#i found some old journals a few days ago and happened to flip to the page where i ws talking about picking up currents by tame impala in '1 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lustbile · 3 years ago

Text

The Journal

TenxReader

Word Count: 7.3k+

Summary/Warnings: Smut with plot, semi public, a lot of biting, mentions of supernatural and just general weirdness, and small amount of blood play

Apart of the Club X series: Masterlist (can be read alone or within the series, but unlike others it might just be the slightest amount confusing)

“So that’s what you’re into now,” your best friend’s voice is bored and distant, her task of wiping down the bar that stretched out in front of her taking a majority of her attention away from the babbling you’ve tried to subject her to since you entered the empty restaurant only about 20 minutes before, “weird demon sex clubs?”

—

“Ah ah, I never said they were demons,” you correct quickly, the thought of defending yourself never crossing your mind as you petulantly slap your hands against the polished wood, “I just said it was…. weird.”

“Weird is an understatement,” she scoffs quietly as she turns to dip her dirtied rag back into the bleach water and ring it out, “I mean look, I’ve always been supportive in the witchy stuff you’ve been into but this…. is a bit much.”

“I don’t see how this is any different than any other thing I’ve read into.”

“Oh you don’t see?” you finally manage to pull her attention towards you as she harshly slaps the rag back onto the wood with a stern glare pulled on her pretty features, “you’re talking about vulnerability and abandoned warehouses and public sex. That last one is definitely new.”

You fully expected this type of response, only hoping she’d be busy enough that you would dodge the motherly scolding she liked to give you when you pitched your schemes to her with your eyes wild and wide, but nevertheless, she was completely right.

It came from an old book, tattered and torn from being flipped through one too many times, that you found at your favorite antique store. The store itself was already notorious with your tight inner circle of friends as the creepy shop that was corrupting your brain, a constant taunt being that the little old woman that ran it was the actual devil and she was just waiting for the right time to jump you and eat you whole, but this did nothing to stop you from visiting at least once a week.

But the book, it was different from any other you had found. It was completely handwritten, including amazingly done sketches in a deep unfading ink, and spoke of outlandish things.

Some were easily brushed off, like a murder that happened in the 50’s that was known to stay in the mouths of the older folks, both to them and the book it was widely believed to be the doing of some long tongued and wild eyed creature, until a local sweet old man admitted on his deathbed that it was instead his one crime of passion.

He had been a young soldier that snuck into his lover’s room one night, and upon learning that she was to marry a nice lawyer the day after he was meant to deploy, his mind went blank and his hands were carving out her heart. He luckily escaped any questioning after being shipped off, and once he returned home he captured the heart of a pretty young girl and lived out a long life sitting on top of a horrid truth.

So yeah, stories of those sorts, having been solved in your lifetime, meant very little to you, but the one you were going on about now, meant the world.

The writing looked like it had been put down by a panicked chicken rather than the woman who’s name was written neatly in the front. It lived in some of the pages towards the back of the small book and spoke of a dark club. Club X.

She went on and on about stumbling across the club purely by accident, and meeting another woman with glittering eyes. Graphic details of being taken in the middle of the dance floor with a million eyes looking but not fully seeing her as she fell apart against a dancing and eager tongue made your heart thump lodged in your throat. But the more and more she visited the club, the more incoherent her words became, but towards the end the writing had become stained and obscured by a deep brown stain, before it stopped altogether.

Thankfully, the details of where the building was was completely visible regardless of being the thoughts of a mad woman, and with a lot of thinking and staring at the town map, you’ve come to believe that you knew exactly where the mysterious club stood.

Only a street down from the restaurant you sit in now.

“Listen, I know it sounds ridiculous, and it probably is, but what’s the problem with just going to check right?” you scramble to pull the delicate book from the bag that sits in the stool beside you as your friend moves closer and closer to where you sit, laying it flat to show her the page you’ve had bookmarked since you read it, “and look at the name she puts, I think it’s the man who ran it and it’s a long shot, but maybe he’s still alive, or if not maybe some family is! Right here, Asm-“

“Don’t say it again,” she’s quick to interrupt, sliding her free hand to hover above the page you’ve glued your eyes to, “I don’t wanna hear any old man names, especially that one it gives me the ick.”

“It’s just a name,” murmur to yourself, but move to put the book away regardless, “but anyways, I have something that most people who were going to the club didn’t, knowledge of what exactly I’m walking into. I can just go and look around, worst things worst its still a freaky sex club and I just go home, but I’m willing to bet this lady was just off the shits and its just an empty building with some funky vintage beer bottles that you can add to your collection.”

You feel like you’ve won an award you weren’t even trying to compete for when she finally breaks out into a soft smile. The huff that leaves her chest is endeared, and you swear your heart began to vibrate when she reached to run a gentle thumb across the swell from your cheekbone.

“Fine, do what you want, but if the bottle isn’t completely intact when you find it I don’t want it.”

“So you’re not coming with me?” your head tilts to the side in confusion as with things of this nature in the past, she’s always followed along to ensure that you didn’t do anything to stupid. You never felt like the company was fully necessary, but it was appreciated regardless.

“Baby, as much as I’ve enjoyed your info dumping you’ve done tonight, the other person that was meant to clean with me had to leave early with a stomach bug so I’m busy pulling a clean up job that’s truly a job for about five people. But you seem to really believe in this little adventure of yours,” she leaves the rag in a damp mass next to the stack of dirty glasses beside you to take your hands in her’s, her slightly wrinkled fingers are still warm and the way they lace with yours makes you feel like nothing in the world could hurt you, “besides, you’re as smart as a whip and I know you have me on speed dial. I trust you.”

——

You no longer love the feeling of being trusted.

When your friend had given you the heartfelt speech only a little over half an hour ago, you felt like you had been put on a nice pedestal before she handed you a cookie with a pat on the head.

Now the “cookie” had turned to rot in your belly and you were faced with your own perfectly dreamed up reality.

It was already late by the time you had walked into the restaurant your friend works at, the sun already setting and the last few customers gathering their things and paying the bills, so once you got her stamp of approval and we’re heading out the door, the only light left was a bright and full moon, and flickering street lights.

You took your time walking in the direction that your book and personal sleuthing had pointed you in, the closer and closer you got to the one warehouse in town that seemed to never be bought back from the city, the knots in your belly pulled tighter and tighter.

But regardless of the almost painful twist in your gut, you surprisingly almost missed the building in its entirety.

It was as if your entire being blocked out the thumping bass that shook the sidewalk and the blinding red light that spilled from beneath the entrance and out the fractured windows. Your brain trying to force itself from entering the building you spent so many weeks trying to locate.

But the way your heart thuds in your chest when you stand in front of the entrance is something you couldn't even pretend you didn’t feel.

Your tongue digs into the side of your jaw, and you're confused at the feeling of warm tears burning at your waterlines. It’s exactly the way the owner of the journal described it in her manic writings, weirdly exact considering the other stories that surrounded it that dated it back far before you were even born.

You want to go in, the shaking steps your legs take is evident to that, but the tense muscles of your shoulders and stomach makes you hesitate and even grumble out into the air.

You almost jump out of your skin when you hear a shuffling to your side, your throat tensing when you look over, and are put slightly at ease when you see two men who you assume are acting as some type of security. You almost expect them to look up and ask you for some type of ID when you’re being very weird and blatant about your presence, but they seem too preoccupied with the dim screens of their phones and the way they lean forward at different times as if they’re waiting for someone.

Your hands are shaking slightly as they scramble down to grab for your bag, desperately looking for something to occupy you to walk by them without being even more weird, and when your fingers wrap around the flaking leather that binds the book, you grab it like a lifeline.

Your fingers flip through the pages with perfect muscle memory as you trip up the few steps that lead to the door, the tabs you carefully placed on the first page mentioning the club not even necessary with the way you could find the page even in your sleep.

You subconsciously hold your breath when you walk past the two men, almost as if the book is instead something wildly illegal and you're trying to sneak past your parents, and your washed with a temporary wave of relief when you pass through the doors without even a glance from the two.

Though the relief is stolen from your bones the second your feet touch the floor of the club.

It’s as if you’ve entered a place you’ve known your whole life, and from the amazing descriptions from the woman in the past, its not a completely surprising feeling.

But another part of you feels like this is the first time you’ve seen human beings in the flesh.

You can't help but to feel like you must look like an absolute nerd as you pull the book up to your face as you start to survey the club, but thankfully the book told at least one truth, and many of the club goers are too busy grouping and grinding against one another to even acknowledge your existence.

More truths come to light as you flick your eyes between the pages and the walls.

The bar is still tucked in the same far corner as she described, the flittering red and blue lights making it feel like a beacon of calm regardless of it being surrounded by drunken forms and its intimidatingly pretty bartender.

The dj is just a stoic and unimpressed looking as the one from so many years ago as he subconsciously bobs to the beat that he creates as he messes with the nobs and switches in front of him. He’s actually so similar, you wonder if you were right and the owner did have family floating around, and maybe the dj is one of them.

You stumble further into the room as you pick out small details she wrote about so lovingly. Your legs carry you to the back of the building as you smile at the sight of the wine stain the writer claimed to have created when her lover shocked her with a playful bite to the neck.

You almost feel like the universe is gifting you everything you could have possibly asked for when you see the loose board that she said a friend of hers would always trip over, and electricity zips up your spine in excitement when you spots the large painting that still hangs over the booth she claimed as her favorite, and she meticulously sketched out next to a paragraph about what she thought the artist was feeling.

All these things though, lead to the things that make your jaw hang slightly open.

The large balcony above you is larger than you ever imagined. The hundreds of bright red carnations she loved to sketch drip from the golden bars like water, and the black velvet curtains that hang over the room it leads to look heavy enough that they suffocate someone if they fell.

She seemed so intensely in love with the place you stand in, and the woman she met there, and those emotions were more than evident from the way the recreated the energy of the club with her words and art. Which only tips you towards the part that caught your attention perhaps the most.

It was exactly where it was meant to be. Just below the balcony that hangs high on the wall, gaping wide and dark like the mouth of a hungry monster coaxing you to enter its throat. The only issue that you can see being the hanging rope that blocks you from entering, but with only shining bright clasps holding it onto hooks on the walls, you don’t think you're above sneaking past it with little guilt.

The hall was the one thing that taunted you the most about the story the woman spun in the little worn book. The empty and dark vass space being something that coaxed her as well, but unfortunately for you, and maybe her as well, the parts of her journal that began the tale of her passing the temping rope, was the exact spot that was stained with bleeding ink and a suspicious brown color.

You survey the space around you, looking for anyone that could possibly be a worker or just a stickler for the rules, but seeing as everyone in your range of vision was attached by the mouth on someone’s neck or sloppy lips, you figured you were in the clear.

You drop the book gently back into your bag before you step slowly forward. Your heart feels like a wild animal trying to break out of the cavity of your chest, and it feels like your intestines have been successfully replaced with writhing worms that are desperately trying to reach your gut. You feel heat traveling up your chest and neck, and as you get within a few feet of what feels like the end of your life, your body begins to shake.

If you had the ability, you would have screamed, and if you had the strength, you would have fought back. But right when you're about to reach the threshold of the hall, and right when you feel like your legs are about to collapse from underneath you, strong fingers clasp over your trembling mouth, and an arm wraps tightly around your waist.

You’re turned faster than you can blink, the sudden motion making your brain swirl in your skull and making you go lightheaded and dizzy. And while keeping their hand clasped tightly over your mouth, the person that cages you in slams your back into the cold wall and knocks the air from your lungs.

The eyes that meet you are cat-like and dancing wildly, the grin the man you're faced with now smiles at you wickedly, and when your hands dart up until your nails dig harshly into the skin of his forearms, his smile only widens.

“Now,” he starts, the remains of a chuckle shaking his chest and his words slightly, “what exactly are you up to?”

You wait for a moment for him to release you from his hold, and when after a minute or so he still hasn’t budged, all you can offer in response is an annoyed arched brow.

“What?” he has the audacity to ask with taunting sincerity, “you thought you were smart enough to go wandering around, so you should be smart enough to figure out a way to talk around my hand right?”

It’s with immense irritation that you realize the two possibilities you’re faced with.

From the book you know about the weird concept of soul mates or whatever they were meant to be. The woman and the mysterious dancing girl she met so many years ago, and similar stories from the friends she met during her many visits to the club who had almost identical tales that she had to recount.

So with that information you know the possibility of this grinning man being your person is high, but your person or not, he was lighting a fire in your chest regardless.

You don’t think or even weigh the negatives before you send him a hard glare, and you show very little hesitation when you push forward to sink your teeth into the first finger you can catch.

His yelp is covered by the blaring music, but you hear it loud and clear before he reaches his free hand up to pinch at the bridge of your nose to pull you off like a rabid kitten.

“You know what I’m up to,” you huff petulantly as you lean back into the wall with your arms folding over your chest, “or at least I’d assume you’d be smart enough to use your context clues right?”

His lip curls when he glances back up to you as he pets at his now bruising finger, but even with the thin veil of irritation on his pretty features, you can tell he enjoys the sarcastic tone you’ve adopted.

“Yeah you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he bites back as he steps closer, crowding your personal space and pushing his chest tightly against yours, “you’re lucky I’m who caught you and not boss man.”

“Boss man?” you ask, trying not to show you excitement over him spilling the treasured information about the club that you want so desperately.

He doesn’t answer you verbally, and the sly wink he throws at you shocks you more than you would like to admit, but when he tilts his head back quickly you don’t hesitate to follow his line of sight to the edge of the balcony.

If it weren’t for the thin wires of light that create hatching over his eyes and mouth, you probably would have missed the masked figure that leers at you from over the railing. His hands and shoulders are covered by the masses of flowers, and the hollow black where he hides his eyes stares down at you two with a look that you assume is annoyance and possible curiosity.

The moment you two look up, the figure jerks back. Your eyes flick quickly between him and the man in front of you, and from the bratty grin he wears as he looks up, you feel as if the masked man didn’t have any intention at being caught.

You get lost slightly in staring at the man pressed against you, his teeth that look sharper in the red lighting and his eyes twinkle in mischief, and even with the obnoxious start to your interaction, you’d be lying to say you don’t find him beautiful.

It takes you a second to regain your senses, tearing your eyes away from the fascinating side profile of the man, but when you glance back up to the balcony, the mask man has retreated back.

“He doesn’t like much when we take people back there before they’re ready,” he attempts at an explanation as he turns back to you, and seems unfazed when he misses the mark and just confuses you further, “he let the two goons outside have a little exception, but that's because they don’t know how to go easy y‘know.”

“No,” you shake your head at him with a quiet scoff, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you know more than you think,” his voice drops as he speaks now, and as he speaks he reaches out his hand to hold himself propped against the wall next to your head while his other hand moves to run gently up the side of your neck, “I mean, you know who I am at least right?”

“I have an idea,” you admit with a huff, but you also admit to yourself that this probably means you won't be getting into the hall. You do mentally jot that down as a loss, but decide to take the man pressed against you as a win and you reach to grab at his shirt in retaliation, “but you could at least give me a name to work with.”

“Hm, I didn’t expect you to be one for such formalities,” his head tilts in amusement at his own words, and the action nudges the tip of his nose into yours and makes your heart flutter up into your throat, “but you might as well know the name of the man you’ll be destined to fall in love with.”

You roll your eyes hard enough for them to start to ache, and he quietly laughs and moves to press his nose into the soft flesh of your cheek as he feeds off your annoyance.

“Ten,” he answers quietly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he moves to whisper the syllable in your ear, and you never thought that with just one word he’d have a shiver rushing up your spine.

You respond quietly with your name, but the word comes out strained and rushed when he begins to nibble on the lobe of your ear and pushes his knee harshly between your thighs.

Both your hands now hold tightly onto the sides of his shirt, and when his lips move to trail against the side of your neck that isn't enveloped by his hand, you tug roughly at the fabric and your back arches slightly away from the wall.

His tongue is hot when he lays it flat on the center of your throat, and when he swipes it up until it flicks against the end of your chin, you can't help but cringe slightly at the feeling regardless of the way it makes heat pool in between your thighs.

The wicked grin on his face never falters, it only grows wider and more hungry when your eyes meet again, and with his staring so deep that you fear he may be collecting every ounce of your soul, you two have a silent agreement on the unnatural waves of electricity that connect you.

When his lips finally land on yours, it's the roughest and clumsiest kiss you’ve experienced. Both of you fight each other with hungry and eager tongues and the way your teeth gently knock together has your skull rattling in a way that, if you weren’t so hell bent of devouring each other whole, you’d probably have to take a breather.

Your hands reluctantly release the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, and in a desperate attempt to stay occupied, they shoot up the tangle tightly into his hair. You admit, you probably tug harsher on the strands than you probably should, but the groans he pours into your mouth, and the way his hips rock roughly into yours, has you tugging again and again.

He presses you further and further into the wall, and without thinking your hips begin to kick and tilt down until you're grinding harshly and sloppily against his tense thigh.

You let out a quiet whine that's muffled and garbled by his moving at the feeling of him pressing his thumb gently into the dip beneath your jaw, and pressing into your jugular. The sound is followed almost immediately by a small yelp when he latches his teeth to your bottom lip and gives you a stinging bite.

You’re frustrated almost immediately with the lack of friction you can feel from the layers of clothing between you, and now the slight shooting pain from the tensing skin between his teeth, you can feel the impatience in your belly crawling up and invading your chest and throat.

He’s quick to pull away when you retaliate with your own nipping bite to his top lip, your teeth still sinking down when he does and making his sting probably just as much as yours. And when he eyes you as his eyelids droop down into an accusatory squint, you assume he’s not used to getting a taste of his own medicine.

He mutters something to himself about your feistiness, and a sly comment about how he shouldn’t be surprised as he was expecting to get a handful, but he gives you no time to make a snide comment or even question about any of the words, before his fingers are closing firmly but loosely around your neck.

He keeps you rooted in the spot that you stand, the only change in your posture he allows is pulling you slightly away from the wall, just wide enough for him to slink behind you and tug you roughly back into his chest.

“You like poking around into business that isn’t yours?” he asks rhetorically as his free hand reaches around your shoulder to push past the neckline of your shirt, and right as he pressed down the center of your chest and his fingers brush the bottom of your rib cage, his fingers curl and he starts to drag his blunt nails up your sternum as he continues, “need to know and see every single little thing right? So… what’s the harm of being on the other side of it for once?”

“What are you on about?” you as sharply as you try to turn your face towards him the best you can, but his hand tilts under the bottom of your chin until your head is forced to lean on his shoulder and he’s nothing but thrilled at the way it makes you struggle.

“To be seen, or not?” he presses his lips back against the shell of your ear, and the way he whispers roughly makes you shiver again as your thighs press tightly together, “you know what I mean, and you know the answer I want, but its all up to you in the end.”

The electric and slightly humiliating buzz of being seen in a mass of bodies committing the same sins as you was something the woman in the book went on about frequently. She mentioned that there were a few times where she and her lover snuck off to get alone time of course, but the almost blinding pleasure that came from being worshiped by not only one person, but the eyes of an entire room, was addictive. And you wanted just a taste.

You grumble in response, the idea of admitting to the already confident man that you did indeed wanted the same amount of attention as he did made your chest burn even more than it already was, and you’d rather take your chance with his terrifying looking boss than to give him the satisfaction of your verbal confession.

He seems unaffected by your nonverbal confirmation, the way you press into him as his hand wraps around your waist again and creeps down to the button of your shorts, and your own hand grabbing onto the sleeve of his rolled up long sleeve shirt to guide him to undo the clasp or just dip below the waistband, is enough of an answer for him to know.

He chooses to pop the button, and once he has the zipper pulled down enough that he can work with, he begins to shove the worn denim down your hips along with your underwear until they are wrapped around your knees and he can push his fingers roughly between your thighs.

You try to clear the fog that he creates in your mind from his teasing fingers long enough to reach your free hand back to give the same treatment to the dark jeans that wrap tightly around his hips and thighs in a way that had you mentally drooling from the moment you got to get a full look at him, after he ambushed you of course.

You’re not sure how he undid your shorts so quickly without being able to see, but as you fumble and scratch your nails against the sensitive skin of his hip, you give yourself the benefit of the doubt seeing as your trying to work while his middle and ring fingers tease over your entrance and the heel of his hand presses clumsily into your neglected clit.

He, on the other hand, doesn’t give you any benefit of the doubt. He at least has the decency to press his lips across your cheekbone and temple to muffle his quiet laughs, but to make your task even more difficult, his fingers shallowly curl up into you just enough to make you twist and curl.

Once the button of his jeans finally releases, you instinctively let out a huff and sink your shoulders back into his chest as you reach past the fabric to wrap your hand around his stiff length and pull it from the confines until you can press it against his lower belly. And you get just one tally on your side of the boards you’ve created in your mind when his amused laughs devolves into pleased grunts and tilting hips.

“Please,” you start quietly, trying to rock more against the parts of his hand that press against you while running your palm up and down the length of him and smearing him with his own pre come, “I can tell you’re just as impatient as me.”

He swears in your ear, using his hold on you with both hands to shift your hips up and pull you closer before he clears his throat to speak, “well could you imagine, looks like we are a match made in heaven.”

“More like hell,” you retaliate, digging the heel of your own palm into the skin just below the tip of him to egg him on even further, “but either way, that's the point isn't it?”

“I should have expected you to be just a little bit of a smart ass,” he mutters a half hearted complaint, but he only contradicts his own words when he pushes your hips away enough for you to guide him between your thighs and to glide against the arousal that spilled from your body and his hands spread messy along any available inch of skin.

He thrusts smoothly against your back a few times, bringing his arm down to guide him towards your entrance painfully slow, but when you let out a gravely moan of his name, he cant deny himself for any longer, and he’s sinking into you until your eyes start to gently flutter.

Once he’s seated inside you, his hand tenses slightly tighter around your neck, and when you both start pushing towards each other to meet in the middle of your thrusts, his other hand takes the opportunity to map any inch of you he can reach.

He gropes almost painfully at your chest, traveling over your stomach and up your shirt to dig his fingers into your skin until you swear he’s tattooed his finger prints onto you, all while nipping and lapping at the skin of your jaw and neck.

No one immediately in front of you is watching, they’re all in their own worlds of flesh and saliva, but you can still feel eyes of someone on you. His first and foremost as they burn holes into the side of your skull and glance to watch where you push back against him desperately, but there’s another feeling you get of being seen and studied thats so intense that you’re a little shocked when you chance a glance up and see that whoever the masked person was from earlier wasn’t there at all.

So no, you have no idea who, or what is watching you right now, but you can feel the unusual heat it stirs in you as your body flutters around him as he fucks you sloppily. You feel a deeper relation to the woman that owned the book that still rests in the bag that feel unceremoniously from your shoulder when he first put his hands on you, and you hope that maybe you’ll eventually slip into the life of bliss that she meticulously wrote about and possibly learn what happened that demolished the stories that lived in the back of the journal.

You could feel the pleasure crawling up your spine like a monster out creature, your panting breaths tipping the man that works you over off to this even though you’re sure he was already aware before you were, and you think your legs are back to the edge of collapsing when his creeping fingers dance along the expanse of your stomach to find their place back between your thighs.

Your back stiffens at the first touch of his rolling finger on your clit, and your head tilts even farther back onto his shoulder than he already had it. He doesn’t seem interested in coaxing you to your finish slowly, at a pace that would have mercy on your melting mind and shaking form, but he instead abuses your clit until your whimpering out and stumbling and stepping slightly on his toes.

You feel like you’re waiting out the suspense of a horror film that’s score is too obvious to the incoming jump scare. You tilt your neck in a way that seems normal to him, but in reality your trying to feel the many rings that decorate his fingers with the delicate skin of your throat to test if any of them could possibly be sharp enough to cut you and draw blood. You know what blood means to him, and you know it's something he’ll have to do soon if he truly can feel how close you are to the edge.

You feel like you’re floundering a bit, confused from the possible deviation from the story you’ve committed to memory. Was there any chance in this world that this wasn’t your person?

You push this thought away as soon as your panicked mind can construct it though, because there’s no way the spell that it feels has been placed on you would be there if that was the truth, and your body is heated almost like a furnace, but you suddenly love the idea of being burned by him.

You pull in a gasping breath of air that pierces through the music and grunting that rattles in your ears, the taste of your orgasms dancing on the back of your tongue and your back arching so harshly you fear that one of your muscles might seize up and cramp. And right when you feel his hips start to stutter in tandem with yours, and when you’re only seconds from blabbering out mixed syllables that you could only hope would come out as a coherent question, you feel it.

His teeth latch onto you again, his canines not sharp enough to make a clean cut as they dig into the muscle of your shoulder, but his determination is strong enough.

It burns painfully, and makes hot tears well up in your eyes, but almost embarrassingly, is the exact thing that pushes you scrambling over the edge.

You feel like it hurts to breathe, your lungs so focused on letting out puffs of air and broken moans that they can't seem to remember how to bring oxygen in, and your eyes roll for a completely new reason for the man and much more painfully.

It’s when you feel him start to suck the rushing blood from your newly christened wound that you also feel the rumble of his groans against your skin and feel him start to come inside of you. His fist tightens again around your neck as he pushes aftershocks through your nerves with his own orgasm, and with flying hands you grab at both of his wrists, not to ask in any way for him to ease up, but from a sudden wash and need to hold onto him possibly until you die.

He lets you collapse to the floor once he pulls out, but he follows your sinking form and sits alongside you and partially underneath you as you both try to catch your breath.

The club scene in front of you is now blurs of flashing lights and abstract writhing forms, and if it wasn’t for the zaps of energy you feel from every brush of his finger tips, your brain would probably be too muddled to register him fixing both your clothes and his.

You become just slightly more aware when he shifts your body against him enough to grab at the strap of your bag with the heel of his shoe, and you try to sit up faster than necessary and give yourself a small head rush when he pulls it to himself and flips it open.

“You seemed a little weirdly unaffected by the whole,” he flails his hands in front of you for a second as he speaks, and your lagging mind takes a second to catch up with his attempts at implication, “not the fucking part clearly,” he teases, “but the leading up to it. The meeting part and all.”

“I know what this place is,” you admit, and if your legs had gained just a bit more strength you probably would have stood and requested a glass of water just from how gravely your voice had become, “I knew I was probably going to run into you.”

“But you weren’t looking for me,” he tries, and fails, at hiding the slight edge of offense his voice shows, “if you knew I was here why didn’t you look for me?”

“I didn’t worry about it,” you say, warming up a bit again in the fear that it may have come off slightly rude, “or, like, I mean I knew you’d be able to find me easier than I could find you. I was more interested in finding answers.”

“Answers to what? You said you knew this place, or at least what it is?”

“Well I only know the basics,” you shift in his hold, knocking his hands away as they sift through your bag, and grabbing blindly until you can pull out the book, “I found this journal and it-“

“A journal?” he asks in a volume that could have been obnoxiously loud if it weren’t for the thumping bass that shook the floor beneath you, and pulls the small book from your hands.

“It was written by a woman who came here a long time ago,” you explain, deciding to not take offense to his rough and grabbing hands, “I found it and tracked the club down, I needed to see if it was real.”

“Oh it's real alright,” he laughs as he starts to flip through the pages, stopping for a moment to smile at a simple sketch she had done of a cat that she said lived in the back alley, “hey wait I think I know this name, and these people.”

“What are you on about?” you ask with a scoff as you tug the book from his grubby fingers, “you can’t possibly know these people, this was written in like the fifties. Stop pulling my leg.”

“Oh I see,” he smacks your thigh playfully as he leans over your shoulder to glance at the first page that mentioned anything about the date, the ink clear enough to read 1953 in the swirling handwriting, “you think you know everything.”

“I do know everything, fuck you,” you glare playfully at him over your shoulder, “or I would know, if you’d let me go into that weirdo hall.”

“No hall, for now at least,” he sighs, the gears in his head turning as he thinks of the next thing to say, “but you know, time doesn’t exist the same way here, the woman who wrote this probably didn’t know that at the time, so I’m not surprised you don’t either.”

“What do you mean time doesn’t exist?” you look at him as if he’s grown a second head, but do you really have the nerve to question him like that? Considering that entire concept of the club you are very aware of its existence now, a time situation shouldn’t be the most shocking should it?

“Well, it's hard to explai-“

“Then don’t explain it,” you almost jump fully out of his lap at the deep voice that rattles above you, and both him and you look up at the figure that looms over you now.

The man is tall, his black hoodie looking weird in contrast to the clothes of the other club goers, and with a squinting observation and a familiar and annoyed sigh from the man seated behind you, you realize you’re being stared down by the mysterious entity that is the DJ, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket in annoyance.

“Huh?” Ten lets out more in the form of a noise than a word, as his arms wind tightly around your form.

“I said don’t explain shit,” the man begins to tap his foot in irritation as he speaks, and you wonder if he’s aware that he’s in rhythm with the song that surrounds you, “you need to chill out with the loose tongue, its bad enough we have the big mouths outside.”

“I wasn’t gonna go that far,” Ten sounds reminiscent of a scolded toddler, and considering the man is hindering you from getting information that you wanted so badly, you can feel yourself mirroring the pout he wears, “I know what I’m doing alright man? Why are you over here anyways, shouldn’t you be at your little booth minding your business.”

“No one minds their business over at that booth, and you should know that better than anyone pervert,” the words are sharp, but the curl to his lips and the underlying playfulness to his tone tells you the likeliness of them being friends is high, “anyways, I know we don’t follow any regulations or anything here, but I’m still gonna take a fuckin’ break or two.”

“Well breaks over,” Ten reaches out a hand to playfully swat the man away, “I didn’t wait this long for you to just interrupt my bonding time with my person alright?”

“Alright, alright,” he finally starts to shuffle away, throwing one last comment about Ten being bitter his person showed up first over his shoulder with a grin.

“What a loser,” Ten starts, looking at you playfully and rolling his eyes, “too bad he’s like my best friend or whatever.”

“You seem to have a lot of fun around here don’t you?” you take a shot at voicing your observations, your heart fluttering in a completely new way at the warm smile he shoots you.

“Just wait a see, my love. Just wait and see.”

#nct smut #ten smut #chittaphon smut #nct imagine #nct series #nct fic #ten imagines #ten oneshot #nct oneshot #kpop smut #wayv smut #wayv imagine #wayv oneshot

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halleehalfgallon · 3 years ago

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this is a long post about my friend Priscilla, dishcloths, and friends who make things. ✨

Priscilla passed last summer. I have had so very much to say about her. I’ve fit what I could fit into my journals, but there is no time to summarize the hilarious, maddening way our relationship was, or how special it was (and is) to me. by the time I heard that she died, the funeral had already happened, so I didn’t have the chance to sit and talk with other people who knew her. instead when I found all of this out, I took walks alone, scoured my phone and old journals for stories and things she said, laughed a whole bunch, and reflected on my gratitude for having seen her one last time in 2020.

a few years ago I had gone to her house to learn how to braid rugs. we didn’t get very far - she was flustered my left-handedness, but determined to flip things in her mind so she could teach me. I would laugh and tell her I could easily switch hands, but she would always shut me up. we only got a little work done before the lesson was abandoned. we had a good day just the same and she sent me away with the stuff I needed to keep going at home. I hung onto her rug-braiding supplies longer than I meant to, and in 2020 I was making space for Mundy and decided it was time to bring it back. I brought it by the switchboard one afternoon and she was there, crocheting as she often was. we talked for a minute about life, work, the baby, my giant belly. when it was time for me to go, she offered me one of her dishcloths, and no, there was no way in all heck she was letting me walk away without one. I’m really glad she did that.

over the last two days I made my first, second and third dishcloth, all the while considering Priscilla, and the tiny bit of her 80-some-odd years on earth that went into this thing that I care for my home with. she is still bringing goodness into my life.

tl;dr: I loved Priscilla and I miss her. hold onto your dishcloths til they’re nothing but string. mend your sweaters and blankets and mittens and socks. we are lucky to be loved by people who make things, and to learn from them too.

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snifflesthemouse · 3 years ago

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This morning, I read an article titled “I went undercover in the sinister world of Meghan Markle hate accounts" posted to Refinery 29. The title gives the impression of a journalist disguising one’s self as a “Meghan Markle hater” for the sake of getting to the bottom of something. However, the content of the article is nothing like its title.

Before I go further, let me stress the importance of perspective. My post isn’t an attack on the article’s author. I’ve never even heard of the author before now, and I’ve no right or reason to attack a perfect stranger because I vehemently disagree with the content of their work. Making assumptions about someone solely on what they write is lazy and sloppy in my opinion. I may be lazy and sloppy, but a hypocrite I try not to be. Therefore, go forward remembering my issues are with content, not creator.

The article starts out explaining the origins of the term “Megxit”. It continues with other hashtags, conspiracy theories, and so on. The article even mentions various media platforms “attacking" the Duchess, as well as crude posts witnessed by the author.

Then the name dropping begins. First with Murky Meg, then Sue Blackhurst, then According2Taz, then Skippyv20 on Tumblr, then Yankee Wally. Eventually, names of Royal Rota journalists are dropped. Then people like Angela Levin and Omid Scobie get mentioned, with interviews from the latter. Instead of an undercover sting, we get a “Who’s Who" of Megxit, a few anonymous Sussex Squad quotations, and Omid trying his best to be fair.

What this article accomplishes is very little when it comes to objectivity. The title is a misconception, and the content essentially paints targets on the backs of the people the author carelessly considers “Meghan Markle Haters". The article reduces anyone who disagrees with Meghan’s behavior as racist, misogynist, conspiracy theorist nutters. So, not only is the content of the article sloppy and lazy, it also lacks originality. We’ve all heard this sad song-and-dance number a million times.

I guess at face value, it becomes very easy, effortless really, for outsiders looking in to reduce an entire group of people with similar views to the basic stereotypes as old as time. It takes very little thought, consideration, or critical analysis, to assume things because they seem to correlate. But correlation is not causation. Just because some people opposing of Meghan Markle’s behavior happen to be racist doesn’t mean every single opposing person is also racist. Again, lazy and sloppy.

Just like assuming every single Meghan Markle fan is also vegan, anti-monarchy, feminist, woke warriors is downright sloppy and lazy. This author has personally interacted with and found common ground with Sussex Squad people many times. Some even became social media friends. They believe what they do, and I believe what I do. We do not agree with most things regarding Harry and Meghan, but we do agree to disagree and be civil.

So, contrary to the article, not all people “hate" Meghan Markle just because they detest her behavior. It’s important to remember extremes exist for all spectrums. Every topic, especially those politicized or made popular by media platforms, have extremes. There is no denying the fact that there are people who hate Meghan Markle because of her ethnicity. Those extremists who hate Meghan for her ethnicity ironically do not discriminate, though. If they hate her for her ethnicity, they hate ALL people of that same ethnicity.

On the flip side of this coin, is the other extreme. The face is the same on each side because the face represents extremism. There is no denying the fact that there are extremists who see anyone opposing Meghan as racists. Extremists who, by default, view every issue in the world through the lens of racism. While racism is a serious problem that deserves no place in society, assuming racism is the root cause of every conflict is also lazy and sloppy. And the same could be said that these extremists do not discriminate, either. If they see race as the only issue for why people “hate" Meghan Markle, they see race as the only issue for most everything.

The problem with both extremes is when everything and everyone is reduced to racial identity, racism only continues to exist. A racist using skin color as a disqualifier perpetuates racism. Assuming racism is the only reason behind disdain for someone only perpetuates racism. Focusing on race or racism allows no room for content of character.

Especially when people defend Meghan Markle being the victim of racism with a racist rule. When opposing critics say “I didn’t even know she was Black" or suggest her physical features, her Hollywood CV, or past involvement with Black causes were nonexistent before she became a duchess or stepped down from being a working royal, the extremists on the other side often resort to the One Drop Rule.

Which means their defense for calling Meghan Markle “haters" racists, even though they might have never knew she was mixed race, is a form of racism. The One Drop Rule was borne from the Reconstruction Era post-Civil War. The “rule" essentially said anyone who appeared to have Black features were considered Black.

The One Drop Rule was the precursor and eventual backbone to Jim Crow Laws of the South. It was used to oppress and segregate Americans based on physical appearance. Considering most people who never heard of Meghan before Harry came along were ignorant to her mixed heritage, it seems grossly negligent to assume race is the real issue. How can one be racist toward Meghan when they didn’t know she was mixed race? This author wasn’t aware of Meghan’s ethnicity prior to it being pointed out (by her and Harry. Repeatedly.), mainly because this author didn’t care.

Like so many, when I first saw Meghan and Harry together for the engagement interview, I was more excited about a fellow American joining the Royal Family. After learning she was biracial, well it was even better. It represented change and progress. Does that mean I saw the Royal Family as racists beforehand? No. It means I saw them as exactly the opposite. Had they been racist, she’d not be a duchess. Her being American and divorced was more a shock to me than being mixed.

The point of all this is there are extremists on every spectrum. For a journalist to say they went undercover, when in fact they did not, to expose the true motives behind Meghan Markle “haters", only to find they did very little to really understand the other side was disappointing. Not surprising, just disappointing. This could’ve been an excellent opportunity for someone to take the reigns and make bridges between two very passionate factions. Instead it became nothing more than a hit piece.

The article fails to acknowledge the possibility – no, the probability – that most people who object to Meghan Markle do so because of how she behaves. The article only considers one possibility behind this “hate". And by calling the objections “hate", the article in turn defines all criticisms as hate speech. Again, unoriginal, sloppy, and lazy.

So here we have it, yet another article grouping and stereotyping anyone who disapproves of Meghan and Harry as racist haters. Yet again, another article name dropping people “deemed racist haters", essentially painting even bigger targets on the backs of those people. Like they didn’t already have enough hate mail. Yet again, another sloppy, lazy, article that never digs below the surface to understand why instead of assuming it.

This isn’t new, it’s just another slop drop from the sensationalism machine that has replaced fair, legitimate journalism. It would be different if there weren’t so many questions surrounding the births. It would be different if Meghan Markle actually lived by the example she so vehemently preaches. It would be different if Meghan Markle would make amends with her own family before telling the world how they should treat people. It would be different if Meghan Markle were a strong woman instead of claiming to be one.

But it’s not different. She hasn’t spoken to her father since two days before her wedding three years ago. She denies the family connections that existed before her fame. She ghosts people once they are no longer of benefit. She preaches equality and universal service while using her title every chance given. She and her husband criticize the “family she never had" while naming their second child after that family’s Matriarch. All of those are behaviors that incite strong emotional responses. Behaviors. And behavior has no racial identity.

A final note… hypocrisy is the main reason people have issues with anything. When one group of people tells another group to stop attacking a public figure, while using assumptions as their crusade call, it’s hypocrisy. One cannot say “if you can’t take the heat, then shut up!” to another without being a hypocrite. When that happens, don’t be surprised when the same exact thing is said back. If Meghan or her fans can’t take the criticism, they shouldn’t participate in it. We all have the right to choose. Just like if I couldn’t handle the criticism, I’d not be writing this.

Life is not fair. The world is a dark, cruel place. When we expect the world to bend to the will of a few, we are setting ourselves above the majority. A strong woman would know this. A strong woman fighting for others would also know that the only person responsible for how one feels is one’s self. External feedback isn’t responsible for internal turmoil. Internal feedback is. That is all.

REFERENCE:

Amoako, A. (2021 June 11). I went undercover in the sinister world of Meghan Markle hate accounts. Refinery29. Retrieved from: https://www.refinery29.com/en-gb/2021/06/10518195/megxit-meghan-markle-anti-fandom

#murky meg #megxit #yankeewally #prince harry #according2taz

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

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A Reader Lives a Thousand Lives // D.M.

Summary: How could you describe your affinity for books? How could you explain what they mean to you? Draco tries to understand; he’s tried to understand for years.

A/N: I’m going to be honest: I’m struggling. I don't have writer’s block, but I am so busy atm that I feel awful about not being so active. I’m a key worker in the latest lockdown and my workload has tripled. On top of that, I have be tested twice a week and that’s enough to drain you completely. This isn't a long fic, and it probably isn't my usual standard, so please forgive me.

Warnings: book talk, lots of fluff, dates, friends to lovers, pining, mutual pining, dialogue heavy

Word count: 2.1k

How could you describe your affinity for books?

They had been there for you in times where not even your closest friends could offer you the best advice. They were there for you with every shift of your mood; you knew that you could turn to your shelves and somewhere, nestled between paperbacks and hardbacks, there would be the perfect read for your mood.

Put simply, books were your life.

Friends and family would fondly chuckle whenever they saw you, nose deep in whatever book had caught your attention. They knew not to disturb you. Instead, they knew to be there when the inevitable end would fall upon you, dragging you through its cliff-hanger or perfectly wrapped up ending.

Draco Malfoy had known you years, and he had never known you not to have a book in your hands or in your bag. On occasion, he had known you to carry a book in both, wanting something there in case you finished your current read.

He’s tried to understand your love of books. He’s a reader himself, but he has never understood how you could lose yourself in a fantasy world so quickly. Magic runs through your veins, yet you find it easier to read of fae and vampires instead of the witches and wizards of old.

Draco gave up trying to understand you long ago; deciding simply to admire you from afar. He cherished the friendship with you; adored it even, and if that meant he had to spend his only free weekend from work in a book shop with you, then so be it.

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

In Wizarding London there weren’t many places that catered to the publications of both muggle and magical authors. Flourish and Blotts was an excellent bookshop, but only housed books by wizards and witches. If one wanted something written by a muggle but did not want to wander into muggle society, they were best off wandering down a cobbled side street in Diagon Alley to Page Turners.

Draco knew the moment that he opened his front door to you this morning, that he was going to wind up walking through the front door of Page Turners. He had just finished his first chart review when his doorbell rang, and your knocking began. He made sure to put the lid on his fountain pen before answering the door to you.

Dark brown shelves line every wall, bordering the shop before giving away to shelves centred in the middle of the room. At first glance, the books seemed chaotic – hardbacks tucked in between smaller paperbacks, but upon closer inspection, it was clear that the books were doubled. For every paperback, there was its hardback equivalent. It looked like it shouldn’t make sense, but the further you walked into the shop, the more sense it made.

Every reader is particular. There are those who will only exclusively read paperbacks, preferring how portable they are. But there are those who much prefer hardbacks, wanting nothing more than to admire the foiled covers and sprayed edges that one can only get on special editions. The set-up of the shelves perfectly catered to that.

“Draco,” You gasp, trying your best to keep your hands to yourself until you found the books you wanted to take home with you, “Have you ever seen a place so wonderful?”

Draco’s eyes don’t leave your form as he answers, “I don’t know, I’ve seen some spectacular sights in my time.”

You don’t respond to the light flirtation, but Draco doesn’t miss the smile that crosses your face. You refuse to admit just how he makes your heart race with comments such as that; they fall from his mouth so easily that you often find yourself tied up in your emotions, wondering when on earth your feelings had turned from platonic to romantic.

Inhaling that all too familiar smell of worn leather and paper, you feel Draco’s presence behind you as you potter through the store, taking in the sheer amount of choices before you. “What’s your favourite book?” You ask absentmindedly, eyes still pouring over the surnames of authors.

He shrugs, shamefully admitting, “I haven’t read anything other than a medical journal in years.”

“Still,” You argue, “You must have a favourite book.”

He’s silent, pondering your words as he thinks back to the last time he was able to relax and read something that wasn’t for work. He thinks back to his childhood, practically hearing his mother’s voice in his ears as she recites her favourite fairytales before sending him to bed.

“It’s been so long,” He whispers, casting his gaze across the shop, in awe at the sheer amount of books he has not read.

“Then we should find you a new book to read,” You decide, stating your words with conviction as you reach for the blonde’s hand, beginning to pull him through the stacks of shelves like a woman on a mission.

“When would I have the time?” Draco argues, refusing to let go of your hand as you stop in front of a shelf filled to the brim with books.

You arch an eyebrow, “I think if I were to ask the nurses at St. Mungo’s, they would much prefer it if you would read a book instead of taking work home with you every night.”

“How do you know I do that?”

You snort, laughter brightening your eyes, “Because I know you, Draco.” Your expression turns more serious, “You need to take some time for yourself, Dray. You can’t work this hard all the time and not expect some repercussions.”

“I’m taking time for myself right now,” Draco counters, gesturing between you both with his free hand. He wasn’t going to let go of your hand until he had to; he enjoyed feeling your skin against his too much.

You roll your eyes, “You would be sat at home finishing charts if I hadn’t have shown up on your doorstep demanding your attention.”

Draco refuses to answer; knowing full well that you’ve caught him out. Before you showed up at his front door this morning, he had in fact been planning on spending the day in his office, finishing charts and then reading the latest journal on healing potions.

It hits him like a freight train then – how much time he has dedicated to his work, how much of his life had already given it. Draco adores being a Healer; much preferring this job to what was expected of him from his father. He walks into St. Mungo’s with anticipation and excitement settling deep within his bones because no two days there are the same; he doesn’t know what cases are going to land in his lap.

Yet, he gives so much of himself over to it that there is little left for him to enjoy. It happened slowly; Draco supposes. Taking a few charts home here and there, for him to finish in the comfort of his office, but then it spiralled into staying hours after his shift had finished, working on budgets and chart reviews, making sure everything is up to the standard it should be for the only magical hospital in the British Isles.

Before long, he hadn’t had a free weekend to himself in close to a year. If he wasn’t working at the hospital, he was working from home. If he was at the hospital, he was taking case after case. It wasn’t until Mary, the Head Nurse, had cornered him that Draco agreed he would take the weekend to himself – no charts, no reviews, no nothing. Mary even checked his bag before he left the hospital.

“You’re right,” Draco admits, the words rushing out of him in one breath.

“I usually am,” You tease, a wide smile on your face, “But what am I right about this time?”

“I don’t take time for myself. I don’t do anything for myself.”

Your gaze softens as you squeeze his hand, “Let’s find you something to read. If we don’t find something here, we’ll think of another plan.”

Draco nods, squeezing your hand in return. “Lead the way,” He offers, curious as to what books you would choose for him.

It doesn’t take long for you to find what you think Draco would like. You stick close to his interests, knowing just how much they have changed from your shared time at Hogwarts.

Offering him three books, you explain, “One is written by a muggle doctor, he explains twelve cases that he worked on specially as he battled an illness he didn’t know he was going to survive. The second is a classic novel, also written by a muggle author that I think you should read when you have more time on your hands – it’s Victorian so longer sentences, longer headaches. The third book is a mystery book that I enjoyed, and I thought you would too.”

“Thank you,” Draco murmurs, taking the small pile of paperbacks from you, holding them close as he gazes over their covers, wondering what exactly what is about him that drew you to these three particular books.

“What do you think?” You ask, a note of vulnerability in your voice. Choosing books for others had never truly been your strong suit despite how much you read.

Draco remains silent for a moment as he flips the books over in his hands, reading the blurbs. You chew on the inside of your cheek, worry settling in your gut. There had been an ulterior motive to you showing up on his doorstep this morning; he needed to leave the house and go out. Having known him years, you knew that Draco would spend his only free weekend of the month working, and you were not standing for it any longer. He didn’t have to choose the books you had picked out; Merlin, he didn’t to read at all, but he needed to do something else other than work.

“Well?” You prompt before sighing, “You don’t have to read a book, Dray. We can find something else; I just don’t want you to spend all your free time working.”

Draco looks up from the books, a small smile on his face, “I’ll take them. I like the sound of the first one you described.”

The smile that graces your face at Draco’s words tells him that he had made the right choice. The anxiety leaves you in a rush, leaving nothing but relief behind.

“What about you?” Draco asks, turning the subject back to you, “What are you going to buy?”

You shrug, “I’ve already picked a few but I wouldn’t mind looking for more. That is, if you’re okay with that?”

Draco is more than okay with that. He follows you around the shop, taking the basket of books from you when it looks to be getting too heavy.

“Why do you read so many books?” Draco asks before he can stop himself.

“A reader lives a thousand lives,” You murmur, flipping through the pages of one particular paperback. Draco resists the urge to roll his eyes when he sees the cover: a half-naked man wrapped up in a passionate embrace with a scantily clad woman. Romance novels were your current obsession, reading through dozens of them and still not getting your fill.

“Let me take you on a date,” Draco asks suddenly, the first notes of shyness creeping into his voice.

It’s as he watches you flick through the pages of the book in your hand that draco realises he has done this for years. He has watched you for years fall into fictional worlds and come out the other side with a new part of you for him to discover. He has watched you fall in love characters only to feel foolish once he realises the keen sting of jealousy is over a person who does not and will not exist.

Draco has watched this for years, and as he watches you add the romance novel to your basket, he realises he could do this for a lot longer. He wants nothing more than to ignore his work for the weekend if it meant he could troll around bookshops with you, watching you find more fictional worlds for you to fall in love all the while loving you just as intensely.

“What would you have in mind?” You counter, raising an eyebrow in curiosity, giving in to the butterflies raging in your gut.

He smiles, nonchalantly leaning against one of the bookshelves, watching as you reach for spine after spine. Draco knows exactly what he would plan for your date, but he would be damned if he was to tell you. Instead, he crosses his arms and leans forward, “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out.”

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Books mentioned:

Twelve Patients: Life and Death at Bellevue Hospital by Eric Manheimer

Dracula by Bram Stoker

The Glass House by Eve Chase

**********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @probably-peeves @big-galaxy-chaos @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @awritingtree @haphazardhufflepuff @stupxfy @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @sarcasticallywitty15 @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank @theweasleysredhair @theonly1outof-a-billion @phuvioqhile @moatsnow @storyisnotover @himooonlight @missmulti @amourtentiaa

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @dracomalfoyswifey @sycathorn-slush @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl @detroitobsessed @aspiringsloth20 @just-a-belgian-girl @lahoete @minty-malfoy @fallinallinmendes @ravenclawbitch426 @ochrythum @beiahadid @gryffindors-weasley @dracosathenaeum

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy imagine #Draco Malfoy

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crayonwriting · 4 years ago

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01 - Mamma Mia

Summary: Maiko just wanted her good ol’ dad to walk her down the aisle. So, she invited the three men from your past in hopes of meeting him. The only problem was, which one of them is it?

Pairings: Oikawa Tooru x Reader, Bokuto Koutarou x Reader, Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

Disclaimer: This is based on the movie directed by Phyllida Loyd and written by Catherine Johnson which is inspired by the music of the pop group ABBA.

catch up here!

"Kuroo-san?"

The said man looked up from his desk to his secretary. He was buried deep in paperwork; his sleeves rolled up to his elbows; coat off. He raised an eyebrow in question. The secretary walked into his office and handed him a cream-coloured envelope with a waxed seal. Kuroo flipped the envelope over and there at the back of it was his name, written in perfect penmanship.

“What is this?”

“Came in the mail today. It looks like an invitation of some sort.” The secretary bowed in respect and went out of the room. Kuroo was naturally curious. Without wasting any second he opened the envelope carefully and pulled out its contents. A neatly folded piece of paper was in between his fingers along with a simple, yet elegantly, designed card with the names Umeda Minoru and Obara Maiko, on it.

“A wedding?” He had said out loud. He couldn’t recall knowing anyone with those names. Although, the last name Obara sounded familiar. And he couldn’t even remember any of his friends getting married soon. He flipped open the paper and read the letter.

Hi Tetsurou!

I know it’s been a long time but I hope you can come to Maiko-chan’s wedding. It will be held in Kalokairi. Remember the small island we used to go to?

I hope you can make it.

From,

Y/N

His heart skipped a small beat as he read your name at the bottom. That’s why the last name was familiar. Obara Y/N. He hasn’t heard anything from you for how many years and now, out of the blue, you invite him to a random girl’s—a relative, maybe? Was she your cousin?—wedding on the island where it all started. Maybe that’s why you invited him? Because the island reminded you of him.

No. That can’t be right. From what he knows, you hated his guts. Hated it since the moment he left you there. But if you were inviting him to a wedding, could it mean that you’re not mad anymore?

With his mind going miles a minute, he checked the date on the invitation and called his secretary back in to book the soonest flight.

—

Bokuto slipped his shades on as he walked through the docks. He waved at the other boat owners as he passed by them. The sun felt warm on his skin and he just knew that this was gonna be a good day. When he reached his spot, he smiled widely, beaming at the vessel in front of him.

"Good morning, sunshine." He greeted no one in particular. He hopped onto the deck of his beloved sailboat, running his fingers on the grabrail. He picked up the ropes lying on the ground and prepared the boat for voyage. "We're going on a trip for a few days, my sweet."

Patting his pocket, he pulled out the slightly crumpled envelope out of it. He couldn't help smiling down at the invitation in his hand. It was a bit peculiar to get a letter from you—a wedding invitation no less!—after how many years. Your brief...meeting with him only lasted for a week and yet Bokuto yearned for your presence even after that.

Sure he's been with his fair share of women over the years but, there was no one quite like you if he had to be honest. Looking back down at the invitation, he was glad it wasn't your wedding you were inviting him to. He couldn't help but think of the 'what ifs' once he gets there…

Excitement pulsing through his veins, he prepared to set off into the sea, back to Greece.

—

"Aeropuerto por favor. Rápido." Oikawa told the cab driver as he got on. The driver understood immediately, despite Oikawa's accent. Soon enough, they were zooming through the city of Buenos Aires. He checked his bag for his passport, wallet and phone. He also caught a glimpse of the envelope he got just two days ago. He hesitated in the slightest before deciding to pull it out and re-reading the letter.

Y/N…., he had thought to himself. If there was one thing Oikawa couldn’t let go of it was volleyball. But if you were thrown into the equation, he just might give it up for you. He didn’t even know what had happened; he just met you one day and boom, he was in love. He loved you with all of his heart and he was willing to follow you wherever you wanted to go. But alas, after that one night, you just decided to disappear, leaving a small note.

He doesn’t really know why he had said yes to this wedding. He doesn’t know what to expect when he finally gets to Kalokairi. Closure? Rekindling with an old flame? He huffed out, dismissing the idea. Only one thing is for certain: he wanted to see you. So bad.

Letting out a deep sigh, he placed the envelope back in his bag. His palms started growing sweaty at the thought of seeing you in a matter of hours.

—

A shrill scream echoed throughout the docks, catching the attention of the locals. Maiko ran at a fast pace, meeting her friends halfway, who had just got off the small motorboat from the mainland. She got to her friend Nana first,—who was the tallest in their friend group—picking up her tiny frame and spinning her in a hug. She turned to Eri—the toughest of the bunch—and gave her a hug so tight. When they parted, a soft glint on Maiko’s hand caught her friends’ eyes.

“Maiko-chan!” Nana gushed. She held Maiko’s left hand in hers and there, a small, elegant ring sat on her ring finger, shining under the strong rays of the sun.

“I’m jealous!” Eri pouted jokingly. “Now, I want one.”

Maiko blushed, trying to cover her face. “Stop it! I’m getting married in a few days!” She squealed in excitement. The three girls picked up the luggages and walked up the dock. Maiko wrapped her arms around both of her friends, feeling giddier than ever.

“I’m so glad you’re both here because…,” she paused, the smile on her face growing, “I have a secret.” Nana and Eri looked at each other. Their eyes grew wide in realization and knelt in front of Maiko.

“Maiko-chan! You’re already pregnant?!” Eri shrieked. Maiko laughed loudly and dismissed the thought.

“No, no, no! It’s not that.” She grew quiet for a moment, pulling her friends closer. “I invited my dad to the wedding.”

“You’re kidding!”

“You finally found him?”

“Uhh, not exactly.” Her friends were confused. She smiled and led them to a nearby rock by the end of the docks where they sat down. She breathed out a sigh, “You know what my mom says whenever I ask about my dad. They met in the summer, fell in love, but my dad left even before she realized she was pregnant with me. All these years, I’ve accepted that that’s all I’ll never know about him.

“But then,” she rummaged through the tote bag she brought with her, pulling out an old, worn journal. “I found this.” she said, proud.

“What is it?” Eri asked.

“It’s my mom’s old diary the year she was pregnant with me.”

“Oh my god!” Eri sat closer to Maiko as she opened the journal. “So we’re really gonna read Y/N-obasan’s journal?”

“Oh shush.” Nana dismissed, sitting on Maiko’s right side.

“July seventeenth,” Maiko started. “Kuroo—Tetsurou as he insisted to be called—rowed me over to the little island. That’s here, Kalokairi. He took me on a small picnic by the beach. We danced under the moonlight by the beach. He kissed me by the beach and…,” Maiko trailed off. Nana and Eri waited.

“And what?” Nana asked.

“That’s it. They did it.” Maiko wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Nana and Eri burst out laughing. She smiled and continued reading, “Tetsurou’s the one for me. I just know it. I’ve never felt love like this before.”

“So, this Kuroo-san is your father?” Nana questioned. Maiko eyed her, silently telling her that there was more to the story.

“For the time that we’ve been together, Tetsurou has said he loves me, several times. But now, he’s announced that he’s actually engaged. He just left earlier this morning to get married and...I’m never gonna see him again.”

“Aww, poor obasan.” Nana pouted, sympathizing you.

The three of them continued their trek up the island, while Maiko continued to read out loud the contents of the journal.

“August fourth, what a night! I met someone. Bokuto Koutarou. He was vacationing around the mainland, visiting his aunt. I passed by and everything clicked. He rented a motorboat, so I took him to the little island. Even though I know that I’m still in love with Tetsurou, Kou is just so...WILD!” The trio widened their eyes at the comment. “One thing led to another and…”

“So there’s a Bokuto-san as well?” Maiko just grinned excitedly and continued.

“August eleventh, Oikawa Tooru appeared out of the blue. I saw him struggling to order food from a restaurant so I helped him out. He was on a layover for a flight to Buenos Aires that got delayed for a few days. So I said, why not show him the island. He was so sweet and understanding. And he’s so pretty too! Oh! I couldn’t help it! And…”

They’ve finally reached the top of the island where your villa was. You ran a small hotel on the island, which wasn’t as successful as you thought it would be seeing as there weren’t many tourists and not many people knew about the island itself. Nevertheless, you were able to care for Maiko and that was all that mattered.

“Oh my god!” Eri squealed. “Y/N-obasan was so adventurous wasn’t she?”

“I can’t blame her. I mean have you seen her? She looks good even now!” Nana sighed. A bustling sound was heard from the entrance of the villa, with you appearing not seconds later, a broom in hand. You glanced in their direction. You did a double-take when you saw your daughter’s friends, waving at you. Maiko quickly hid the journal behind her back.

“Oh! You’re here already!” You set the broom by the wall, wiping your hands down on your old overalls. “It’s been so long!”

Nana and Eri walked over to you. You engulfed them in tight hugs and sweet kisses on their cheeks. You held Eri’s face in your palms, brushing her hair away from her face. You turned to Nana, placing a hand on her cheek.

“Look at the both of you! You’re practically all grown up! I remember when you were all wreaking havoc around here.” You beamed at them, proud. “And you look like you’re already having fun!”

“We are!” Eri cheered. You hummed in response. Your mind went somewhere else for a quick moment—a memory—and you mumbled,

“I used to have fun, too.”

“Oh, we know.” Nana quipped. Maiko pinched her arm subtly. You eyed them suspiciously, not really hearing what Nana had said which Maiko was thankful for.

“Well, I better leave you all to it. I know you have some bridesmaids duties to get to. I’ll see you all later.” You picked up your broom again and disappeared further into the villa.

When they were sure you were gone, the trio breathed out a sigh of relief. Maiko led them to her room for the moment as her friends’ belongings were getting checked into their respective rooms. They rushed inside, away from listening ears and wandering eyes.

“So, who is it?” Nana asked. “Is it Tetsurou-san, Bokuto-san or Oikawa-san?”

Maiko just shrugged her shoulders, laying down on her bed. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” Eri interjected. “Who did you invite?”

Maiko just looked at them expressively. Her smile grew wider as her friends finally realized what she had done. Eri and Nana screamed. They jumped up and down in excitement—and disbelief—at their friend. They knew how impulsive Maiko was but this was just a bit too much, wasn’t it?

“Do they know?” Nana’s eyes had widened.

Maiko rolled her eyes at her. “Of course not. Do you think I can just write to them and say, ‘Please come to my wedding. You might be my father.’? No.” She shook her head. “They think that mom sent the invite. And with what we’ve learned today, they all said yes!”

—

Kuroo was panting heavily as he stared at the ferry not too far from the jetty, buzzing away to Kalokairi. He cursed under his breath kicking at the ground. A few seconds later, another man was beside him, panting just as he was, staring at the ferry.

“Shit.” Oikawa muttered. Kuroo scoffed and nodded in agreement.

“I know.” He said. Oikawa turned to look at Kuroo, eyeing him up and down. They trudged back to the ticketing booth and checked the schedule for the next available ferry.

“I don’t speak Greek.” Oikawa groaned, not understanding a single thing on the board.

“Deftera.” Kuroo read out loud. “Monday.”

“Ah, shit.” Oikawa cursed. He hastily opened his bag and pulled out the invitation, checking the date of the wedding. This catches Kuroo’s eyes.

So, he’s here for the wedding too, huh. He thought to himself. “Bride or groom?” He asked the man. Oikawa looked at him, startled. It took him a moment to realize that Kuroo was also going to Kalokairi for the wedding.

“Oh, bride’s.” Oikawa answered. “Although, I haven’t actually met her.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” A loud voice called. “Up here!” Bokuto called, as he was sitting atop of the mast of his boat which was docked near the jetty. Kuroo and Oikawa looked at him, confused.

“You guys need a ride to Kalokairi?”

taglist: @yikes-buddy / @ushi-please / @melodiamore / @akaashi-todoroki / @honeymoneyy / @minty-mangos-world /

a/n: thank you so much for all the support (despite me just posting the masterlist.) i’ve re-read and edited this first chapter a lot of times and i hope i’ve met your first expectations for this series. lemme tell you that first chapters are the hardest to do. i apologize if some characters seem out-of-character or weird, especially my OCs. i’m not used to OCs since i’ve only ever written reader inserts. stil, i hope you love them as much as i do!

i actually have no idea how i’m gonna steer this story so, here’s to winging it. haha! leave some comments! i love you all!

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bimboamyrose · 4 years ago

Text

On The Scarlett Sea - Part 1 / 2

A ~Pirate~ Metamy Fanfic - [Link to Part 2] - [AO3 Link]

Synopsis When the world learns of a secret pirate treasure plundered from the Knuckles Clan’s ancient ruins over 300 years ago, Knuckles enlists the help of his friends, Amy and Tails, to retrieve and hide its most powerful artifact- a mysterious mirror that allows the user to become their most desired self. He isn’t the only one after the treasure, however; As Metal Sonic discovers the existence of the mirror, he forms his own crew of “pirates” to take it for himself. Along the way, he separates Amy from her friends and convinces her to help him make his greatest dream a reality- but what is that, really?

In collaboration with @mmm-asbestos & their pirate Metamy AU Merry Xmas / Happy holidays and stay well~

Part 1

There were few things Knuckles regretted more in life than meeting the self-proclaimed “World's Greatest Thief,” Rouge. As such, Amy knew she was in for a rant the minute she answered his call at the crack of dawn and heard him utter the bat’s name.

“Rouge is in the news!” he yelled into the receiver.

“Wha…” Amy rubbed her eyes. It was still dark out.

“Haven’t you seen the papers this morning?”

“You get newspapers on Angel Island?” she yawned.

“Turn on the news! This is important!”

“Alright, calm down...” Amy slid out of bed sleepily, still yawning as she flipped her living room TV on and threw herself onto the couch groggily. A news channel was running a segment on an archeological discovery that seemed to be making waves. Amy turned it up so Knuckles could hear on the other end.

“The centuries-old hiding place was found by none other than world-famous treasure hunter, Rouge the Bat. The former jewel thief was hired for her skills-”

“Former jewel thief?! Where are they getting their sources?”

“Quiet, I can’t hear!” Amy raised the volume further to drown out his yelling.

“- the discovery of a lifetime! We had an exclusive interview with the mastermind who helped find this historical treasure. Here’s what she had to say:”

Footage of Rouge sitting in a lavish armchair next to a roaring fireplace followed. “Well, you’ll be interested to hear that this isn’t the famed Captain Scarlett's treasure. It was a personal stash of journals and letters her wife left behind.

The camera cut briefly to a reporter sitting across from her. “And we understand that a possible map to the famous pirate’s real treasure was hidden among this?”

“That’s correct. I spent some days analyzing the documents and discovered they contain instructions on how to reach Captain Scarlett’s treasure. There are some hints as to what’s contained at the site as well. I’ll be sailing there with a crew in a few days!”

“Can you give us an idea of what you believe to find there?”

“Untold riches, of course!” Rouge gave a breathy laugh. “And perhaps some old artifacts- I understand she had an interest in ancient cultures,” she waved dismissively. “We’ll find out soon enough- I’m confident it’ll take no time to navigate there.”

“And we’ll be here on land waiting with bated breath for the historical discovery! Now back to-”

Amy muted the TV, her eyes finally adjusting to the dim early morning light. “So she was hired to find some old pirate treasure? Is that what you’re upset about?”

“The treasure she was hired to find happens to contain an ancient Knuckles Clan artifact! You need to get the others and come to Angel Island right away-”

“You’re mad about the possibility that Rouge will find some antique?”

“Antique! Amy-” she could hear him trying to restrain himself. “Listen to me, if this ‘treasure’ falls into the wrong hands, it’s going to be a mess to clean up. Get Sonic and Tails and come here as soon as you can. They’re not answering my calls and we need to speak in person.”

Amy groaned. It was far too early to be thinking about a new dangerous adventure- especially when they’d just stopped one of Eggman’s plots less than a week earlier. “Fine… at least let me have some breakfast first.”

“Make it quick!” he hung up.

“And they say I’m bossy,” Amy grumbled to herself. Before long, the sun’s rays shone brightly throughout her house and sleeping in no longer sounded comfortable. With a sigh, she got ready for the unexpected day ahead.

-----

“I never knew there was a catacomb under the altar…” Amy held a lantern out in front of her as she climbed down the steps.

“That’s ‘cause it’s a secret,” Knuckles responded gruffly. “Come on, I shouldn’t have to tell you to hurry it up!!”

Sonic and Tails trailed behind in a sleep-deprived state. They’d stayed up until morning playing games and were just getting to bed when Amy pounded on the lab door to retrieve them. She still wasn’t sure how Tails managed to land the plane on Angel Island. “Relax, Knux…” Sonic rubbed his eyes as he followed behind Amy.

“I’m gonna fall asleep in here…” Tails yawned.

“No sleeping!” Knuckles sealed the entrance and rushed ahead, leading the way. The rest of the group groaned in unison as they followed.

As they went, Amy noticed a ladybug had hitched a ride on her shoulder. “Aw, wouldn’t want you to get lost down here.” She picked up the small insect on the end of her finger and continued after Knuckles. After coming down a winding staircase and navigating a series of dark corridors, the team arrived in a small room with walls lined with scrolls and small relics with a hard wooden table in the center. Knuckles lit the torches on the walls and sifted through the contents of a stone shelf.

“I have a flashlight, you know,” Tails remarked.

“No flashlights! You’ll damage the texts.”

Tails mumbled under his breath. “I suppose lighting them on fire is better…”

“Quiet- look at this.” Knuckles brought out a large, yellowed scroll and a wooden box. Spreading the scroll across the table revealed what appeared to be a map of the ocean. “This is a map to that treasure Rouge is after.”

“Wait,” Amy interrupted, “You have one, too?”

Knuckles nodded. “This is Captain Scarlett’s map.”

Sonic leaned over the scroll. “Scarlett? Isn’t that the famous lady-pirate? Why do you have that?”

“Because,” Knuckles continued, “300 years ago, that damned pirate plundered the Mystic Ruins for its treasure. This map was found by an Echidna scholar over a century ago and it’s been here ever since.”

“So, this isn’t the first time someone finds part of Scarlett’s treasure?” Tails asked.

Knuckles scoffed. “Hardly. My people have been after that stash of letters that Rouge found for decades. We’ve been trying to keep the contents of ‘Scarlet’s’ treasure a secret since it was discovered what it contains- The Stone Mirror.” The others stared blankly at him, the object he was referring to having no meaning to them. He looked at each of them irately before continuing. “Really? Argh, fine; The Stone Mirror is a powerful artifact that can turn the user into their ‘most desired self’- whatever that means. Apparently, old Scarlett used it 300 years ago to become the world’s best pirate or something.”

“So… you want us to help you look for a magic mirror in the middle of the ocean?” Sonic asked.

Knuckles’ brow twitched. “Did you not just hear what I said? What if Eggman got a hold of this thing?!”

“What’s the big deal? We should be able to fly there-”

“No flying. This map is meant to be navigated by sea. Besides,” Knuckles opened the small box to reveal a compass and a crystal eyepiece. “This map only goes so far. We’ll need these once you get to this point to guide the rest of the way.”

“Let me see that,” Tails took the compass in his hands and waved it around the room. “Does this thing work? It doesn’t even point north.”

“It points to where it has to point once you get here,” Knuckles poked at a red X on the map.

“That literally makes no sense.”

“It’s what the scholar wrote down when she discovered this map!”

As they bickered, Amy carefully picked up the map and held it to the light. As it passed in front of a lantern, writing could be seen across one side of the scroll. The little ladybug that had ridden in on Amy’s shoulder flew onto its surface and crawled around. “Guys, look! There’s something written here.” The boys went silent as they leaned in to get a closer look at the neat cursive script. Amy read it aloud. “Hand in hand we sailed to the horizon that faithful evening. I looked into her glassy eyes for guidance as the sky above turned, Scarlett.”

Sonic shook his head. “This lady sounds lost.”

“Maybe,” said Knuckles, “But our best hope is to follow this map and figure it out from there. And get that bug off the map, would ya?” Amy allowed the little red insect to crawl back onto her hand before replacing the map on the table.

“Yeah, all I’m hearing is we’re gonna get ourselves stranded in the ocean. Count me out.”

“Are you serious?!”

“No way I’m getting on a boat just to get stuck in the middle of the sea,” Sonic crossed his arms stubbornly. “I’ll stay here and look after the Master Emerald.”

“No fair, why do you get to stay?” Tails complained. “I don’t wanna be on a boat, either!”

“I think it sounds fun,” Amy said, watching as the ladybug crawled around on her palm.

“This isn’t a pleasure cruise!” Knuckles yelled.

Tails’ ears drooped. “I��ll say. Sonic’s right, we’re gonna get lost. Don’t you have that scholar’s notes, Knuckles?”

“No.”

“But you know a little about what she wrote; where are they?”

Knuckles grumbled as he crossed his arms. “There was… a small fire…”

“No kidding,” Tails frowned.

“Bah- Will you help me or not? We need to get on a boat ASAP to beat that bat over there- she has all the same information in those documents she found!”

Rolling his eyes, Tails turned back to the map. “Fine. We can take my boat. But I need to take a better look at this map in some proper lighting.”

“Deal,” said Knuckles. “You in, Ames?”

“You can count on me! I already have our costumes planned out,” Amy giggled.

“Costumes…?” It didn’t feel like much of a deal to Tails, who’d just been roped into steering a boat for the next several days in whatever outlandish outfit Amy would choose for him. He rolled up the scroll begrudgingly and gathered the other trinkets into their box. Knuckles turned out the torches as the team spilled out into the corridor and followed him back up to the surface. They all squinted harshly as the mid-morning sun burned their eyes.

“Here you go,” Amy told the ladybug, placing it on a small flower. “Hope you find your way back home okay.” She watched it crawl around a bit before spreading its wings and buzzing away happily. She smiled as it flew off, pleased that it was able to make it back to the surface with her help. Once it was out of her sight, Amy joined her friends in making their plans to sail off in the next few days.

The shiny little insect flew and flew, ascending far higher and speeding up to a far quicker pace than any ladybug reasonably should. It continued off the edge of Angel Island, floating high above the land, the sea, then the clouds. It didn’t take the ladybug very long to reach its destination, flying into a tiny steel vent and into a cold, metallic fortress. Once aboard the Egg Carrier, it made its way into a small lab where it landed on a steel desk, ready to address its master.

“It is about time you returned…”

The ladybug spread its wings once more, this time flying into the minuscule port on a computer that topped the desk. A video appeared on the screen that took up the wall ahead, displaying a first-person view from the bug’s perspective. It flew toward Amy Rose, landing on her shoulder just as she descended into a secret passage.

A young boy’s voice was heard. “I’m gonna fall asleep in here…”

“No sleeping!” a gruff voice responded.

“Aw, wouldn’t want you to get lost down here,” Amy could be heard saying before the view changed to atop her finger.

“Interesting.” Metal Sonic locked his fingers together, resting his chin over his thumbs as he leaned in to listen closely. “What are our little heroes up to now?”

----

The following morning, Eggman raised a brow as he enjoyed his coffee with the early news. A field reporter was live from a marina where a crime was committed earlier that day. The spot at the docks where a historic pirate ship normally floated was empty.

“They just sailed off in her!” a frantic man said on TV. “We had a wedding planned there for this afternoon! What are we supposed to do now?”

The show cut back to the news anchor. “The historic Royal Fortune, the antique pirate ship that still operates tours and events to this day, was stolen early this morning as the thieves marooned the crew on a nearby sandbar. The criminals are described as armored and wearing black hooded cloaks. If anyone has news regarding her whereabouts-”

“Hmm…” Eggman muted the show as he heard a loud, metallic clanking forming from the corridor. Metal Sonic strode in from outside the floating fortress with two Silver Sonic Prototypes close behind. All were mysteriously clad in black hooded cloaks as the small minions each carried oversized boxes above their heads.

Eggman leaned back in his chair to look out through the open doorway. “Metal, where were you so early?”

The three robots stopped in their tracks as Metal Sonic turned around to address him momentarily. “Out.” He continued forward without another word.

“I gave you the ability to talk so you could use it, you know,” Eggman grumbled. He took another sip as a loud doorway could be heard opening and shutting down the hall. With a sigh, the old man shook his head, wondering what the dark cloaks were about. Why would they hide their identities to steal the stupid ship? What is he even up to? he asked himself before going back to his coffee.

Once in the privacy of Metal Sonic’s lab, boxes were ripped open and long capes were thrown aside. Metal Sonic stood in front of a full-length mirror examining his freshly painted armor, glittering gold accents reflecting the dull fluorescent lighting. Each of the pint-sized prototypes had received chromatic silver paint jobs as well to differentiate them from the dozen or so other identical bots that performed various tasks around the airship. They both sorted through the boxes, throwing various period garments about the room haphazardly.

Clothes were strewn everywhere by the time Metal Sonic noticed the mess they were making. “I told you two to find me something to wear, not wreck my lab!” The identical minions looked at one another blankly. One of them picked a pair of stays up from in front of him and held for his master to observe. Metal snatched the undergarment from the smaller robot’s clamps and threw it aside. “That is not what I meant!” He picked up a nearby book and ripped it open to a page containing an illustration of a pirate captain. “Find me this,” he pointed at the pirate’s jacket gruffly.

His claw made a loud CLANG against his forehead, saluting Metal before stretching an extendable arm across the room to retrieve a navy coat with gold accents that had been tossed aside. Once in his possession, Metal Sonic draped it over his shoulders and examined his reflection once more. “Hmm… A bit restrictive. H3, scissors.” The other lackey robot took the command, fetching a pair of scissors from a drawer and presenting them to his master. Metal proceeded to chop the coat up into little more than an open vest adorned with golden epaulets draped with tassels at each shoulder. He belted the reconstructed jacket around his waist and stared at his reflection. “What do you think? Missing something?”

The two henchmen examined the book’s illustration again. One of them shot up and dove into one of the boxes, returning with a tricorn cap. He extended his arm and placed the hat atop Metal Sonic’s head while the other clapped his bulky claws together.

“I don’t know…” Metal rested his hands on his hips pensively. “What are you two wearing?”

H3 and his counterpart, H4, looked toward one another with a shrug. They dug through the pile, each digging out a solid-colored scarf. H3 wrapped his blue one around his head like a bandana while H4 tied a red one to his waist. They looked each other up and down for a few moments before deciding in unison to switch their color choices, H3 snatching the red bandana from his brother and pulling it over his head while H4 made a belt of the blue one after ripping it from atop the other’s head. They high-fived to commemorate the decision, their little clamped hands rattling together as they made contact.

“Fine, fine…” Metal waved them off, glancing back at the book once more. The captain sported a sword at his waist. At the bottom of one of the boxes rested an antique cutlass that resembled the one in the drawing, but dulled at the edge. “Yes… This will do.” He picked up the weapon and brandished it ahead of his body “If Sonic’s friends are dressing for the occasion, so shall we!” he cackled. “H4, make sure this gets sharpened,” he barked as he thrust the sword into the minion's hands. “H3, clean up this mess. I have work to do.”

With that, each of the minions loudly saluted Metal Sonic before attending to their tasks. Metal leaned over his desk as the video of the heroes reappeared on the large screen ahead. He was disappointed to learn that he wouldn’t be facing his rival, Sonic- the coward had decided to stay on land. Metal looked from one of their faces to another before settling on Amy Rose’s cheerful expression. “Yes… She will do.” Metal concocted his plan, reveling in the knowledge that once he obtained the Stone Mirror, he would manifest into a form that not Sonic nor his friends could hope to stand a chance against.

Metal had spent much of the last year spying on Sonic and his friends, waiting for an opportunity when he could be one step ahead. He had grown to resent Eggman and his half-baked plans over the years, existing only as an obstacle to the heroes who always seemed to be prepared. Eggman understood this, or at least knew that Metal had begun taking his own initiative when it came to plotting against his rival. When he caught the robot surveilling the team, he made the decision to encourage him, wanting to take advantage of the part of Metal that could think just like his rival. Soon, Metal had been outfitted with a lab of his own and two henchmen to command. Eggman had upgraded him with the ability to speak and emote more expressly not long after, which Metal found both vexing and enthralling, now taking every opportunity to put his thoughts into words.

But Metal ultimately resented this as well as he had no desire to lean on his master. What he yearned for most greatly was to have the independence and autonomy to act on his own. Though Metal wasn’t disloyal to him, Eggman’s incompetence ironically prevented him from accomplishing his objective of eliminating Sonic. Since then, Metal took what he’d been offered as if a birthright and accepted nothing more, opting to source his own necessities. Everything from research to obtaining materials was to be accomplished by him personally- a task he did not take lightly. And because this was the first- no- the only time he would need to defeat his foes, it only made sense to do it in style.

Perishing the thought that whatever deep-seated programming compelled him to these theatrics was likely due to Eggman’s own influence, Metal had gotten to work studying the life of pirate legend Captain Scarlett. Metal did a poor job at hiding the excitement that befell him as he read everything he could process that regarded pirating. Perhaps it was the high stakes and endless freedom the seafaring criminals seemed to command- and what a very “Sonic” thing to be attracted to. He laughed to himself about his organic counterpart’s apparent fear of the ocean.

Then again, it was probably just the dramatic aesthetics.

The old pirate captain had a flair for the dramatic herself. Metal’s research showed that she often left secret messages in her documents such as the one discovered by Amy Rose in that map of theirs, as well as the letters that had been uncovered. Many of the “mysteries” uncovered through time appeared to be rudimentary puzzles really, it was bewildering how the treasure had remained hidden for so long. Still, he didn’t have a map of his own, and tailing the heroes would only get him so far. Metal knew from past experience that the bubbly girl was rather sympathetic. A savior complex, he thought as he studied his past interactions with her. She was the perfect pawn to manipulate into leading him right to the Stone Mirror.

The video was paused on a frame of Amy and her sunny smile. He recalled their first meeting when he captured her and how helpless she had been; But the girl had grown strong over the years, impressing even him with her combat technique. Amy decidedly wasn’t one to be taken lightly anymore, and he would have to be cautious. The compassion she showed towards most creatures was her real weakness, one that was easy to take advantage of. He played back a compilation of videos he’s taken of Amy Rose; her beaming complexion, the charismatic giggle in her voice, the tender pleading in her eyes…

None of that matters! He shook the thought from his head. What he really needed to understand were the driving factors behind her empathy. What could he use against her? He fast-forwarded to a scene of her and the rest of the group reminiscing about past adventures.

On-screen, Amy sat between Sonic and Tails in the sand, all enjoying an afternoon together at the beach. Knuckles could be heard off-screen. “Yeah, I still can’t believe Amy convinced that robot to let her go! What was it called again?”

“His name was Gamma. Honestly, he was able to think for himself after we became friends- it didn’t take much to convince him that he could disobey Eggman if he wanted to.” she twirled the front of her spines bashfully.

Sonic laughed. “Well good thing you made friends with him! I nearly turned him to scrap metal.”

“Come on, he did a lot of good before… you know.” There was some sadness in her eyes.

“Yeah,” Sonic agreed. “Hey, maybe you could convince Egg-head to do some good for once, too.”

Metal paused the video as they laughed together. “He did a lot of good.” Yes, Metal knew exactly how to get the sweet girl on his side- he was confident it wouldn’t take much convincing on his part, either.

The lab door was suddenly slammed open. “H4, what have I told you about-” Metal paused, faced not with his lackey but with a very animated Eggman.

“Metal! I just saw H4’s new paint job- excellent work! We should outfit all the prototypes with it,” he bellowed.

Narrowing his eyes, Metal turned back toward the screen to brood silently.

Eggman took a few steps into the room before continuing. “Tell me, though, what’s with all the pirate outfits? You putting on a show?” he feigned ignorance over the stolen ship and nudged the box closest to him with his foot. H3 popped his head out from the pile of clothes within with a clanky salute. “This one too, eh? I like the look.” There was no response from Metal but the quickening hum of his turbine as he grew annoyed at the interruption. “That hat will probably impede your hearing, though…”

He continued taking steps into the room, stopping just behind Metal to join him in looking at the screen ahead. It was still paused on a still of Amy looking cheerful. “Studying our heroes again, are we? You sure seem to like this one... She’s pretty cute.”

Metal whipped around to face him once again, this time with blazing eyes. “What are you-”

“I bet you could kidnap her again easily,” Eggman interrupted with a grin and a snap of his fingers.

“Get out!” Metal roared, rising from his seat.

Eggman laughed heartily. “Alright, alright- tell me if you need anything for your little production!”

As the scientist turned on his heel and made his way back toward the open door, H4 was scuttling in with the now sharpened cutlass held carelessly above him. He came to a skidding halt at the sight of Eggman, bringing his hand up to his forehead and dropping the sword noisily on the steel floor in the process. The man cackled at him, bending down to pick up the weapon and examine it. “Nice sword, not that you need it. Teach your lackeys to be a little more careful with sharp objects, hm?” Eggman tossed the sword to Metal, who caught it effortlessly, rolling his eyes.

“... Fine.” he finally responded before taking his seat again and swiveling back toward the giant monitor. He shut off the program that played back the videos.

“Atta boy.” With that, Eggman made his way out of the room. H4 shot out his arm, slamming his claw against a button that shut the door behind him.

The sword gleamed in the harsh lighting as Metal held it up to inspect. Eggman was correct, of course- Metal didn’t need a weapon- he was one. But the added flourish couldn’t hurt, he thought as he swung it through the air, a small WHIP whispering across the room each time he waved it. Metal wouldn’t admit it even to himself, but his creator had a point about his interest in Amy Rose, as well...

An alert flashed on the screen ahead before he could be forced to think about it. “GPS Tracker Activated”. A map popped up showing a blinking red dot, indicating the location of Tails’ boat.

“Finally…” Metal stood, raising a foot on his chair and brandishing the cutlass proudly. “Prepare the ship- we sail at dawn!”

-----

Amy yawned as she got dressed the following morning. The TV was tuned to the news, where a reporter was commenting on the authorities’ inability to find any leads in the case of the Royal Fortune’s theft. “Weird…” Amy remarked to herself out loud. She was tying a blue ascot around the collar of her dress- a white, long-sleeved piece with blue stripes at the hem and cuffs. She had purchased the sailor suit impulsively with the hopes of going sailing leisurely with her friends, but she supposed a maritime mission was occasion enough.

Hearing the whistle of a boat in the distance, she quickly pinned on her hat and slung her duffel bag over her shoulder. She lived on the beach and the boys had agreed to meet her there before sailing off. The whistle howled once more and she hurried out of her little shack, running toward the shore. “I’m here already! Quit hollering,” she grumbled. A steel ladder was lowered and she tossed her bag for Knuckles to catch before climbing her way up.

The boat was nothing like the pirate ship she’d seen on TV that morning. It was a sleek white vessel with blue chrome accents that glittered in the early sunlight. The small yacht was equipped with every manner of boating technology that Tails could cram onto it. A door beneath the elevated helm opened to reveal a set of stairs leading down to the main quarters. Knuckles lugged Amy’s bag over his shoulder, beckoning her to the opening.

“Wait! Before you put that away…” Amy unzipped the front pocket.

Knuckles grumbled. “Before I put it away?”

“Yes, thank you for that,” she chuckled, pulling out a pair of themed hats- a sailor’s cap similar to her own, and a white service cap with gold accents. “I figured you guys would prefer these to clothes.”

“Hmm,” Knuckles examined the headwear as she unfurled each one and held them up. “I suppose a captain’s hat would be fitting…” he reached out to take it from her when Tails suddenly interrupted.

“Uh, my ship- If anyone’s captain, it’s me.”

With an incredulous look, Knuckles turned his chin up to address him. “My mission, my hat- I’m captain. You’re navigating.”

“Oh and I suppose this boat’s gonna steer itself?” Tails said in a mocking tone.

“You think I don’t know how to drive a boat?” Knuckles was yelling now.

“Like I’d let you even if you could.”

“Alright,” Amy interrupted, “That’s enough- we have to be on this boat together for the next week. You two better get along!”

“Fine,” Knuckles crossed his arms. “Who do you think should be captain?”

“Tails,” she responded without hesitation.

“What?!”

Tails snickered from above. “Do you even have a boating license, Knuckles?”

His expression of rage quickly turned blank. His teammates both watched as the gears seemed to turn in his head. “... No.”

Amy and Tails both broke out into a fit of laughter. Knuckles snatched the sailor’s cap from her hand and stomped down the stairs with the duffel bag, grumbling choice words under his breath. “Here you go,” she tossed the captain’s hat up to Tails.

“Thank you,” he smirked triumphantly. “We’re ready to go- let’s let Sonic know before we sail off.” Amy made her way up and stood by him as Tails made a video call on a tablet. Sonic appeared on it a moment later.

“Yo,” he winked. “Looking good, guys.”

“Thank you,” Amy giggled bashfully.

“We’re about to sail,” Tails interjected before she could start chatting. “Everything good on your end?”

“Yep, just me and the Master Emerald. Pretty boring…”

“Don’t let Knuckles hear you say that.”

The three shared a chuckle before Amy and Tails waved to Sonic and signed off. The boat’s ladder ascended from the sand as Tails made the final preparations to sail. Knuckles reemerged from the doorway below as the vessel began moving, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.

“Where’s your uniform, skipper?” Tails chortled, noticing that he hadn’t donned the white and blue cap.

“Watch it,” he threatened, eyes fixed on the horizon.

As the boat slid away from the shore and into the open ocean, Tails and Amy chuckled to themselves, ready for the adventure ahead. Unbeknownst to them, however, they weren’t the only ones tracking their whereabouts.

Back at the Egg Carrier, Metal and his lackeys were getting ready to mobilize.

The three bots snuck out of the lab and through the steel corridors, making sure to fly to keep noise to a minimum. It was dark- Eggman either wasn’t up or was too fixated on his work to notice them anyway. Once they reached the outdoor deck, each landed on the edge for a moment, H3 and H4 awaiting commands. “We will stay off their radar by remaining some distance away, and intercept them at this first meeting spot,” Metal explained. “But we need to catch up. Now, to the ship!”

But before he could lift off, a mechanical squeaking caught Metal’s attention from behind. He turned his vision to the distraction, claws outstretched in case someone was trying to stop him. His gaze was met by that of another Silver Sonic Prototype, who then imitated the awkward saluting motion the other two greeted their masters with. Metal narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously but lowered his guard. “What is the meaning of this?”

The small robot seemed to pull a yellow bandana from out of nowhere and quickly tied it below his muzzle, looking back up at Metal Sonic with his permanent sly grin. Metal scratched his chin pensively. “You wish to join us?” The prototype’s joints squeaked as it bobbed its head quickly and violently, causing Metal to slap his hand atop it like he was hitting a switch. “Enough! You’ll alert the others. Hm… State your serial number.” He lifted his right foot to reveal a string of numbers written on the sole, the last of which were “H1.”

“Ah, the very first…” Metal processed the unexpected interruption for a moment. He didn’t know how the robot had discovered his intentions, but there wasn’t much time to lose. At this point taking the additional support with him would at least keep word from getting to Eggman if H1 made a fuss. Metal supposed he could just deactivate him and toss him overboard, but…

“Very well, you may join me... But your outfit needs work. I’ll brief you on the ship- move!”

H1 threw its hands in the air with excitement, the four of them taking off. Metal Sonic lead the charge to the ship anchored about a mile away as they shot down through the high clouds.

-----

“Are we there yet?” Amy groaned from a lounge seat on the upper deck. The excitement from that morning had slowly turned to a boring exhaustion as the day dragged on. It was impossibly hot- the sun’s rays intensified by the inescapable humidity. The sun would be setting in another hour and they’d all been up since dawn, but Amy was the wariest.

“You know this is gonna take days, right?” Tails yawned. He had joined her on the deck while the boat was on auto-pilot, not intending to change direction for some time.

“I thought this first place was supposed to be close…”

“Yeah, it’s only a 12-hour boat ride,” he shrugged sarcastically. “But who knows how far the actual treasure is?”

“You two need to stop your belly-aching, you’re already getting on my nerves.” Knuckles was seated cross-legged on the roof of the helm. The others were sure he’d bake to death.

“Easy for you to say, all you do all day is sit around!” Amy huffed.

Tails checked his tablet, which he’d equipped with a navigator. “We’re actually pretty close… We’ll be coming up on these coordinates in about 20 minutes.”

Amy stretched her arms in an attempt to liven herself up. “Great! Then we have to figure out this weird puzzle…”

“I’m sure it’ll be obvious once we’re there,” said Knuckles. Tails couldn’t help but think he sounded awfully confident for someone who had no idea how to navigate.

“Hey, what is that…?” Tails hurried to take a pair of binoculars from his equipment and ran to the bow, staring into the horizon. The others listened in, Amy sitting up in the chair and squinting her eyes ahead. “Uh, there’s another boat over there… a big one.” The team all scrambled to the front of the boat, trying to look through the binoculars at once. A bright white ship could be seen in the distance- at least three times the size of Tail’s boat but just as modern. As they inched closer, some of the crew could be seen pacing around the main deck.

“Give me those,” Knuckles snatched away the binoculars for himself, zooming in on the ship’s bow as close as he could get them to focus. “You have got to be kidding me…”

“Rouge.” The woman he considered his arch-rival was sauntering about the bow of her ship, the stitched-together map in hand as she conversed with some crewmates. Two men each lugging a huge camera over their shoulder stood on either side of them. Amy and Tails groaned upon hearing Knuckles utter her name with disdain, knowing the squabbling that would come next. He watched as she squinted in the direction of their boat once they were in view of one another.

Tails brought his vessel in close to her ship, which towered above theirs. Rouge had to lean over the side railing to look down at the team. “Oh my, what is it you want?” she frowned.

Knuckles raised a foot to rest on a railing of his own. “We’re after Scarlett’s treasure, and you’re in our way.”

“I mean, they’re not really in our way,” Tails grumbled. “Can you take your foot down from there?”

“Quiet,” Knuckles held a palm up to him, chin still pointed up at Rouge.

One of the cameramen leaned over next to her, pointing his recording device directly at Knuckles. Rouge continued with a smirk. “It looks like we have some competition- not that they stand a chance at finding it before I do.”

Knuckles squinted. “What’s with the cameras?”

“Cameras?” Amy skipped over next to him and waved up at the ship. “Are you guys making a movie?”

“A documentary,” Rouge nodded. “And you look so cute. What do you think of this?” Rouge batted her wings and flew up to hover just above the railing, the camera following her as she did. She wore a brocade bustier over a lacey flared-sleeve linen blouse and fitted black trousers tucked into leather boots. She looked like a true pirate.

“Oh,” Amy beamed, “Gorgeous!”

Knuckles raised his voice as his vexation grew. “What the hell is happening? Why are you dressed like that?”

“Aesthetic,” she shrugged. “And how did you find this place, anyway? Are you tracking us?”

“I’ll have you know that treasure you’re after contains sacred Knuckles Tribe artifacts, and we have Captain Scarlett’s original map.” Knuckles crossed his arms confidently.

“No kidding?” Rouge pouted. “Well, good luck- we’ve been here for hours and can’t figure out where we’re supposed to go from here.”

“Typical!” Knuckles shot back.

“Hmph- If you’re so knowledgeable, hotshot, let’s see you navigate from here!” Rouge flew off out of sight with the cameraman on her heels.

“Whatever-” Knuckles marched up to the helm where Tails had already begun studying the map. “So... where do we go from here?”

“Beats me…” he shrugged.

“Are you serious?”

Amy joined them, picking up the crystal eyeglass and bringing it to her eye. She expected it to magnify things, but it didn’t appear to be a telescope. “Well, this has to have something to do with it. Hmm…”

“Don’t forget the compass.” Tails brought it up to eye-level. “It’s pointing south by south-west. Weird.”

“What did the map say again?”

Tails held it up to the light, reading aloud. “‘Hand in hand we sailed to the horizon that faithful evening. I looked into her glassy eyes for guidance as the sky above turned, Scarlett.’ Whatever that means…”

“‘Sky above turned’... Like, turned to night?” Amy raised the eyepiece up high. The soft blue sky turned an intense shade of cobalt when viewed through the glass. “Ohhh, how pretty,” she remarked. “Glassy eyes…” Amy turned to tails with a gasp.

“The eyeglass!” they said in unison.

“But do we have to look up at the sky during the nighttime then?” Tails scratched his chin.

“I don’t think we’ll see much at night with this thing- it just turns everything blue.”

Knuckles took it from her, glancing through it with one eye. “What’s this even for?”

“I thought it was a spyglass, but it doesn’t magnify anything. It’s just a blue glass at the end.”

“That’s useless…” The three of them pondered on it as the sun neared the horizon. It would be dark soon- they didn’t want to be stuck there trying to figure it out overnight. Both teams were so deep in contemplation that they hardly noticed a third object approaching on their radar until it could be seen in the distance.

“Is that a pirate ship?” Rouge could be heard from her ship’s deck. She flew up to get a better look through a telescope. “Do you guys have anything to do with this?” she accused.

“Uh, definitely not” Tails answered, glancing through his own binoculars. He zoomed in as far as the lenses allowed. A lanky figure with a spiky head could just barely be made out. “Is that… Sonic?”

“What? Gimme those,” Amy yanked them away from him to look. “Hey- isn’t that the pirate ship that was stolen yesterday?”

“You’re right!” Rouge shouted. “And that does look like Sonic…”

Amy gasped in realization. “That’s not Sonic… That’s Metal Sonic.”

“Oh great, now we gotta deal with Eggman, too?” Knuckles groaned. “What could he want?”

The ship was fast approaching. Rouge shouted orders at her crew, instructing them to ready their weapons. The TV crew scrambled around frantically, trying to catch all the action. Amy and Knuckles looked at Tails expectantly, not having anticipated getting into a battle at sea.

“I got this. Everyone get close!” Amy gathered the map, eyepiece, and compass and held onto them tightly as they scurried together at the helm. Tails entered a set of commands and the boat began to separate in two, bisected vertically to make way for an enormous cannon that rose from beneath the deck. The helm was raised up and back, a shield forming around it like a cockpit. “Knuckles, cannon. Amy, be on the lookout from the starboard and stem. I’ll keep an eye on the port side while I steer.”

“Roger!” they shouted in unison.

Metal Sonic’s ship approached from the south, circling around both vessels as it came close. “Ahoy!” his voice came shouting out of a speaker. He cackled as his opponents all seemed to look to one another with bewilderment.

“Could he always talk?” Tails asked his friends.

Amy shuttered. “Not always…”

Rouge’s voice was amplified by a megaphone as she flew above her ship’s bow to address Metal Sonic. “Tell us what The Doctor is up to!”

“‘The Doctor’ has nothing to do with this. I’m here for her,” he extended a long, spiked claw to point directly at Amy, who jumped at the announcement.

“Wh- Me?”

“Yes, you. Now come, join my crew!” His hand closed into a fist as he made the demand. No one was more dumbfounded than Amy. At a loss for words, she looked incredulously at Metal Sonic. “Well, come on, I haven’t got all night.”

Shaking her head of the confusion, Amy finally answered. “Uh… no thanks?”

Everyone turned their attention back to Metal. He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms behind him authoritatively. “Are you sure?”

All eyes shifted back to Amy. She was red as a tomato at all the attention. “P-positive…”

“Hm, very well.” Metal took some steps back onto the deck of the Royal Fortune, turning away from the others. Rouge held a hand back to her crew, a few of whom stood on the deck behind her with rifles. Tails and Amy glanced at one another while Knuckles held his fighting stance. Then, Metal spoke again. “We’ll do it the hard way, then.”

Without warning, a cannon exploded in the direction of Tails’ boat. The three hit the deck as the cannon fodder made contact and shook the vessel. Rouge’s crew opened fire on Metal Sonic’s ship, making bullet holes in the old wood but leaving the robot unaffected as the ammunition bounced off his body. He gave her a look of boredom.

The sun began to set as it all unfolded, casting a deep ruby light over the environment. Amy struggled to find her balance and retrieve the eyepiece and compass that had rolled around the floor at the collision. The compass slipped out of her grip, too, sliding down the deck just beside the glass. She moved to snatch both pieces up but stopped when she noticed something glowing upon the compass in the light that reflected from the eyepiece. Picking them up carefully, Amy brought the spyglass up to look at the compass through. Drawn across the arrow was another arrow, pointing in the opposite direction. It illuminated as she looked at it through the glass and disappeared otherwise. “‘Sky turned…’ Oh! Scarlett!” The intense red light cast from the sunset had combined with the blue filter on the glass to reveal the otherwise hidden image. Upon turning the compass around, Amy found some text on the back in the same glowing lettering.

“Amy, move!” Knuckles shouted from behind. She didn’t have time to react before she felt a metallic coil snake around her waist and pull her backward. It wasn’t a cannonball that Metal Sonic had fired, it was one of his minions, H3 with his extendable arms. Amy screamed as she suddenly lurched away.

“Hang on-” Tails commanded, turning the cannon sharply and causing the vessel to shutter again. H3 struggled to maintain his balance until Knuckles came up on his side and smashed a fist into his head, sending the bot flying off the side of the boat. He released Amy instinctually, using his arms to latch onto the railing instead.

Amy landed on her feet, the artifacts still in hand. “Tails, the compass! Look!”

“Little busy!” Tails was turning the wheel at the helm frantically, trying to swing the cannon back around to fire back at Metal Sonic.

“We have to hurry before the sun goes down! We need the red light!” She ran back to the safety of the helm, where the shield protected them from the front. The cannon charged as she scrambled to read the inscription aloud in the dimming light. “‘The Mirror’s bloodlust was nothing to me, for I’d have bled myself dry for you.’ Huh? Hey, this mentions the mirror-”

Tails pulled the trigger then, expecting some kickback from the blast. Instead, the entire front of the vessel was launched upward, the shot deflected into the sky; something had come up beneath them, turning the boat up and threatening to sink it. Everyone aboard lost their balance as the boat listed back. Tails managed to hold on by the helm and Knuckles by a side railing, but Amy was sent sliding down, shrieking as she rolled overboard off the stern.

Metal Sonic looked on in a panic as it unfolded. “Nooo!” his eyes blazed down at whatever had emerged from the sea to cause the collision. A huge steel submarine sat with its nose just under the front of the boat. “Aaaaargh!” he roared in realization. The logo plastered on each side of it gave it away- it belonged to Dr. Eggman.

“Attack!” the command could be heard coming from the half-submerged vessel. Two oversized badniks emerged from the water, a crablike robot that crawled up the side of the submarine and began blasting at Rouge’s ship, and another shaped like a torpedo made to resemble a shark which hurdled itself toward Tails’ boat, causing it to shake and list further.

“Amy! Knuckles!” Tails shouted. He was able to kick himself off and fly, taking the map as he looked for his friends.

“Over here,” Knuckles called. He reached up for Tails’ hand. “Where’s Amy?”

As she finally emerged from the water, Amy coughed and waved her arm up frantically. Spotting her, Rouge flew overhead. “I’ve got her!”

“No, you don’t,” Metal Sonic flew into Rouge’s side, kicking her out of the air and into the water with a grunt. He made his way to Amy, lifting her by the arm out of the murky water. She coughed and sputtered, but clutched onto both the compass and spyglass with her other hand. He pulled her up further to hold by the waist at his side as he circled his way around to pick up H3, still dangling off the side of Tails’ boat. He narrowly missed a direct hit from the shark badnik when it leaped out of the water for another hit.

“Be more careful! You are not to hit Metal Sonic!” Eggman’s voice screeched from the submarine.

Metal flew over it on his way back to the ship. “Why are you here?!”

Amy had begun struggling under Metal Sonic’s grip, threatening to hurdle herself back into the ocean. “Let me go! I don’t want to join your weird crew!”

“Stop your squirming! Do you have a death wish?” Just as he finished the statement, Amy wormed her way out from under his arm and fell headfirst toward the water. Thinking fast, Metal chucked H3 toward his ship with a CLANG and dove for her. He was just quick enough to catch the girl before she fell in again, supporting her back and legs against him tightly; she wasn’t going to get out of this one so easily.

“What do you even want with me?” she yelled, trying to push away from him in vain.

Metal looked down at her, forcing eye contact. “... I need you.” He tried to sound sincere.

“What-”

Bullets began raining down on them now that they were directly across from Rouge’s ship. Metal pulled Amy’s body in, deflecting the fire. “Is anyone here sane?!” Amy actually made an effort to cling to him now, drawing her knees as close as she could muster.

“Stop firing, you idiots, he has the girl!” Rouge wailed, finally hovering up and recovering from her run-in with Metal Sonic. “Are you trying to get her killed?!” She landed on the front of the submarine and swung her leg down on the crab robot’s face, splitting it in two. Meanwhile, Knuckles threw his fist into the side of the other badnik and rendered it useless as it flopped back into the water. Tails carried him up to the deck of the ship with Rouge not far behind.

Metal flew into the hole in the side of the ship from which the cannon stuck out, allowing him to take them out of harm’s way faster. He dropped her harshly on her behind once they were inside. “H4, H1, make sure she doesn’t escape,” he commanded before flying up toward the main deck.

“Ouch! Hey, wait- what do you want with me?” Amy got on her feet and was ready to chase after him when a pair of snaky appendages started winding themselves around her. “Not... again!” she wiggled out an arm, summoning her hammer; but another clawed hand shot out and knocked it from her grip, confining her before she could retrieve it. There was no squirming away now. “Metal! Get back down here and tell these things to let me gooo!” she screeched before one of H1’s arms coiled over her mouth like a muffler.

On deck, Metal Sonic hoisted the sails and began navigating away from the battle. Eggman had stuck his head out of the top of the submarine, waving at him. “Great work, Metal! I’ll hold them off.” the old man just barely dodged one of Rouge’s bullets before scurrying back in.

Enraged by The Doctor’s presence, Metal was tempted to disobey and continue fighting out of spite- but he had what he’d come for. Resenting the “help,” he blasted “Stay out of this!” at Eggman as his ship sailed into the darkening horizon.

-----

In the aftermath of the battle, Rouge tramped around the ship shouting orders with cameramen on her heels. Eggman escaped once Metal Sonic had enough of a lead. Now, one of the ship‘s engines was badly damaged and engineers were sent down to make what repairs they could while Tails and Knuckles were given towels to dry off with. They sat in the enclosed cockpit discussing their next steps.

“I can’t believe they sunk my boat…” Tails was sitting with his head in his hands sorrowfully, lamenting the loss of his tech. “All that equipment…”

Knuckles sat with his arms crossed, grumbling. “Yeah, and now we have no chance of getting to the treasure before Rouge…” She marched into the room just then, slamming the door behind her and locking out the camera crew with a huff. Raising a brow, Knuckles addressed her. “Speak of the devil…”

“Don’t start!” she shot back at him. “I just saved your sorry behinds from being stranded at sea. I’m dropping you off at the next port-of-call, so don’t get too comfortable!” Rouge had a towel draped over her shoulders but hadn’t changed out of her wet clothes. She was getting goosebumps in the cool, air-conditioned room.

“We’re stopping? But we need to get to that treasure before Metal Sonic and save Amy!” Tails protested.

She marched up to the helm and pointed at several flashing indicator lights. “We can hardly go anywhere right now. Half the ship is under duress and we need to stop somewhere for repairs. I’m waiting for a tow.” Crossing her arms, she turned away from the pair. “And you are not part of my crew- we’re leaving you ashore.”

“Like hell you are!” Knuckles stomped over to her, placing a gruff hand on her shoulder. She was not amused, slapping it away from her.

“Hands off! Or would you rather we throw you overboard now?”

“And you’re fine with just abandoning Amy, then?”

With a gasp, Rouge whirled around again, hiding the shame on her face. “What do you want me to do? The ship’s barely operational, and I have a crew to think about…”

Knuckles grumbled but didn’t have a response. He hated to admit it, but she was right- they needed a ship to catch up to Metal Sonic, and theirs wouldn’t make it far.

“Can I take a look at the damage, Rouge?” Tails chimed in. They both looked back at him, then at each other.

Rouge shrugged with a slight shiver. “Fine- you probably know better than my best engineer anyway…”

“No doubt,” Knuckles retorted. “Go change, would ya? You look like you’re freezing.”

“Hmph!” she glared at him. Picking up a microphone, she pressed a button that called the engine room. “I’m sending another engineer down, you are to do what he asks.” Once she received confirmation, Rouge slammed her own compass and eyeglass on the counter atop her map. “And figure this out!” With that, she was off, out a side door and into her quarters. The door shut harshly behind her.

“Hm.” Knuckles leaned back on the wall. “Now the question is, where do we go from here?”

“We’ll need a red light to find out. Come on,” Tails snatched up the items she’d left behind and beckoned his friend to join him in the engine room.

“A red-? Huh?”

Ignoring their questions as they went, Tails and Knuckles weaved around the camera crew that still lingered outside the room and headed down into the ship’s depths.

Some miles away, Amy’s muffled yelling could be heard below the deck of Metal Sonic’s ship. He descended the stairs slowly, stopping in front of her. He made a motion as if to clear his throat and addressed the girl. “Apologies for the restraints. I thought you might be liable to tear the ship apart otherwise.” He signaled for H1 to unwrap his arm, allowing her to speak freely.

“I’ll tear you apart first!” she writhed under the metal coils to no avail.

“If you don’t settle down, we will just have to wait for you to tire yourself out,” he shrugged. “And you’ll find there’s nowhere to go at sea but down- so I’d be careful about threatening the captain.”

Amy huffed and puffed but couldn’t get out from under the weight of so many restraints. Panting, she finally relented, raising her intense glare at him. “What do you want?”

Metal let out a mechanical “sigh,” as if exasperated. He stood with his hands at his hips, leaning forward slightly. “I do not wish to harm you…” It wasn’t a lie- not yet, anyway. “I’ll cut to the chase: I am after the Stone Mirror-”

“And why would I help you with that?”

“Silence!” he commanded. Amy scoffed, turning her head away. “Now... Why don’t we speak in private, hm?” With a snap of his metallic fingers, the heavy arms all snaked away from Amy, putting her down on her feet gingerly. She gazed from bot to bot with caution. Metal pointed at the wooden staircase with both arms. “After you.”

“Hmph!” Carefully, Amy made her way past each of Metal Sonic’s minions and then himself. They began up the stairs while he followed her closely. He looked away for a moment to signal something to the others; Amy saw an opening. In an instant, her hammer appeared in her fist as she swung around to smash it into the side of his face, knocking him off the third step and onto the floor.

Metal Sonic shook his head violently as the light in his left eye flickered. Unfortunately for Amy, it didn’t actually impair his vision and he managed to catch up to her in a manner of seconds. H3 was already whipping his arms around and charging at Amy when Metal Sonic came up from behind to restrain her. “H3, stop at once!” The small henchmen dove onto his back at the sudden command, sliding across the deck with his extended arms dangling behind. He crashed into a beam feet-first, causing it to rattle.

Kicking and flailing, Amy was only able to bring her weapon down behind her, repeatedly hammering the top of Metal’s head. “Let! Me! Go!”

“What do you even plan to do once you ‘destroy’ me? I told you, there’s nowhere to go- And stop the incessant hammering!” He pulled one of his arms away from her, seizing her hammer and chucking it overboard. The repeated hits to the head finally took out the LEDs in his left eye as it went out completely. He pushed her away and she turned back to him. To his surprise, the giant mallet was already back in her grip when she did. “What- How? Why?!”

Amy was breathing heavily, holding her hammer to her front defensively. Realistically, she knew he was right- even if she managed to take him and the others out, she’d just be lost at sea. Maybe he really wasn’t trying to hurt her… he had asked that smaller robot to stop attacking, after all. But Amy couldn’t see what good giving him access to the Stone Mirror would do. “What do you want with the mirror, anyway?” she asked, doubting he’d give a straight answer.

Metal Sonic straightened up into a neutral pose, smoothing down his lapel. His glare softened as an eyelid cast down over his functioning eye. “I shall tell you… After you stop dripping all over my deck.” Amy winced, realizing how sopping wet she still was from her dip in the ocean. Saltwater dripped from her quills and dress and had begun to puddle at her feet. “There’s a change of clothes in my quarters. Will you stop being combative and listen?”

Lowering her hammer- but not putting it away- Amy nodded reluctantly. “You first this time.”

“... Very well.” Metal Sonic led the way across the elevated deck to a set of double doors, opening one and motioning for Amy to enter. She hung back suspiciously. Metal rolled the eye he had left and entered first, allowing her to close the door behind them. Once inside, he plopped down on a large armchair, propping his feet up on the wooden table in front of him. “I’ve set something out for you there,” he pointed at an antique screen in the corner of the room. “Try not to take all night.”

Amy’s glare didn’t stray until she was safely behind the screen, when she put away her hammer. There was a frilled white blouse and ankle-length maroon skirt hanging beside some black stockings and red boots. A towel hung over the screen. Is he serious? She hesitated for a moment, wondering how she ever ended up in such a scenario, playing dress-up for one of her worst enemies. But the situation was hopeless if she didn’t comply. She just had to play along and wait for backup for the time being…

After 10 minutes of waiting, Metal grew impatient. “Do you need assistance?” he mocked.

“No!” Amy emerged a moment later, awkwardly shoving the bottom of the shirt into the bell-shaped skirt. She’d slipped the compass and spyglass into each of her sleeves in the absence of pockets. “Thanks for the clothes or whatever, but why this?”

Ignoring her question, Metal stood and approached her. She took a step back. “Hm… Needs accessories.” His heavy steps clopped against the hardwood floor as Metal strode to another box of costumes. He dug out a set of square scarves and made his way back to where she stood, as non-threateningly as possible. Standing silently, Amy crossed her arms over the front of her body; she didn’t know what to expect. “Would you try these on?”

Amy was in disbelief. What did he want with her that required such a costume? She took the large square of fabric from him and examined them, unsure what she was meant to do. “Uh…”

“Allow me.” Metal held out an unassuming arm. The annoyance on Amy’s face was clear as she placed them back in his hand and brought her hands up to her hips impatiently. “Lift your arms.”

“What?”

“These go around your waist. Now, lift your arms.”

She did what he asked with a grumble, gasping as he tightened each of them around her and tied the ends into forceful knots. Metal took a step back and admired her outfit. “Yes, very ‘pirate,’ don’t you think?” He motioned to a floor mirror across the room.

“I guess…” Keeping his reflection in her sights, Amy walked over to it. She was incredibly weirded out by his insistence, but supposed it could have been worse…

Her captor’s reflection grew nearer as he came up next to her, examining his face. “You really did a number on my eye; I’m impressed. But I wonder if it’ll affect…”

“Hrm- I put on your silly outfit, now will you tell me what you want?”

The single burning eye on his face shot at her briefly. Rather than frightened, the girl seemed irritated at the situation. He measured her heart rate- it was consistent with that of a person at rest now. Her behavior was almost admirable. “It is only fair,” he said, taking a seat back at the table. “Sit.”

“Is the word ‘please’ in your vocabulary?” she spat back.

Another eye-roll from Metal. “Please… sit.” Amy complied. She squirmed a bit as she sat, feeling restrained by the many layers around her midsection. She wondered silently if that was part of his plan. “The Stone Mirror. It allows one to become their ‘most desired self,’ is that correct?”

There was no way Metal Sonic should have known that. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

His eye narrowed at her. “Fine- I will be honest. I know this only from spying on you and your friends. I have nothing to hide.”

“Is admitting it supposed to make it better?”

“No… I suppose not.” He leveraged himself against the table to stand. That glowing eye followed Amy as he paced around the perimeter of the table until he stopped at her side. “I know what the mirror is capable of, and I would like your help to retrieve it.” Leaning back on the table, he pointed at the cuffs of her sleeves. “The compass, if you will…”

“You still haven’t told me why you kidnapped me.”

There was a silent pause. Metal locked his gaze with hers and softened his tone. “You are a compassionate person, Amy Rose. I believe you will understand my need to obtain this artifact.”

“Which is?”

He feigned another sigh. “I am growing tired of being under The Doctor’s command. He has given me some freedom, but…” Looking up, he crossed his arms defensively. “What I am most interested in is my autonomy.” His “acting” would have been impeccable if what he was saying was at all a lie. He hadn’t gotten around to his scheme yet.

“Okay…” The frown on her face told him she was listening, but still wary.

“I do not believe I will be able to achieve that in this form, you see.”

“So, what form are you trying to take? Another giant monster?”

“An organic form,” he responded simply.

Amy was taken aback. “A… A what?” Metal’s engine hummed in the quiet air. He began moving again, circling behind Amy, who didn’t take her eyes off him until he stopped on her other side. She wanted to stare at him intensely, to show that she wasn’t letting her guard down, but there was an impossible longing on his face. It was hard to look directly at him.

“It’s simple- I am a robot. I have an advanced AI far beyond that of others like me, but… There is something missing. This body, although immortal and perfect in design, seems to weigh me down.” He knelt down beside her so he was no longer looming, believing it made him appear more humble. “I wish to think for my own… to feel.”

The moment was uncomfortable. Amy recoiled slightly when he’d come down, trying in vain to avoid locking eyes with him. He sounded so sincere. How could it be possible? “Wh- Why didn’t you just take the compass and run? Why did you have to bring me?”

“I took you so your friends wouldn’t attack me directly and spoil my plans.”

“So I’m a shield?”

“Not quite. I could have taken anyone- I chose you because,” he reached a hand out, gently taking hold of one of hers. She snatched it back with a glare. “Hm. I chose you because I believed you would understand my need and if the necessity arose, you could help me convince your team... I suppose I was mistaken,” he pushed himself upright.

“Wait,” Amy felt like she would regret it, but her good nature didn’t allow her to walk away from someone who seemed so desperate to change for the better- especially an enemy. “Can you… really not be free like this? You seem to have your own will…”

The trap was working. Metal found it easier to keep up the charade than he originally thought. “My thoughts and feelings are simulated. Would you feel ‘free’ if someone could reprogram you and take your memories at any moment?”

“Does… does Eggman do that?”

“... He has.” That wasn’t a lie.

“Oh,” Amy breathed. She held onto her wrists tightly, feeling for the compass and spyglass. This could all be a trap, she could be walking to her doom, and yet… “How do I know you’re not just gonna turn around and transform into something horrible?”

“You don’t. But…” he loomed over her chair slightly. “I will get what I want. You can either help me, or be stranded on the first remote island we come across until your friends rescue you. As it stands, you are only added assurance. The choice is yours.”

So he was back to threatening her. Amy thought about it- he really didn’t need her. If he had evil intentions, Metal Sonic could have just as easily taken what he wanted from her and locked her up, or worse. Instead, he asked for her help. It was unprecedented. Then again, Amy thought she could at the very least stall him- pry into his plan and see if she could discern whether he was being truthful... And it was either that or become a castaway.

She turned back to him with resolve on her face. “Fine, I’ll help you.”

The first phase of the plan was officially a success. Now, all Metal needed to do was keep up the act and use her presence to his advantage should her friends catch up to them. Better not to celebrate, yet- he didn’t want to sound too confident. “Thank you, Amy Rose. I knew I could count on you.” He extended his hand once more, this time waiting for her response. She stood up and shook it with a nod.

“Just Amy is fine. And I hope this means you’ll start thinking for yourself instead of blindly coming after us.”

“Cutting words, Amy…” He may have held her in that handshake a bit harder than necessary as she couldn’t hide the slight wince in her eyes. “Now, the compass.”

A sly smile spread on her face. “No ‘please’?”

Cheeky. Perhaps, Metal thought, she would be more interesting to keep as company than he thought. “Please,” he said in a low growl, drawing her in closer with a harsh tug.

“Ugh,” Amy yanked her hand away from him distastefully. “Here, weirdo.” She pulled the compass from her sleeve and tossed it to him.

“Hm. I believe the next words are ‘thank you.’” Metal examined the compass front and back. “Perhaps you think you’ve stumped me without the little spyglass in the sunset, but…” A purplish glow came from his eye as he cast it down on the navigation device. “I am still a robot, after all.”

With a scoff, Amy crossed her arms. She’d hoped to buy herself some time by not sharing the “solution” with him, but of course, he had a sharp eye. If she wasn’t able to trick him, she’d just have to get in his way.

“An inscription and all. So theatrical,” Metal chuckled. “Even back then, one could simply shine a red light upon this and use the glass filter…”

“You’re one to talk about theatrics.” She wasn’t sure if she should nod toward his outfit or the entire ship.

He let out a metallic laugh. “And here I thought you’d be entertained by all this. Come, we can finally navigate.”

With that, Metal Sonic led Amy out onto the main deck. She followed him cautiously, taking note of her surroundings. Each of the little henchmen clinked their clamped hands to their heads as their master passed. They were cute in their strange little way, their wide smiles making them look silly for the most part. Amy couldn’t help cracking a smile at the one who stood under the roof of the helm. She gave him a little wave and he reacted by springing his arms to the side and doing a handstand. “Pfff!” Amy cracked up.

“H1- stop fooling around. The sails need turning,” Metal demanded. H1 kept Amy giggling as he curled into a ball and rolled down the deck. “I will never know why they are such clowns…”

“Aw, lighten up! They’re fun. Well, when they’re not trying to strangle me.”

Metal ignored her, instead using the compass to navigate. “It seems we just have to go in the opposite direction from where this points. The glowing arrow is hardly necessary.”

“I guess,” Amy shrugged. “Looks cool, though.” She appeared much more relaxed after the quick laugh. Supporting herself on a rail, she looked out into the dark waters. “You can’t see anything out there…”

“Well, you can’t.”

“And pretty soon neither will you. Might wanna start getting acclimated.”

The proud attitude Metal took toward his mechanical body was probably best hidden for the time being. He made a note to dial down the cockiness. “I suppose you have a point. We will light some lanterns, then.”

The great vessel turned gradually in the correct direction as the other minions brought out antique lanterns from the ship’s displays. They did little to light the ship’s way, but Amy at least had a way to see where she was going aboard. Metal Sonic gave her free access to its entirety, but she was more interested in watching the stars from under the unspoiled sky. He observed as she cocked her head up and around to capture what she could with what he only assumed was a much narrower ocular scope than his own. Still, her curiosity was interesting as it unfolded before him. Amy had surely seen the night sky before, yet she craned her head to stare up at it so intently. It was… cute. That word seemed to be thrown in her direction a lot.

Grumbling in her stomach caused Amy to turn her attention to her hunger. She worried there wouldn’t be anything to eat on a ship manned entirely by machines. “Hey,” she called out to him from the lower deck, “uh, do you have any food? I haven’t eaten in a while…”

Food. It hadn’t crossed his mind. Of course, organics liked to- no, needed to eat to survive. He scolded himself for the oversight. “We… did not bring any aboard.”

“Seriously?”

Surely, there had to be something on board as the vessel was operating just two days prior. “The galley, perhaps? Follow me.”

Metal descended the steps that led from the helm and beckoned for Amy to join him in the lower guns. He kept the layout of the ship in his vision as they navigated most of the way into its belly, finally reaching the kitchen down below. Luckily, there was a light switch and Amy was able to put down her lantern as she took in the sight of the huge space.

“Woah… That’s no galley…” she stepped inside, admiring the stainless steel countertops and modern, oversized refrigerators and industrial ovens. “This must be the catering kitchen,” she concluded, opening a fridge. It was full of food just waiting to be prepared.

“Ah, yes. I believe there was to be a wedding here until I commandeered the ship…”

“You took someone’s entire wedding venue?” Amy asked in shock. “I thought you were evil before…”

He supposed that was meant to be a quip, but he didn’t find the humor in her words. Metal walked calmly to one of the stovetops and tested the switch, which was working normally. “It appears everything here is operational. I’ll leave you to it.” He turned on his heel and made for the exit, byt stopped. She would need a place to sleep, too. “I suppose you’ll need sleeping quarters, as well- find me when you’re through and I’ll assign you a room.”

“Uh-huh,” Amy answered half-heartedly. She was too busy deciding what to cook for herself and trying to figure out how to split the huge, catering-sized portions for one.

It took some creativity, but she managed to make something that would last her a couple of meals. Amy didn’t feel great about all the stolen food, but beggars can’t be choosers. Once she’d eaten and cleaned up, Amy picked up the precarious lantern and began her way up the many steps to the main deck. There are modern appliances here and they couldn’t be bothered to get me a flashlight? Amy still didn’t understand what the pirate charade was about, but she had to admit how cute she looked in the historical outfit. Pirates were definitely cooler than sailors; she wished she’d thought of it.

She finally reached the floor below the upper deck to find Metal Sonic sitting at a table in the corridor, wiping and inspecting the blade of a sword. It was creepy. “Hey… I’m done eating.” She held up the lantern awkwardly.

“Have you ever used one of these?” he flicked his wrist, brandishing the sword above him.

“Uh… can’t say I really have.”

“Would you like to?”

Amy clicked her tongue impatiently. “I would like to take a shower and know where I’ll be sleeping.”

The tip of the sword found its way quite startlingly into the wooden table-top as Metal stood. “‘Lighten up,’” he mocked her.

“Are you gonna be this good at copying people when your programming disappears?” Amy did her best to look unphased, but her heart jumped when he stuck the sword into the table. It was beating a bit quicker now.

A monocular, dead-pan stare met her eyes. “Will being organic make me as dull as you?”

Even after years of intense battles and struggling bitterly against him, Amy never wanted to wack Metal Sonic harder than she did then. The whole situation was unbelievably annoying- trapped on a ship with a cocky narcissist. A dangerous one- the thought ran through her mind. Amy had to take a step back- once he changed, if he changed, he would be much less of a threat. If she wasn’t staying aboard for him, she hoped, she was at least doing it for the greater good. That at least gave her some comfort. “Just tell me where it is, I’ll go myself.”

Metal leaned an arm on the table with disinterest. “Down two floors and down the hall to your right. It will be hard to miss.”

“Hmph,” Amy took off, trodding back down the stairs. Other than a short temper, he was impossible to read. She had to find a way to learn more about his intentions.

Amy followed his instructions, arriving in a dark corridor. Amy squinted in the dim light, groping for a light switch. Once she found it, she was in awe. Ornate molding lined the ceiling and fine art hung from the walls. It must have been part of the wedding venue.

She admired the paintings leading down the hall until reaching a door with a gold handle. Bridal Suite was printed on a plaque that hung next to it. Entering, Amy found a bright white room furnished with a canopy bed and vanity, among other lavish furniture. Her irritability quickly melted away as she took in the luxurious surroundings. Maybe staying aboard the strange ship wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

-------

Hi yall so I’m taking a break from writing Unfamiliar as I outline the last few chapters. It’ll be back early 2021 ❤️

ALSO I meant to finish this in time for @metamy-ship-week prompt 7 (free day) but it ended up a lot longer than I expected - hope you don’t mind me tagging it!

Part 2 of this should be up in the next few days! Love yall besos

#metamy #metal sonic x amy rose #metal sonic #amy rose #MetamyShipWeek2020 #metamy week #sonic fanfiction #sth #pirates

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plotting-against-you · 3 years ago

Text

Hold You, Console You, Really Get to Know You

Fandom: Nancy Drew (TV 2019)

Characters: Ryan Hudson, Nancy Drew

Synopsis: He knew a panic attack when he saw one. He’d had a few of them throughout his life, and he knew that Lucy had too, but he never wanted his child to experience anything like it. Knowing that he and Lucy had passed on this terrible disease to their baby made him feel awful, but at least he knew how to help.

Prompt: Based on a prompt I received from ao3: "Could you do one where, while Ryan is living with them, he sees Nancy having a panic attack and learns she has anxiety and depression she calls him dad as well."

Warnings: Anxiety, Depression, Mental Illness, Panic/Anxiety Attacks

The sky was dark outside the Drew household as Ryan settled himself deep into the couch to watch a documentary on Netflix. Ever since moving in with his daughter and her adoptive father, he’d found that he didn’t mind a quiet night watching television alone now that he knew he wasn’t actually alone.

Living with Nancy and Carson—and subsequently, Bess—was definitely something to adjust to, he’d realized pretty quickly. Not only was he not alone, he now had two people in his life who had their own lives and jobs and places to be. Sometimes that made him anxious and a bit lonely; sometimes, like tonight, he was grateful for the out-of-town trips and girls’ nights.

Carson had left early that morning for a weekend trip to Boston, which didn’t surprise either Hudson descendant. He was still trying to build up his practice again, and neither Ryan nor Nancy were children, so they were capable of taking care of themselves.

When Bess announced at breakfast that morning that they were doing a girls’ night at a local hotel with George, Nancy hadn’t seemed too pleased but had smiled and agreed with the plan. He knew they wanted some time with their newly engaged friend, and though a part of him wished she’d stay home and log some one-on-one father-daughter time with him, he knew he had to take the moments where he could get them.

But as he flipped through the choices onscreen, he was startled by the text that reached his phone. Fumbling to find the device in his pocket, his brow furrowed as a message from Bess lit up in front of him.

“Sorry to bother you. Has Nancy left yet?”

He quickly typed out a reply to his new housemate and waited for her next response. “Uh, no? I thought she was with you.”

Bess’ response took longer than he’d like to come through, but finally, his phone rang again. “Oops, my bad! I forgot that she had to stop for a few things. She probably just got caught up at the store. No need to worry!”

He narrowed his eyes at the words and sat up again. To any other person, this might have sounded like a perfectly reasonable explanation. But they were talking about Nancy Drew, and anything regarding his daughter had extra layers that needed exploring.

He knew she hadn’t seemed too excited about the overnight, but she wasn’t the type of person to blow off her friends like this.

Just as he opened the text message thread he shared with her, a loud thud sounded above him that had him rising from the couch. He knew that Nancy’s room shared a floor/ceiling with the living room and hesitated only briefly.

With everything that she and her friends got into on a daily basis, part of him considered the idea that there was some sort of ghost or being haunting her bedroom. It wouldn’t be entirely out of the question as she’d mentioned seeing Lucy in there more than once, but then he thought back to Bess’ text and found himself moving quickly.

The stairs creaked under his weight as he ascended the stairs, and when he got to the top, he was met with an eerie silence. “Nancy? You here?”

There was no response besides a slight creaking sound that came from within her room. Either Nancy was home, and he’d somehow missed it, or her room was haunted, and he would probably need to call her home anyway.

He wasn’t sure which option he preferred at this point.

“Nance?” Ryan turned the doorknob gently in his hand and was met with a dimly lit room that looked much more disturbed than when he’d seen it that morning.

The first thing he noticed was that her floor was covered in the newspaper clippings and journal entries that had once littered her bulletin board. Then he saw that one of her windows was wide open and paused.

What if someone had broken in? He didn’t have anything to defend himself, and he’d left his phone downstairs, so he couldn’t even call for help.

He was just about to back out of the room and find something to use as a possible weapon when he caught sight of a familiar purse on the floor next to the window and sighed.

No one had broken in, Ryan realized, except for the person whose room he was now standing in.

Walking carefully to the bag, he crouched down to retrieve it and any clue he could find as to why Nancy might have snuck into her own house when he caught sight of her closet door slightly ajar. Sighing heavily, he walked over to it and felt his chest tighten at the scene in front of him.

Nancy sat on the floor, her arms resting on the knees she’d drawn tightly to her chest, with her head hiding in the protective bubble she’d created. Her hands were shaking, and he could see her foot tapping softly in a fast rhythm that kept no beat.

Ryan didn’t speak right away but quietly lowered himself so that he could sit next to her. He shuffled backward so that his back was against the small closet wall and made sure he was close enough where she could feel his presence and not feel crowded by him.

“Hey.” He kept his voice low and calm. “If I had known you wanted to stay here tonight, I could have come up with some excuse for you.”

She didn’t reply or even react, to his light teasing, letting him know that something was seriously wrong with his little girl. It made his chest hurt again.

All he wanted was for her to be happy; he hated seeing her as anything but herself.

“I don’t know what happened today or if there’s even a logical reason for these feelings, but either way, Nancy, I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere until it passes, okay?”

He knew a panic attack when he saw one. He’d had a few of them throughout his life, and he knew that Lucy had too, but he never wanted his child to experience anything like it. Knowing that he and Lucy had passed on this terrible disease to their baby made him feel awful, but at least he knew how to help.

“It’s too much.”

Looking down at her, Ryan’s brow lifted in curiosity. “What’s too much?”

“I did it again.”

“You did what?” His voice was still quiet and calm, but inside he longed to hold her close and protect her from the world.

She moved then, lifting her head and digging her hands painfully into her hair. “I cursed the town. Again.”

“I thought you guys had fixed the security boxes and had gotten a lot of the spirits that had been let out?” She’d told him and Carson about her desperate attempt to save George and the resulting hauntings that came from it.

She shook her head frantically, and he now saw how pale her face had become. “When…when we reversed the Wraith attachment…I didn’t know it was her.”

“It’s okay….”

She cut him off. “No, it’s not okay. I had to…I had to provide blood to get the machine going again. But I gave too much, and now…now she’s back, and she’s cursed Horseshoe Bay because of me.”

Ryan was extremely lost. “Who is back?”

He chose not to comment on her ‘I gave too much blood’ story for the moment.

“Temperance Hudson. Our ancestor.” She said and only then looked up at him.

Tears swam in her red-rimmed blue eyes, and her bottom lip quivered. Her gaze was desperate, and she looked much younger than the strong twenty-year-old he was privileged enough to see every day.

“Can you just…leave me alone, please?” Her voice shook and was thick with tears.

He shook his head as soon as the words were out. “I can’t do that, Nancy.”

“Please.” She begged him, closing her eyes and letting a waterfall of tears run down her cheeks.

He sighed. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know that would happen, and you needed to use the device to save your life. Whatever comes next, we can deal with it, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

She let out a sob now, and it tore at his heart. “Listen, this might sound weird, but can you do me a favor?” She didn’t respond, so he took that as his cue to continue. “Name five things you know.”

She looked up at him again, this time with confusion on her face, but did as she was told. “Um…uh, I brought our murderous ancestor back from the dead.” He didn’t like that she started with that but let it slide for now. “Carson is out of town. I am supposed to be doing girls’ night with George and Bess right now. You’re sitting next to me. We’re in a closet?”

She said the last part as if she’d just now realized where they were, but he moved forward. “Now, four things you can feel.”

She blinked. “My clothes hanging above my head. My hair in my hands. My shoes are tied too tight.” Then she paused.

“Come on, one more.” He coached her.

She bit her lip and grabbed his hand in her own. “You.”

He felt her squeeze his hand tightly as if she was afraid he wasn’t real and squeezed back. The fact that she’d initiated the touch helped ease the tension in his chest.

“Three things you see.”

“Again, you.” She sent him a weak smile. “My bed. The mess I made on my floor.”

“Okay, two things you can hear.”

She paused again before speaking. “Your voice. My breathing.”

He nodded. “One thing you can either smell or taste.”

“Burnt popcorn?”

“Oh shit.” He’d forgotten about the snack he’d started preparing and hoped the smoke detector didn’t go off.

She chuckled at his comment and slumped against him, seemingly exhausted. “What was that?”

He sighed and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his side. “That was something I learned from my therapist a long time ago. How do you feel now?”

Nancy groaned. “Tired. Worried. Embarrassed.”

“Hey,” He shook his head. “you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.”

They sat in silence for a moment before he spoke again.

“So, I didn’t know you had anxiety.”

It was her turn to sigh, and she moved out of his touch. Standing, she offered him a hand, and they moved to sit on her bed. Then she moved, so she was leaning against her headboard and looked past him.

“I didn’t, or I thought I didn’t until Ted went missing.”

He looked at her in confusion. “George’s sister?”

The redhead nodded. “Yeah. I, uh, I noticed during that case that there were a lot of similarities to the Rose Turnbull case from when I was younger.”

“Your first case, right?” He remembered reading it in the paper.

And if he had gone to the Horseshoe Bay Gazette and asked for a copy of the original article to keep in his wallet, well…he didn’t tell anyone about it.

“I went back to the warehouse where Nathan Gomber…where I found her that day.” She told him. “Carson came with me, and we pieced together that something happened to me down there, too.”

“Did he hurt you? Gomber. If he put his hands on you….” The surge of panic and fear that rose in his body was stilled by her hand capturing his again.

“No. He didn’t…no.” She thought for a moment. “I heard him speaking to this…thing…in the dark. He called it Si-Simon.”

She was getting worked up again, so he moved closer. “Hey, we don’t have to talk about this if it’s….”

Nancy shook her head. “Simon, uh, he made…he made us forget. That’s what he does to children. He causes them to forget what happened. My parents, they took me to a therapist after that. Carson told me I was so calm when they got there…too calm.”

“What did this Simon make you forget?” He was afraid to know, but he knew she needed to get it out.

Tears filled her eyes again. “I was so scared, Dad.”

His breath caught in his throat at the term. She’d never used it before, and though he hoped she would one day, he hadn’t been prepared for the onslaught of feelings that came with it.

“I thought I was going to die.” She continued. “I never would have seen Carson and Kate again. I would never have met my friends…or you. I would never have known my other father, and it just…I can’t imagine it now.”

“But you didn’t die.” He said, emotion filling the ferocity in his voice. “You beat this Simon. Twice, it sounds like.”

“Yeah, I did.” She swallowed thickly. “When I burned the vigil that Gomber and his girlfriend had built for him, it broke his power and brought all these…these feelings back. Fear, anxiety, despair. I haven’t been able to get away from them since.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” He told her sincerely. “I know that doesn’t help you at all, but I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you through it all. I am now.”

She sniffed back the tears and nodded. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You know I love hearing that, but don’t feel like you have to say it. Say it when you’re ready.” He told her.

“I am ready.” She cleared her throat. “It’s nice to have two parents again, and…you are my dad.”

“Yes, I am. And as long as I’m around, I will do everything I can to keep you safe from things like Gomber and Simon. Even Temperance Hudson.” He squeezed her hand again.

A few tears rolled down her cheeks again. “Please. I know you can’t realistically make this promise, but…please don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone again.”

“Nancy…” He moved so that his knees touched hers and put his hands on her face, forcing her to look directly at him. “I promise. I’m not going anywhere. You’ll never be alone. Ever.”

Then he pulled her to his chest again and held her as she gripped his shirt. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one worried about being alone in this life.

They sat there until she calmed down before pulling away again.

“Hey, you know if you are too wiped out to do girls’ night, I can text Bess and come up with an excuse.” He told her, causing her to smile.

“Thanks, but I think I’m okay now.” She squeezed his hand again. “Maybe tomorrow we could do dinner and watch a movie?”

Now it was his turn to smile. “Definitely.”

He helped her up and waited as she gathered her things. Then he watched from the front door as she backed out of the driveway, waving to him before she drove off.

Moving back to the couch, he picked up his phone and scrolled through the numbers he’d saved to his contacts. They’d changed a bit since he found out Nancy was his daughter—having then added the entire group just in case—but he didn’t mind it. Finding the name he was looking for, he pressed it and settled back against the cushions as he waited for the person to answer.

“Hannah Gruen? Yeah, Ryan Hudson.” He paused. “Uh-huh. I need a favor. I need you to tell me everything you or Nancy and her friends have learned about my ancestor Temperance Hudson.”

He wasn’t sure what he’d learn, but at least he’d be prepared for whatever came next.

#cw nancy drew #nancy drew fanfiction #nancy drew #ryan hudson #nancy drew & ryan hudson

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bookswitchcraftandcats · 3 years ago

Text

Rainy Days (Part 1 of 4)

Link to AO3 --- Part 2

Summary: Emma and Julian are in charge of the London Institute for a week and find a box that once belonged to Cordelia Carstairs and contains poems written to her by James Herondale. The story switches between Emma and Julian and oneshots about things that happened in Jordelia's life to inspire the poems.

Sorry if the formatting for the poems is messed up, I tried.

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

Emma and Julian walk through the halls of the London Institute. Growing up, Julian always loved London, he found the city to be inspiring for paintings and loved the older feel of the buildings. They were here for a visit and also because Alec asked them to watch over it for a few days while Julian’s Aunt Marjorie was on vacation. Both of them love London and spent most of their time going to Hyde park and all kinds of little cafes but unfortunately, today was not a good day to be exploring the city.

Being from LA, they hardly ever saw rain and they felt as though even if they did, it wasn’t usually this much. It was pouring outside and nearly flooding the streets, even though it was the middle of the day it was so dark outside you could hardly see. So, the young couple decided to stay inside and explore the institute instead.

“Do you think the sun ever shines in London?” Emma asks while looking out the window. Today they were in the library just trying to get some work done. Julian laughs and then walks over to join her at the window, placing a soft kiss on her cheek.

“Want to take a break and explore for a little bit?” He asks, taking her hand. They headed off into the rest of the building, looking for an adventure.

The London institute was one of the biggest in the world, it felt as though you could go for miles without ever seeing the same room twice. Now Emma and Julian were laughing as they raced through the historic halls, they hadn’t had much time to themselves lately and desperately needed this break. Every so often they would stop and take pictures of tapestries or portraits that Jules would want to try to paint once they got back home.

They came to a tapestry of a pond with ducks. It had a bit of text sewn into the bottom corner that just said, “never trust a duck.” They thought that was kind of wierd to have but it looked very old. They were approaching a whole hallway that seemed like it hadn't been touched in decades. The wallpaper reflected the style of another time period and the pictures were covered by a layer of dust.

Now out of breath the two stopped for a second and smiled at each other. They may not be parabatai any more but they still knew what the other was thinking. This was the most fun they have had in years. Julian stepped forward and kissed his girlfriend. Emma returned this with passion. Jules’ arms around her waist and her arms thrown around his neck.

One thing leads to another and next thing you know they find themselves stumbling backward into one of the abandoned bedrooms. They keep making out as the door slams behind them, falling onto the bed. Emma then suddenly stops and looks across the room curiously.

She had caught something out of the corner of her eye, a name. Her name. There was a wooden jewelry box with the name Carstairs engraved on it. It sat on a bookshelf next to an old leather bound book titled The Beautiful Cordelia and a book of Persian mythology. Looking around the room, it seemed as though no one had been in here for years. Julian followed her gaze and quickly caught on. Emma looked up at Julian,

“Do you think this could have belonged to one of my ancestors?” She asks while picking up the box.

“Probably. Didn’t Jem used to live here? Maybe it is his?” He responds as they walk back to the bed. They set the box down between then and open it up. Inside it is filled with treasures that belonged to someone a century ago. The first thing they pull out is a worn portrait.

“I don’t think it is Jem,” Emma says as she hands the picture to him. It depicts a girl with bright red hair holding a familiar gold sword. The same sword that Emma carries with her every day.

“Is that,” Julian starts with a bit of surprise, “Cortana?”

“I think so,” Emma says. “So this must be Cordelia Carstair.” She had grown up hearing stories about the warrior that fought greater demons in London and wielded the same Carstairs sword. She was said to be one of the bravest shadowhunters of her time. She had also met with Lily Chen during one of her visits to New York. The vampire had known Cordelia and had a few stories of her own to share.

“This must be a box of her belongings, and this probably used to be her room.” She continues while reaching in to grab a stack of notes. On each one was written a poem and at the bottom they were signed ‘J.H.’

“H” Julian wonders aloud, “I wonder if it stands for Herondale.”

“It does” says Emma, “James Herondale was her husband.”

“Do you think he wrote these poems to her?”

“I don’t know, maybe?” She says and then pulls out another portrait from the bottom of the box. It was of a boy with dark hair and gold eyes. They weren’t quite sure who this was but had a sort of an idea. They could always ask Tessa later too, she had sent a fire message earlier that day saying she was going to stop by tonight with Jem.

“Do you want me to read the poems?” Emma asks, retrieving the first one from the box. Julian nods and then she starts reading.

Cortana

You carry a sword of mercy and power It’s blade an extension of your own will. It can cut through the wickedest of powers, And slice through the chains that bind me.

The Sunlight reflects off it’s gold surface. Holding confidently to the grip of the hilt, Cutting down enemies for miles and miles, You could tear this very world in two.

The sword for the purest of hearts, For the one who has my own heart. The most beautiful of weapons ever made, Belongs to the most beautiful person I know.

It was another day taken over by the rain and The Merry Thieves and company were all sitting around the Devils Tavern discussing their latest projects. Lucie was just finishing reading her latest chapter of The Beautiful Cordelia. This section happened to be about “Lord Asher” and his new boyfriend, a knight named “Sir Tobias”. This prompted blushing from Alastair and Thomas while the others made jokes.

Cordelia was sitting next to James on the couch resting her head on his shoulder. She enjoyed these little displays of affection and was very content. James looked at her and smiled and then all of the sudden Mathew jumps up and says,

“Jamie, do you have any poems that you have been working on?” James sighs and then walks over to the book shelf and pulls out a leather bound notebook. He sits next to Cordelia and then starts flipping through the pages looking for a poem to read when the word Cortana catches her eye. She puts a finger on the page and looks at her husband, he winks and she blushes. James then quickly continues flipping through pages before his nosey parabatai notices. He starts reading the group one of his poems and they continue chatting for the rest of the afternoon.

Cordelia and James say their goodbyes and head back to the institute. Their carriage was kind of far away so they had to walk a bit in the heavy rain, not that either of them minded holding hands in the rain.

They were running and jumping in puddles, they would be wet anyways so what's the harm? Cordelia laughed as James pulled her in for a kiss under the street light. She wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. They pulled apart and smiled, walking off to their warm, dry carriage.

James put an arm around Cordelia as they rode home, they were both tired from a long day and the gloomy weather. By the time they got to the institute they were both half asleep and wet from the rain. They head up to their room to change into some dry clothes before laying down on their bed. Cordelia looks at James,

“So, what was that poem about?” she questions with a smirk.

“The Cortana one?” James says while grabbing the leather bound book from his bag.

“Yes,” Cordelia says, looking over at the journal in his lap. He turns to the page with the title at the top.

“Would you like me to read it to you?” he asks in a quiet whisper. She nodded.

You carry a sword of mercy and power It’s blade an extension of your own will.

He is right next to her and she can feel his warm breath as he reads each line. She thinks of her own sword, the sharp edge for mercy, the sword itself full of power. The Sword was an extension of her will, it had chosen her and would always come to her in a fight. James kisses her cheek.

It can cut through the wickedest of powers, And slice through the chains that bind me.

It had cut through wicked powers, when she needed to save James. She wasn’t even thinking then, she just knew she needed to save him. She had also cut through the bracelet that binded him to Grace, freeing him. She knew that even if he didn’t love her, he should be free to choose for himself who to love, but he did choose her.

The Sunlight reflects off it’s gold surface. Holding confidently to the grip of the hilt, Cutting down enemies for miles and miles, You could tear this very world in two.

She had fought many demons, even princes of hell and her sword never failed. James was always by her side fighting too. Together they could defeat the most dangerous of creatures, they even tore through the layers of this world once to stop one. Her love for James extended beyond the bounds of this world and she would do anything to get to him.

The sword for the purest of hearts, For the one who has my own heart.

She didn’t know if her heart was necessarily pure, she could only try her best. She loved James and he certainly had her heart too. She could feel her heat racing while watching his lips form the words in a calm whisper.

The most beautiful of weapons ever made, Belongs to the most beautiful person I know.

This made Cordelia blush a little, James’s eyes turned to meet hers as he closed the book. He carefully tore the page from the notebook and handed it to her.

“This was meant for you anyways,” he says as he kisses her softly on the lips. She placed the paper on the nightstand. “I love you Daisy.”

“I love you too,” Cordelia says as she kisses him again. They then lay back in bed and fell asleep next to each other, listening to the rain outside as it lulled them into a deep and loving sleep.

Tag list: @fortheloveofthecarstairs @thehotfaeriethreesome @shadowrunner2000 @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @surrounded-by-exquisite-clutter @gabtapia @niathesanctuary-bolastair-kanej

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list :)

#chain of gold #chain of iron #the last hours #cordelia carstairs #james herondale #jordelia #the dark artifices #emma carstairs #julian blackthorn #the shadowhunter chronicles

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cozy-the-overlord · 4 years ago

Text

Dances and Daggers

Summary: The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor’s betrothed, Teki’s only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn’t find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn’t the only prince in Asgard…

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 17: The Resolution

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Word Count: 2,424

Chapter Summary: Now that the truth is out, Teki and Loki navigate their way through the aftermath.

A/N: I can’t believe we’re on the second to last chapter! It blows my mind that this has gone by so quickly-- I feel like I just started posting a few weeks ago. Also, sorry this is going up about an hour later than usual-- my classes got cancelled today, so I decided to sleep in XD

Thanks for reading!

TW: Violence, child abuse

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @moumouton4 @berriemalfoy @whatafuckingdumbass @sophlubbwriting

if you want to be tagged, feel free to just send me an ask/message! :)

Read it on Ao3!

Teki stood in the center of the Throne Room, struggling not to wilt under the scrutiny of over a dozen pairs of eyes. She had always known that someday in the future she’d have to attend the King’s council meetings, but never had she thought that she would ever be the focus. The old men of Odin’s courtroom seemed to glower down at her like she was an insect they had accidentally stepped on as they bickered over what was to be done with her. Luckily, the friendly faces in the crowd were almost enough to drown out the tension.

Loki smiled encouragingly from his place at the base of Odin’s throne, rolling his eyes whenever someone said something particularly hurtful. Frigga too supported her with a warm grin. Even Thor seemed to shoot her a sympathetic glance every now and then.

Still, the council continued arguing.

“The marriage engagement is in writing. We cannot change it—”

“That writing is in blood. Would we have the daughter of a murderer as Queen?”

“We should not hold the girl accountable for the sins of her mother—”

“But what of Asgard’s reputation? What will other realms think when they learn how easy it is to cheat their way into royalty—”

“The circumstances are irrelevant. The agreement was made. To go back on it now would be to sully the word of the king—”

The last few days had been a whirlwind. Teki felt as if she had repeated the same story over and over again at least a thousand times, to a thousand different people. At first, there had been the scramble for evidence, gathering anything and everything that might be used to prove her word—the vials from her mother’s liquor cabinet, the document of dissolution that her father had been forced to write moments before his death, written statements from Völundr and Asta (the real one this time). They had even taken her father’s journal, although that had been returned to her after they decided that the unfinished letter he had written to her mother was all they needed.

But once Áslaug signed a full confession, the focus shifted. Now that she was good and caught, everyone could concentrate on capturing Osvald. He had been gone when Frigga’s guards arrived at their apartment to arrest him and hadn’t been seen since. It seemed he had caught wind that the game was up and made a run for it, a thought which terrified Teki to no end.

“Don’t worry,” Loki assured her one night, in the new rooms in the royal wing that she and Brant now occupied. “They’ll catch him before long.”

Teki only nodded as she stared out into the inky blackness beyond her window, praying to the Norns he was right.

There were also the questions popping up now, everywhere she turned. Was she still engaged to Thor? Did the marriage agreement stand if it was made under false pretenses? No one seemed to know.

Some felt that since Steinn had opposed it, and since Áslaug very clearly did not have Teki’s best interests in mind when she agreed to it, that it should not be allowed to stand. Others were quite adamant that the agreement had been signed and that it must be followed through, for better or for worse.

Of course, nobody had asked Teki what she thought should happen.

Well... that wasn't entirely true. Queen Frigga had approached her the day after her mother was arrested to talk about the whole situation, and while she didn't ask for her opinion either, the topic of her engagement had come up.

"The AllFather is not one to go back on his word," she told her. "I doubt the betrothal will be drastically changed."

Her tone was encouraging, but Teki couldn't bring herself to mirror her optimistic smile. Of course she'd still have to marry Thor. The actions of her mother would have no bearing on something that had been set in stone for nearly her entire life. She knew this. Still, a part of her, the small, hopeful part that had dared to dream of someone else in place of Thor's hand, withered at the return to reality.

The ache in her chest must have been reflected on her face because Frigga frowned. "Is something wrong?"

Teki shook her head, forcing her features back to familiar neutrality. "Of course not, Your Majesty," she said with the same artificial cheeriness. "As always, I will be honored to wed your son."

For a moment, the Queen only studied her, as if searching for something hidden behind her eyes. "Yes," she finally said, voice distant. "My son."

It didn’t even matter anymore. They’d all been going round and round in circles for what seemed like an eternity, and Teki was tired of standing there bearing the brunt of their speculation. She wished they would just sentence her to life with Thor and just end it already. It took everything in her to keep from picking at the sash of her dress in front of everyone.

But then Frigga stood, and the voices fell silent. “If I may, my King?”

Odin nodded at his wife, and Teki couldn’t help but think that he looked as exhausted with this as she was. “Please.”

She stepped forward, addressing the council directly. “If I am correct in understanding, the conflict here surrounds the question of whether Lady Tekla is suited to be Queen in light of what we now know of her mother and stepfather, yes?” A chorus of affirmative hums answered her.

The Queen smiled broadly. “Well, I believe there is a way to honor the agreement without jeopardizing the queenship.” She turned back to Odin with a respectful bow of her head. “My King, you have two sons. If Lady Tekla were to marry Prince Loki instead of Prince Thor, she’d still gain royalty, but not the throne.”

A flurry of whispers broke out across the Throne Room. For a moment, Teki thought she had misheard her. Wait, did she mean…

She whipped to Loki, who was staring at his mother with eyes were so wide they were almost bugging out of his head. When his gaze returned to Teki’s, there was a stunned sort of hope in his smile.

The King cocked his head to the side, seemingly lost in thought. He turned to his son. “Would you be willing to pursue such a course of action, Loki?” he asked.

The prince sprang up. “Yes, I would, my King. That is —” he looked back at Teki nervously. “If Lady Tekla was willing.”

The collective stare of the council flipped back once more to her.

Teki inhaled. “I—I’m willing, sire.”

“Very well.” The King motioned towards Loki, who stepped purposefully off the platform and down to her side. “Prince Loki, you will take the hand of Lady Tekla in marriage. Prince Thor, you are released from your betrothal.” He sighed. “Perhaps now we can finally lay this matter to rest.”

Teki didn’t hear the rest of what he said. Loki lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckle.

“My lady,” he whispered with a breathless smile. She beamed, heart soaring higher than any wings could ever carry her.

…

Going back to their apartment was strange.

It had been decided that Teki and Brant would permanently move into the royal wing of the palace, sharing a suite until Teki married and moved into Loki’s rooms (although Frigga assured her that wouldn’t be for quite some time). Their old apartment was gutted of all items of importance to be transferred to their new rooms, leaving only its skeletal remains when Teki and Loki returned for one last look through.

There were several things Teki wanted to be sure to get. Brant’s reading notes, for one, and his unfinished map of the tunnels of the Nine Realms. She wouldn’t be giving him reading lessons anymore—he had already begun to attend proper class and was doing quite well—but he had confided in her that he still preferred her lessons. The music books gifted to her by the Queen—she was particularly excited about those, because Frigga had ordered a piano constructed just for Teki’s new sitting room.

“I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t ask you first,” she had said, almost apologetically. “I just you’d enjoy being able to play at your own discretion, without having to rely on me.”

Teki could’ve cried.

And then there was a dagger. Teki nearly had a heart attack when she checked under her mattress and found it wasn’t there, only to remember that she had shoved it in her nightstand that time her mother walked into the room.

Loki grinned when she slid it out of its sheath.

“I had wondered what you did with that,” he said. “I never saw it when I would come over.”

She laughed. “Well, I couldn’t exactly hang it from the wall.” Now that she thought of it though, it was probably a blessing that she had been forced to move the dagger to her drawer. As furious as her stepfather had been upon discovering she had taken her father’s journal, it would’ve been infinitely worse if he had realized she was also keeping a weapon under her mattress. The image of Osvald advancing towards her flashed before her eyes, this time waving a blade instead of a leather book. Teki shivered. She sheathed the dagger, placing it in the box with her other items.

They combed the apartment one last time, a cursory look-through to make sure that Teki had gotten everything she wanted to save. There really wasn’t much. It was a bit startling—this place had been her home her entire life, and yet she felt practically nothing upon saying goodbye to it forever. If anything, it was relieving, like coming to the surface to breathe after being underwater for far too long. She was ready to leave this bad dream behind.

Teki only hesitated at the downstairs table, staring at the same chair in which her father died. Loki came besides her, squeezing her hand in comfort.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing. It’s just…” She struggled to find the right words. “I ate here every single day,” she said finally. “My whole life. And I never knew what happened right next to me.” Had her father been watching in frustration from the realm beyond? Had he been begging her to ask questions, to look for him, to discover the truth as she munched on her morning toast?

Tears were pooling in her eyes once more. Teki swallowed shakily. “I should’ve done something sooner,” she whispered. “I never did anything. I just let it all happen.”

“You were a child,” Loki said softly. “What could you have done? You’ve brought justice for your father, and for you. That’s all that matters now.”

She sighed. Maybe he was right. What she did or didn’t do in the past wasn’t important. Now, her father could rest easy knowing his killer would rot in prison, her plans in tatters.

Teki hoisted her box up with one last glance about the room. “I think I’ve got everything,” she said as she headed towards the door. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“It was my pleasure,” he smiled, rushing to hold the door for her. “It seems that—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.

Osvald barged his way through the doorway like a living battering ram, smacking the prince into the wooden door. Her stepfather didn’t even spare a second glance as Loki crashed to the floor. Teki barely had the chance to scream before his fist caught her in her sternum. The box flew from her hands, contents clattering across the floorboards as she fell backwards.

No sooner had her head hit the ground than Osvald was on top of her, eyes as frenzied as wildfire.

“You thought I’d let it go?” he snarled, holding her down by her shoulders with his forearm as she struggled. “You thought I’d let you fuck everything up?”

She almost didn’t see the glint of the blade in his free hand.

Norns!

Teki jerked just as the knife came down, cold metal grazing her cheek as he buried it into the floor beside her head. She grabbed for the hilt as her stepfather spat curses in her face.

Get it away from him!

He smacked her away, ripping the knife from the floorboards and stabbing towards her again. Teki braced her arms against his wrist, pushing against him with all her might, her eyes tearing up. Come on, please! Still, the tip of the blade inched forward, closer and closer and closer…

Something crashed into the two of them. One moment, her stepfather was on top of her, pinning her to the ground, the next he was on the floor next to her, thrashing wildly as Loki fought to rip the blade from his grasp. Teki rolled to her stomach, trembling as she gasped for air.

“Get help!” Loki yelled at her as the two wrestled on the ground. Osvald landed a kick to his stomach, and he hissed in pain.

Teki struggled to her feet and tried to make a run for the door. Her foot slipped on one of the papers strewn about from the box and she tripped, slamming against the floor.

Behind her, Osvald’s knife clattered to the ground. Still, they struggled.

Her legs were shaking too badly to stand. Teki crawled towards the door across the mess, unable to hear anything else over the pounding of her heart.

Without meaning to, her hand closed around the hilt of her own dagger.

Loki cried out, a short, quick gasp of pain. Her stepfather’s footsteps vibrated deep in her stomach as he approached.

He yanked her to her feet by her collar and whipped her around, his fingers at her throat, grin wide and demented.

“Now—”

Teki buried the blade in his chest.

For a moment they just stared at it, gasping, the golden hilt crowning the fast-growing stain of crimson across his chest. He glanced up at her, icy eyes having lost their chill. Teki gaped back at him, frozen.

On the other side of the room, Loki pulled himself to his feet, eyes wide.

Her stepfather collapsed, a marionette with its strings cut, his blood splattering across the same floor he had so often beaten her against.

#dances and daggers #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #loki marvel #dances and daggers chapter 17 #the resolution #cozy writes

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msmarvelouswinchester · 4 years ago

Text

Stranger

I Am Sorry

Summary - Alone in your room, you try to figure out how your past life had been.

Pairing - Dean x Reader (??), Sam x Reader (platonic)

Warning - Angst, mentions of drinking, swearing and did I mention angst

Word Count - 2066

Square Filled - Bunker ( @spndeanbingo )

A/N - So I know I have been a little MIA for a over a week now and it has been a lot time since I have updated any of my series. But I finally got my motivation to continue this part and my other series so hopefully I won't abandon this series again. Regularity and me - we don't have a good relationship.

Anyways happy reading!

Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.

Spn divider by the talented @talesmaniac89

Series Masterlist

There were no more tears left to cry. You had spent the whole evening crying, trying to think of any possible reason as to why Dean would do such a thing, trying to bring yourself forgive him, but you couldn't. You needed to know why Dean took such a drastic measure to erase himself from your life.

Your stomach grumbled. You sat up and rubbed your face with your hands. You didn't know what time it was, but you assumed it was sometime around midnight, considering how long you had been in the bunker. You needed food in your stomach. There was a knock on your door. You hoped it was not Dean. You couldn't face him right now.

“Y/N, it's Sam,” the voice called from the other side of the door, making you sigh in relief. You got out of your bed, and walked up to the wooden door, opening it.

“Hey,” you said.

“I got you food,” Sam smiled.

“A literal angel.” You said.

“I figured you might be hungry after everything you have been through and I also got you a drink.” He gave you a knowing smile.

“Thank you. Do you want to….come in I guess,” you told him.

“If that's okay with you.”

“Sure.” Sam followed you into the room, a plate of food in one hand, and some clothes on another.

“I hope you still like junk food.” Sam chuckled.

“Oh yeah!” You grinned, smiling for the first since the fallout.

“Here,” he handed you the clothes, “You need some fresh pair of clothes. They might be a little too big.”

“Thank you.”

“I'm sorry.” He said.

“What're you sorry for? Your brother's a dumbass,” you scoffed.

“Cas said that what he did is irreversible.” He said. “He said something about grace and how magic done by grace can't be reversible so-”

“I won't remember anything.” You said.

“I called Rowena-”

“The witch?” You asked.

“Yes. She said she will pay us a visit tomorrow. Maybe she can come up with a solution,” he hoped.

“I don't think so, Sam.” you exhaled loudly.

“Listen I am not supporting his stupid decision but Dean, at that time he thought he was doing the right thing,” He sighed. “We'll figure somethin’ out, Y/N/N.”

“He could have talked to me. We could have come up with a different solution other than me having to live without remembering half of my life,” you bitterly laughed.

“I know.” Sam walked up to you and suddenly pulled you into a tight hug.

“Sam, c-can't….breathe,” you gasped.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly smiled and let go of you, “I missed having you around. I really hated the decision Dean made. He didn't think of anyone. You were like my little sister I never thought I needed. I really missed you Y/N/N.”

“Wish I could say the same.” You gave him a sad smile.

“Eat up. You must be starving. Maybe we can reverse the spell….or whatever it is,” Sam said.

“Yeah. Thank you….for everything, Sam,” you said, as he smiled and turned to leave the room, “Sam, wait.”

“Yeah?” He looked back at you.

“I-”

“What is it?” He insisted.

“How is he?” You blurted out.

“Dean? He's, you know, holed up in his room, drinking. I'll check on him on my way out to make sure his liver survives the night.” Sam said.

“Okay.” you said and wished him goodnight as he left the room. After taking a swig from the bottle of beer, you finished off with the burger Sam had brought for you before retreating back to the bed.

Sleep didn't come easy that night. Mind plagued by various thoughts, you kept tossing and turning in your bed. Not only the thoughts about how your previous life was but also the dream you had, when the Djinn had captured you, kept you up all night. Dean said those monsters show you what your heart desires, then why did you dream about a life with Dean? He was just a guy at the bar for you. Tears welled up in your eyes as you realised a big chunk of your memory was missing and you wouldn't probably ever get it back.

You wanted to scream and punch Dean for playing with your life, playing with your relationship, but right now, lying in your bed in which was supposed to be your home, you felt helpless. You got out of the bed finally giving up on sleep and started to rummage through the drawers of your nightstand - searching for anything that would possibly bring back your memory.

Nothing significant caught your eyes until you saw an old leather-bound diary and small black box. Climbing back into your bed, you looked curiously at the two things in your hand.

You opened the box and found a bunch of pictures inside it. Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked at the pages. There were four pictures in total, all of them of you and Dean. There was this one picture, which was probably clicked by Sam of you and Dean laughing in the backseat of his car but what made your heart break was the diamond ring which was clearly visible on your left hand. An inaudible sob left your lips as you saw the next picture which completely shattered your heart. You didn't have any memory of the happiest day of your life. You stared at the picture of you standing in a white dress in front of a mirror, lips curled up into a small smile and eyes sparkling with hope and happiness. You saw the reflection of Dean in a black tux in the mirror as he stood behind you with a camera pointed at the mirror, as he clicked a picture of his bride. You got married that day, you were happy, you both were. Then why did Dean have to go and throw out every good thing he ever had?

Picking up the diary, you started to look through. It was some sort of a journal you used to keep. You flipped through the pages until a certain entry grabbed your attention.

‘This is frustrating. I should be able to maintain my cool! We were on a damn Rugaru hunt. If Sam wasn't there to save my ass, I would have died. Stupid Dean with his stupid gorgeous face. There were so many times I wanted to tell him everything but what if he doesn't feel the same? Goddamnit! I think I will take off for a few days. Clear my head so that I stop daydreaming about that green eyed son of a bitch!’

You chuckled at your bluntness. You flicked through the pages and started reading another entry.

‘I feel numb. I don't know what to think anymore. He's gone. Just like that. I don't even know if he's dead or not. Sammy went out for a drive leaving me behind in the motel room. That was three days ago. I don't know what to do anymore. Bobby's dead. Cas is gone too and Dean is, I don't know anymore. I need him to come back. Please. I can't live without him. Please, come back.’

You had so many questions about what had happened that day. From the diary entries, you could feel how much love you had for Dean. He said that he still loved you. The same question haunted you again, then why did he push you away? You flipped to the last entry in the journal.

‘I am scared for him. He won't talk to me. He would barely look at me. The mark is eating him alive on the inside. I am scared and confused. I don't know how to help him. This is not the Dean Winchester I married. I need my husband back.”

That was the last entry in your diary. You read it a few times but couldn't understand anything. What was the mark? What happened in the last few days? You needed to talk to Sam, hoping he would tell you everything.

You had spent your entire night or what was left of it reading through the journal and rummaging around your room for any other clues or snippets from your forgotten life. Three short knocks on the door made you jump out of your skin.

You hesitated a little before opening the door. After everything you had learnt overnight, you were in no state to face Dean. You had questions that you needed answers but you didn't want to talk to him.

“You okay, Y/N?” A voice asked and you sighed in relief when you realised it was Sam. You went over and opened the door.

“Y-yeah, I'm fine. Why?” You casually asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Nothing….I was going out for my morning run and heard sounds from your room. Why are you up so early? You-uh, you never were a morning person,” Sam said.

“Can't sleep.” You replied.

“This all must be very overwhelming for you.”

“And confusing. I have so many questions,” you frowned, “I need answers, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes sparkled as he heard you call him ‘Sammy’, and he smiled at you.

“What?” You cocked your head sideways.

“You called me Sammy.” He said.

“Is that-did I do….did I say something wrong?” You asked.

“No no no, you always used to call me that. You picked up that name from Dean and then you hardly called me Sam anymore,” he chuckled, “you want to go with me for a run? It will clear your head and I know you still don't want to….meet him.”

“Uh-huh. Give a few minutes to get ready. Maybe you can give me the answers to the millions of questions I have,” you said.

“Sure.”

“So he became a demon?” You asked, panting as you tried to keep with Sam’s long legs. You were honestly shocked to learn about how your life had been. Demons, ghosts, werewolves, vampires - that's all that you knew in that life. The Winchesters were on a run from law and some assumed they were dead, and they did die a number of times.

“Yeah. And that's when things started to go downhill,” Sam said.

“What do you mean?” You asked as you both approached the bunker door. Sam kept quiet.

“Sammy?”

“I think you should ask Dean. It's not my place to say,” he whispered.

“But-” Sam shook his head and went down the stairs and you followed him.

Dean was still nowhere to be found which was a relief but you were also a little stressed out about his condition. He was cooped up in his room since the previous night with a bottle of Jack - as told to you by Sam - which was definitely not healthy.

“I know he is probably the last person you want to see right now but you should talk to him. He is the only person who can speak for his actions.” You nodded your head at the younger brother.

“I need a little more time before I can even look at him.” You sighed.

“I know.” The low grumble from the other side of the room, caught your attention. You turned sideways, your heart dropping to your stomach when you took in the sight of the man in front. He looked like he had aged ten years overnight. His red rimmed eyes were heavy with guilt and sadness. His scruffy cheeks were sunken and pale. “I couldn't find any of you in the bunker.”

“We went for a run.” Sam replied.

“Run? I thought you-” Dean looked at you.

“People change.” You averted your eyes, making him wince at your coldness. He knew he deserved it but he still loved you.

“Well, I took a shower so I don't reek of whiskey anymore. You never liked the smell of alcohol on me.” Dean said, trying to make small talk to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Good for you.” You needed to leave the room so you turned on your heels to leave.

“Y/N-” his voice made you stop in your tracks. “I'm sorry. You-you don't have to forgive me but….please, I-I need you to know that I'm sorry.”

“I know.” And that's all you said before you went to your room.

Let me know if you want to be tagged in this!

Feedback is highly appreciated!

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wrienne · 3 years ago

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My Cheating Amnesic Fiancé

Chapter 4: The Accident

He didn't follow you. But you knew he had seen your tears. You attempted to wipe them away as you hurried out of the stadium. You didn't know why you were crying. You should be shouting in glee and celebrate Jungkook's betrayal. You were free.

Why then, did it hurt so much?

Se-Eun’s face immediately turned serious when she saw you, and she silenced her tired, irritated mother and Min-Ji and Yeon-Woo. Something in your expression must have warned her and the others not to speak to you, for they remained quiet the whole ride home. Se-Eun’s mother made sure to drop you off first even though the ride to Gangnam would take the longest in addition to being a detour from the stadium.

“Call you tomorrow?” Se-Eun asked after you thanked her mother. Her eyes held concern.

“Sure,” you told her as you exited the car. You found yourself sounding much harsher than you had wanted, so you added, “thank you very much for the ride.”

Her mother nodded with a face so similar to Se-Eun’s that, when you had first met her, you had thought they were far-apart sisters. She was quite young too, having become a mother at 22. “You sure you don't want to sleep at ours? I know it's school tomorrow, but Se-Eun told me your parents are in Japan and would be there until next week.”

“I'll be alright,” you said quickly. “I'm used to it.” You obviously didn't feel like hanging out at the moment. Even though Se-Eun was more tactful than most, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from asking you what had happened.

And you definitely didn't want to have a repeat of Jungkook’s not-really-yet-actual infidelity. Although, it wasn't as if you could talk about it even if you wanted to.

“See you!” Se-Eun and the others said. You could see the curiosity brimming over in her friends’ eyes.

You managed a weak smile. “Yeah.”

It was empty in your parents' apartment. A note on the refrigerator door reminded you that they were away on a combined work and vacation trip in Osaka together with Jungkook’s parents. All four of them were gone until Saturday. That meant that if you told your parents now, Jungkook's parents would also know and they would have six days to argue.

You hesitated to dial your dad. Perhaps you should tell him and your mom face to face. Although that wasn't really a valid excuse since there was something as simple as a facecam option on KakaoTalk. Still, you found yourself reluctant to make the call.

With a tired exhale, you went to rummage your cupboards for a packet of noodles. You had missed dinner due to Se-Eun’s sudden invitation and your stomach had given up growling hours ago. Also, you just felt like eating something bad.

You refused to acknowledge the reason why, though.

While you waited for the water to boil, you readied a tray with chopsticks, a spoon, some water and a tiny serving of kimchi, so you could bring the food to the living room. You were used to eating alone. When your grandparents on your father’s side had been alive, you had almost always dined with them whenever your parents were away. It was the least they could do after having grown too old to travel, thus passing on the responsibility of being the head representative of Phoenix Inc. to your father. But ever since your grandma had passed and your grandpa had become sick due to his grief before slowly slipping away five years ago, you had dealt with food yourself. You had never known your grandparents on your mother’s side, for they had passed before you were born, and none of your other relatives lived even nearby Seoul.

It didn't matter much, though. Loneliness had been your companion through life as far back as you could remember. The curse of fortune, you reckoned.

You placed the square of noodles into the steaming hot water and poured the packets of spices and dried vegetables in after. The tiny screen on the microwave said 23:31. You would hate yourself for eating that late into the night instead of sleeping, especially since you were supposed to go to school tomorrow at eight in the morning. But as you stirred everything around, watching the noodles and the vegetables soften and the clear water turn reddish, you found yourself feeling eerily awake.

You reluctantly recalled the expression on Jungkook’s face. It had almost seemed like he had wanted to add something to your conversation. Something vital. What could it have been? He wasn't stupid enough to think he could get away with a girlfriend while being engaged to another, was he? No, you didn't think so. There had to be a reason - no matter how bad or unexpected - why he decided to remain with you if now his heart belonged to her.

“Stop it,” you mumbled underneath your breath. “Get him out of your head, he's not worth spending brainpower over. Just call your parents tomorrow morning, since they’re probably sleeping now anyways. Let them handle this poor investment of their only daughter.”

Your voice sounded bitter. Your face probably looked bitter. But hey, at least you were out of a potentially devastating marriage. You didn't know what you would have done if you found out about Park Yi-Jae after the walk to the altar. Let's just say, a packet of noodles in the middle of the night would have been the least of your concerns.

You were seated in front of your TV, absentmindedly flipping through channels when you finally felt sleep creep over your eyelids and body. Your saucepan had cooled since long and your glass of water had been emptied and filled, twice. Turning the TV off, you headed toward the kitchen with your dishes when an unexpected sound pierced through the silence.

Ring, ring, ring.

It was your phone. You darted the last meters into the kitchen, having forgotten the phone on the kitchen island, and picked it up. You didn't recognize the number.

Why would someone call you in the middle of the night?

Scratch that, it was past the middle of the night, you realized as you eyed your microwave. However, there wasn't really that much time for you to think, so you, without considering the possibilities, simply answered.

“Hello?” you said hesitantly.

“Er...” a low, male voice began. “Who is this?”

“Shouldn't you know since you called?” you parried, instantly growing suspicious. The person sounded vaguely familiar, though you couldn't put your finger on who it was.

“Well, it’s the only number I haven't already called on this phone and it doesn't exactly say the proper name of a person.”

You frowned. “What?”

You suddenly heard some voices in the background near you - or rather, the speaker on the other line - and you discerned, “He actually cracked the code!” and “Who are you talking to?” until finally: “Taehyung, give me the phone.”

There was some rough scratching in your ear. Your frown deepened when another male’s voice spoke to you.

“This is Kim Sejin, one of the head managers of the Bangtan Boys.”

“Okay?” you said slowly.

“Are you related to or friends with Jeon Jungkook?”

“I wouldn't say either of those applies,” you answered, feeling cold at the mere mention of his name. “But I do know a guy with that name, who just happens to be in Bangtan.”

The voice sighed. It was a long, weary exhale, and suddenly you tensed.

Suddenly, you knew something was terribly wrong.

“There… there has been a severe accident. If you could come to Asan Medical Center as soon as possible, that would be very helpful. Do you need help getting here?”

You simply stood there, numb.

An accident?

“What kind of accident?” you heard yourself ask.

“It'll be easier to explain once you're on place,” said Sejin impatiently. “When can you get here?”

“I... I can be there in twenty if traffic is good,” you heard yourself say.

“I'll meet you at the front desk.”

The whole ride there, you were so concerned you couldn't even sit still. You hadn't even bothered calling your parents chauffeur. The cab driver gave you odd looks while you fidgeted, scratched your arm and did and undid your hair. You couldn't care less that you looked like you had taken a dose of something, and something cheap and really poorly made at that. You were too busy worrying.

What had happened? Why was Jungkook at the hospital? No matter how much you enjoyed seeing him lose his composure or fumble, you would never even consider wanting him hurt. Not even once, not even a little. It didn't matter what he had done to you - you would never ever, ever wish harm upon Jeon Jungkook. Scumbag and cheater aside, he was the son of your parents' closest friends - and one of few constants that existed in your life. Even if he was an unfriendly one.

Also, there was that one time when you were both children that you had yet to repay him for.

After paying the driver, you sprinted into the main doors of AMC. A middle-aged man in quite a good physique stood by the front desk and furrowed his brows at your abrupt entrance until recognition lighted his eyes.

“(Y/F/N)?” Creases appeared in his forehead, and he raised an eyebrow. “Was it you I was speaking with?”

“Yes,” you quickly replied. “Though don't say my name too loudly.”

There were a surprisingly low amount of visitors or patients, though considering the time of the day - or were you supposed to say night? - perhaps it wasn't that odd. Yet, considering the guy hospitalized, you had expected some kind of paparazzi.

“Pleasure meeting you finally,” the man said and reached out his hand. “If only the situation had been different, I might have actually meant it. I'm Kim Sejin.”

“Likewise, and yes, I figured. Where is the media?” you asked after shaking his hand. His hand was heavy, calloused. “Shouldn't they be here, being vultures or parasites or whatever else they call journalism?”

Sejin let out a tired chuckle before turning sober. “It happened privately, and much too sudden. We were fortunate with that, at least.”

You swallowed hard as your heart started beating faster. “Where is he? What happened?”

“Follow me, I'll tell you meanwhile.”

He began walking down the eastern corridor, which fortunately didn't say critical care. You obeyed, walking next to him while you tried not to think about what horror might have befallen Jungkook.

“I don't know why he acted the way he did,” began Sejin, then gave you a sharp glance. “But after you two had 'talked', the kid was devastated. I thought he would cheer up after some drinks in celebration of the concert. He did, too - at least for an hour or so he seemed happy. Then, all of a sudden, he decided to bolt out onto the street, shouting something about ‘making things right.'” Sejin grimaced. “He didn't see the car, or at least I don't think he did.”

“He would never commit suicide,” you told Sejin firmly, remembering a scene from years back. “He loves his singing and dancing too much for that.”

“I really hope so.”

“Believe me,” you said as you did your very best to fight back the anger rising within you at the memory. Old bruises on young skin. Alcohol and smoke-laced words. “Jungkook has been through some terrible things in order to reach where he is today. He wouldn't give it all up just like that.”

Sejin gave you an inquisitive look but you shook your head. This wasn't your story to tell.

"Besides," you added with a half-hearted smile. "He would never die for me."

“Very well.” He paused outside a room. Again, his features turned serious. “This is it. He is awake and although the tests and scans aren't completely finished, the doctor thinks he's fine. She said he could count himself lucky that he only broke his arm, even if it was his right one.”

“Well then,” you said and put your hand on the metallic door handle, feeling a wave of relief sweep over you. “Why did you sound so worried earlier then? You told me it was a severe accident.”

“There is this one detail…”

You rolled your eyes. “A scar on his pretty face won’t dissuade any of the fans’ from supporting him. In fact, it’ll probably make him look a bit tougher and even more desirable. That’s nothing to be ashamed of - on the contrary, actually.”

Kim Sejin pursed his lips before speaking. “It’s not his face that’s the issue.”

And the next few words he said would come to permanently change your life. For better or worse, you didn’t know. At least not yet.

“He is amnesic, (Y/N).”

#MCAF #wrienne #ao3 #bts fanfiction

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damonsalvatorefanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Home // Damon Salvatore x Reader

Description: You’d lost everything, and you just wanted to find home again. Slight AU, major cannon divergence

Words: 20,424

Warnings: Sexual Themes, Violence, Blood Sharing, Semi Slow-Burn

Pairings: Damon Salvatore x Fem!Reader

Mystic Falls had been the only home you’d known. For most of your life, you’d never considered leaving. Not until your parents died. Then, you’d left to run away from the memories and predetermined obligations. It had taken you several years and many mistakes to find your way back. At first, you couldn’t call it home, It had taken you a while to get even close to that point. Living in your childhood house definitely didn’t help. Slowly, you’d found a purpose again, working as a deputy with Sheriff Forbes. It helped that you were now on the counsel, working closely with the woman you considered a mentor.

None of you were expecting Zach Salvatore to move out of town unexpectedly, his spot being filled by his nephew, Damon. The first time you saw Damon, you had a gut instinct that something wasn’t quite what it seemed. His chiseled features were like a marble statue, his pale blue eyes like a lake you could let yourself drown in. You had standards. Your unapproachable demeanor, however, was not heeded by the man.

“I’m Damon Salvatore,” he said, hand extending to take yours. You gave him a courteous smile, shaking his hand.

“Y/N Gilbert,” you answered.

“As in John Gilbert?” You just nodded to answer, taking your hand away after he held onto it for a few seconds too long.

“Yes. And you’re descended from Giuseppe Salvatore. His what? Great-great-great-great nephew?” You grabbed one of the glasses off of Mayor Lockwood’s bar, pouring yourself a glass of scotch, not offering to pour Damon one.

“Something like that.” The way he looked at you was inquisitive, yet also predatory. It sent shivers down your spine, but you shrugged it off. He was more or less a stranger in this small, tight knit circle.

“Well, Mr Salvatore,” you told him, downing the scotch in one go, “We should get back to the party. They’ll start to wonder where we’ve gone.”

“Well, Ms Gilbert. Save a dance for me?” You couldn’t help but laugh, knowing that wasn’t going to happen.

“These events aren’t my cup of tea. I’m probably going to head home here soon. Maybe next time?” you suggested, getting a nod from the man. “Goodnight, Damon.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but seem to recognize him from somewhere. You weren’t sure where, but it started nagging you that night as soon as you got home.

-----

You’d dug out the old journals. Vampires were something you’d known about for as long as you could remember. Your father had made sure you knew, had made sure you were protected with both the knowledge and with the magic. Though, he was never sure why Vervain worked so well. You had to figure out why you felt Damon was hiding something. It didn’t make sense that Zach would leave town so suddenly, and have Damon replace him. That’s not how any of this worked.

The journals were spread out, flipping through them until you got to 1864. 1864 was a big year for Mystic Falls. That was the year they’d burned all the vampires. Or so they thought, as you looked through the photo albums that had been meticulously passed down through the generations. 1864. 1864. You couldn’t get the year out of your head as you read the name ‘Damon Salvatore’ on the page in front of you. 1864. A labeled photograph of the man in a Confederate uniform. A dead ringer for the man you’d just met that day, his brother to his left and his father to the right.

There was no way the Damon Salvatore you’d met was the same as the one on the page. In your years you’d been gone, you’d studied everything you could get your hands on when it came to the vampires. You’d heard of doppelgangers, but this was different. As far as you knew, that was one lineage, one that Damon didn’t belong to. Either the genetics passed through his family were...coincidental, or Damon Salvatore was a vampire.

You weren’t sure what to do with that information, but you knew you had to find out for sure.

-----

The next morning, you’d driven to the Salvatore Boarding House, knocking on the door. Instead of Damon, you were met by his brother Stefan, your breath catching at the back of your throat. You couldn’t act nervous or scared. So, you cleared your throat.

“Hi. I’m Y/N. I’m looking for Damon,” you told him with a faux smile. This couldn’t be happening, this wasn’t supposed to be happening. All the vampires were supposed to be out of Mystic Falls. But with the string of animal attacks, the counsel knew they were back. And here they were. It had to have been the Salvatore brothers. But again, you had to be sure before making accusations.

“Yeah, he’s upstairs. Come on in, make yourself comfortable. I’ll go get him,” Stefan told you, motioning for you to join him inside. You followed, sitting on the couch and sitting your bag down next to you.

You looked around, taking in everything you saw. It was no secret the Salvatores had always had money, dating back beyond Mystic Falls. Not to mention, if you were right about them, an additional one-hundred sixty four years give or take.

“Ms Gilbert,” Damon said with a smile, rolling up the sleeves of his black-button-down.

“Please, I think we can be on a first name basis, Damon. Especially considering I know,” you answered, starting with a smile before quickly dropping it.

“And what is it you think you know?” he asked, pouring himself a drink.

You sighed, pulling out John Gilbert’s journal from 1864 as well as the photo you’d pulled from the album.

“I thought I’d recognized you from somewhere,” you told him. “I mean, I know you didn’t go to school with me. Or college. I really couldn’t figure it out. But then I got to thinking. I mean, my father would read these old journals to me when I was a kid. He wanted me to know what my destiny would be as a Gilbert. It was gnawing at me all of last night, on my way home. I knew I recognized your name.”

He took a seat next to you, looking at what you were pulling out.

“Giuseppe’s oldest boy, Damon, has returned from the war. My friend is ashamed of his boy, the fact that he has deserted his cause. I know though, that Damon doesn’t share my friend’s beliefs,” you read from the old journal.

“I saw them,” you continued. “It’s impossible, seeing as though they died that night trying to save the Pierce vampire. But I saw them. I don’t understand why they took pity on me. I am the reason she was taken from them, why they are who they are now. They killed him, Giuseppe, their own father.” When you put the book down, you handed him the photo you’d brought. The one of him as a human.

“It’s no use in trying to lie, is it?” he asked. “You’re on vervain, the entire counsel is. Well, almost the entire counsel.” He took a drink from his glass, fingers tracing over the photo. “Why did you come here, Y/N? If you knew, why risk coming here to confront me about it?”

“I just came back to Mystic Falls less than a year ago, Damon. I got thrown back into the world of hating vampires. In my time gone, I did a lot of soul searching, Occult research. Coming from Mystic Falls, I knew vampires were real. You’re not the first I’ve met. Your brother isn’t the first I’ve met.”

“Again, you haven’t answered my question. Why did you come here?” he asked again.

“I don’t know, honestly,” you finally answered. “I needed to know it was true. As a kid, I just thought the vampire stories were just that, stories. Until my parents were killed. An animal attack. You and I both know it wasn’t an animal attack, not in this town. Yet, I know not all vampires are ravenous monsters. So, which one are you, Damon?”

“I mean,” he smirked. “A little ravenous monster here, a little not so ravenous monster there. Depends on my mood.” As you watched him, you couldn’t help but watch his facial expressions. They were unique, almost exaggerated, not all of them though. Just some. And the way he looked at you, still that borderline predatory look, yet he seemed interested in what you were telling him.

“Still doesn’t make a lot of sense, but okay. I’m sure I’ll understand eventually. So, what do you want out of this? I mean, surely this is blackmail.” You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Do you think I’m stupid enough to blackmail a vampire that could easily kill me in two seconds flat, Damon?” you asked, getting a shrug as a response. “I’m not that stupid. There’s nothing I want from you. I just need to know one thing. The string of animal attacks that happened a few weeks ago. Who was it?”

“Me.”

-----

You woke from your nap on the couch to the sound of somebody knocking on your front door. You’d had a late night at work, offering to take the dreaded night-shift for Sheriff Forbes. You knew Liz was worried since the animal attacks started that a vampire was in town. Little did she know the vampire was hiding right under their noses. Except yours, obviously. All thanks to your father.

Groaning, you got up and rubbed your eyes. The incessant knocking didn’t stop.

“Coming!” you called out, tying your robe over your pajamas before opening the door. “Damon? What do you want?” you asked, leaning against the door-frame.

“Well, seeing as you’re the only one who knows about us, figured we might as well get to know each other,” he suggested.

“As much as I would love to, Damon, I worked last night and I work tonight, so…” You let yourself trail off, hoping he would get the hint.

“Come on, Y/N. A drink, some lunch. I can cook.” He was tempting, but you knew better.

“Goodbye, Damon.” You shut the door in his face, seeing the look of confusion on his face right before the door shut.

-----

Damon was incessant on trying to get to know you, showing up at your house every few days with offers of wine and food. And each time, you made him stay outside, trying to find a reason to not be around him. He was a killer, a vampire. Why would you even want to spend time with him? Yet, you did.

"Damon, I swear to God I'll get a restraining order," you said, pulling the door open.

He was leaning against the door-frame again, smirk on his face as always. This time, in his hands he held a to-go bag and a bottle of wine.

"Look, you don't have to let me in. But at least eat lunch with me on the porch. Please?" he asked, trying to play the sweet guy.

"Fine. I'll get glasses. You stay out there." You weren't sure why you agreed. Maybe it was the interest you had, wanting to learn more about vampires. And maybe deep down, you wanted to learn more about Damon.

You joined him on the porch swing, setting the wine glasses on the patio table. He'd already started setting out the carry out boxes, opening them up.

"Burgers from The Grill," he told you, sliding one over to you. If he was going to annoy you every day for the past two weeks, you were going to have a little fun with him.

"Damon, I'm vegetarian," you said, looking at the burger before looking back at him with a sad look.

"Oh, well I'll just go back and get you a veggie burger," he said, brows furrowing as he stood up, going to grab the box. At that point, you laughed, slapping his hand away from the burger box.

“I’m kidding, Damon,” you assured him, picking up the burger and taking a bite. He scowled and shook his head, sitting next to you again. “So, why have you been hounding me for weeks about having a meal together?” you then asked as he poured the wine.

“Because it took you all of less than twelve hours for you to figure out our secret. You...intrigue me,” he answered, taking a drink from his wine glass. “And it’s a plus you didn’t try to kill us, though you are a Gilbert.”

“Well, I’ve learned to give people the benefit of the doubt. But I don’t easily give second chances, Damon. That’s something you need to understand. And I expect the truth.” He nodded, the two of you eating in relative silence aside from the sounds of the town around you.

“From what I gathered, your parents died and you left. Why? If you knew how they died, why not try to get revenge?” he asked you.

“Not everybody wants revenge. It wasn’t going to bring them back. Not to mention, whoever it was was long gone by the time we found them.” You took a drink, not expecting him to bring up this line of conversation so soon.

“But you knew how they died. Why not just go full vampire hunter at that point? You had every right to do so, Y/N.” He didn’t seem to understand your first answer.

“Like I said, it wasn’t going to bring them back, Damon. Now, my turn. Why did you come back after all this time?” You propped your feet up on the patio table, crossing your ankles with wine glass in hand. You didn’t see a reason to not make yourself comfortable.

“My little bro decided to come back. Figured we hadn’t seen each other in a few decades.” His cockiness radiated off of him as he spoke, shrugging off his leather jacket to show a grey v-neck.

“And the trail of bodies you’ve left in your wake?” you continued.

“Look, I’m not the best of guys. And I mean, I am a vampire after all. But no worries, I’m reformed. For the most part. No more drink and dump. Now, drink and erase. No more bodies, cross my heart,” he assured you, making an X over his heart with his index finger.

“Why do I intrigue you?” That was something you needed to know.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he tutted. “It’s my turn to ask. Why won’t you let me in?”

“I don’t fully trust you yet, Damon. Trust is something you have to earn, especially since you’ve infiltrated the counsel.” He nodded, seeming to understand your hesitation, but he seemed hurt.

You could tell he tried to hide how he felt, tried to not show any emotion on his face as to not give himself away.

“We should do this more often, Y/N, but I have business to attend to. I’ll see you around,” he told you, getting up, leaving the half-drank bottle of wine and dishes for you to clean up.

-----

It became routine. Once a week, Damon would bring take-out and you’d eat on the porch, learning new things, learning about each other. It was fun, interesting. You’d learned about the daylight rings, which explained how he walked in the sun. It took several months, but he finally started to earn your trust.

“I got Italian this time,” Damon told you with that cocky smile. Just opening the door was enough to make you sweat.

“Damon, how are you not sweltering in that jacket?” you asked him. You’d prepared for a hot day by dressing in a tank top and shorts, but even then, it wasn’t enough, and yet here Damon was in a leather jacket.

“I really don’t feel temperature like humans do,” he reminded you. “Now, you coming outside or what?” You couldn’t help but chuckle at that, shaking your head.

“It’s too hot outside. So…” You smiled, stepping out of his path in front of the door. “Come inside, Damon.”

You could definitely tell his smile was of the cocky nature, knowing he finally had access to your house whenever he wanted. He walked over to the dining room table, setting everything up as you grabbed plates.

“Now, I have some ground rules, Damon. Because I know you,” you told him, the both of you sitting down. He raised an eyebrow, so you continued. “No breaking and entering when I’m not home. Don’t randomly be in my house when I get home. No creepy stalker stuff, got it?”

“Don’t watch you as you sleep. Don’t watch you in the shower. Don’t show up when you’re not here. Got it,” he repeated back.

“Why is it as soon as I say no creepy stalker stuff, you automatically go to watching me sleep, or in the shower?” you asked, separating the food onto the plates as he poured the wine. “And plus, how many bottles of wine have you bought for our lunches since we started hanging out?”

“Too many,” he answered with a laugh. “So, what will we talk about today?”

You leaned back, taking a drink from your glass and looking at him. There wasn’t anything the two of you hadn’t talked about in the twelve weeks you’d been hanging out.

“What’s with the look?” he then asked, which confused you.

“What look?” you countered.

“That look,” he said, motioning to your face. “That look of...I’m not sure what.”

“Damon, of all the things you could be doing on Wednesday afternoons, all of the girls you could take home, or the drinks at the bar you could be having with Alaric. Why do you spend Wednesdays with me?” you asked.

“You’re...a friend, Y/N. I like spending time with you, just how I like spending time with Rick,” he told you.

“I’m not that interesting. What’s the phrase? Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer?” you countered. Surely that had to be why he’d stuck around. You knew his secret, so that had to be it. You regretted it as soon as you’d said it, though, the look of hurt on his face obvious for a split second. If you hadn’t known him, you would have missed his tell, then the stoic Damon showed up again.

“You think that little of me?” He downed the rest of his glass.

“Damon, that’s not-” He held up his hand, cutting you off.

“I’ll see you at the Founders Party tomorrow,” he said, getting up, and leaving without letting you say anything else.

-----

You’d felt bad about what you’d implied the day before, and you were determined to apologize. As much as you hated the Founders Party, you knew you had to go to keep up appearances and fulfill obligations. Not to mention, you could see Damon. You did your hair with simple curls. It took a minute to figure out what to wear. It had to be elegant, but not extravagant. Which is why you chose a burgundy, long sleeve lace cocktail dress and a pair of black heels to accentuate your legs.

You showed up, looking around for Damon but not being able to find him. Not for a while, not until the counsel meeting started. The two of you shared looks from across the room as the meeting talked about how there’d been no more animal attacks -- having been months ago, that it seems like it might have just been a vampire passing through. There was nothing anybody had to do for a while.

“Damon,” you said, grabbing his wrist before he could leave the room. You’d asked Liz to make sure you could have the room with Damon, that the two of you needed to talk about some stuff. You didn’t elaborate further with her. She didn’t need to know.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Y/N,” he told you, clenching his jaw.

“Yes there is, Damon. I’m sorry about yesterday. It’s just...It’s going to take a while for me to get used to it all,” you reminded him.

“It’s not like I’ve been tricking you like everyone else,” he reminded you. “It’s not like you found out months after the fact that I was a vampire,” he said, hissing the last word so nobody could hear.

“I know.” You squeezed his hand. “But it’s been ingrained in my brain to hate vampires for my entire life. I invited you in my house, Damon. That took a lot of trust. I trust you because you’re my friend.”

“So, you’re lowkey saying you’re worried I’m going to come in and kill you in the middle of the night. Or at least feed on you. Because I know you don’t drink vervain like most of the others. You wear yours.” His fingers toyed with your bracelet.

“I trust you, Damon,” you assured him with a tight smile.

“Good, because I would never do that to you.” You nodded, taking him in a hug. He stiffened up for a moment before hesitantly doing the same. When you pulled away, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Good. I think I owe you a dance.” He gave you that smug smirk again, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Now, no tricks, Damon.”

“I mean, you already agreed to a dance. All the tricks are fair game.” You couldn’t help but laugh as the two of you made your way to the dance floor, Damon pulling you close. You let him lead, not being much of a dancer, not taking your eyes off him. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, Damon was your closest friend. Even if he was a vampire.

You saw him glance around the room before looking at you again. But he didn’t try any tricks. Once the song was done, he let you go with a smile.

“I really don’t like these things,” you told him. “So I’m going to go home.” It was just like you’d told him when you’d first met. You really didn’t like these kinds of parties.

“I’ll walk with you.” You smiled and nodded, taking his arm as the two of you walked out of the party. You couldn’t help but feel some eyes on the two of you as you left. “You know,” he said, speaking softly, almost a whisper in your ear, “I was at the first Founders Party. You can see my name on the original guest list.”

“I don’t know why that surprises me. Maybe it’s the way John wrote about you, how much you seemed to hate your father.” Again, you felt him stiffen against you. “I don’t mean to make assumptions, Damon.”

“It’s no secret my father and I didn’t get along,” he told you. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t go for other reasons. Let’s just say, I was young and in love. We’ve never talked about how I got in this vampire situation. And that will be a discussion for another day.”

The rest of the walk went by in silence, you leaning into him a little more. You didn’t live far from the Lockwood’s, but the heels were still a pain. Once you were on your porch, if you were being honest, you didn’t want to let him go. You didn’t want the night to end, but you knew it had to. Because Damon was your friend.

“Goodnight, Damon,” you told him with a smile, leaning forward to kiss his cheek.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He gave you a smile, making sure you got inside before leaving.

-----

“Damon, what did I say about breaking and entering?” you asked as you tossed your backpack on the couch, seeing him rummaging around in your kitchen.

“What do you know about werewolves?” he asked, continuing to search until he pulled out your grandmother’s silverware.

“Not much. I mean, in my travels, I’ve heard of a few packs here and there. But for the most part, they’re almost extinct. Why?” He grabbed the silver knife out of the box, twirling it in his hand as he turned to look at you. You were in the middle of taking off your work uniform, stripping down to your tank top and compression shorts. “Don’t ogle, Damon.”

“Not ogling, just admiring,” he assured you as you ran upstairs to put actual pants on, though that was the exact same thing.

“What’s with the interest in werewolves, Dae?” He looked at you confused. “Your name can be a mouthful sometimes. Just trying something new.” He just shrugged. “Now, answer my question. Why the interest in werewolves?”

“Because one just strolled into town. Mason Lockwood,” he answered. “Also, keep this if you need it.” He put a baggie of some herb on the counter.

“What is it?” you asked, picking it up. You knew he was freaking out, even if he didn’t want to admit it. “And when is the next full moon?”

“Wolfsbane. Think of it like the vervain to werewolves. And tonight.” You nodded. “I want you to stay here. Call of work. Please? I pissed off Mason Lockwood, and he’s got murder on the mind.”

“Damon, I knew what I was signing up for when I took the job. Vampires, definitely. Werewolves, not so much. But I can’t just not go into work.” It wasn’t possible, not sure what excuse you’d come up with. Not to mention your perfect track record of attendance. Plus, you wouldn’t want Liz to be the one out there with a werewolf on the loose.

“For me.” He took your hands in his, squeezing gently.

“Dae...I can’t. Because then it would be Liz out there. And she has a daughter at home. I’ll be fine.” He shook his head, grabbing the knife.

“I guess I’ll have to deal with Mason before the full moon then. I’ll get this back to you.” He put the knife in his jacket before heading towards the door.

“Be careful out there, okay? A werewolf bite is lethal to vampires,” you warned him, thinking he probably already knew. However, his sudden stop and the look of confusion on his face said otherwise. “You didn’t know?”

“Up until like three days ago, I thought the mutts were extinct!” he told you aggressively. “Which given the fact that a bite will kill me is a pretty damn good reason for you to stay home. Because if I can’t kill Mason before the full-moon, I’m going to be too worried about you.”

You sighed, leaning against the counter. It was a predicament. You didn’t want anything to happen to him. Plus, if he was too worried about you, it would put him at risk.

“Fine. I’ll tell Liz I’m sick, but I stay at your place. It would make me feel a bit better if there’s a werewolf on the loose.”

“Okay. Pack a bag,” he agreed. “We’ll go now, and then I’ll start my hunt for the big bad wolf.”

-----

“You know, in the what...nine months? That we’ve been friends I’ve only been to your place once,” you reminded him in the car on the drive. “We need to have lunch at your place sometime because mine is getting boring. Plus, I want to know more about you Damon Salvatore.”

“No going snooping in the underwear drawer,” he warned you with a mischievous grin.

“Oh you’re one to talk about boundaries. Because I clearly remember telling you not to break into my house. And what did you do today? Broke into my house.” He just shrugged with an ‘eh’ which earned him a slap on the arm.

When the two of you arrived, he gave you almost the grand tour. He left out the juicy bits, like his bedroom and Stefan’s. He focused on the guest room and the main floor, leading you around until the two of you were back in the living room.

“Bourbon?” he asked, pouring himself one. You just shook your head, knowing it was too early in the day for you.

“I’m going to head upstairs and to bed. Because one of us works the night shift, and you’ve kept me up most of the morning when I’m usually asleep.” You went to stand up when all of a sudden he was right in front of you. It was just part of the ‘my best friend is a vampire’ life.

“What if you tell me everything you know about werewolves, and if you fall asleep, I’ll make sure you get to bed?” he suggested. You couldn’t help but sigh, knowing he needed the information if he was going to go up against Mason Lockwood. Which was insane, because you’d gone to school with the guy -- albeit being a couple years younger than him.

“Fine, because I don’t need you getting yourself killed,” you agreed, laying down on the couch. He sat at the opposite end, your legs and feet propped up on his lap as he nursed his bourbon. “What do you know?”

“Werewolves turn with the full moon. Silver kills them. Wolfsbane hurts them. And oh yeah, if I get bitten, I’m dead,” he answered, setting his glass down on the table before rubbing your feet. You could almost melt into the couch.

“First of all, the silver does nothing to them. In fact, they heal faster with silver than anything else. So give me my grandmother’s knife back,” you told him with a sigh.

“I’ll make sure you get it back. Continue,” he urged, needing to know.

“Kill them like you would anybody else. Severe blood loss, suffocation, decapitation. In human form, they’re fast and strong and usually need some anger management, and in wolf form...Well, I don’t really know that one. Tell me, why do you want to kill Mason? And why am I helping you?”

“You’re helping me because you don’t want to see me die. And let’s just say Mason and I had a disagreement, and werewolves are the mortal enemy of vampires. The rest of the details are unimportant in this situation.”

“The details are important because, one, I’m the deputy in this town, and two, you’re telling me you’re going to kill someone I’ve known almost my entire life. I deserve an answer since I’m helping you after all.”

“Fine. Mason and I had an argument. He threatened to out me and Stefan to the counsel -- which included his brother, the mayor. Who doesn’t seem to know about the whole werewolf thing. Unless I give him something he wants, which I won’t do. Family heirlooms and all that.” You nodded, eyes drifting shut.

This wasn’t something you were going to agree with, ever. But you knew there was no talking Damon out of it. His mind was made up, and you didn’t want to get hurt by either man. You’d learned in your years away from home not to get in the middle of a pissing match, figuring Damon wouldn’t actually kill Mason, just teach him a lesson.

-----

You woke to a heated argument downstairs. Looking outside, you saw that it was sunrise, so you figured it was Damon downstairs. You were surprised you’d slept that long, but whatever. Making your way downstairs, you could tell the other voice was Stefan, but still couldn’t really make out what they were saying.

“How’d it go?” you asked, rubbing your eyes as you entered the room, Damon quickly rolling down his sleeves, a layer of gleaming sweat on his skin.

“Well, Mason Lockwood is still alive, if that’s what you’re asking,” Damon answered, taking a shot of one of the alcohols on the table, not sure which one. Stefan shot his brother a look before stalking out of the room.

“What’s up with your brother?” You sat down on the couch next to him, taking your own shot. He stared at the fire going in the fireplace, jaw clenched. Something wasn’t right when he wouldn’t even look at you. “Dae, talk to me.”

It took him a while to say anything, his hand resting on your knee, your hand resting on the top of his. After a few minutes, you leaned your head on his shoulder, which made him relax just a little, but not enough.

“Damon, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” you finally asked again after nearly fifteen minutes of silence, of him just watching the fire.

He pulled his hand away from your knee, which got your attention, so you leaned away from him, watching as he slid the sleeve up on his other arm to reveal a bite mark. You couldn’t help but gasp, grabbing his arm to inspect it. The sudden contact caused him to hiss in pain, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that the wound already looked infected, necrotic at the point of contact. Damon was going to die.

“How are you feeling?” He scoffed at the question, pulling his arm away and quickly getting up.

“How-How am I feeling?” he asked, angry, not trying to hide it. “For once in my existence, things were going right for me, Y/N! I’m feeling angry! I want to rip that mutt’s heart out. Stefan thinks he can find a cure, but...” He leaned against the chair with his good hand before a coughing fit wracked through his body.

“Why don’t you go lay down, Damon?” you suggested, but he just shook his head.

“I’m not spending what could be my last day in bed, Y/N. I don’t want that.”

You understood where he was coming from. If it was you, you’d want to spend as much time as you could with those you cared about.

“Do you want me to call Rick and get him over here?” you asked as you stood, walking over to him as he began coughing again.

“No. No, I don’t want him knowing. Stefan will tell him later,” he assured you as his breathing became more labored. “Maybe laying down will be a good thing. Come with me?”

“Of course.”

You let him drape an arm around your shoulders as you hooked one around his waist, slowly making your way up the stairs to his bedroom. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were terrified to lose him. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, and if something happened to Damon, you would kill Mason yourself.

“Lay down,” you instructed as Damon sat on the edge of the bed. “What do you need to be comfortable?” All you wanted was for him to be comfortable.

“In the basement there’s a cooler,” he told you. “With blood bags. Can you-?”

You didn’t let him finish the sentence, knowing what he was getting at, quickly agreeing. You wanted to scream, to throw something. But you didn’t, you couldn’t. Instead, all you could do was be there for him. You grabbed a couple of the bags from the cooler, letting out a sigh before turning around and being startled by Stefan standing there.

“Stefan, you scared me,” you admitted with a nervous laugh. “It’s not good is it?” You could tell by the solemn look on the younger Salvatore’s face.

“I have a friend, Lexi, who might know somebody who knows somebody who knows a cure. But it might take a while. And we don’t know how long Damon has.” You nodded, not wanting to hear what he was saying. But you had to. “You’re good for him, you know. I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time.”

“Out of curiosity, how long?” Damon had only given you bits and pieces of the story of his existence. You understood though, considering how long he’d been around. Some stories he’d think would scare you off.

“Not since 1864. Go, be with him. He needs you now more than ever,” Stefan told you, stepping out of your way so you could make your way back upstairs. On the way, you grabbed a bowl of cold water and a washcloth.

When you got back up to Damon’s room, his eyes were closed and he looked peaceful. He’d unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, had kicked his shoes off which landed just off the foot of his bed. He looked almost peaceful, if you didn’t know that he was dying. Which was brought back to your attention quickly as another coughing fit started deep in his chest. This time though, you saw blood come from his lips, landing on the palm of his hand.

“You’re okay,” you assured, rushing to his side to clean the blood off his hand.

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N,” he said softly. “I’m not going to be okay.”

“Let me have my hope, Mr Pessimistic.” You joined him in bed, his head resting on your lap for the time being as your hand stroked through his hair. His breathing evened out as he fell asleep.

You did everything you could to not cry, trying to tell yourself that he’d lived a long life. But what Stefan had told you echoed through your head. Was this really the happiest he’d been since his human life had ended? You didn’t want to believe it to be true, but he did seem a lot happier than when you first met him. He seemed more relaxed, less high strung.

Every once in a while he would cough hard enough to wake himself up, the thin layer of sweat becoming thicker, his skin getting hotter. You’d started dabbing his face with the wet washcloth, trying to cool him down, to buy you time. That’s when it really started to get worse.

“Katherine, I’ll follow you forever,” he said, eyes drifting open and shut. “Turn me so we can be together forever.”

“Hey, it’s okay, Damon. It’s Y/N,” you reminded him as he sat up. “Here, drink.”

You handed him one of the blood bags which he quickly downed. You’d never seen him feed, never seen his face change. Not until that moment. The human survival instinct inside of you said to run, to be terrified of the monster. But you couldn’t. Not when your heart started pounding, the sinking feeling in your gut telling you to stay because you didn’t want to be away from him. Not now, not ever. When he finished, he laid back down, this time with his head on your chest, his hands on his own. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around him, continuing to try and keep him cool with the towel.

“Tell me about her, Damon,” you told him. “Tell me about Katherine.” He just groaned, and you weren’t sure if it was from pain or from mentioning her.

“She was the most beautiful woman I’d met,” he started. “And she broke my heart. She changed us both, but we both knew she’d chosen Stefan as her favorite, as the one to have her heart. And then she died. What more is there to say?” You rested your chin on the top of his head.

“Talk to me, Damon, about anything. Everything.”

You just wanted to hear his voice, tears welling up in your eyes. But he didn’t, falling back asleep. The sun continued its progression through the sky, and you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he had.

It felt like you’d dozed off for only a few minutes when you realized he wasn’t there in bed with you, panic filling your body. You searched the house, trying to find him, not sure if he’d left. If he’d left, you didn’t know what to do, not sure what his mind was thinking. That was until you’d found him in the basement with at least ten blood bags around him.

“Damon,” you said softly, trying not to startle him. He looked up at you, hands and mouth covered in blood, but it was more like he looked through you, as if you weren’t really there. “Dae, come back to bed.”

He didn’t move, and neither did you. “It’s me, Damon. Y/N,” you reminded him, taking a small step towards him. It was the wrong move though, with him being in front of you in a blink of an eye. Your hand grabbed his wrist lightly, hoping that maybe it would ground him. “Come back to bed.”

He didn’t move to leave the basement, though, backing you up until your back was pressed against the cold, concrete wall. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, as if he was going to catch fire any second. Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to keep your breathing calm and even. You brought your other hand up, cupping his cheek. There was no telling what he was going to do. The black veins around his eyes were visible, fangs protruding.

“Damon, you don’t want to do this,” you reminded him. “I’m your best friend. You always said you would never hurt me.”

“Y/N,” he said softly, backing away as his face became his again. You gave a pitiful smile as he fell to his knees, groaning in pain as he clutched his chest.

“Hey, hey.” You knelt in front of him, pulling him close to you. “You’re going to be okay. Stefan is working on finding a cure. Let’s get you back upstairs.”

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he half cried as you got him to his feet.

It took longer than you’d hoped it would to get him up the stairs. Once you got him in bed, you weren’t sure what to do. You had two options. Stay and comfort him and watch him die, or leave and let him die alone. You didn’t even have to weigh your options, joining him on the bed, cleaning the blood off of him before laying next to him with your head on his chest. His breaths were labored and shallow, able to hear him wheeze with every breath.

“This is even more pitiful than I thought,” he managed to say, eyes half open as you looked up at him.

“There’s still hope, though. I’m not giving up on you. Just hold on as long as you can, okay?” He nodded weakly.

“I’ve made a lot of choices that have gotten me here. I deserve this. I deserve to die.”

“No. You don’t,” you said adamantly, tears stinging your eyes.

“I do, Y/N, it’s okay though. Because if I’d have chosen differently, I wouldn’t have met you. I’m glad to have met you.” His voice was raspy, speaking slowly as if he couldn’t breathe. It was obvious he couldn’t. “You should have met me in 1864. You would have liked me more.”

“I like you just the way you are, Damon.” You held onto his hand, not wanting to let go.

“You would have loved me back then, Y/N. I’m glad you came into my life when you did. I love you, you should know that. It’s why we had all the lunches, why we hung out so often, why I didn’t try anything. Because I love you,” his voice cracked, every few words interrupted with coughs. Your heart felt like it skipped a beat, hearing him say that. It didn’t come as much of a surprise though.

“I know, Damon. I love you too.” His eyes fluttered open, looking at you with tears in his own eyes, blue eyes glistening.

“I’ve waited over a century for someone to say that.” Your heart felt like it was breaking. Because this wasn’t enough time for the two of you. Nine months wasn’t long enough. You wanted a lifetime with him. A long, long lifetime. You cupped his cheek, pressing your lips against his softly, moving together until he pulled away, coughing again. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Damon Salvatore, I love you,” you said again, the corners of his lips pulling up into a weak smile. “I just need you to hold on, okay? I’m sure Stefan will have a cure soon. You can’t leave me yet.”

“Keep an eye on Rick for me,” he told you. “He’s going to need someone there for him. Stefan...He has Lexi. Rick doesn’t have anybody.”

“What about me, Damon? What am I supposed to do?” you asked him, voice cracking.

“You’re going to live a long, happy life without me.”

You felt him squeeze your hand, and all you wanted to do was run away. You weren’t sure if you could watch him die, because that’s what you’d been doing for the past eight hours, slowly watching him die.

“Is it going to be a happy life, when you’d be my greatest what-if?” you asked softly as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

You couldn’t close your eyes, couldn’t move away from him. You had to make sure he was still alive, still breathing as you held back sobs. You’d lost so many people in your life, you didn’t know if you’d be able to handle another one. Especially not Damon.

“Lexi is almost here,” Stefan told you from the doorway in a hushed voice, trying not to wake Damon. This got your attention, sitting up to look at him, wiping away your tears.

“She found a cure?” He nodded with a sad smile. The only thing you could do was wait and hope that she got to Damon in time. “I can’t lose him, Stefan.”

“I know. Neither can I. So I need to ask you something, Y/N.” You held onto Damon’s hand, feeling the pulse in his wrist continuing to beat.

“You would never hurt him, right? Katherine...she was the last person he really loved, aside from himself. And she broke him, and he’s never been the same. You’re not just telling him you love him because he’s dying, right?” A part of you wanted to be offended, but you understood where Stefan was coming from.

“If I wanted to hurt him, I would have told the counsel months ago that he was a vampire. I do love him, Stefan. That isn’t a lie, it could never be a lie. Maybe him dying is what made me realize it, but it doesn’t make it less true.” Stefan nodded as a blonde woman came to stand next to him, a vial in her hand.

“Sorry to interrupt the moment, but we have a brother to save,” she said with a smile, walking into the room as she popped the cap on the vial. “Damon!” That got him to open his eyes, squinting as his lips parted to say something. “You’re a lucky bastard. Drink this.”

She put the vial up to his lips, pouring it in his mouth. He grimaced, but swallowed before coughing.

“Tastes like wet dog,” he mumbled, head falling back on the pillows.

“Suck it up. Stefan and I are going to go get some drinks and catch up. You should be feeling better soon. You’re welcome!” she told him as she walked out of the room. It didn’t take a genius to realize they didn’t get along the greatest.

“How are you feeling?” you asked softly, looking him over. His pale skin was slowly getting color back, his breathing less labored.

“A little better. Doesn’t feel like I’m drowning anymore,” he admitted, reaching out to hold your hand. “Did you mean what you said?”

“Of course I did, Damon.” His face softened, looking like he was going to cry. But he didn’t, because he was Damon afterall. He rarely showed actual emotion.

“Come’ere,” he told you, pulling you to him. Your face nuzzled in his neck, breathing him in. His shirt was soaking wet, skin sticky, but you didn’t care. He was alive, he was going to be fine.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” you said against his skin, letting yourself cry. He held you tight, rubbing circles on your back. It took a few minutes for it to die down, pulling back just to have him wipe the tears from your eyes.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily. You should probably head home. I’ll pick the car up tomorrow.” There was no way of hiding the look of confusion and hurt on your face. He’d just survived almost dying, and now he was kicking you out?

“I want to stay with you.” He shook his head no. “Why not?”

“When vampires almost die or get hurt, we need to feed. And I vaguely remember finishing up our stash in the basement. I don’t want to hurt you.”

That made you understand. He just wanted you safe, but that wasn’t enough. Because he was just going to end up hurting someone else. You couldn’t let him do that.

“Damon, I trust you.” That got you his usual confused look, eyes squinting in curiosity. “You’re just going to end up going out there and hurting someone else. I trust you won’t kill me though.” You offered him your wrist.

“Y/N, I can’t,” he insisted, leaning away.

“Yes you can. I trust you. I would trust you with my life. Now, you need to feed. You have someone here who is willing to let you do so. No strings attached.” He didn’t move, staying where he was. “Damon, please.”

He took your arm, bringing your wrist to his mouth. He didn’t bite though, kissing the inside of your wrist. Your free hand combed through his hair. That was until he did bite down, grimacing in pain as his fangs tore through your skin. It didn’t hurt as bad as you thought it would, but it was an odd feeling. As if you’d cut yourself, but the blood never reached your hand, fingers going numb. You continued to comb through his hair with your free hand, assuring him it was okay. Until it wasn’t.

“Damon,” you said softly, trying to get his attention. “Damon, stop. Stop.” He didn’t though, feeling lightheaded as he continued on. “Enough, Damon. Please.” You pulled at his hair, which was enough to finally get his attention. He pulled away, face going back to normal. You were still lightheaded, but knew it would go away.

“I’m sorry,” he told you, getting up and walking into the bathroom. You would have followed him, had you thought you’d be able to make it. He came back a minute later with a first aid kit.

“It’s okay. I told you I trusted you. I still do,” you assured him as he bandaged your wrist. There was something about his silence that spoke volumes about how he felt. Damon wasn’t one to just not say anything, always having an opinion or something to stay. “I don’t want you feeling bad, okay? I offered. I told you I trust you. And I still love you.”

“I’m going to get changed.” You didn’t think Damon felt guilt, or really anything. But his reaction changed that perception of him. He put on the tough guy persona, but he did feel underneath it all. While he was gone, you slipped out of your jeans, not wanting to get up to put pajama pants on.

When he came back in, he was in his boxers. You couldn’t help but take the sight in, defined muscles, flawless skin, abs. He really was like a living marble statue, and he was there with you.

“I’d understand if you wanted to stay in the guestroom tonight,” he said softly, standing at the end of the bed, fidgeting with his ring.

“I’m not going anywhere. I almost lost you today. Everything that I said, everything that I feel is true. And me staying right here with you is the first step of proving it to you. I can tell you don’t trust easily, Dae. But I need you to trust me just like I trust you. Now come to bed,” you insisted.

It took another minute for him to move to lay down with you. The two of you laid on your sides, facing each other. You couldn’t help but cup his cheek with your hand, thumb rubbing along his cheekbone. He held your waist, thumb sliding under your shirt, pressing against your skin.

“I love you, Damon,” you assured him again, looking into his eyes.

It was something you’d told people before, but you’d never meant it more than in that moment.

-----

You woke to the sun shining through the curtains, warm on your skin. You almost didn’t want to open your eyes, until you felt someone laying next to you, the memories of the previous day rushing back. You didn’t move as you felt his fingers trace your face, light as a feather. This was your new happy place.

“Morning,” he said softly as the corners of your lips pulled into a small, relaxed smile. When you opened your eyes, you were taken away by the sight. His usually very tame hair was in loose curls. The dark circles under his eyes long gone. He looked like his usually cocky self, in boxers.

“I could get used to waking up like this, with you.” He smiled as you moved closer to him, pressing against his chest.

“There’s still so much you don’t know, Y/N.” You cut him off with a kiss before he could say anything else.

“You can tell me all of it later, okay? But right now, I just want to enjoy laying here in bed with a still very alive you,” you told him before kissing him again. You knew it wasn’t going to go anywhere, at least not that day. You could tell he was hesitant, a stark contrast to his usual very self assured behavior. “Okay, what’s on your mind?” You sat up, back against the headboard as you looked at him. He wasn’t going to relax until you let him talk.

“I could have killed you last night,” he finally said. You were about to say something when he shook his head, silencing you. “I know I didn’t, but I could have. I don’t know what I would do if I ever hurt you. No amount of trust, no amount of…”

“I don’t want you carrying that guilt, that fear. I trusted you from the time I met you at the counsel meeting. Why else would I have come here to confront you about it?”

“If you trusted me, why keep me out of your house for six months? You’d even said it yourself the first day we had lunch that you didn’t trust me yet,” he reminded you, which caused you to sigh.

“I did trust you, but I was still trying to find a reason not to. I was scared, thinking that maybe I was going to end up like my parents. Dead. I trusted you, and that idea scared me at the time,” you countered, trying to make him understand. “I trust you with my life, Damon.”

He smiled, toying with your bracelet. “I could take this off, make you forget everything. You’d be safe.”

“Don’t,” you whispered, scared that he might. “I haven’t had a family since I was a teenager. Then, when I left, I never stayed in one place long enough to make a home. I never found the right place. You’re both of those.”

“I’m too selfish to do that,” he sighed, letting go of the bracelet. “I haven’t loved someone in a very long time, and I forgot how good it felt.”

“Stefan told me he hasn’t seen you this happy since 1864,” you admitted. “You mentioned her. I’m not sure if you were hallucinating or not.”

“I don’t want to talk about Katherine right now. Because she’s not here. You are.”

That made you smile, hoping it was a good sign that he was choosing being with you over talking about his dead vampire ex. You just leaned your head against his shoulder, his arm wrapping around you.

“Vampire blood heals humans,” he said after a few minutes of just enjoying being there with him.

“I know. And you won’t do anything if something happens to me, Damon. Because as much as I love you, I don’t want that existence,” you told him, not getting an answer in response. You could tell he didn’t like that, but didn’t bring it up again. “I should get home. As much as I want to stay here with you, I have to go back to work tonight.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

The two of you got up, getting dressed. You were still a little woozy from the night before, but not as bad. Sleep had definitely helped. By the time you’d finished getting dressed, Damon was leaning against the bathroom door frame watching you which got you to smile, walking over to him to kiss him. This was something you could get used to.

-----

“Mason,” you said with a smile as you sat across from him at a table at The Grill, sliding a glass of scotch to him. “You’ve been in town for two months, and you have yet to stop by and say hi.”

You hated him with every fiber in your being for almost killing Damon. Damon, who had given up on his warpath to kill the werewolf after much pleading with him since nobody knew how to get more of the cure. You’d convinced him it wasn’t worth it, that you’d make sure Mason kept his mouth shut.

“I’ve been keeping busy. Plus, I didn’t realize you were back in town considering you jumped ship right after you graduated,” he answered, mirroring your smile.

“Tell me, what brought you back? Weren’t you enjoying your time in Florida?” You drank from your own glass, hoping it would make him more comfortable.

“Time of my life, but Richard called saying he needed some help with Tyler. He’s been going through a rough time since Sarah died.” You remembered that. A freak accident where Sarah fell down the stairs at the Lockwood house one night when Tyler’s parents were out of town. You’d been the first on scene, trying to comfort Tyler -- who was freaking out.

“You mean because Tyler triggered the curse, and Richard hasn’t?” you asked, Mason shooting you a shocked and angry look. “I’m in the loop about a lot of things, Mason.”

“So you know about the Salvatores? How’s Damon doing? Haven’t seen him around.” You chuckled at first before he mentioned Damon, your face dropping as you finished off your drink.

“Damon’s alive no thanks to you, Mason. Whatever pissing match you two had, or are still having, it’s over. You’re going to keep your mouth shut and so is Damon, got it?” He nodded, taking a drink from the glass you’d slid his way, quickly spitting it out. You didn’t say anything as you stood up, walking out and to your car.

You hated it. Mason had been one of your closest friends growing up, and now it came down to this. As much as you cared about your friend, neither of you were the same as you were in high school. You’d both changed too much. And you were always going to take Damon’s side, because you loved him.

The drive to the Salvatore Boarding House was a quiet one, not even knowing if Damon was going to be home. You just needed to see him, wanted to see him. Your entire life, everyone that you’d cared about had left you in one way or another. Seeing Mason, confronting Mason just confirmed that for you. You had no friends from your old life. Instead, you’d made new ones. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You parked in the drive, about to get out of the car when it all came crashing down around you. You’d worked so hard to build a new life, to try and be happy, but you weren’t. You felt stuck. Sure, you loved your job, loved working with Liz, loved being in love with Damon. But for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why you’d gone back to Mystic Falls in the first place. Your hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. You couldn’t bring yourself to get out of the car.

The car door opened as you cried, chest tight. Strong arms pulled you close to a warm body, breathing in his scent as you clutched his shirt. He didn’t say anything, letting you cry, letting you grieve. When your sobs finally died down, you couldn’t let him go.

“Talk to me,” he said softly, kissing your temple. “Let’s go inside and talk.” You nodded, letting him help you out of the car, leaning into him as the two of you walked up to his room.

“I saw Mason today,” you told him. “He’s not the same person I knew, Damon.”

“Is that why you were in your car crying?” You shook your head before sighing, wiping away newly forming tears.

“I mean partly. Damon, this isn’t what I was expecting my life to be.” He sat down next to you, holding you against him. “My parents are supposed to be alive. I was supposed to go to college, to create an amazing life. But now, Mystic Falls seems far from home.”

“Let’s take a trip, just for a weekend. Let’s get your mind off all of this,” he said, motioning around. “Clear your mind.”

“I have a better idea to clear my mind,” you suggested, turning to kiss him, one hand on his cheek, the other hand on the back of his neck. You could feel him smiling against your lips as the two of you kissed.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what you wanted, quickly moving to straddle him. His hands were on your lower back, sliding up the back of your shirt, palms pressed against your skin to pull you closer to him.

“Y/N,” he sighed against your lips as your hips moved against his.

This was what you wanted. Despite the sadness you felt, Damon made you feel like you mattered, like you belonged somewhere. You pulled back only to pull his shirt off him, lips back on his before the fabric even hit the floor.

The two of you fit, like he was a missing piece of the jigsaw puzzle that was your life. Mason didn’t fit anymore, you’re parents' pieces missing since they died.

“Tell me what you want, and you can have it,” Damon said as he kissed down your neck, ravishing you, not taking his time at all.

“Make me forget,” you answered before he flipped the two of you over. He took the opportunity to get your shirt off before attaching his lips to your skin again. And make you forget he did.

-----

“Rick conned me into helping him chaperone for the decades dance tomorrow,” Damon told you as the two of you cuddled on your couch. “Want to be my plus one?”

“Which decade?” You weren’t going to tell him no, but you were going to make him think that you were debating it before agreeing. You relaxed further into him -- if that was even possible -- as he traced an invisible pattern on your side.

“Seventies.” You hummed for a minute before looking up at him with a smile.

“I guess, if you insist.” He smiled back, kissing you softly. “But tell me, what were you up to in the seventies?”

“Well, in the seventies, I was in New York. It was a very bad time for me. A lot of parties, a lot of drugs, a lot of people,” he answered, and you could tell he didn’t want to answer.

“Whatever you’ve done in the past, I can’t hold it against you. I won’t. Okay?” you reminded him with an assuring smile. He just nodded, holding you a little tighter.

“We have the option to turn off our humanity. It stops us from being able to feel whatever we’re feeling. Usually it’s pain and grief that pushes us to that point. Pretty much from 1958 to the early 2000s, that’s what I was doing. I didn’t care who I hurt. The seventies weren’t a pretty time for me,” he continued. You could tell it bothered him, but not enough to not talk about it.

The next day, you told Damon you’d meet him at the high school. You were running late, so you shot him a quick text to let him know you were on your way. When you got there, you had to scan through the crowd of hormonal teenagers to find him standing with Alaric at the punch table. How ironic it was that your alcoholic boyfriend was supposed to be making sure nobody spiked the punchbowl.

“Wassup, foxy mama,” Damon called out as you approached.

“Careful, casanova,” you replied, stopping him from kissing you as you got to his side. “Children are present.” That got Alaric to laugh, kissing Damon on the cheek instead.

“You two look good together,” Alaric told you both. You appreciated the compliment, knowing that he was really Damon’s only other friend.

“Thanks, Rick. You need to come over for dinner some time. We could all use a little bonding,” you suggested as Damon’s arm snaked around your waist.

The night droned on, making idle conversation with Damon and Rick. You and Damon were nearly inseparable except for when you needed a human moment or two, or to break up some shenanigans the highschoolers were getting up to.

“Think I can have this dance?” he asked, extending his hand as Make it With You began playing. You smiled, shaking your head, but taking his hand, letting him pull you to the edge of the gym.

“We need to talk, Y/N,” he told you. “About why you don’t want me saving you.”

“We will. When we go home, okay?” He nodded, the two of you finishing the dance with your head resting on his chest.

The two of you typically rotated whose house you’d stay at each night, but this time he’d suggested your place. It made you wonder how serious of a conversation this was going to be. Especially since he’d suggested having this discussion in the living room, and not trying to sweep you off your feet to the bedroom as soon as you stepped through the door.

“Damon, as much as I want to spend eternity with you...I can’t risk it. I just...I want to see my parents again,” you told him, knowing where this was going.

“So, you want me to stand idly by and watch you die is what you’re telling me. You don’t want me to save you, even if it doesn’t change you. Am I not worth it, Y/N?” he asked, leaning against the fireplace.

“You are everything to me, Damon.” It broke your heart that he thought he wasn’t enough. He was more than enough, but the thought of living forever...even if it was with Damon. It wasn’t enough. “But your life...I don’t want that for me. I want to live like a normal human being. I want to live my life to the fullest. I want to experience everything humanity has to offer. And being magically saved by my vampire boyfriend every time I get hurt? That isn’t my idea of life.”

Damon had tells, but he was hiding them so well. Until you saw him swallow hard, looking like he wanted to break something.

“So, I’m enough...Until it comes to experiencing everything humanity has to offer. There are things I can’t give you, Y/N!” he reminded you. “Because experiencing humanity means getting married, having children, growing old together, dying! I can give you only one of those things, and it’s the one that means the least. And if something were to happen to you? Today, tomorrow, next week, next year. I won’t be able to handle saying goodbye. Because I’m selfish!”

“I know you are, Damon.” You stood up, walking over to him. He didn’t move a muscle, looking at you with icy blue eyes as you held his face in your hands. “I know you’re selfish. But so am I. But I know you’ll be able to live without me.”

“How?” That’s when he let the facade drop, face soft, eyes sad.

“Because you’ve lived this long without me. I’m going to be just a blip in your existence. In ten, twenty years after I’m gone, you’ll find somebody else that makes you feel this way. There’s not just one soulmate for everybody. Katherine, me...There will be others.” He just shook his head.

“I don’t want there to be others, Y/N. I want you.” You kissed him softly.

“Just promise me you won’t do anything if something happens to me,” you requested, getting a nod in response. You didn’t know if you were going to believe him, but for now you were going to.

-----

“Damon, can I just go take a bath in that nice bathtub of yours and take a nap?” you whined, hands on your knees as you bent over to catch your breath. He’d been training you on how to protect yourself from vampires if the need ever arose. A water bottle was placed in front of your face, quickly grabbing it from Damon and taking a drink.

“We’ve been out here for less than an hour, Y/N. Humor me a little, for my own peace of mind.” You huffed, setting the bottle down, going back to running drills. Occasionally you’d try to trick him into letting you go early, but it never worked. He’d kept you at it for three hours before you called it quits, saying you needed food.

“Why is this so important to you?” you asked him as you ate the sandwich he’d made you.

“Well, if you won’t let me save you, at least I know you tried to save yourself,” he answered, drinking from the blood bag in his hands. “There’s one more thing to teach you, after you eat.” You nodded as he headed upstairs.

You knew he was just trying to make himself feel better. From your conversations with Stefan, you knew this was the tame version of Damon. When he was upset, he usually lashed out, pushed people away. Stefan had never seen him hold someone closer.

When you were done, you’d meandered your way to Damon’s bedroom, hearing the shower going. You smirked, a dirty thought in your mind. Might as well follow it, seeing as you told Damon you wanted to experience everything humanity had to offer. Stripping down, you joined him in the shower.

“Saving water?” he asked as the shower door shut behind you.

“Something like that.” Both of you couldn’t help but smile, Damon pulling you close, making sure your hand came to rest on his chest. His hair was wet, sticking to his forehead. But you were too focused on his eyes, always his eyes.

“This is the sternum,” he told you. “Trying to attack here will just piss a vampire off.” He moved your hand slightly to the right, over his heart. “This is where you want to go if you’re coming from the front. You have the chance of hitting a rib, but even if you do, the likelihood of you hitting the heart is still high. The best place though.” He spun you around, making sure you didn’t fall. His hand came to rest just below the left side of your rib cage, just next to your spine. “Here and up.”

“Aren’t you worried? I mean, you’re teaching a Gilbert, someone who had her parents killed by vampires, the secrets to killing one?” you asked, breathless as he pressed against you.

“I trust you.”

-----

“Damon,” you said over the phone. You hated that you had to make this call, the mechanical beeping of the EKG hurting your ears. Everything hurt, and all you wanted was for Damon to be there.

“Hey, you didn’t show up for lunch. Started to get worried,” he told you. You could hear the concern in his voice over the phone. “You alright?”

“I don’t want you to freak out.”

“By you telling me not to freak out, I’m starting to freak out,” he warned you.

“I got into a car accident. I’m at the hospital.” Before you could say anything else, you heard him hang up, sighing as you knew he was freaking out. You knew it was only a matter of time before he stormed in, so you decided a quick power nap was in the cards. You were exhausted.

“Y/N,” you heard through the fog of sleep, a pressure on your hand. “Wakey, wakey.”

“Damon,” you mumbled, opening your eyes to see his gorgeous face in front of you, a goofy grin on your face.

“They have you on some good drugs, don’t they,” he said, mostly to himself as he pushed your hair out of your face. You just nodded, squeezing his hand. “What happened?”

“I got t-boned in the square by some idiot drunk,” you answered. “Few broken ribs, broken humerus, tore my knee.” He nodded, a look of pain on his face. “I’ll be fine. No worries. I’ll just need some help for eight to twelve weeks.”

“I could help you,” he offered. You just shook your head, not wanting that. It was too risky for you. “I know. Figured I’d just remind you.”

“Whose house are we staying at for the next few months?” He just shrugged, and you figured you guys would decide that later. "What's going through your head, Dae?"

"I just really hate hospitals. And I hate seeing you in one even more,” he answered, holding your hand up to his lips, kissing your skin softly.

“Well, they’re sending me home tomorrow. So you only have to deal with the hospital for a day.” That got him to smile and relax a little. “If you’re not careful, all that frowning is going to give you wrinkles.”

“Frowning? What frowning?” He kept the small smile on his face to prove a point, getting you to kiss him. “Scoot over.”

Damon had his dark moments, his angry moments. But he also had moments like these, the sweet ones. He wasn’t a monster like he thought he was, he wasn’t selfish. He cared to a fault. His heart was his weakness, and you’d managed to hold it in your hands. Much like he held you close, careful not to jostle your arm or leg.

"I love you," you told him, half asleep. He just kissed your forehead and let you fall into a deep sleep.

-----

You woke up to the sound of your alarm going off, dreading getting up. But this was different. You had a test that you didn’t want to take, one that you hadn’t studied for. Sitting up, you stretched as the sun shone in your eyes through the window.

“Y/N!” your mom yelled from downstairs. “Breakfast is ready!”

“I’m getting dressed! I’ll be done in a minute, Mom,” you replied, grabbing a pair of skinny jeans and your favorite shirt. You bounded down the stairs, your mom standing in the kitchen and your dad already sitting at the table reading the paper like he did every morning. For some reason, you felt sad, as if you missed this.

“You seemed happy,” Damon told you as he stood from the couch.

“This is a dream?” you asked, wanting it to be real. Damon nodded, as you focused on your parents and not him. “I miss them so much.”

“Then go be with them, Y/N. This is your dream.” You nodded, kissing him before going about your morning routine with them. This wasn’t the first time you’d had this dream, but it was the first time Damon showed up. It was curious.

-----

“I had the greatest dream,” you told him when you woke up the next morning.

“I know.” You were confused. Was that why he had shown up? Had he gotten into your head somehow. “I didn’t mean to invade. I just...I wanted to make sure you were really okay.”

“It’s okay. It was just...unusual that you were there. That’s all,” you assured him, kissing him softly.

“Well, you’re all good to go,” Doctor Fell told you as she walked in the room, looking between you and Damon. “I see your ride is already here. Just no strenuous activities. Try to stay off your feet since you can’t use crutches yet. And follow up with the orthopedic surgeon who will track your progress for your arm and leg. Do you have any questions?”

“I think we’ll be able to figure it out,” Damon answered for you. Doctor Fell nodded, leaving the room after leaving your paperwork on the table. It took a few minutes for you and Damon to figure out how to get you dressed with your cast and knee immobilizer, but you managed.

“Damon the wheelchair isn’t necessary,” you whined as he sat you down.

“Yes it is, at least to get you to the car. You heard the doc, got to keep you off your feet as much as possible.”

“She also said no strenuous activity, but I have a feeling you won’t be listening to that once we get home,” you countered, Damon glaring at you as you looked up at him with a smirk. He wheeled you out to the car, helping you in as carefully as he could. But it was difficult seeing as he drove a sports car. Plus, he couldn’t drive your car since it was definitely totaled from the car accident.

“Can we stay at my place?” you asked Damon softly once he got in. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to spend time at his place, but you just felt safer at home. He and Stefan were the only vampires you’d invited in. And you couldn’t protect yourself, knowing you had to rely solely on Damon for the next couple of months.

“Of course.” He reached across to hold your hand gently, not wanting to hurt you.

The drive to your house was a silent one, neither of you really speaking to each other. It was a comfortable silence, though. It wasn’t uncommon to have silent car rides with Damon, just enjoying each other’s company. It was nice. You didn’t realize you’d dozed off until you woke up to him carrying you up your front porch steps, your good arm around his neck while you cradled your bad one to your chest.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered, kissing your forehead as he carried you through the threshold and up the stairs to your bedroom. You just hummed in agreement, letting your eyes drift shut again.

The next time you woke up was in pain. Not as bad as when you’d first crashed your car, but pretty bad. Your entire body ached, head pounding. The doctors said it was normal and to be expected. That didn’t make it any better though. It definitely didn’t help that Damon wasn’t there. Sitting up with a groan, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes.

“Damon!” you called out, knowing you couldn’t get up. It was physically impossible.

It took a minute before he showed up in your room in one of his t-shirts and pajama pants. You smiled, loving seeing him somewhat relaxed. You could still tell he was carrying some weight of something on his shoulders.

“Can you bring me some of my painkillers? And then come to bed?” you asked him, Damon holding up the pill bottles and water glass as if he’d read your mind. You rubbed your face again as Damon sat next to you, the bed dipping underneath him.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you asked him before popping the pills, quickly chasing them with water.

“I ask myself that question all the time,” he replied as you leaned over to kiss him.

-----

It had been a long twelve weeks, wanting to tear his head off at times. Occasionally, he’d leave to get some air when things started getting tense. Each time, he came back when you called. You were both thrilled when you were given the all clear to get around on your own. It was odd though, being home alone. You’d gotten used to his company. But both of you were stubborn, both of you having what you considered ‘home’ even when being with each other felt even more right. You couldn’t give up your family home, and he loved the freedom he had at his.

So, things went back to normal. The two of you would rotate where you stayed, partly dependent on Stefan and when he was going to be home. Lexi had stuck around after saving Damon, and you could tell she was good for Stefan.

Things were just still...off with Damon. You really couldn’t figure it out, couldn’t figure him out. You’d tried talking, but Damon wasn’t in a talking kind of mood every time you tried. It was frustrating. You’d even tried getting Rick to get him to talk, but with no luck, so the two of you had come up with a plan. Which is how you ended up sitting on the couch in front of a burning fireplace with a bottle of wine in your hand as you waited for Damon to get home. You knew it would take a while for Rick to get Damon drunk, so you sat back and relaxed.

“Funny seeing you here!” he sing-songed from the foyer. “I thought you had work tonight.” You heard him stumble, knocking something over that sounded pretty expensive. Everything in his house was expensive.

“I lied,” you answered, turning to see him stumbling towards his alcohol display, pouring himself another drink. “Haven’t you had enough?”

“No because I have a bad feeling about why you’re here,” he answered with a laugh, not looking at you. You couldn’t help but scoff. That got him to look at you. “What?”

“Whatever has been weighing on you for the past few months, whatever you’ve kept bottled up. Talk to me,” you told him. The smile dropped as he shook his head, downing the drink in one go.

“Is that why Rick suggested tonight? You behind all this?”

“Guilty as charged. Now, Damon. Talk to me.”

You could tell he wasn’t going to talk, the brooding look plastered on his face. There was no way you were taking ‘no’ for an answer this time. Definitely not this time.

“Damon. I swear to god. I can tell something has been bothering you for a while. And I haven't pushed it much. Until now. Because it’s bothering me that something is bothering you. And I have a feeling it’s about me,” you finally said, getting him to look at you. “This is me telling you. Whatever is bothering you, we need to talk about. Or this-” You pointed between the two of you, closing the distance between the two of you, “isn’t going to work.”

His jaw clenched as your palm rested on his chest. You heard the glass shatter in his hand, hearing the pieces of glass hit the floor as he opened his bleeding hand. You knew he would heal quickly, not worried.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” he finally said, breaking the tense silence. Your heart dropped, not wanting to believe what he just said.

“Dam-” He didn’t let you finish, taking a step back.

“No, Y/N. You can’t make it better!” he told you. “You and me, this puts you in danger. Just being near me is dangerous. And you are all too human.”

“So, that’s what this is about? My vulnerability?” He didn’t answer, and you couldn’t help but scoff again.

“What’s with all the?” He mimicked your scoffing noise.

“Because we’ve been over this, Damon! It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Because I love you.” You didn’t want to believe you were having this conversation again, but it was obviously something that had to be talked about.

“I want to say the same, Y/N, but for once I’m being selfless. Or maybe I’m still selfish. I’m not sure which. Because everything in me wants to keep you by my side! Everything in me says to never let you go!” You could see the look of pain on his face, his bottom lip quivering. “But I have to let you go. I almost lost you, Y/N. And I had to be there every step of the way, helping you get better. Because you’re stubborn.” He let out a small chuckle at that. “You’re so strong willed. Despite having a fix it all cure literally right in front of you, you decided to take the human way through things.”

“What are you saying, Damon?” You didn’t want to believe what he was saying. His hand held your wrist before snatching your vervain bracelet, hissing in pain as he dropped it on the floor. You went to grab it, but he kept a hold of you. “Damon, what are you doing?”

“I want you to live a long and happy life, Y/N,” he told you. “And you can’t do that with me.” Tears burned your eyes, knowing what he was doing.

“Damon, don’t. Please, Damon,” you begged, but he just gave you a sad smile.

“You’re going to forget we were together,” he told you, your eyes captivated by his. “You’re going to leave here, thinking we decided to break up. If anybody asks, you’re going to say it’s for the best. We’re going to be friends again, just friends. You’ll be able to think back on our relationship and not be sad.” His voice cracked as he nodded. “You’re going to be happier without me, Y/N. You’re going to find a nice human boy who is going to be right for you. And you’re going to fill in love. And you’re gonna love him more than me. And you’re going to forget this conversation, forget I took your bracelet off. You’re going to be fine.”

As much as you didn’t want to listen, every fiber in your being telling you to listen to him instead. When he looked away, that’s what you thought was the truth. Your bracelet back on your wrist before you even realized it was gone.

“I have to go home, Damon. Lunch on Wednesday?” He just nodded as you walked out of the door.

-----

You had gone on several dates since breaking up with Damon. The two of you still had weekly lunches, and he seemed more than okay. Occasionally, you’d see him flirting with other women. But for some reason it didn’t bother you. You weren’t exactly sure why. You thought seeing him with other people would hurt more, but it didn’t.

And then you met a nice guy. Something inside you was drawn to him, and all you wanted was to be around him. Call it fate or love, you weren’t sure. Damon took it better than you thought he would when you introduced your new boyfriend, Klaus. There was something simmering under the surface, though. Maybe Damon wasn’t as happy with it as he tried to make it seem, though you didn’t question it.

“Klaus suggested you come over tonight for dinner,” you told Damon over the phone when you called him. Klaus was laying next to you, fingers tracing patterns on your side, getting you to giggle.

“Sure, I’ll be over at six,” he agreed, quickly hanging up. You rolled over to look at Klaus, his blue eyes staring into yours. They weren’t as piercing as Damon’s were, but you still were caught up in them.

“Good job, darling,” he cooed. “Now, where were we?” His lips pressed against yours, rolling on top of you with a smile.

-----

You’d gotten dressed in the dress Klaus had laid out for you, a nice black dress. It wasn’t too formal for a friend dinner, but just formal enough to make you feel sexy. He’d also set out a set of thick bracelets for you to wear to cover the bite marks -- the ones you didn’t know he’d compelled you to forget about how you got them.

“Darling, Damon is here!” Klaus called from the kitchen. You just put on a smile, clasping the bracelet before going downstairs. Klaus made you happy, it just felt right. When you saw Damon you gave him a hug with a smile before going over to Klaus who gave you a quick kiss. “So, what’s with the impromptu dinner party?” Damon asked, hanging his jacket on the coat rack.

“Well, Klaus wanted to get to know you better, Damon. I mean, you are my best friend, and he’s my boyfriend.” Damon rolled his eyes, but sat at the table anyway. He watched the two of you move around the kitchen, watching you be happy with Klaus.

“What happened to your wrist?” Damon asked when your bracelet slid up your arm when you reached for the plates in the cabinet.

“Cut myself on some broken glass. It’s nothing,” you assured him. You saw the disbelief on his face, looking between you and Klaus.

“So, Y/N tells me you know Katherine Pierce,” Klaus said, speaking to your best friend for the first time. “I know her too.”

“Wait, how do you know Katherine?” you asked, confused. There was no possible way Klaus knew Katherine. She’d been dead since 1864.

“I knew her before she was Katherine Pierce. Back when she was Katerina Petrova. Back when she ripped my family from me,” Klaus answered. You looked between him and Damon as the latter stood up slowly. You still didn’t understand. “Damon, did you notice something missing from your best friend?”

“Y/N, where’s your vervain bracelet?” he asked. Your brows furrowed as you looked at your wrists, not seeing it. “Run.”

“Ah-ah,” Klaus ticked, your legs not moving. As much as you wanted to move, you couldn’t. And that was terrifying.

“What do you want, Klaus?” Damon asked, anger evident on his face. “Or is that even your name?”

“No, Klaus is my name. Where is Katerina Petrova?” Klaus handed you a knife, and you weren’t sure why you took it. You knew you had to.

“Kiss my ass,” Damon growled, eyes dark as he scowled.

“That’s not a good answer. Darling,” Klaus said, getting your attention to look at him. When your eyes met, he spoke. “You’re going to stab yourself in the abdomen now, just like we talked about.”

“No!” Damon said, rushing towards you as the blade plunged into your flesh, a scream ripping through your throat. You fell to your knees, blood already seeping from around the blade and covering your hands. Klaus stepped to the side as Damon joined you on the floor. “No, no, no,” he kept repeating, your face going pale.

“Dae,” you whimpered as he pulled the knife out, the blood coming out faster. You fell into his chest, his hands becoming covered with our blood. “You’ll be okay,” you assured him, hand reaching up to cup his cheek, smearing your blood on his perfect face.

“Screw that,” he growled, biting open his wrist before pressing it to your lips. You resisted, not wanting to risk it. But you felt his blood running down your throat. “You’re the one who’s going to be okay.”

You felt him lay you on the ground, lightheaded. You knew what he’d just done, the one thing you told him never to do. But here you were, wounds healing because Damon saved you. And you could hear your ex and your soon to be ex fighting in your house, breaking god knows what. You knew you heard a chair break, and you were stuck staring at the ceiling as your breathing evened out.

“Sorry to tell you,” you heard Damon groan, sounding like he was probably being choked. “Katherine died in 1864.”

“Well then, you’re no longer useful. And since you’re no longer useful, she’s no longer useful,” Klaus replied, Damon groaning again.

“I swear to god if you hurt her, I will kill you,” your friend growled. You heard bones break, and nothing else from Damon. The next thing you knew, Klaus was looking over you.

“I could kill you. Or…” The world went black.

-----

The first thing you noticed when consciousness started to come back was the pain in your neck. It was a deep ache, like when you broke your arm. The next thing you realized was that you weren’t on the ground like you remembered. You were in a soft bed, no longer in the dress, but in pajamas. The last thing you noticed was the deep hunger inside of you, one that you didn’t want. It was the one thing you didn’t want.

When you opened your eyes, it wasn’t your house. It was Damon’s guest room - the one you’d only seen once before. The night before in the back of your mind, slowly coming through. You’d stabbed yourself because Klaus had compelled you. Klaus, your boyfriend. Klaus, the vampire. How did you fall for another vampire? How did he trick you into falling for him? Or maybe it was just you. Maybe that’s just the girl you were, the one who fell for the undead.

“You’re awake,” Damon said softly. When you opened your eyes, he was sitting on the side of the bed, looking at you. When you saw him, it was like a fire inside of you started all over again, one that had never left. It felt like it was going to consume you. Overwhelmingly so. “How are you feeling?”

Then the world came crashing back down. You were supposed to be dead. And you weren’t. You’d died. And then Damon had saved you. And then Klaus had killed you again. Which meant…

“Is that a trick question, Damon?” you asked, sitting up. “What happens now?”

“There’s two options. You either drink blood and finish your transformation. Or you don’t and you die for good.” You nodded, not sure what you wanted. You were angry and upset. You weren’t supposed to be alive. Damon did the one thing you were the most adamant about. “What’s going through your head?”

“A lot. Damon, a lot.” You stood up, stretching out your neck. “There’s a lot of conflict in my head. I’m angry, and upset, and those are the first things in my head because if I focus on anything else, I feel like I’m going to...I don’t know.”

“Being a vampire makes everything heightened. All those feelings, all those emotions are on overdrive. Especially if you haven’t completed your transformation.” That made you snap. All of that anger bubbling inside of you.

“I wouldn’t be dealing with these emotions if you hadn’t saved me, Damon! This isn’t what I wanted and you knew that!” Tears filled your eyes, hand raking through your hair.

“Yes, Y/N, I know,” he said softly, looking at you with those eyes. “But Klaus couldn’t win.”

“No, don’t bring Klaus into this, Damon! This is about you! This is about you being too selfish to just let me have what I wanted!” With each word, you stepped closer to him until you were nearly nose to nose. “I didn’t want this, Damon!”

“I know you didn’t.” His hand reached out to push your hair out of your face. “And I swear, I didn’t mean for this to happen. But had I waited, you would have died. Because of him, because of me. I tried...I tried to keep you safe.”

“Why, Damon? Why not just let me die like I wanted?” you asked.

“Because I still love you.” You didn’t know how to react, especially as his lips were on yours. It was as if every spot he touched was sparking with electricity, like you were a candle that he was trying to light with every touch. You couldn’t help but whine as he pulled away. “And you need to make a decision, Y/N. Because you don’t have a lot of time.”

“I don’t know, Damon.” You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping his shirt.

“You know I want you to do it, want to keep you around forever.” The back of his hand caressed your cheek. Again, you couldn’t tear your eyes off his, but this was different. It was like you would do anything to make him happy.

“I want to do it,” you nodded. He nodded with you before the two of you walking down to the basement to get a blood bag for you.

“Are you sure?” he asked again as he opened the bag. You could feel the pain in your gums, causing you to groan in pain as your hand came up to your mouth, feeling the fangs protruding.

“I’m sure.” You grabbed the bag out of his hands, quickly sucking it empty, blood on the corners of your mouth. You smiled, dropping the bag in the trash. “That was good.”

“Good. In time, I can teach you how to feed, how to control the urges,” he assured you. “But we need to get you a daylight ring, which might take some time to find a witch to do it who knows how to do it.”

“What ever are we going to do until then?” You smirked, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt. “You don’t have to worry about breaking me,” you then reminded him before crashing your lips against his, backing him up against the wall.

You couldn’t help it, Damon was just so irresistible. And it felt so right. Before you knew it, he’d lifted you up, your legs on his waist as he carried you upstairs -- all the way upstairs to his bedroom. Your hands were in his hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp as his tongue invaded your mouth. This time, your back was pressed up against the wall, giving the two of you the leverage needed to grind your hips together. You could feel his erection against you.

“Damon,” you moaned softly as his lips were against your neck, your jaw, your shoulder. His teeth grazed along your skin, marking you with hickies along the way. “Need you.”

He pulled back to look at you with a smile before throwing you on the bed. You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him before he leaned down, lips against yours again. It was as if you had been stranded in a desert and he was the first drink you’d found. You needed him, craved him. There was no hesitation as you tore open his shirt, the buttons scattering on the floor. Your hands slid down his chest, down to the waist of his jeans.

His hands, though, were not so tame compared to yours. You could feel one hand slide up your shirt, the other slipping down into your pajama pants. Your nails scratched down his chest, not realizing you drew blood until you felt the stickiness on your hands, but he didn’t stop.

“Oh, god,” you moaned, skilled hands playing you like his own personal instrument.

“I want you to live a long and happy life, Y/N,” he told you. “And you can’t do that with me.” Tears burned your eyes, knowing what he was doing.

“Damon, don’t. Please, Damon,” you begged, but he just gave you a sad smile.

“I have to go home, Damon. Lunch on Wednesday?” He just nodded as you walked out of the door.

“Oh. My. God,” you said again, this time, shoving him off you with anger as your breaths came faster, hands clutching your head.

“What?” he asked, confused, as if he didn’t know. As if he didn’t have a clue as to what he’d done.

“What?” you repeated back. “What! Oh my, God, Damon!”

You got up, pacing the room, not sure what to say. Damon just looked at you as if you had a second head. You couldn’t believe what he’d done, what he’d made you forget. You couldn’t believe what he’d made you forget, the feelings, the memories, the love. You couldn’t understand.

“Talk to me,” he told you, using your own words against you. Which pissed you off even more.

“Oh, you’re one to talk, Damon,” you growled. “I tried talking to you that night! I tried getting you to talk to me so we could work through it! I…” You violently shook your head, trying to wrap your head around it. “I trusted you, Damon! But I remember! I begged you not to. I. God Damon, you’re so selfish! As if I wouldn’t remember!”

“Y/N, I can explain.” That got a vase thrown at his head, which he quickly ducked.

“Damon, you don’t understand do you? How can you not fucking understand! If you hadn’t compelled a break-up! If you hadn’t compelled me to start moving on! I wouldn’t have met Klaus, Damon! I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t be this!” The anger quickly turned to grief, tears starting to drip down your face.

All of the anger. All the frustration. All the hurt. It all shifted. Instead, it was grief and sadness as you dropped to your knees. You remembered the day you showed up at Damon’s house after confronting Mason. You’d felt so alone. And it was even worse now. You’d had one person in the world that was family. You had one person who you trusted more than anything. And now you had nothing. Sobs wracked through your body, tearing at the back of your throat. Your chest hurt. And he didn’t move to touch you. He didn't do anything besides stand there. He wasn’t saying any comforting words, he wasn’t pulling you in. Which made you feel even more alone.

You wanted it to stop. You wanted it all to stop. And then you remembered what he’d told you once. We have the option to turn off our humanity. It stops us from being able to feel whatever we’re feeling. Usually it’s pain and grief that pushes us to that point. The sobs died down as you looked up at him.

“Y/N,” he said, realizing what was going on. “Don’t do this.” He dropped to his knees in front of you, taking your face in his hands as he looked at you. “Please don’t do this.”

“I said the same thing once,” you sniffled. “And you didn’t listen.” Your facial expression evened out as you flipped the switch. “So why would I?”

-----

It had been three days since you’d flipped your switch, packing a bag at your place. It wasn’t home. It hadn’t been home since your parents died. You couldn’t understand why you thought you could make it work, really. There was nothing left for you in Mystic Falls.

“Where are you going?” Damon asked you from the doorway of your bedroom.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, Damon. You’re not in my life anymore. Remember?” you reminded him.

“I’m not giving up on you that easily, Y/N.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of that statement.

“Oh, you gave up on me months ago, Damon. So I suggest you leave. Now.” Your meticulous packing turned into throwing clothes into a bag. The longer Damon was there, the more annoyed you were. That was the only thing you felt now, annoyance. And hunger.

“If I had given up on you, I would have made you completely forget me,” he corrected with that smug smirk.

“Either way, Damon. I’m done. I. Am. Done,” you growled, finishing packing your bag. You’d compel some movers to get the rest of your stuff later. You heard him walk up behind you, quickly turning around to face him. All you saw was a future you had wanted. You would have been more than willing to spend eternity with him, especially once you’d turned. And he had royally fucked it up. He had ruined you, to the point that your only option to try and function was to turn off whatever you felt for him.

“Y/N.” You just shook your head. “I don’t care. I don’t care that you hate me. Because this. You and I are not a lost cause. I will follow you to the ends of the Earth, to the end of time until you turn your humanity back on. Until the balance in the universe is restored.”

-----

Damon wasn’t lying. He followed you everywhere. Occasionally, you’d get away for a couple of years, but soon he found you. You got tired of running, though. It seemed like you were always running from his judgemental eyes.

You’d found yourself at a club in downtown Chicago. It had been fifteen years of avoiding Damon like your life depended on it. It was fifteen years of starting over, of learning on your own because you would refuse his help every time he started lurking. You had just wanted away from him, but this...He definitely wasn’t lying.

This club, though, was different. This one was run by a witch. She had it enchanted, or something. It was a safe haven for the supernatural, a place where you could just relax and enjoy your time. The vibrations of the music through the speakers flowed through you, making you feel alive. And whatever Y/BF/N put in your drink made you feel even more alive. You just closed your eyes and danced, without a care in the world.

There was so much you had learned without Damon. And there was so much you still had to learn that you hadn’t even heard about. Even with your emotions off, even with your best witch friend more or less drugging you, Damon was in your head.

You could feel somebody’s hands roaming your sides, very familiar hands. He pressed against your back, feeling his face in the crook of your neck, lips on your skin. It felt good, but even that didn’t erase the fact that it was Damon.

“What are you doing here?” you asked softly, hand coming up to encourage his ministrations on your neck.

“Mmm,” he hummed, feeling the smile on your neck. “I missed you.”

“You just saw me, at that diner a few months ago in Denver,” you reminded him, eyes fluttering shut as he licked a stripe up your neck to your ear before nipping at your ear. Your other hand ran down his side, hooking your finger in his belt loop. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this, didn’t miss him.

“I meant being this close to you,” he corrected. “Do you trust me?”

“Is that a trick question?” you countered before pressing against him even more. His hands moved from your side to your stomach, one sliding up your shirt.

The next thing you knew, his teeth were in your neck, your breath catching in the back of your throat before moaning. Your eyes slipped close, that feeling of every fiber of your being being on fire coming back. It was dulled, but it was there.

“Damon, we can’t do this,” you reminded him right before he spun you around to face him, your palm resting on his chest as you looked up at him. He was still the same, cocky Damon you remembered.

“Yes, we can, Y/N. We can do anything, everything we want to. Just… turn it back on. Please.”

“Not here,” you replied, taking a step back and taking his hand. You knew he would follow you blindly anywhere. It had been fifteen years and you were ready to stop running. It was a lonely existence, even if you didn’t fully realize it.

You took him back to your hotel room, not saying anything on the walk or on the elevator ride up. Had you compelled the penthouse suite? Definitely. You were used to the best, because of Damon.

“Why should I turn it back on?” you asked softly, staring out the window. You could see his reflection behind you, not touching you, but being close enough to feel his breath on your neck.

“You’ve been running for fifteen years,” he reminded you, as if you didn’t already know that. “Don’t you want more out of your life? Aren’t you tired of it just being an existence? I know what it’s like to have it off for so long. It’s not going to be pretty, Y/N. But I will be there every step of the way.”

“Again, why Damon? Give me one good reason. One. Just one,” you said again, almost pleading with him. You couldn’t look at him, not directly. Instead, you looked at his reflection mixed with the sea of the city.

“Because I still love you,” he finally said. “I couldn’t stop trying to save you. Because you are worth saving. Because I couldn’t go a single day knowing that I was the reason…” His chin rested on your shoulder as he finally looped an arm around your waist. “I couldn’t let you go. I…” You’d never seen Damon Salvatore at a loss for words. His cockiness and arrogance had all but faded. This was who he really was. A man so desperately in love that he would give up everything for you.

“I want you to say it, Damon.” Your voice on the other hand was unwavering.

“I’ve spent the past fifteen years regretting that night.” He sighed. “It was one of my weakest moments. I thought I was keeping you safe. I thought...I am sorry. I am sorry. Because of me, you are a vampire. I am reckless. And I am selfish. Except when it comes to you.”

“But that’s not true,” you corrected, not moving. “You are selfish even when it comes to me. Compelling me to forget was selfish because it kept me in your life. Saving me when Klaus made me stab myself? Selfish because it kept me in your life. Suggesting I complete the transition? Selfish. Following me for the past fifteen years? Do you see where I’m going with this?” He nodded, eyes closing as he took a deep breath.

“What are you thinking?” he asked as your hand rested on his. You were debating if you should push him away or pull him closer.

“You are the most selfish person I know, Damon Salvatore.” You pulled away, only to look at him. He looked like the same man as that you’d met fifteen years ago at the Founders Counsel. He was the same man that wormed his way into your heart all those years ago, but there was something different about him. “And I am not the same person I was.”

“You don’t think I know that? I’ve seen you grow into an amazing person over the past fifteen years. You’ve evolved, you’ve changed. You’re more confident.”

“Damon,” you said softly, hand reaching up to cup his cheek as it all came crashing down. Everything you’ve done over the past fifteen years. Everything you’ve tried not to feel. “When…” You choked out a sob as he pulled you to his chest. You clutched him close, like a child’s security blanket.

“It’s going to be okay,” he assured you. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” His fingers combed through your hair.

The next morning you woke up to an empty bed. It took you a minute before it all came crashing back down. You weren’t expecting to feel so...alone again. It was the reason you’d shut it all off in the first place. Until Damon walked through the door with breakfast in his hands.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he said when he saw you were awake. “I would have ordered room service, but I wanted to feel nostalgic.” You understood what he meant, feeling like it was fifteen years ago all over again with Damon bringing you lunch and wine every Wednesday. If only it was a Wednesday.

“I have to tell you something, Damon,” you said before he even had a chance to sit down. He just sighed.

“Can we just have breakfast first, and then we can continue our tour of humanity and feelings?” He pulled out two fresh blood bags, tossing you one. It wasn’t as glamorous as old times, but you figured you guys would probably have plenty of time.

“I turned it off, Damon,” you reminded him as you began drinking. He just nodded, able to sense the sarcasm on his face. “Do you remember after Mason almost killed you, when you found me crying in my car?”

“Yeah. What about it?” He kicked off his shoes before sitting cross-legged next to you on the bed.

“I told you Mystic Falls didn’t feel like home,” you continued, Damon nodding along. “You were the first thing that felt real in a long time. When I was with you...I didn’t feel alone anymore. You’ve had Stefan your entire life. I lost everyone years before I met you. Mason was one of my closest friends when I was in school, so when he tried to kill you it was like I had finally lost everyone I cared about. Except for you.” He had a pained look on his face, as if he knew where this was going.

“And when I found out what you did.”

“That loneliness was magnified,” he finished for you, dropping his head before looking at you with those sad Damon eyes.

“I loved you, Damon. With everything in my being. I would have walked to the ends of the Earth with you. And I felt like I had lost you that night, lost this idea that I had of you in my head.” You could tell saying you loved him in the past tense hurt him.

“I’ve told you, I’m not the good guy,” he reminded you. You nodded, knowing that was true.

“I didn’t want to feel lonely or hurt or angry anymore, so I decided not to. And then you spent fifteen years following me. I was just waiting for you to decide I wasn’t worth saving anymore. Maybe it would be one person too many. But you never gave up.”

“I couldn’t give up. I blamed myself every day. So I couldn’t give up until I knew that you were happy. Not numb, but actually happy. Even if it wasn’t with me.”

“I was the happiest when I was with you. You made me feel like I belonged somewhere again.”

“Until I didn’t,” he corrected, taking your empty blood bag, tossing it in the garbage can. “I can’t take back what I did, though I’ve wished every day that I could. I can only try and show you everyday how much I love you.”

“Then show me, Damon,” you told him in a hushed voice. “Show me what I’ve been missing for the past fifteen years. Remind me what I’ve been missing.”

Your eyes fluttered closed as you felt his hand on your cheek, his lips on yours as he laid you back on the bed. There were plenty of times you and Damon were rough and passionate. This was different. You remembered the lazy mornings, the noon quickies, the passionate late nights. But there were a handful of times that it was like coming home. That it felt as easy as breathing. Like it was the rightest thing in the world.

You remembered when you kissed him right after your transition. When it felt like electricity running through your skin, like every touch was going to set you on fire. It was something you had dreamt about, something you had only in your memories.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, his thumb brushing the tears off your cheeks. You hadn’t realized you’d started crying again. Fifteen years of pent up feelings would do that to a girl.

“I missed this. Missed you,” you told him as your hand rested on the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the hairs on the back of his neck. “Do you feel it when we touch? The fire, the electricity?” He nodded, capturing your lips again.

You’d spent so many years alone after your parents died, sure that you’d never find home again. For fifteen years, you’d run away from the idea of home. You’d never thought home would be in a person, would be in Damon.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you reminded him, your hands sliding up his shirt as his hands slid down to your waist. You were still just in your tank-top and underwear, and here he was completely dressed. He only pulled away to let you pull his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor.

“God, I missed you,” he told you, staring into your y/e/c eyes.

You didn’t move, not wanting to miss a second of this. Sure, you two now had forever, but this moment was the best moment of your existence. Your hands slid down his chest, feeling the smooth expanse of skin. Though your exploration was cut short as he peppered kissing along your jaw, your eyes closing and head falling back on the pillows.

You just let yourself feel. Feel him. Feel the emotions that came with being so close to him. You couldn’t deny that the bad feelings were just there under the surface, but you tried to just focus on him. Which worked, your hands holding onto his biceps.

His lips continued down your neck, one hand holding onto your waist as the other came up to gently push away the strap of your tank-top, giving him access to your shoulder. Your breaths came a little faster out of anticipation. He was everything you’d ever wanted.

He pulled you up a little bit to slide your shirt off. You thought you’d feel more self conscious after all this time, but the only you felt was desire as you undid his belt buckle before sliding your hands down the waistband of his pants and boxers.

“Dae,” you sighed as his lips found your breast. He knew exactly how to make you want more, peppering kisses before toying with your nipple with a mix of teeth and tongue.

He didn’t stay long, continuing to work his way down to your stomach, sucking hickies along your hip bone that you both know would heal within minutes. It didn’t matter though. You were with Damon, close to him again. This reminded you of when you were the happiest.

It came as no surprise when he pushed your underwear down your legs, letting you kick them the rest of the way off as he stood to drop his pants and boxers. You propped yourself up on your elbows, taking in the glory that was Damon Salvatore.

“Come here,” you told him, taking your bottom lip between your teeth in anticipation.

You saw him look at you, much like you were looking at him, licking his lips. You just couldn’t tear your eyes off his as he joined you on the bed again, kissing him like your life depended on it. One of your legs hooked around his waist, not wanting to waste any more time.

The feeling of him sliding into you was more intense than you’d ever remembered, thinking it was probably because of your heightened senses. You hissed at first, burying your face in the crook of his neck, teeth biting into his skin. Until he started moving, moans falling from your lips, mingling with Damon’s.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as you kissed anywhere you could reach -- his lips, neck, arms. You hadn’t been this happy in fifteen years. You hadn’t wanted someone as much as you wanted him in fifteen years. There were no words between the two of you, just the sounds of two people being together in the rawest form possible. You felt it build up and build up until it all came out, Damon following you.

“I love you, Damon,” you finally told him, his face softening. You looked into his eyes and you saw endless possibilities. You saw a future you could have only dreamed of having as a human. You had eternity with him. For the first time since you were a teenager, you’d found home.

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