Word Count: 2.2k AO3 Link

Notes: Not proofread yet, I’ll do it later. I also took a lot of liberties with the dialogue and progression of scenes in the game. I really appreciate the love this fic is getting, so thank you!

The metal tub the auctioneers shoved you in was too cramped for you, as your tail was hanging off of the edge. At the news of the auction holding a mermaid, the showroom was filled to the brim with investors, businessmen, and collectors eager to witness the sight of the creature of legends. A velvet curtain kept you hidden from preemptive prying eyes.

The past events that led up to this moment were a blur. One moment you were dragged on a boat by fishermen and the next you were shipped to the nearest auction house to be sold to the highest winning bidder.

You were exhausted, your limbs and tail depleted of energy from trying to resist your captors. The open air was also taking a toll on your lungs as you’ve never been out of water for this long before. The sellers simply filled the tub with a pitiful amount of water.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! I’m sure you have heard about our most exciting addition to our collection.” The auctioneer's booming voice echoed across the showroom.

“What we are about to show you, I can most definitely guarantee, is real despite what you might have heard.”

Two men at the outskirts of the stage began to tug on the pulley, slowly opening the curtains to begin the grand reveal that was you.

“It is my greatest pleasure to present to you, a mermaid!” The auctioneer gestured grandly with his arm towards you, the spotlight exposing you to the public.

Exclamations of all kinds exploded throughout the audience. Shouts were bouncing across the room, and people were already shooting up their auction signs.

“Now, now, settle down everyone. I will begin the bid at $500. Any takers?”

“600!”

“850!”

“1000!

“We have a $1000! Anyone for $1100?”

Your eyes were blank and dull as you stared off into the crowd, all of the audience’s heading eyes blurring together. You heard prices being sounded off at every second.

“$5000.”

The enormity of the price made viewers go quiet, but for you it made your heart palpitate in your chest. The realization of you actually being sold hit you like a freight train.

“$5000! Anyone for $5100?”

Voices were at a murmur at this point. No one could dare exceed that price unless they sought to fall to destitution.

“$5000 going once, twice, three times.” The auctioneer shoots off, yet no one chimes in.

“Sold! To Mr. Desmond Blythe!”

—————

Arthur adjusts his coat and blue cravat just before he enters the waterboat’s poker room. A grim frown was set in his face at just having his guns taken away from him. He wasn’t too keen on robbing empty handed like this, but as always, he had to put up with Trelawny’s plan and antics. He’d have to hold onto his words that “these people were virtually idiots.”

Arthur and Trelawny swing the ornate doors open, and the con man next to him switches tones immediately to one of fanfare and frivolity.

“Now have a good time, but don’t lose too much money or your wife is going to kill me!” Trelawny clamps a hand over Arthur’s shoulder.

“Whatever you say.” Arthur drawls.

The chords from the piano music thrums loudly throughout the poker room. Arthur saunters casually across the floor, observing the poker tables where he knew men with heavy pockets sat. Arthur saw the empty seat left just for him, for Arthur Callahan specifically. He caught sight of Strauss, but knew not to let his gaze linger too long.

However, just before he took a seat, he froze in his tracks. His eyes were locked onto one thing. Right next to the piano was a grand, glass tank filled to the brim with water. Inside the container, was you.

After you were sold to the highest bidder, the man acquired the largest glass tank he could acquire and shoved you in for his own and his business rivals’ entertainment.

At every tap or bang of the glass, you’d jerk away in fear, but to the spectators, they were thrilled at any movements you made, as your glittering tail moving through the water was spectacular enough. Desmond Blythe’ ego could not be inflated any further. He boasted to every onlooker about how he gained a magnificent piece that was once thought mythical to his collection. You attempted to ignore the humans gawking at you, but it proved little use as the tank’s size was nothing compared to the space you had at home.

You kept your gaze averted from the continuing passerbyers, but one figure stood in front of your tank. You expected the same tapping and banging you experienced previously, but this person was stock still. Out of curiosity, you finally lifted your head.

You gasp as bubbles escape your lips. It was Arthur! You drew close to the glass and placed both hands against it, lowering yourself to be eye level with him. You looked at him desperately, so happy to see a familiar face.

Arthur eyes gazed at you, weak and tender. But his mouth was set in a grimace. You sensed something was wrong.

Your buyer, Desmond Blythe, strolled up next to Arthur. “Amazing specimen, is it not? Mr…?”

“Callahan. Arthur Callahan.” He turned his head and shook Desmond’s hand.

“She— might I ask where you found… it?” Arthur is careful with his words.

“Oh it wasn’t me, but a group of fishermen. I paid a mighty fine price for it at an auction.” Desmond crosses his arms, his chest puffed out in pride. “I can still hardly believe my eyes, a mermaid.”

“Me neither…”

Desmond pats his shoulder. “Well Mr. Callahan, I’ll bet that empty seat is yours, correct? You can still take a look at it after the game.” The businessman leaves Arthur and proceeds to walk to the poker table.

You looked between him and Desmond, confused as to what Arthur’s affiliation was with these people. A seed of doubt is planted in your mind, but it is swiftly brushed aside when Arthur takes a step closer to the tank. He overlaps his hand with yours, the glass the only barrier between you two. He gives you an almost imperceptible nod before he turns to take a seat at the poker table.

The game between all the men proceeded until it was just Arthur and Desmond left. You couldn’t fully make out the words from where you were, until you heard a distinct cursing from your buyer. He throws his hand of cards on the table.

“Shit… shit!”

Arthur opens his arms to gather the chips to his side. “You got something else to play with?”

“… I got a watch.” Desmond offers slowly.

Mischief glints in Arthur’s eyes. “Look at you.”

Desmond scowls, pissed at his sarcasm. “An expensive one. A Reutlinger, worth more than you.”

Arthur leans back in his chair, propping his elbow on the arm to rest his chin. “Not enough.”

“What?” Desmond quirks an eyebrow.

“The pot’s pretty big now Mr. Blythe, and the stakes are high. No, I want something else you can bet on the line.”

“And what is that?” He pressed Arthur, falling into his trap.

Arthur is quiet for a moment until he speaks again. “The mermaid.”

Desmond practically sputters while Strauss right behind him stiffens in his seat, knowing full well that this wasn’t the plan. He glances sternly at Arthur, but he ignores the old man. Even Trelawny wouldn’t be too happy with these turn of events.

“Excuse me?” His mustache can’t hide the obvious red growing in his face.

“You heard me. I want you to bet with the mermaid.” The playfulness from earlier is gone from Arthur’s voice. “Here,” he pushes all of his earned chips to the center of the poker table. “I’ll go all-in right now.”

“Absolutely not! I paid a fortune for it!”

“Whatever you paid for her, I’ll match it and double it. In cash.”

“Double?” Desmond's eyes are wide, but now he’s enticed by such a tempting offer.

“Gentleman, are we continuing then?” The dealer cuts in.

Desmond looks to the dealer, then nods. “Fine… but you’ll regret it.”

Another round begins as two cards to each player is dealed. Finally, as the dealer lays down five cards, Arthur wins with an ace-high diamond flush.

“Goddamn you!” Desmond bellows as he bangs on the table.

Trelawny meanders over to Arthur’s side. “Now, what luck we have here!” He laughs heartily. “Now now, there’s no need for the hysterics!” Trelawny is theatrical as he places both hands on his waist, turning to look at you in the take. “Now how are we going to transport it? Hmm…”

“There’s something I don’t like about the pair of you…” Desmond accuses with an undercurrent of anger in his voice.

“No need to be a sore loser.” Arthur gestures to your tank. “Now how about you send some of your boys so we can drag that big tub of water out of here.”

Without warning, Desmond brandishes a gun hiding in his coat, and points the barrel at Arthur. You cry out in the water, banging on the glass.

“You’re not taking it! I bought that thing with my own money, fair and square. Unlike you!”

Arthur raises his hands in the air, but he stays calm.

“Going against your word now, Mr Blythe?”

“You cheated, I know it!”

A beat passes before you notice a man in uniform turns and shoots his fellow guard with his repeater and tosses it to Arthur. Absolute mayhem ensues as screams break out. Gunshots began to ring throughout the room, their bullets finding any target without discrimination, including you.

A bullet finds its way to the edge of your tank, creating a crack in the glass that eventually weaves its way through the surface, finally collapsing under pressure. Water floods out, and you with it, as you tumble out of your cage.

You crash onto the ground, your tail now feeling heavier with it out of water. Arthur looks to you from behind an overturned table for cover, and he shouts your name.

Before you knew it, another bullet clips your tail, causing you to yelp in pain. At the sound of it, Arthur rushes to your side despite the hail of gunfire. One of your iridescent scales is chipped off of your tail as it clatters to the ground.

“Are you alright—” but both you and Arthur are left shell shocked at your tail now dividing into two, as if it was held together by glassy webbing. Your scales began to dissolve into your skin until you were left with two human legs, with a bleeding red wound the size of your scale left behind on your new calf.

Your eyes darted to Arthur’s helplessly, frightened and clueless as to what was happening to you. He was also witnessing your transformation in open-mouthed awe. Your mouth opened in a silent cry as you pointed to your scale left on the ground, begging him to grab it. You weren’t exactly sure, but you knew you would need it if you were ever to change back.

Arthur gathers his wits and runs to nab the scale. He returns to you, but he’s unsure of what to do next.

“Can… can you stand?”

You try to lift yourself up, but the unfamiliar sensation of gravity weighs on you. You shake your head desperately.

“I’ll carry you.” He moves to hook his arm underneath your knees and your back. “Wrap your arms around my neck.”

You nodded fervently, placing all of your trust in him.

“Fellas!” He calls out to Trelawny, Javier, and Strauss in the chaos. “We’re gettin’ out of here!”

Javier, the man in the uniform that shot first you realized, waved Arthur over to the door that exits out onto the edge of the boat. “Over here!”

Arthur holds you tightly to him as he and his men rush outside.

“Arthur, the hell are we taking that thing for?” Javier is incredulous. “And why all of a sudden it has legs?”

“I too, would like to know the reason why we’re taking the creature with us.” Trelawny chimes in.

You tuck your head firmly into the crook of Arthur’s neck, breathing in his scent to steady your heart essentially jackhammering in your chest. He tightens his hold on you in reassurance.

“Just shut the hell up, and let’s get on out of here, got it?”

No one argues with that. Everyone gathers at the edge of the riverboat’s opening, preparing to jump off.

“W-what about the alligators?” Strauss stutters.

“Just jump!” Javier and Trelawny dive into the waters. Strauss pushes up his glasses and has no choice but to follow soon after.

You and Arthur are the last ones, but he tilts his head down to you, entreating you to look him in the eyes.

“I reckon you can’t swim with those new legs of yours. So you’ll have to hold on tight to me, just like you are now. I’ll carry us both to shore, you hear?”

You looked up at him, worry clear in your expression, but you nod nonetheless.

“Good girl.” Arthur kisses your forehead before he jumps in the water with you.

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