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alkhale · 4 years ago

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change the channel (Ko-Fi Request) Kenma Kozume/Camgirl!Omega!Reader

hello! Id love a kenma x reader fic (maybe a/b/o) ?? Also, thank you so so much for writing so many amazing fanfics :) every time I read a new chapter from any of your stories, it makes my day <3

OFC COURSE YOU CAN!!!! And thank you so much for your support and for your donation! AND THANK YOU!! I know this one is long overdue, but I hope you enjoy!

I’m also killing two birds with this one, it’s substituting for Typetober Day 16: back and forth (using change the channel instead)

title: change the channel

pairing: Kenma Kozume/Omega!Reader

rating: T/very slight M

summary:

Kenma taps his phone again, right back at your picture. He stares at you with wide, piercing eyes, leaning across the table and quickly saying, reverent and eager—

“I want to buy your game from you.”

Today, sitting here beside you in your bag, are fully equipped items to try and protect you from the creepy, deranged, rich stranger you’d been about to meet. Today, you were fully expecting to unleash a fury building up inside of you over an injustice you can’t tackle on your own in your society on some poor, unsuspecting alpha—

Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game?

“You want…” you say, slowly, making sure you don’t have this wrong, “...my game?”

He nods.

You open your mouth. It closes. You open it again, raise a finger, and then press your lips together, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

link to AO3 for easier reading: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446191

Omegachion has signed on!

The monitor screen flickers to life.

An empty room appears. A plush, pink cushioned desk chair is in view. Along the cream, soft colored walls are a series of posters that usual garner less attention. A bookshelf is tucked to the side, complete with a set of potted plants hanging in clean pots—clearly loved. Within the stack of books sits shelves stuffed full with what looks to be discs and an assortment of other items.

The website's main frame appears—SecondGlanceStreaming.com. The design is sleek and black—clean and unassuming. A password is prompted, followed by a series of typed keys and then a click.

On the side of the screen a chatroom appears, coupled with a monitored security system in place established by the website. A cherry icon pops to life. Once the chatroom opens, the entire website flickers with light.

Omegalovers has signed on.

Rockyroadncream has signed on.

Omegasarekings has signed on.

Cumqueen324 has signed on.

Mrknottt has signed on.

Msbyjackalboi23 has signed on.

Openwideandsmile has signed on.

Sunnydayandnight has signed on.

Marshmellowtime has signed on.

Thecoolestalpha has signed on.

Bettagetbeta has signed on.

KingKodzuken has signed on.

Kodzu00 has signed on.

The chatrooms explodes with messages. A series of greetings are quickly issued by long-time fans and watchers of the streams, asking how your day was and how you’re feeling. A few more perverse, slimy messages are mixed in-between, demanding for the crude and obscene. A few others snipe back, telling the users to get their hands out of their pants while a series of other users greet each other instead, talking about the excitement over tonight's stream.

You hang back a bit, one arm crossed under your chest, puffed up with the fleecy soft fabric of your jacket while the other hand holds a jelly drink, sipping it in silence. You watch the chatroom explode, quickly gaining more and more users as others signed on to your stream. You check the time on your phone, sighing before you finish off your drink and toss it into the trash can.

You place the fuzzy bunny mask over your eyes, checking how you look in the mirror. You swipe your mouth with your thumb, applying your lip gloss and then smiling cutely at your reflection.

“Alright,” you say. “The goal tonight is 7,000 cherries… you got this!”

You clap your hands over your face and beam. Showtime.

You slide into the monitor’s view, the webcam flickering to life. The chat comes back with more force, messages spamming into the box and a series of cherries already floating into the screen. You beam, laughing as you wave to your viewers and blow them all kisses. “Hello! Hello everyone! I love to see so many of you are so punctual… Needy omegas like me… we love reliable people, you know?”

You hold back a snicker as the chat increases with your words. People shooting messages back at you as you let out a cute giggle. Tonight’s outfit is nothing but a cotton candy pink fleece zip-up that falls to the top of your thighs, also exposing your bare, smooth collarbones. It’s a special occasion, so you’re going the extra mile.

“How are we all doing tonight?” you ask sweetly, holding your chin up with your hands as you watch the chatroom, skimming over the responses. “Aw, Bettagetbeta, I’m sorry to hear that! I hope things get better for you… do you need a hug?”

Cherry icons pop up over your screen. 50. 30. 10. You smile, opening your arms to the camera. “There! I’ll make all your problems go away, okay?”

You bat your eyes under the mask, showing them your bare wrists and giving them a little rub with your thumbs. “You can scent me if you’d like… would that make you feel better?”

Bettagetbeta has gifted you 30 cherries!

Bigboialpha has gifted you 350 cherries!

“Bigboialpha!” you squeak, covering your mouth with your hands. “That’s too sweet of you! Did you want to scent me that badly?”

Your chatroom shakes from the force of scrambled messages. You smile, shyly running a finger up and down the slightly swollen scent glands of your wrist. You’ve timed this just right—and just as you thought, your viewers notice too, instantly spamming the boxes with more fervent messages, begging to scent you, begging to be with you, wrap you up in their smells—

(God, you make me want to vomit.)

“If you’re extra good,” you say sweetly, “you could… maybe even…”

You tease show off more of your bare shoulder, showing a pink bra strap. You slightly expose the side of your neck, bringing your fingers up dangerously close to your most sensitive scent glands. Cherry icons flash across the screen and you hold back an excited grin, feet tapping anxiously underneath your desk.

There’s a new flurry of disgusting messages, of big, handsome alphas promising to do all kinds of things to you if you’d let them. You roll your eyes under your mask, holding back curling your lip in disgust as they prattle on about how they’d take care of you, make you feel so, so good and—

“All right, all right, that’s enough teasing, right?” you say. “Everyone, thank you so much for signing on again tonight! If you’re new to my streams, welcome! We’re so happy to have you. I’m lucky to have you. It’s a special night tonight, you know why?”

Gonna come for us on screen?

Face reveal! Face reveal!

Omegachion i would do anything for u

Pls let me touch u

Take off ur jacket

Stfu and let her talk u horn dogs

Fking disgusting dont ruin the stream

Open ur legs, baby girl

“Because!” you say, throwing your arms into the air. You spin once in your chair, showing off the room and stopping right in front of the screen again. “I just got it in the mail today…”

You bring up the sleek red box that’d been waiting to the side of your desk. You beam, showing it off to your viewers. “Tadah! Do you know what this is? It’s a gift from our generous website hosts—a gift for reaching the Gold Status on streaming! Everyone, thank you so much! I couldn’t have done this without you!”

The chatroom pops with congratulations. There’s some demanding comments, ordering for a consolation prize. You skim through them all, smiling a bit at the paragraphs of kind words and thanks. They’re the viewers you wish you could treat with a little more care, give them something a little more for all they do.

“Want to see what the gift was?” you ask. You pop open the lid and show off the gift—a dark red, leather collar coupled with a golden dog tag. It’s a stylish thing, slim fitted and clearly of great quality, there’s a thickened edge to the leather, coupled with a lock and key.

It’s an omega collar.

You smile through your teeth. The stench of the perfume from the box makes you want to wretch, but you hold it for the camera as your viewers beg you to put it on. “Oh, I don’t know… should I?”

You play with it, showing it off to them against the column of your neck. They’re feverish and desperate.

“I don’t deserve something this nice,” you say, shaking your head.

Tease

Don’t cover up that beautiful neck

Dont blueball us

I only want to see u in my collar

“That’s right,” you say innocently. “I don’t want to cover up what belongs to you guys…” you show off your neck to them again, touching with your fingertips your own bonding gland, unmarked and bare. The chatroom is almost unrecognizable, going off into a feeding frenzy.

You turn back to the screen, smiling.

(You’re like babies.)

You drop the box out of view of the camera into your trashcan, kicking it under the table with more force than necessary. You ought to burn the fucking thing but leather probably doesn’t burn well.

I can’t believe I’m already at 4,000 cherries. You feel excitement replace the disgust, toes curling against your hardwood floor. You got this, amp it up a little bit.

“Since I couldn’t have made it this far without all of you,” you say, touching a hand to your chest and playing with your zipper. “I wanted to do something special—not just this stream! But a nice little event, how does that sound?”

You click your mouse, opening up a new box and icon for your viewers. “Can everyone see the royalty program alright? Yeah? Perfect! If you look, you’ll see the cute little banner we had set up and everything.”

You hold up your phone, smiling beside it. “For these set prices, I’ll be doing a series of special events, just for all of you guys for all the support you’ve given me!”

You point.

“50 cherries and you get a sweet text with a picture from me,” you say. “Each picture will be different, and none of them alike! Keep it between us though, okay? Hehe, I mean it! For 100 cherries, I’ll do a one minute call and for 300 cherries, a three minute call, just with you! For 500, we’ll do a private web-chat session and finally, the big one…”

You smile, “For 1,500 cherries, I’ll be doing a special, in-person meet and greet! How does that sound?”

The reactions are instantaneous.

Cherries already start popping up all over your screen, users filling out the roles and eagerly thanking you for everything while others spit at the prices. You ignore those comments, secretly marking certain users to be blocked. You know the last one is outrageous, how could it not be? Did they think you’d want to meet with any of them? You’d discussed this with several other streamers and they’d all done similar things—this deterred creeps and kept you safe. Usually no one ended up doing the meet and greet. It was too expensive.

It was foolproof.

I can’t wait to hear your voice

Will it be nudes

I want nudes

Thank you so much for doing this!

“I should be the one thanking you guys!” you squeal. Your eyes dart to the corner of your screen, watching the cherries roll in. Your heartbeat accelerates and you do the quick math in your head. “Oh my goodness! Sitwhereveryoulike, thank you so much for the Cherries! And you too, theprettiestalpha! Thank you!”

As it should be. You grin at the screen, prattling on with sweet words and thanks. You teasingly unzip a little more of your jacket, greedily watching the cherries pop-up all over the screen, trying to make conversation where you can and—

A single chat bubble pops up in the corner. You almost miss the question, but you’re almost certain your eyes don’t betray you. If you hadn’t seen the title so many times, you would’ve blown right past it.

(But you’re a true fan, down to your core, you could never miss a mention of—)

Is your username based on Water Emblem?

“Hello, Kodzu00!” you say quickly, trying to stifle your surprise. “Yes, it is! You must be new to the streams.”

You gesture behind you, smiling shyly at the poster of Varth on the back of your wall. “I’m actually a bit of a fan! I know the series is old and everyone’s excited for the new reboots, but I grew up with the old one.”

Ah, stop right there, don’t keep talking about it. You’re going to lose viewers! Your fingers fly back to your zipper, teasingly dragging it down another inch. You could talk about Water Emblem for hours, but you can’t—this is a stream after all. “Bigboialpha! I guess we’ll be having that private webchat after all… mhm! I’m looking forward to it—huh? What I’ll be wearing? Well…”

You cutely run your fingers up and down the column of your neck, bringing their attention back to your scent glands. “Would you… pick for me?”

You almost gag at the comment suggestions. You watch more cherries roll in—shit, another 500? I might make my goal after all! No, you would make your goal. You have to. The sooner you rake in the dough from these streams, the sooner you could—

For the meet and greet, would it be in person?

You blink, startled by the question. You quickly glance back to the username. Kudzu00 again? “Uh, yes! Yes, it would be~ I’d pick a nice location for us and we’d meet. Wouldn’t that be nice everyone?”

For how long?

Who even is this lol

Damn big bucks

Show us the tits already

Pls sit on my face

Your outfit is so cute today!

You swallow nervously. Calm down. What are you even freaking out for? No one in their right mind was ever going to drop that much money to meet with some stranger from the internet—no one.

“Fifteen minutes,” you say cheerfully, keeping one eye on the chat. Have I seen this user before? “There’s a lot we could do—ah, I mean talk about in fifteen minutes, right?”

Kodzu00 is typing…

The chat bubble disappears. You eye it for a few more seconds before shrugging your shoulders. Shake it off. You needed to keep this celebration stream going. You slyly bring your bare knees up and watch the chat go a little more wild, quick questions being shot about whether or not you’re wearing anything under that jacket. You keep the conversations going, sweetly asking the users about what they’d like to do, what kind of pictures and if—

A bright icon flashes on your screen. You glance over.

Kodzu00 has gifted you 3,000 cherries!

You freeze.

On your monitor the chat continues to fire off. A few people notice the notification. You blink, once, twice, before taking a second glance at the numbers.

3,000.

3,000 cherries?

3,000….

The calculation is quick in your head. You’re terribly good with money, sadly. The final statement minus the small deduction for processing appears in your mind’s eye and you balk.

HOLY FUCK.

Lol i think u broke her

God damn

Congratulations, Omegachion!

“K-K-Kodzu00!” you say, head spinning. “Thank you so much! Oh—oh my goodness! Thank you so much for your donation!” What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck— “I can’t believe you’d be so generous! Thank you so much! I’m so excited to meet you! Our first meet and greet!”

WHAT THE FUCK?

You quickly try to hold your composure, continuing with the stream. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Finish the show! You laugh, trying not to look at the history of the notification and focusing on your show instead. You thank every piece of good sense inside you for using a mask, hiding the sweat rolling down your face as you teasingly stand up for your audience, bending down a bit.

“Now, how about we end the night with a little… cuddle, hmm?” you say shakily, unzipping your jacket the rest of the way to show off the lacy, soft pink color of your bra. The chat bubbles pop up by the dozens, but you never see even a lick of Kodzu00 again. What the hell? “C’mon, you know how badly I wish you were here to scent me… wrap me up in that smell of yours…”

(Give them what they all want.)

What feels like hours finally passes in a span of minutes and you quickly say goodbye to your watchers, blowing them a kiss and zipping your jacket backup as you finally sign off. You sit there, staring at the screen of your loading page, dumbfounded.

Limply, your finger finds its way to your mouse. You give it a click.

The final total for your earnings tonight appears in a tacky, almost shady colored box. You stare at it in silence.

9,750 Cherries.

Nine…. Nine thousand…

Almost 1,000,000 yen?

“Yes!” you screech, grabbing your head with your hands as you fly up from your chair. You kick the stupid, plush pink thing aside. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

This is insane! You almost want to cry in disbelief. This is—this is it! This is what I needed! I’m so close! I’m so close! You know the other streams won’t rake in nearly as much, but this is the final push you needed—if you kept up this kind of participation for another few months, your fees would be nothing! You’d be able to even afford a little extra and get something nice, replace your bathtub and treat yourself to an expensive dinner and all thanks to this stupid job and—

The grand, generous donation of Kodzu00—

You freeze. Your pure, unrestrained elation plummets. Reality clocks you sideways in the face and you slap yourself for being so dumb—how could I even forget? Your eyes dart back to the screen and you pull up the donation history, staring in dark silence at the simple, blaring donation of cherries, already transferred to your account and not even pending and—

Your joy is quickly replaced with something much more dire. You gape at the amount. The award title beside it appears. You stare.

And stare.

A thirty minute meet and greet.

You’d be meeting in person with this person for at least half and hour and—

What the hell?

You power off your screens, flying to your room and kicking the streaming room door shut behind you. You lunge for your bed, scrambling for your laptop, covered in Water Emblem stickers. You pop it open, quickly pulling up your admin account for the streaming sight and accessing your private passwords. You pull up the user history for all your past streams, typing in the username Kodzu00—

Nothing?

You stare at the blank history. The only entry is tonight’s stream. The very first time this user has ever showed up.

Alarm bells start ringing in your head. You pull up your emergency tab, a self-made list of all your red-flag boxes to check in cases like this for your safety. You click on Kodzu00’s account, searching through their profile.

MADE THIS MORNING? You gape in disbelief, staring at the entirely blank profile. It’s even void of an icon for a profile pic. The account was literally made today, just for this stream, and this god damn stranger just gifted you basically 300,000 yen—

This is insane! All your alarm bells nearly fall off their stands. You search for any kind of information, scrambling and double-checking your banned users lists for any potential matches. Was it some creep trying to meet you from before? A stalker? Were they under a different name and made the separate account just to do this to you so they wouldn’t get caught? What’s their deal?

(What’s your selling point for this whole thing?)

You pause, fingers halting over your keyboard.

You’ve had rich donations before. Users with too much time and money on their hands—users you’re gladly willing to take from in the pursuit of a better life for yourself. Your crowd ranges anyway; from nervous, shy little dorks to kind, quiet people looking for company to disgusting, wretched lechers and stupid alphas who like nothing more than little, docile omegas to rub their garbage scent over—

You stare at Kodzu00’s user profile, feeling something bitter and dark and ugly bubble up in the pits of your stomach.

Any person, male or female, who’d be willing to drop that much money to meet with a streamer like you, notorious for what you do, for what you market—can’t be a good person by any means.

They only want one thing.

You grind your teeth, knowing you’ve got no choice but to reap what you sowed. This was the path to quick cash you chose, so you can’t back down now. You’ll just have to do everything in your power to make sure you remain successful.

You close your laptop screen, ripping your stupid mask off your face and tossing it to the side.

You weren’t backing down.

--- (change the channel) ----

You started streaming in high school.

The middle of your last year, to be exact.

It started off simple enough, to be honest. Nothing eventful, nothing worth writing biographies or harrowing documentaries off of. It was another story amidst the thousands in Tokyo’s Metropolitan streets.

By all legal health records and means, you are an omega.

(What does that mean?)

Within Tokyo’s urban and suburban streets, it means a collection of different ideals and social norms. It means nothing to plenty, it means everything to others—to your youthful eyes growing up, it’d just meant you were a little different from some of your other peers, but not isolated, no, never isolated—there were other omegas, after all, despite the smaller population.

You get along with people fine. You make friends fine, have a few crushes, get average enough grades and have a particular fondness for social media—you just live your life on top of having to deal with certain physiological functions others around you may not experience the same.

You think by all means until your last year of high school, that it really does mean nothing. Society is so modern now, people don’t even blink, right? There’s none of those second gender stereotypes or outrageous cult worships—you’re just another person trying to live their life to the fullest.

“A doctor? Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

You smiled at your teacher in the faculty office. See? Normal—

You stopped.

“See, that’s a great dream,” the teacher said, pointing to your paper. He tapped it, scratching his rough stubble. “But it’s not very realistic with your current standing, you know?”

“You mean my grades? I can work extra hard. They’ve been more than above passing, and what really matters is the entrance exams and testing—”

“Not just that,” he said. He pulled up your student file. He gave you a second look, up and down, and he seemed to find pity in your hopefully confused expression. “Listen, (L/n), here’s the thing—a doctor… is a pretty important position, you know? Very important.”

You nodded like you didn’t already know that. Like you hadn’t been spending the last years of your educational life aspiring toward that goal, that dream.

“They need to be physically… available,” your teacher said. “They have to work outrageous shift hours, they have to work hard on top of that, and then they have to take special medication to regulate their pheromones if they need to, and then the schooling on top of all that is hard work.”

You waited for your teacher to explain why any of those things was supposed to get in the way of your one and only dream of saving lives.

“I’ll make this easy for you to understand, kid,” you teacher said. He taps his nametag, pointing to his little alpha symbol.

“Omegas just don’t become doctors.”

Your dainty, prettily crafted world of normalcy and mundane content shattered around you in one violent, screeching halt.

You smiled at your teacher, nails digging painfully into your thighs.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s just not a typical job preference,” your teacher said. “Look, you’re not the only one, I promise. There are a few omega doctors, sure, we need them anyway to make things easier or make sense of stuff alpha based doctors or betas might not understand, but the demand isn’t high and the placement is extremely competitive. Trust me, kid. I know.”

You kind of wanted to spit at your teacher that no, this pot-bellied, alpha gym teacher couldn’t possibly know more than you do about trying to break into the medical industry as an omega. But the thing is—what are the statistics? You hardly see any. Every website you’d researched thus far has always been welcoming, nowhere on their platforms or pamphlets saying anything about omegas being doctors or not and—

You froze.

“Everyone is welcome!” the videos all said. “Everyone is encouraged to try!”

“This is the real truth,” your teacher said. “They’ll all tell you you can do it because they’re not allowed to discriminate or turn anyone away. They’ll let you do whatever you want, but when it really comes down to the acceptances or not? You’ll just get turned away and you’ll have wasted all that time for nothing.

“Omegas aren’t considered suitable candidates for doctors,” your teacher said. “That market tends to go to betas, believe it or not. A nice little mediator.”

Your teacher tossed your career planning forms onto a stack of dozens. You stared at it, smiling continuously with your fingers digging harder into your thighs. He sighed, waving a hand.

“You should shoot for a hospital receptionist,” your teacher said. “It’s the next best thing, right? Or you could teach biology at a school instead. You might even be able to get by as a school nurse—”

“I’m going to apply to medical school.”

Your teacher stopped, looking at you.

You smiled back at him.

(Being an omega was supposed to stop you?)

What a load of shit.

“I don’t really care about anything else,” you said. “I’ve wanted to become a doctor my whole life. If people say I can’t do it because of something they can’t even see, then I’m still going to do it. They can’t stop me.”

Your teacher stared at you for a few minutes. He leaned back in his chair, considering his next words before he finally said—

“You got the money?”

You stopped.

Your family is pitifully lower middle class. Your parents make enough to pay the bills, afford a vacation every now and then, and just get by fair enough without being too stressed—but small issues, like your own medical costs for heat suppressants or a flat tire can easily set your family back several paychecks.

No, you don’t have money for medical school. You’d already known that looking at all the pamphlets. But there were scholarships and stipends and loans—

“If you want to waste your time with this pipe dream, it’s not my job to stop you,” he said, pointing to your career form. “It’s not really ethical either, so don’t come back and file any lawsuits against me. But your medical schools don’t offer many scholarships, and the ones they do aren’t going to go to that one, average ranking omega they’d rather not even have to worry about.”

Your teacher shrugged.

“Go ahead and be a doctor, kid, but you’re going to need money to do it.”

(This is the reality. People are not equal. Being an omega means—)

Means what?

-- ---- (change the channel) ----

You remember laying in your bed that night, scrolling mindlessly through random social media outlets. You’d spent the last several hours searching extensively for any and all scholarships you might even remotely be able to apply for, but none of them seemed willing to help an omega into their waiting hospital wings—your best bet was going to be taking out a loan. Several. That’s on top of cram school costs, textbooks, entrance fees and whether or not I can pass the exam—

No, you would. You had too. You weren’t about to let some stupid, invisible consensus a group of people somewhere or another had decided on stop you.

“Thank you again for the generous donations! You guys are too good to me!”

You’d paused, staring at your bright screen. One of the streamers you followed from time to time—he was an omega, cute and docile and in all honesty, probably the picture perfect cookie cutter definition of one. He always posted great tips on fashion or about cute cafes he enjoyed, and always seemed to be proud of the fact that he was an omega despite how cringingly he played into the stereotypes—

You glanced at his caption, freezing in disbelief.

Designer bags littered his floor. He showed off his pretty watch, batting his lashes at the camera, talking about how the donations from last night’s stream helped him live a good, cushiony life, making him feel like he was being taken care of even without an alpha by his side.

You’d stalked his account almost religiously for the next few weeks, watching his streams, watching the way he… flaunted his nature as an omega. Your parents had always told you you were fine the way you were, but being an omega had never been something to be proud of—you’d just preferred to act like a beta more than anything else. What was the point? To some extent, your teacher was right, there were no benefits to being an omega except—

“Thank you again for all your donations!”

You pulled up your laptop, searching extensively for every little obscure article you could find on the nature of streaming services. You’d never taken social media outlets that seriously, always looked at influencers and vloggers with a grain of salt—you were aspiring to be a full-time heart surgeon after all, but if there was actually something...reasonable behind the way all these people would act, proudly showing off the fact that they were omegas in exchange for something monetary…

(Did people enjoy this?)

Yeah you can make money from it, lol.

You stared at the internet thread, blinking in disbelief.

One user amongst thousands in the thread had responded to your question.

Ppl always keep saying that omegas are this and that. Society likes to paint a pretty picture of what we call equality. Ads and those videos u watch in school and stuff, they all tell u you can be whatever u want to be if u try, but that’s not rlly the truth. The only thing they were honest about was that you’d have to work hard for what you want in life.

You scrolled down.

You have to do the research on ur own and find respectable sites. I can give u recommendations, but u have to kind of get yourself prepared for what you’re signing up for too. Everyone likes to go on television and talk about how all three genders are the same, but we’re not. It’s not even just whether ur female or male anymore, everyone always finds something to pick at, don’t they?

U might get hate for it but whatever, those people who sit on a nicer chair than you and don’t pay your bills don’t get to criticize you for what you want to do and how u do it.

They always tell us we can’t do things because we’re omegas. That we have to be a certain way because we’re omegas and we’re only good for one thing.

So just give them what they want.

And suck them dry.

You remember clearly, that night, pulling up the user’s account and shooting them the message that would change your life.

What sites do you recommend for beginners?

Youcanruletheworld is typing…

----- (change the channel) -----

You triple check all your items, rearranging them on your bed in front of you.

Your outfit is cute, matching your streamer personality but remaining modest enough to keep you protected from unwanted attention. You’ll be wearing a face mask on top of it, just for the extra mile too. You’d already reached out to this Kodzu00 and sent them the notification for where to meet and when, and what you’d look like so they’d be able to find you. Wisely, as always, you picked a neutral location—an extremely popular cafe two hours away from your house just to be safe.

Safety alarm—check. Pepper spray, check. Pheromone repellent, check. Emergency contact button, check. Location synced devices and emergency heat suppressant pills on top of—

You stare at the last item. It comes special with the standard emergency omega safety kit—you almost spit at the name—it’s a quick, easy attachable lock-on collar to protect your bonding glands in the case of an unruly and disgusting attack.

You want to call it ridiculous.

(Behind your eyes you see the comments scrolling over the glowing screen. You see the leering words and the lecherous promises and the disgusting sentences that rattle your brain and make you stand a minute longer in the shower, fingernails digging into your skin—)

You don’t say anything, zipping the bag closed and taking all your items with you.

---- (change the channel) -----

Thirty minutes, it’s just thirty minutes, you can do this. You aggressively slurp on your straw, furiously dogging the cafe patrons with your eyes, keeping them narrowed and peeled for anyone who ought to fit the bill over what you were expecting to meet today. Thirty minutes.

The black iced coffee with an added two shots isn’t doing anything to calm your nerves, but it’s doing everything you need to keep yourself pumped and ready to go at a moment’s notice. The cafe is busy, just as always, with people swarming left and right, in and out—this creep won’t be able to do any of their normal creep tendencies in a place like this.

You bite your straw, tapping your feet under the table.

Alright, Kodzu00, do your worst. I’m leaving here after the thirty and I’m taking the cash with me—

“Excuse me,” you stop, mouth hovering and open over your near chewed through straw, “are you… uh… Omegachion?”

Hearing your streamer username in real life makes you both want to gag and sigh in happiness. The username was arguably the only way for you to feel remotely sane logging into the streaming service every time for your scheduled program because Water Emblem got you through anything, including all the cram sessions to get into medical school.

Your eyes swing rapidly to your right, moving your head so fast you take your straw with you.

Ice coffee drips onto the table.

The young man standing in front of you is… is, truthfully, not what you expected. Okay, sure, weirdos on the internet come in all shapes and sizes, but to your own bias, you’ve crafted a bit of a face for the specific types of users who flood your streams. He narrowly passes even an inch of those ideas, with the slightly messy hair, the baggy clothes that look like all he does is stay in front of his computer all day and the dark lines under his eyes, but other than that—

He’s a lean young man, from what you can barely tell, underneath the baggy black sweatshirts and the sleek black joggers, lined in white with a logo you don’t recognize. There’s a dark cap on top of his head as well, and he’s sporting a simple black face mask, just like you—the most color the damn guy has is the bleached blonde tips still growing out past his roots, spilling a bit past his shoulders while the rest is gathered back into a bun.

In an instant you quickly size him up—the guy’s probably only a few inches taller than you and he can’t be that much older or younger, somewhere probably around your age.

You pluck out your straw. He squints faintly at you, holding his phone, glancing back at his screen and then back to you and shifting, albeit uncertainly. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here right now.

“You’re,” you start, “uh, you’re Kodzu00?”

“Yes,” he says. “That’s… me.”

You stare.

He stares right back.

(His golden eyes are almost like slits, you realize, a bit stunned, they drip gold and heather.)

He has pretty eyes.

“It’s,” he says, awkward, not sounding friendly at all, “...nice to meet you…”

And then reality comes back, this time with a spinning roundhouse right to your face.

This is the guy who just dropped money to come and meet you here today.

This guy.

You stare at him in disbelief.

Kodzu00 stands there in front of you, looking as though he wished he could melt right through the floor and disappear. He slowly starts to make his way into the chair opposite of you, pulling it out and taking a seat, setting his phone down beside him like it’s a lifeline and—

Your eyes bulge at the sight of his watch. You know how much that watch costs.

Your alarm bells start firing off again. For a brief moment, unease colors your scent, lightly flooding the area until you instantly reel it back in. Kodzu00 glances up at you for a second but you keep your face calm and friendly, quickly slipping back into your streamer personality, your best mask and first line of defense against whatever the hell this weirdo wants with you and time is ticking—

Before you can even utter a single word, Kodzu00 pulls down his mask.

(He’s… well, he’s not bad looking either, in a… weird kind of way.)

“Look, I need to clear the air first and get this on the table,” he says it a bit quickly, despite the low, almost uncaring inclination to his tone. You blink at him. The tips of his ears are staining pink beneath the fading streaks of blonde and he continues, “I’m not here for your streams.”

You blink.

You stare at him, dumbfounded and hopelessly confused.

“I’ve never even seen them before until last night,” he says just as quickly, looking embarrassed to even utter those words. “Let’s get that straight, okay? So I’m not… here for… that.”

That.

“That?” you say like a robot.

He looks more and more uncomfortable, but he presses on, whispering quickly over the table, “Yeah. I’m not here for… that. So… you can… uh… just be normal, I guess.”

You stare at Kodzu00, the man who’s just payed off nearly the last of your student loans in debt, who’s only here in front of you today because he got in touch with you through one of those very streams which very much markets that, which is meant to appeal to all the what-nots who just want to see an omega bat her eyelashes and act like an omega, to feel comforted or have their egos stroked and—

“I don’t watch any streams like that,” he adds for good measure. “I don’t. One of my viewers reached out to me because… well… because they watched your streams and noticed something and mentioned it to me, so I wanted to check it out myself.”

Oh my god. You sit there in the middle of the bustling cafe. Am I about to die? This is it, isn’t it. Kodzu00 is actually some kind of crazy internet stalker or person and you’re about to get stabbed right across the cafe table and this will be the end, you’ll never even get to save anyone’s life or help anyone and their bad hearts or do anything beyond your stupid streams and that’s all you’ll be remembered for.

“Kodzu00 is just a name I made for that night,” he says quickly. “Online I run a gaming channel under the user Kodzuken—you can just call me Kenma though. Kenma Kozume.”

“Uh,” you say. “Kucina. You can call me Kucina.” You are not giving your real name out to this stranger who can potentially threaten your entire standing in your medical career and out you for the unethical nature of how you’ve been procuring money to pay your school fees—

Kenma briefly pauses, eyes flickering up to you. He looks a bit pleased with your choice of alias but quickly glances back to his phone. You feel, strangely, a little… a little happy too.

Wait, wait, wait. No, this guy is a weirdo and don’t forget that he’s a complete stranger online claiming to be a game streamer and—

“The only reason I’m here today is for this,” he says, pulling out his phone. You instantly grow wary, inching back a bit from the table. There’s a bit of excitement finally creeping into his otherwise mundane voice, and it’s giving you the spooks. Kenma taps, quickly navigating his screen before he pulls up one blurred, pixelated image and turns his screen to show it to you.

“Why is this a screenshot of my room?” you say roughly, narrowing your eyes at him. You point to the screen shot of your streaming room and your face caught mid-speech, making you look dumb. “What are you trying to—”

“It’s not that,” he says, sounding a bit stressed out by this whole ordeal. He looks visibly uncomfortable with the image of you, only in your bright pink bra and you raise an eyebrow at him, suspicious as he zooms in and quickly moves the screen to—

“This,” he says, fervent, almost reverent actually, “is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Carefully, still suspicious, you lean over the table and look closer at his phone screen. You follow his finger, quickly recognizing your bookshelf, your posters, and then right beside Kenma’s fingertip is—

You blink.

You know exactly what he’s pointing to.

You also know exactly what it looks like in perfect detail despite the blurry picture. It’s a large box, big enough to hold against your chest, sleek white and blue, with silver lettering line in a kind of glowing, aqua teal—the cover art for the product had been top of the line, complete with an engraved metal clasp that opened up to reveal an entire, glossy artbook, coupled with a cd of the game’s soundtrack and also—

“Water Emblem’s Special Anniversary Edition?”

“Yes!” he almost shouts. You jump. Kenma quickly gestures to his screen, to your room and your game and points at it with fervor. His eyes are actually shiny, you stare at him, a little in awe. “Do you know what this is?”

“Of course I do!” you say, offended. “I own the game. It’s Water Emblem: Light Dragon! Personally my favorite game in the entire franchise and the game that really got the series into the world market—it’s part of what started its entire cult following. This is the special edition that came out years ago, wow, I can’t believe it’s been so long! I remember waiting in line for it and—”

“That’s exactly it!” Kenma says, throwing his hands up into hair, grabbing it beneath his cap. You blink at him, getting a little excited. “This game—this particular edition re-launched for one night of sales only in the creator’s hometown and here in Tokyo! It came with a companion edition and most people were only able to get one or the other because it was sold on opposite ends of Japan!”

“Yeah!” you say. “I know! I stayed with relatives in the summer and timed it out so I could grab it! They only sold so little copies… that was the best night of my life, I couldn’t believe it, even though the game didn’t seem to do that well at first until later…”

“Because no one respected the greatness of the game back then,” Kenma says bitterly. You nod. “Now everyone knows but the rest of the editions have all either been trashed or are kept by collectors somewhere else, I’ve been searching for years for a copy that was at least still playable, even without the extra goods—”

“But the goods are the best part!” you shout in disbelief. Kenma looks at you like your crazy. “The art book, the soundtrack, the interview with the creator—they all play their part in bringing the game to life!”

“This is what I wanted to discuss with you,” Kenma says seriously, lacing his fingers nervously together and staring you down across the table. You suddenly feel uneasy, unnerved by the piercing, golden gaze.

“You own what might very well be one of the last, in-tact, best kept qualities of this edition in Japan,” Kenma says. “When this edition and its counterpart launched, the second issue, the black one—it came with a playable DLC code that can only be activated when you have its partner code and it unlocks an entirely new, almost never played secret storyline that’s supposed to reveal another part of the story—”

“I heard about that,” you say in disbelief. “But I thought it was just an online rumour because no one ever proved it or could figure out the code…”

“Because no one could figure it out,” Kenma says, getting the loudest you’ve heard him since. You stare at him with wide, round eyes. “But recently because of the work I’ve been doing, I was able to meet with the creator—”

“YOU MET WITH THE CREATOR OF—”

Kenma furiously motions for you to shush. You clasp your hands over your mouth, watching him with round, adoring eyes, sparkling in disbelief. This guy right here in front of you got to meet your hero—the envy and awe collide altogether, rumbling up and—

(Your heart starts to do something a little funny in your chest.)

Who even is this guy?

“He gave me a hint and I was able to find the code in the other edition,” Kenma says, quickly pushing his phone to you to show a picture and you blink, eyes shiny. “Which I currently own because I was able to secure one when it came out in Tokyo. But your edition is the last part I need to unlock the unplayable path.”

This guy… you lean back in your chair, unable to stop the excited tap of your feet. This guy—he loves Water Emblem. He’s crazy for it! I don’t know anyone except people online who like it this much and he’s…

“That’s why,” Kenma coughs suddenly, becoming smaller in his seat. You stare at him with a raised brow. “I needed… to get in touch… with you.”

You blink, remembering the whole reason the two of you were even meeting in the first place.

Your cheeks grow hot, bright red in a flash of rare embarrassment. Kenma’s ears are just as red, but he pretends it’s not even happening, continuing on.

“Why didn’t you just… message me,” you squeak out, feeling more and more mortified that this man has literally paid you thousands just to be here and… it’s not even… a scam. It’s about your favorite thing ever. Water Emblem! “Instead of… my streams…”

“That was the only way I knew how to contact you,” Kenma says, looking a bit defensive. “I told you, I’ve never seen your streams before. One of my viewers told me and you keep everything private, so this felt like my only chance.”

You open your mouth, feeling more and more uncomfortable but Kenma sweeps in, “Keep the money. It… works out better this way anyway.”

You stare at him in confusion.

Kenma taps his phone again, right back at your picture. He stares at you with wide, piercing eyes, leaning across the table and quickly saying, reverent and eager—

“I want to buy your game from you.”

Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game?

“You want…” you say, slowly, making sure you don’t have this wrong, “...my game?”

He nods.

You open your mouth. It closes. You open it again, raise a finger, and then press your lips together, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

“This might be my only chance ever to play the game,” Kenma continues, pulling up another tab and clicking away at his phone. He tucks a strand of blonde behind his ear and the action is almost endearing to you until the reality of his words slowly starts to creep into the forefront. “I’ve never found another edition like yours, and it seems like it’s in perfect condition too. I’d be willing to buy it at complete full, current market price—”

“Market price?” you say in disbelief. “How much is my game going for?”

Kenma looks at you in blatant disbelief. You raise a critical brow at him.

Wordlessly he turns his phone back over to you and you glance down—

You almost fall out of your chair. Kenma doesn’t look impressed, hunkering back down and taking his phone as you spin, head swirling at the numbers and figures, math flying around in your head at the sudden realization that all that money could literally be yours, that the game you love so much is worth that much, that all that money, all that money you’ve been trying so desperately to scrape for could just—just fall into your lap—

You could pay off all your loans with that kind of money. You could… you could stop streaming with that kind of money, finally wash your hands of it and get back on track and hardly have to worry as you work toward the job of your dreams and…

“I want to buy your game.”

Your heart quiets. The fancy dreams stop. You sit there in the chair, head buzzing with the reality of what he’s asking of you.

He wants to buy your game.

Your game.

And you think then, about a moment far away from this one. About a time when the books and papers crowding around you made you feel like drowning, about lonely summers and arguments bouncing off the rooms around you, and a time where there was nothing else but that loading screen and that game to take you away from all of it…

(The game that you’ve kept all these years, loved all these years, because it…)

“I’d be willing to pay whatever works best for you,” Kenma continues, the excitement is low in his quiet voice and his eyes sparkle as he shows you his phone. “I can even pay upfront in cash, have a fund drawn up or—”

“I’m really sorry.”

It’s the first time in a long time you’ve ever felt the need to apologize to anyone. Not when the whole world has been treating you like the sorry sack for so long.

Kenma glances up. His expression is calm, unreadable, but you get the feeling he can see right through you so you stare at the tabletop instead.

“I don’t know…” you start. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sell that game to you.”

(He doesn’t seem like a bad guy.)

Anyone that talks about Water Emblem with as much love in his voice as he does can’t be, not at all by your books. His methods of getting to you here today might’ve been outrageous and roundabout, but you’re not really doing things the normal way either, so who are you to judge?

But that game…

You risk a glance up. You stop, staring in surprise when Kenma doesn’t look the slightest bit outraged or tense or anything. He looks just a bit disappointed, but the only thing you really see is understanding and something like a bit of grudging envy, a warmth in his gaze you don’t think is particularly meant for you but still comes through regardless.

“I was,” Kenma admits, a bit quiet. “Worried that would be the case.”

“Do you want,” you start quickly. Kenma looks at you. “Do you want to, uh, see it, at least? Take a look… see if it’s even in the condition you want?”

(You just… you can’t sell it, but you don’t want this conversation to end. It’s been so long since you’ve talked with anyone about this game, it’s felt so long since you talked to anyone in general and…)

Maybe, just maybe.

(You feel a little desperate.)

“Uh,” Kenma says, awkward. “Is that… fine?”

“Well, sure!” you say, hoping you don’t sound too eager. “Of course it isn’t a problem! I mean, I know we just met, but you seem pretty legit and I can just check you out later—plus, I’m perfectly capable of handling myself, even against an—”

You stop, sniffing the air. Kenma doesn’t look bothered, but he rubs the back of his neck.

And you realize, suddenly, you haven’t smelled a single damn thing because Kenma Kozume is—

A beta.

(Oh.)

---- (change the channel) ----

The entire way back to your apartment, Kodzu00, or as you now know him, Kenma Kozume, complains.

He does it quietly, but he still complains.

“We could just take a taxi,” Kenma says, quiet and unhappy when you start making your way toward the train station. “I can pay for it…”

“It’s easy to remember an address but tough to remember a bunch of stations and stops,” you say, ignoring his offer. Kenma follows, unhappy but he still follows. It’s kind of cute.

He walks with a bit of a hunch, you notice. Like he’s doing everything he can to remain out of everyone’s vision, but he watches, careful and observant because he avoids people before they have the chance to bump into him, glancing this way and that and picking things out with particular ease.

Kenma doesn’t look very confident, but he’s comfortable. You stand there beside him on the train, calmly holding onto the railing while he taps away at his phone beside you, sighing every now and then. He’s different, you realize, very different, from what you’ve become accustomed to when it comes to the kinds of people you let surround you for the sake of money.

You almost want to say it’s because he’s a beta, but you feel that’s a disservice in all its entirety. Maybe Kenma will turn out to be a snob of some kind. The guy’s strangely loaded.

You sneak searches on your phone, paling at the articles about him that come up, about stocks and investments and companies and you realize in seconds, this guy is completely and utterly the real deal.

But despite everything, Kenma still does as you ask. He lets you lead as you navigate the string of trains to get back home, doesn’t ask any questions, only comments on the occasional thing, and the entire affair is two hours, but he doesn’t even blink.

Either he really, really wants this game, you think, or he’s just weird.

Quiet, weird, but fairly quaint, and you’re a little alarmed by how much you… like that.

(You’re a weird guy.)

A rude, burly man makes a pass at you on the last train home, breathing down your neck and letting his greasy fingers try to slide against yours on the same railing handle. Kenma makes a face, eyes narrowed into slits in disgust and he quickly looks at you, blinking at your unbothered, nonchalant expression.

His scent wafts over you, thick and uninviting. Alpha. You rub your nose, inhaling your own familiar scent. Kenma looks more and more uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot, starting to lean your way and scanning for open seats when you calmly turn to the man directly behind you, meeting him dead in the eye.

“Get,” you say calmly, digging your fingernails into his skin, threatening to draw blood—the man stiffens, he pales, surprised, startled by your confrontation— “The fuck away from me before I scream.”

He scurries back, shouldering past people in seconds. A few people shoot him disgusted looks, glancing your way in pity—but you ignore all of them too. They didn’t care seconds ago when they knew what he was doing, if you hadn’t done anything, they wouldn’t have either.

That’s just how it goes.

“Sorry,” you say, even though you probably shouldn’t. You look at Kenma, lips curling a bit. “I was expecting to meet a guy like that today instead of you. I think all that pent up anger and anxiety needed to go somewhere.”

Kenma opens his mouth, closes it, stays quiet for what feels like minutes and then he starts up again.

“You don’t really act the same way you do on your streams, do you?”

“Of course not,” you say. “If I acted like that in real life—no offense to anyone who does though—I’d probably lose my shit.”

Kenma sniffs. He doesn’t say anything after that, and you quaintly let your shoulder brush against his ever other jostle of the train.

(It’s been awhile since you’ve been around anyone. It feels nice.)

---- (change the channel) -----

Kenma balks for a bit at the front door of your apartment, but you quickly usher him inside, kicking your shoes off into the entryway and flying inside. He toes off his own shoes, eyes scanning briefly around the entryway, around your home—it’s neat, he realizes, even if he wasn’t sure what to expect. You keep it clean enough, but there’s bits and pieces where your life slips through, making it feel lived in. You keep plants in the corner, healthy and well but you’ve got a few dishes still sitting in the sink.

He guesses he wasn’t really sure what he was expecting to begin with.

Kenma pauses for a second, rubbing his nose. He looks uncomfortable, eyes flickering around your apartment and back to you, but you’re already steps ahead of him, too excited to pass a chance like this up.

“It’s in my streaming room,” you say, “come on.”

Kenma follows warily behind you.

You almost kick the door to your room open in your haste, unable to stop the ecstatic beating of your heart as you scramble toward the back. Kenma pauses a minute, sniffing the air again. He glances behind him, back toward where your bedroom is left ajar and then to your streaming room. He looks a bit thoughtful for a moment, but quietly keeps it to himself, slipping inside and lightly closing the door politely after him.

(He’s not one to snoop, but he’s here, it’s not like he can’t look.)

Kenma tries very, very carefully not to consider the fact that he had seen you on that screen only a few nights before, and tries even harder not to remember what you’d been doing and how you’d look. He hyper focuses instead on the stand-out merch that becomes very, very clear to him.

He’s almost amazed your users haven’t said anything more about this—maybe it’s because of your camera angle.

Poster after poster of Water Emblem decorates the entire side of your wall. Kenma finds himself instantly drifting up to it, spotting your shelf in record time. He scans the collection of game titles, eyes growing brighter and brighter as he ghosts a finger over the well-kept discs and the old games…

“You play a lot,” Kenma says, quiet, glancing your way.

“I used to be a bit of a shut-in because I had to study,” you say, squatting down beside your other shelf and moving a few books aside. He finds himself watching the way you tuck your hair behind your ear and smile. “They were great breaks for me and helped keep me company. I’m not as social as people think, so it’s nice.”

Kenma considers your words. He looks at you, trying to reconcile the image he’d had of you from your stream with what he’d been witnessing all day today—how different it all was.

(If he’s honest, he’d been expecting to deal with someone different.)

“Do you do PC games too?” he asks. What are you doing?

“I’m not as familiar with them compared to console games,” you admit. “After exams I might try though. Got any to recommend?”

Kenma does. Plenty. He could go on but he doesn’t even know where to start, turning from your games to try to look at you again and think about how strange this entire meeting is, how different from what he’d been expecting. It reminds him of his meeting with Hinata, sudden and vibrant and impossible to categorize, left—

Pleasantly surprised.

“What happened to your chair?”

“What, the pink one?” you glance over your shoulder, noticing where Kenma’s looking toward your streaming station. “I shove it into the closet when I’m not using it. Sometimes the color hurts my eyes.”

Kenma looks at you like you’re crazy.

“...You keep two chairs?”

“Well, the chair’s mostly for looks anyway,” you say. “Some people like that kind of simple stuff. It’s a nice contrast, you know? Sweet and spicy, I guess? My boss said something like that. My ratings are good so I don’t complain.”

Kenma considers your words. He looks at your station, almost engulfed with stacks and stacks of what he can easily recognize as textbooks. Biology, medical tech, chemistry—all of it nearly crushing the fuzzy bunny mask you’d been wearing on the stream.

Kenma takes it all into his head and he looks again at your small back.

“...Do you even like your job?”

“It’s not my job,” you say. “My job is studying and working at the athletics complex to try to help figure out ways to help people stay in shape, take care of themselves and be better. This is just… part-time.”

You pause, staring at your shelves. It feels weird to be saying this outloud, but it’s nice too. It’s refreshing. You think you can take advantage of it anyway, what if you never even meet this guy again? You hardly know him, he probably doesn’t care.

“And I guess,” you say, a bit quieter. “Sometimes it’s kind of rewarding… sometimes people are nice, you know?”

Kenma says nothing, watching your back. You rub your neck and then finally beam, pulling free the reason for all of this.

You cradle the box in your hands. It’s weighty. You run your fingers over it and stand up, turning proudly to Kenma, beaming from ear to ear and—

You almost jump back in surprise, near squeaking. Your ears almost flash red in embarrassment at how close Kenma is all of a sudden, sneaking up right behind you with shiny, adoring eyes as he stares at the box in your hands, looking at it in awe and disbelief.

“Can I see it?” he asks reverently.

Your heart swells in happiness and you eagerly nod, handing it over to him.

Kenma receives the gift with care. He runs his fingers over it, carefully, as though afraid to even leave a single print behind before he pops the metal engraved latch and opens it up.

You and Kenma sigh together in unison, swooning at the sight.

“It’s amazing,” Kenma says.

“I know.”

“I can’t believe I’m seeing it in person.”

“I know!”

“You took great care of it.”

“I—” you flush at the praise, wilting a bit. “I-uh, thanks…”

“Can I see you play it?” Kenma says suddenly, looking almost desperate. You freeze. He looks up at you, expression completely different from his near lifeless one. His face is vibrant and full of excitement, thrumming just under the surface of his nonchalance. “The loading screen even? I—I have to see what it looks like logged in and—”

“I...actually can’t,” you say quietly, embarrassed. Kenma looks confused.

“I… I sold the console for it,” you say, feeling more and more guilty to finally have to admit one of your biggest regrets. Kenma pauses, expression quieting as he looks at you. You stare at the floor, trying not to look at the computer and web camera sitting in the corner. “I needed to buy some stuff… so I had to sell it in. I still kept a lot of the games, thinking I’d buy another one when I got the chance…”

You ruffle the back of your head, trying to quell the stifling scent of embarrassment that tries to escape you. You rub your wrists. Kenma’s eyes are briefly drawn to the action before he looks at you, still holding your game. You bow your head a little. “Um, if you want though, you can take it to your place and see—it absolutely will still work. I can just, take something to make sure you don’t run off or I can just—”

“Do you want to come over and use mine?”

You pause, looking at Kenma, dumbfounded.

Kenma stares right back at you. You can’t read a single inch of his face.

“We can use my place,” Kenma says, calm, unbothered. Your eyes grow round. “I really… really want to see the game in action… it’ll probably be more fun to see you play it anyway first.”

“Is that,” you start, uncharacteristically shy. “...okay?”

Kenma wordlessly nods.

(Your heart does something a little funny. You just write it off as an exaggeration. You’re such a sad sack.)

“Um!” Kenma looks up. You flush, hating how embarrassed you feel, hating how much of your bravado is missing, but you almost stutter out, “I-It’s (L/n) by the way… (L/n) (Y/n)...”

“... okay,” Kenma says. “It’s nice to meet you, (L/n).”

--- (change the chanel) ---

“You know, Kenma,” Kuroo said once, leaning back on the train ride home as Kenma tapped away at the buttons on his console. “For all you say and stuff, you’re pretty good at putting all the pieces together, aren’t you?”

--- (change the chanel) ---

One month.

Non-stop, several days a week, for hours on end—that’s how long the two of you play the game together.

You nearly miss streams, spend hours at Kenma’s house, laughing when you come to find him half-asleep in his sheets, barely rolling out to come greet you and instead just buzzing you in. You think it’s insane—how quickly this… this thing builds. You think you ought to be dreaming, but you don’t really want it to end.

(You’ve gone too long without anyone to laugh like this with.)

You pull late-nighters that are terrible for your complexion, eat take-out like you’re cramming for exams all over again, laughing while Kenma quietly watches and scrolling through Water Emblem merchandise and fan bases and—

You spend time with him. With Kenma. You spend hours and days and what feels like endless forever and fun. It’s so sickeningly amazing you almost don’t believe it’s real. Sometimes you two argue, getting into heated spats over calls on how to move your characters, critiquing each other’s moves and then laughing when the other fails, sometimes it’s outright cheers from you while Kenma nods in satisfaction when you clear another mission and proceed forward and—

You haven’t even been alive that long, but compared to everything else, it almost feels like the best moment of your life.

“I did an entire episode on why moving this character is better than the rest,” Kenma mutters one day beside you. “I’m telling you, we need to deploy them. They’re wasted as an adjutant.”

You pause beside Kenma, blinking at his massive screen. You stare at your hands, and then you look at Kenma, blinking again in realization.

And in all this sudden time you’ve spent with him, you realize you’ve never seen one of his streams.

--- (change the chanel) ---

“Uh, hey everyone, thanks for stopping by again.”

You snort. Kenma doesn’t look the slightest bit at ease, his small face-view camera appearing in the corner of your screen as the old stream starts. It’s only of his earliest ones, the one where he replayed Water Emblem for his channel.

“I like this game a lot… it’s the one I always wanted to do a stream for… so I hope you enjoy it too.”

Is that it, dude? You laugh, shaking your head and kicking your legs out as Kenma gets the loading screen started and adjusts his chair. His camera shakes a bit and everything about the video attests to its age and its novelty. It makes you smile. He must’ve come a long way from these videos to the freaking multi-millionaire he was now.

(He worked hard.)

At first the show starts off rather quiet, maybe a bit awkward. Kenma hardly talks, quietly playing through the beginning sequences of the game and only commenting once or twice on the music or graphics. It’s kind of nice, peaceful, just watching someone go through the familiar motions until the real first part of the game starts and then—

“I never get tired of this part.”

You pause at his voice, glancing to the corner of the screen. Kenma’s eyes glow. He smiles, low, small and quiet, and he leans so far forward, almost out of his seat as he starts to play, quietly talking, describing the things he’s doing, the parts of the game he’s in love with and—

You roll over onto your side, watching the stream. Everytime Kenma mutters something under his breath you laugh, when he flubs you grimace, when he succeeds—you cheer, kicking your heels into the air. It’s really like playing the game all over again—even if the comments say he hardly shows any emotion, you can see it.

Kenma Kozume loves this game.

He loves what he does.

The thought makes you pause, staring quietly at the screen.

The dark corner of your room looks a little bigger. The quietness is a little louder. You lay there in your bed, watching Kenma thank everyone for watching with a sigh, giving the game a second glance, like he’s thinking of playing more even though he said he’d stop and—

Your alarm nearly startles you out of bed. You quickly glance over, shooting up in realization.

“My stream,” you murmur, dropping your phone and hurrying to your video room. “Gotta do… my stream…”

Your eyes glance back to your phone. You stare at the dark screen.

“Do you even like what you do?”

You shake your head, closing the door behind you.

--- (change the chanel) ---

“Thanks again everyone for coming! Your favorite omega is going to be lonely without you~”

The screen clicks, turning off.

You sit there in your plush, bright pink chair. Your open jacket hangs on either side of you, revealing your bikini for the beach theme you were going with today. The video room is near silent, save for the soft, quiet hum of your computer running while your monitor blinks, turning to a save screen.

Your game sits in your lap, carefully cradled by your hands. Off to the side is a thorough stack of medical textbooks you still owe money on. You were planning on studying for your test tomorrow after the stream tonight.

You run your fingers over the amazing edges of the collector’s box. You thumb every part of it, retracing the familiar memories, even the small little dent in the corner when you dropped it the first night you got it and almost cried.

You hold it there in your hands. It feels so, so warm, even though you think that shouldn’t really be possible.

There, in the darkness of your video room you sit. Quiet in the near-silence, head lowered, gently running your fingers over it, again and again.

Kenma’s lulling voice is the only thing you hear, playing over his stream, and you shut your eyes, bringing your knees and the box up to your chest. It jabs your ribs, sits uncomfortable, but you don’t really care.

“Do you even like what you do?”

(What I’m doing now, at least… yeah, I do. I really do.)

--- (change the chanel) ---

(L/n) is typing...

Hey, can we talk?

It’s nothing important, let’s just meet up for dinner if you’re free!

Is that fine?

Kenma is typing...

Yes.

Location sent.

Let’s go here. I’ll make reservations.

Okay! :)

(Y/n) is typing…

(Y/n) stopped typing.

--- (change the chanel) ---

The place Kenma picks is some ridiculously nice looking Japanese Restaurant. It’s dimly lit and elegant and fancier than anything you’re used to, and you’re not really sure why he picks it until he orders for both of you and then the wagyu comes out and you know.

Seeing the steak, knowing you’ll get a good meal—it kind of makes this whole thing a lot easier.

Kenma sits comfortably on the floor right across from you. It’s a small, private room he’s rented out for the both of you. He’s dressed in the usual—baggy sweatshirts and athletic but comfortable joggers, and his hair is pulled back a little more neatly tonight as he pours tea for you and then for himself.

“This smells so good,” you say, mouth watering as you pick up the smooth, fancy wooden chopsticks. “Mind if I start?”

“Go ahead,” Kenma says. He leans back, picking up his spoon to dig into his own soup first. “What did you want to talk about?”

“The game,” you say around a mouthful of wagyu. It melts like butter on your tongue. “I’m going to give it to you.”

Kenma freezes, looking up at you in shock. His spoon clutters back into his bowl.

“What?” Kenma says.

“I’ve thought about it,” you say. “You were right. I don’t even have the console to play it anymore. It kinda just sits, collecting dust. It’s not fair when that game is literally everything.”

Your hands still a bit. You stare at the sizzling hot plate.

“I think you have a lot of fun with your streams,” you say, softer. “I think… I think Water Emblem would be well off in your hands. I think… I think it’s what it deserves, you know?”

Kenma is silent, frozen like a statue in front of you. You continue, lightly tracing a thumb over your other wrist, as though in comfort. Moments like this, you do wish for the chance to scent or be scented by someone again—just something familiar, something warm and nice. Your family is miles away and you just...

“I’ve had too much fun playing it again thanks to you,” you say, warm, full of happiness. Yeah, this is what feels right. “And you never once asked for the money from that night back, even though it should’ve just gone into paying for the game… that’s why I want to just give it to you. You’ve already done too much for me, and it’s more than paid for the game.”

“Hold on,” Kenma says. “I—hold on, one second.” He rushes for his phone, fumbling. You shake your head. “No, hold on—”

“I’ve still got my streams to do,” you say with an awkward laugh. “I can’t spend all my time playing video games again. Once exams come up and then—”

“No,” Kenma tries, looking a bit frustrated. He curses at his phone, “Give me a second to explain before you—”

“I’m doing this,” you say resolutely, standing up from your seat. Kenma balks. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Besides, I guess I got to meet you. That’s not so bad. Now stop making this weird and let me just do something cool for once in my life—”

“I want you to do a streaming series with me!”

You stop, staring at Kenma. He holds out his phone, showing the screen to you—but your eyes are on him, round and disbelieving and then—

Your entire face flushes bright red, cherry like a tomato.

“Y-Y-You w-w-w-want to d-d-do a s-stream with me—”

“Not one of yours!” Kenma blurts. You blink. He curses, ruffling his hair roughly before he gestures again with more vigor to his phone, “This—just look at this.”

You glance to Kenma’s phone.

“...you’re doing a new stream series,” you say, eyes widening in awe. “It’s going to be on the secret, never played route for Water Emblem—see! That’s perfect! If you’re going to do that, you need my half of the game and—”

“I want to do it with you.”

You freeze, mouth falling open.

“I’ve been thinking about it since you came over to play,” Kenma says, quietly setting his phone down on the table—he takes on the tone that means business, the calm, lulling one he your hear him use on the phone sometimes to make sure deals are delivered and he gets what he wants. “It’d be a great idea, and it’d be… fun. I’ve been letting you play because I wanted to see if the style would be compatible and I think it’ll be more than fine.”

Kenma taps his phone again.

“Of course, you’d be compensated,” he turns it to you, “we’d split the profits 50/50 from each streaming episode. Considering my normal projected view count and ad revenue, you can expect at least this much.”

You look at the numbers.

Your mouth stays open, knees sinking to the floor.

“If you’re willing,” Kenma says quietly, “to take a break from your streams to do this series with me… I think it would be mutually beneficial.”

Can things really, really work out, just like that?

“Besides,” Kenma says, even quieter. You close your mouth, looking at him in disbelief, in awe, in reverence, and he meets your gaze with his golden one.

“The secret route is meant for dual players,” Kenma says. “Water Emblem is known for being a single player, but what makes it special is it needs two for this route… it… it would be a disservice to the story to do it any other way.”

You can’t help it.

Your scent and pheromones you struggle and try so, so hard to always keep under lock and key explode forth, nearly flooding the entire room. Kenma stiffens, going ramrod straight and grabbing onto the top of his pants as your happiness engulfs the two of you. You’re sure it probably alarms everyone in the hall or anywhere near. Your happiness crashes and lulls and your entire face crumples in disbelief—

“Is it really…” you start, like a whisper, “really okay?”

Kenma shifts in his seat. He pulls at the hood of his sweater, opening his mouth before he quickly closes it. He mutely nods, resolute, and you stand up, lunging across the table to grab his hands. Kenma’s face flushes a bright red, his body stiffening in alarm.

“Kenma!” you say. “Kenma! Kenma, you’re a godsend! A guardian angel! My guardian angel! You don’t understand what this means for me—you don’t know what you’re doing for me—”

“(L/n),” Kenma says, he sounds strained. You pause, looking at him with round eyes. “I’m… excited… but I need you…”

Kenma lets out a slow, ragged breath. “Please… tone it down… just a little…”

You tilt your head in confusion. Your eyes drop down, noticing the sweat beading at the corner of Kenma’s temple, at the hard, rigid look in his hazy, warmly golden eyes and…

A soft scent teases your nose. You pause, blinking in disbelief. No way. You’re crazy, right?

“Um, Kenma,” you say, a little nervous. There’s no way, right? “You’re… you’re a… beta, right?”

Even betas could be sensitive to pheromones. You were being too careless right now, you must’ve just been too much and—

Kenma rigidly shakes his head.

You blink, feeling very, very, very small.

“Alpha,” Kenma exhales, holding his hand to his nose, scrunching in on himself while he peers up blearily at you, eyes swimming with something you’ve never seen once in his gaze before. He sticks his wrist out to you.

“Uh,” you say, hating how nervous you sound. “C-Can… I?”

Kenma wordlessly holds his hand out to you, keeping it in the air. You tentatively step closer for a moment, sniffing lightly. His smell.

Kenma’s scent is so quiet, it’s no wonder you… you never noticed. It’s become so familiar, always felt so calming and subtle and soothing, but if you look for it the way an omega would, pheromones in tune and acute—you do catch it, just the faint hint of something sharp, the familiar, light tang of alpha and—

You quickly pull back. You open your mouth, close it, open it again, and then close it.

“I’m so sorry—”

“You’re fine,” Kenma says, quick and quiet. You mutely nod, mortified. Kenma motions for you to relax as he stands, grabbing his wallet. “I’m going to take care of the bill. Get… fresh air. I’ll be back—”

“You should let me—”

“You can get the next one,” Kenma says. Something in his words makes you strangely complied to listen, ridiculously docile, and you blink in surprise when you sink back to your knees and Kenma’s eyes seem a little warm, a little—

(Pleased?)

“I’ll be right back.”

“Okay!” you say jovially. Kenma nods, leaving you. You can’t believe it. This is it—this is—

The start of something great.

You hold your head in your hands, unable to contain your happiness.

Oh my god.

You stop, blinking again in realization.

BUT I’VE BEEN SUCH AN IDIOT, HE’S BEEN A—THIS WHOLE TIME—HOW RUDE MUST I HAVE—

You fall back into the cushion, kicking your feet up in disbelief.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid—I better apologize over and over—”

--- (change the chanel) ---

Kenma quietly steps out of the private room, sliding the door shut behind him.

He stands there, silent, basking in the faint afterglow, of the leaking, intoxicating feel of your happiness wrapping thickly around him, clinging to his skin.

Kenma lifts his hand up to his nose. He sniffs, once.

Your scent floods him.

Kenma’s tongue lightly drags up the inside of his wrist. He closes his eyes, briefly catching it—the soft, sweet taste of you against his lips, on his tongue. Kenma waits there, inhaling softly before his eyes slide open, thin, golden slits.

This would be the start of a fairly interesting partnership.

Omegachion has signed off!

Thanks for watching!

#typetober #alktypetober #kofi request #ko-fi requests #kenma kozume #omega!reader #kenma x reader #haikyuu reader insert #kenma kozume x reader

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the-witches-you-couldnt-burn · 4 years ago

Text

It's final

Dedicated to my best friend K, who exclusively reads angst (yes I know she is crazy).

Warnings: domestic disputes, panic attacks & mental breakdowns.

Ao3

———————————————

“Why are you such a fucking bitch?”

She froze, her anger steeled within her. Their argument was abruptly silenced, both tempers flaring high enough to threaten the heavens. Heaving breaths from their vocal exertions became louder than their previous yelling. A pang of fear struck her heart as she wonders whether the neighbours had heard them and called the police for a domestic dispute.

Marinette was furious. She wasn’t a saint during this war of words, and had said somethings she shouldn’t have. She had started this argument with the intentions of lessening his reckless behaviour, but ended up stating in anger that his mother would be stopping his behaviour too. That line lead to his outburst and the state they were in now.

Cheeks flushed red, particles of perspiration dotted their skin, bodies wound with tension. She swiftly motioned towards the door, hand reaching to the knob. Jason grabbed her other wrist, deep seated sadness displayed over his features, immediately regretting his words spoken by ire. Her head tilted downwards, stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes.

“I didn’t mean it,” his voice cracked, any traces of rage had melted into sorrow.

“You never do, but it hurts the same.” She shook her arm, detaching his hand from her wrist. His grip was firm but unwilling to deny her, her free will. She picked up her purse, slinging the strap over her shoulder. The door opened, she could feel his stare on the back of his head. Her sigh filled the empty space, without turning she said, “I think it’s better that we seperate, we aren’t good for each other. I’m willing to keep up appearances with your family at the gala but then I’ll move my belongings to another apartment.”

She turned around, rushing into his embrace, tears shed from her eyes. A final hug goodbye. His stray tears raced down his cheeks to reach their raven hair finish line. He made no move to respond to her hug. Usually he’d have wrapped her in his arms, especially after an argument like this. But this one was different. This would be their last.

“Au revior, Jason.” She removed her body from his. It left him wanting to pull her back but it was as if his muscles had necrotic back to a corpse. His eyes flicked down to his invisible chains, begging his arms to move, to capture his lightning bug and never let her go. He looked back at her, she stood there, seemingly wanting him to say something, anything.

“I’m sorry.” His hoarse voice whispered, he desperately wanted to pepper her face with kisses and beg her to forgive a cretin like him. His voice broke as he uttered, “Please.”

Blue eyes met blue eyes. Marinette’s head shook slightly, non-verbally denying him. A bitter laugh escaped her mouth, she brought up her hand cover her crazed smile. “I’m sorry too.” She sobbed.

She rushed out the door, practically sprinting to the elevator. As the strong metal door closed, her sobbed echoed around the empty box. She broke down, months of fights and building tensions had weighed her down, her creativity had been primarily funnelled into ways she could improve her relationship. Il vaut mieux prévenir que guérir (It is better to prevent than to heal).

When the door closed Jason’s knees collapsed, a hollow echo resounded through the hallway. Their shared apartment would be no longer. No more hello, good bye kisses; no more delicious meals shared between the two; no more sleepy morning kisses. He looked down at his hands, clenched fists. A primal cry left his throat, he felt it to his core. He would have rather had his heart ripped out, he would have rather have died again, than to feel this pain.

——

It was the night of the gala, only four days after their fight. Marinette had only come back to their condo once to collect some clothes and her sewing machine. Only the essentials were taken, the rest could be gathered by movers.

Jason was a wreck. He had worked multiple overtime shifts to avoid the festering wound that was his bleeding heart. Preparing for his family’s ball was tough, this would be the first time they would see each other since the argument. He sported a fresh haircut which was left messy, his white button down top hugged his muscles perfectly, was paired with a slate grey blazer and matching dress pants (both gifts from Marinette).

He was fiddling with his tie, the gala’s atmosphere was already suffocating due to insufferable and rich hotshots, and his tie decided that he didn’t need to breathe. Marinette didn’t care for appearances but knew his family lived under the watchful eye of the media, so she always made sure they were matching. But tonight, tonight he had no clue what she was wearing and had received no colour matching instructions, so he went with trusty rusty red. It was the first thing the fashionista made for him and he will always cherish it.

His eyes widened as he saw her enter. She wore a midnight silk black mermaid gown that had a chiffon overskirt that was black fading to blood red. Her hair was down and curled, a silver feather hair clip pinned back the left side of her hair, exposing her magnificent facial features. Cerulean eyes framed by dark painted lashes, scanned the room.

Her heart caught in her throat, she had entered the doors to the banquet hall. She came with the intention of saying her silent goodbyes to the family who had taken her in when she had no one else. She had been suffering in silence for the past few days, her only support system being the Wayne Clan, but couldn’t bring herself to tell them what had happened. She couldn’t do that to Jason, she wouldn’t make them choose between him and her, she dreaded to hear their answers. Resigning herself to reside in silence, she came here to keep up appearances then fade into obscurity, but she saw him and her breath died in her throat. He looked as handsome as the day she left him. She wiped her sweaty palms on her dress. She walked towards him; he spotted her and did the same. They met in the middle, on the dance floor.

“You look amazing Marinette.” He swallowed the urge to call her pixie, it hung heavy in his throat. He needed to create distance between them, that was the first advice in ‘How to be civil after a breakup’. During the silent nights, he delved into any written text that would give him refuge and advice.

“You too Jason.” The pit in his stomach grew, he should have known she would take the same path. Never would he hear ‘Jay’ or ‘Jayjay’ from her plump red lips again. His shoulders slumped a fraction before he shooed away his depressing thoughts.

Their conversing was viewed by many around the room. They were the odd couple of the family. Jason, despite his rich adoptive home worked in security and charity whilst Marinette was a hardworking fashionista who had built her own fashion empire. They were from two different worlds and only fate knew that they��d meet.

He bowed and held out a hand to her, a lopsided smiled danced across his face. She smiled sadly, she would miss her dork, she would miss his smile. Her hand brushed against his calloused palm, their fingers locked together. She hesitated before placing a hand on his shoulder, ‘just one dance’, she could do this.

His hand found her waist, warmth bloomed upon his cold skin. He was always cold since he died, only his temper had warmed him. But then he met her. Marinette was his warmth, she made him feel like he was a child again, bathing in Gotham’s rare sunlight. His lightning bug brought him warmth and he had lost it.

They swayed to the classic instrumental melody. Neither looked at each other as their bodies flowed, ‘it was just an act’, they chanted as a mantra within their minds. ‘It means nothing, soon this will be over’. It struck her, this would be the final time they would see each other. A quiet sob escaped her, she was unable to do anything to stop it.

Jason’s head snapped towards her, sweeping her away into a private garden. Between her weeping she apologised for the state she was in, hyperventilating soon after. Jason guided her to a bench and clasped her hands in his.

“Hey, hey! Mari look at me. Deep breaths in and out, ok?.” Screw creating distance, this was his girl, he will fight anyone who says otherwise. Marinette slowly began to wind down from her panic attack, eyes misty and her water-proof mascara blotchy but still intact. The temperamental man wiped her cheeks free from trails of liquid fright.

“I’m so sorry for everything Jason. I never should have said that thing about your mother, that was cruel. I can’t keep hurting the people I care about. I can’t keep you happy. I’m just not enough.”

Her cries broke down his own walls, exposing his vulnerability to the Gotham night. “Fuck the word enough. It’s synonyms: sufficient, ample and adequate, could never describe what you mean to me.” He pressed his forehead on her, blue eyes fluttering shut. “I’m not sure if any of us will ever be enough for anything. There’s no point in begging for it.”

“I hate goodbyes.” She whispered, lips inches from his. Their breaths mingled, cheeks flushing. The icy Gotham air whipped at their skin causing them to move closer to the other for sanctuary.

“Then let’s not make this one.” Fireworks. That’s what they felt when their lips connected. All of the week’s tension unraveled within this lip lock. Their teeth clashed and hands tugged at hair in desperation to close the distance between them. When she entered the gala tonight, she had been so ready to say, ‘adieu pour toujours,’ but was glad she didn’t need to.

C’est cela l’amour, tout donner, tout sacrifier sans es poir de retour. (This is love, giving it ones all, sacrificing everything without hope of it being returned.)

#maribat #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #Jasonette #Jason x Marinette #Marinette x Jason #angst #Marinette is no saint #things were said that they can never take back

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spooderboyandtincan · 4 years ago

Text

You Came Back to Me

TW: Poisoning, hospitals

Read on Ao3

Peter knew it was a waste to try to tame his curls. No matter how much gel he used (which must have been at least a full bottle by now) his hair would not stay flat.

Peter gave a frustrated sigh and threw down the comb in surrender. Not even a second later, as if he had somehow sensed his absolute agony, Tony strolled in.

“Hey, kiddo.” Tony grinned at him. “Were you going for the half-drowned puppy look on purpose? Is this a new style I don’t know about?” he teased, tweaking one of his greasy curls gently.

Peter rolled his eyes and grabbed a towel to get some of the gel out. “I hate this stuff,” he grumbled, grimacing at his reflection in the mirror. He did look like a half-drowned puppy, not that he would ever admit it. Tony chuckled and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and Peter looked up at him.

Tony’s hair was styled so perfectly that each individual hair was in place. His beard was combed and his sunglasses were folded in the front pocket of his smooth, cream colored Armani suit, and around his neck was a light, lavender tie. To Peter’s astonishment, he had managed to get ready in less than an hour.

Peter leaned into his father figure’s chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne, old spice, motor oil and something distinctly Tony that always soothed his nerves.

“How long is the party gonna be?” he mumbled into his chest.

“As long as we can suffer,” Tony joked, then in a softer tone, “We can leave whenever you want, okay? Just let me know and we’ll go.”

“M’kay.” He nodded, feeling a little relieved. He would much rather have a movie night and fall asleep in Tony’s arms than be at a loud, crowded party full of snobby rich people, and he knew Mr. Stark felt the same. But from what he had accidentally overhead of Tony’s conversation over the phone with Pepper, it was pretty important that Tony came to represent Stark Industries, especially because Pepper had to be out of the country that week.

“Let’s get your suit,” Tony said. They walked into his bedroom, and Peter sighed in relief at the simple black suit that was on the bed. He thought that Tony might have bought him an expensive Armani suit or a Tom Ford, but he hadn’t. Thank goodness. If he had, Peter probably would have passed out right then and there.

When Peter came out of the bathroom, fumbling with his tie, Tony nearly cooed. When changing, his curls had gone completely rogue and were frizzing about. His socks were bright purple with pink stars and were rather blinding compared to the dark suit. Peter gave up on the tie and handed it to Tony, his big bambi eyes wide and pleading for help.

Tony grinned fondly and quickly looped the fabric around his kid’s neck, easily knotting it into a perfect tie. “There. Signature Tony Stark.” He patted his shoulder.

Peter rolled his eyes. “You can’t have a style for a tie, Mr. Stark.”

“Sure I can. Draw a goatee on it and it’ll be a new fashion. I guarantee it.”

Peter snickered and they headed down to the garage where Happy was waiting. Tony grabbed a juice box and a granola bar for Peter and took the boy’s coat from the closet (Peter insisted he didn’t need it but knew he probably would).

“Hey, Happy,” Tony greeted. The driver looked up.

“About time,” Happy grumbled, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Get in here, we need to go!”

Tony chuckled at the disgruntled driver. “We can be fashionably late.” He hopped in the backseat with his kid and put an arm around his shoulders.

“No, we goddamn can’t!” Happy grumbled to himself, though his words were quite audible. He shifted the car into reverse and backed out of the garage.

“Watch your language, there’s a kid,” Tony warned, cupping his hands over Peter’s ears. Peter rolled his eyes.

Once they reached the building where the party was being held, th father-and-son-duo stayed back while Happy cleared away crowds of paparazzi that had materialized all around the car.

“Remember, kiddo,” Tony said. “We can leave anytime you want.” He squeezed the boy’s knee reassuringly.

“‘Kay.” Peter smiled nervously.

“You ready?”

Peter bit his lip. “I think so.” He took a deep breath.

“We don’t have to go, baby,” Tony murmured, tracing a finger along his cheek bone. “Do you wanna go back home and just watch a movie?”

Peter really just wanted to nod his head and drive back to the compound and have a nice movie night with Tony. His cheeks turned red. How embarrassing would that be? Pulling up to your own party and then leaving. He didn’t want to embarrass Mr. Stark. It couldn’t be that bad. It would probably be fun (he doubted that, but maybe it would be). Peter took a deep breath. “I’m okay. I’m ready.”

“Alright.” Tony gave him a loving smile. “I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

“Thanks.” Tony gave his hand a squeeze and opened the door, hurrying around the back of the car to open Peter’s door and promptly ignoring the renewed bright flashing and clicking of cameras.

“Okay,” he whispered, looping an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Let’s do this.” He slid on his sunglasses and they started down the red carpet. Happy hovered behind them, glaring at anyone who dared to get too close.

Peter’s heart was beating so fast he could barely hear the separate beats. He began to feel slightly nauseous. He was already starting to regret his decision to stay.

Peter subconsciously leaned further into Tony as they entered the building. People’s attention turned to them, and not-so-subtle gasps and murmurs buzzed through the crowd.

Tony wanted nothing more than to glare at these idiotic people and lead Peter right back to the car and back home. However, he was sure Pepper was right that this would be a good experience for his kid, and he knew they would have fun once most of the crowds dissipated.

(Plus, Pepper would kill him if he left. She would have his ass hanging on the mantle in place of the Christmas stockings Peter had insisted they put up already.)

Happy clapped him on the shoulder and informed him was going to go patrol the perimeter. Tony dryly told him to “have fun,” and Peter waved as he stalked off.

“Tony! Who’s the kid?” a bright voice called. Peter flinched and inched behind the man as they turned around, a little nervous.

A tall, middle-aged woman with straight blonde hair and a silvery dress rushed up to them. She had even, pearly teeth that shone brightly when she gave them a smile. “Tony! Hi!” she said breathlessly. “How are you doing? I’m Stephanie Wright.”

Tony shook her gloved hand. “Pleasure.”

“And who are you, hon?” Stephanie bent down so her face hovered uncomfortably close to Peter’s.

He scooted backward slightly and tried to give her a charming smile like Tony had. “I’m Mr. Stark’s personal intern.”

“Oh, isn’t that wonderful?” she cried, far too enthusiastic in Peter's opinion. “You must be pretty smart!”

Peter smiled uncomfortably. Every instinct in him was screaming at him to get away. Something about this lady was definitely off, and he didn’t want to stick around to find out what it was.

“Why don’t we go get a drink, kiddo?” Tony interrupted, starting to lead him away from Stephanie. Peter knew he had sensed his discomfort and wanted to get him away.

Stephanie gave a piercing laugh and, to the pair’s displeasure, followed them. “Oh, we must think alike. I’ve been craving champagne all night. I hope you aren’t giving this poor kid alcohol, Tony.”

Peter frowned. He knew Tony would never even think of it. Even talking about alcohol could make the man uncomfortable, so he tried to think of something to change the topic.

“Did you know there’s a turtle that pees through its mouth?” he blurted.

Peter’s face turned crimson red. Of all the things to come out of his mouth, why did it have to be that?

Stephanie gave him a strange look and stayed silent in suppressed disgust, but Tony snorted and stuffed his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing. He squeezed the back of Peter’s neck gently to let him know he wasn’t laughing at him, but at Stephanie’s hilarious expression. Peter groaned internally and wished he could die on the spot.

Tony and Peter headed to the bar, chatting happily, but Stephanie narrowed her eyes and forced her way through some disgruntled young ladies so she stood a few yards from them. She watched Tony hand the kid a menu. He pointed to something she couldn’t see, which the man nodded at and flagged down a waiter.

She couldn't hear what he said but assumed Tony had ordered two of the same drink from the two fingers he held up. The bartender seemed to have prioritized their drinks (of course he had, that was Tony Stark) because not even five minutes later he rushed to them with two overflowing glasses of cherry red liquid on a silver platter.

Stephanie saw her chance, and she took it.

She ran towards Tony with a grin on her face, waving to get his attention. Just before she reached them, she pretended to trip in her silver high heels and bumped into Tony. “Oh my god,” she laughed, faking embarrassment. “I’m so clumsy, sorry.”

“No problem,” Tony said politely. The drink hadn’t splashed onto his expensive suit. In fact, it hadn’t sloshed out of the cup at all. He handed the glass to his kid, who was looking strangely at the tall woman.

You idiot! Stephanie cursed Tony silently. You fucking idiot! That was for you, not the kid! She took a deep breath. I can make it up later, she told herself. Relax and go with it. I can get the kid first and then later, him.

Feeling assured, she grinned. “Sorry about that, Tony. Glad it didn’t leave any stains!” Stephanie suddenly looked to her purse and dug through it till she pulled out her phone. “Oh. My fiancé is here somewhere and he’s trying to find me.” She sighed. In reality, she had received no text and didn’t even have a fiancé, but she needed to get a safe distance away before the kid took a drink from his Shirley Temple. “Well, I should go. It was wonderful meeting you Tony- you too Peter.”

“Yeah,” Tony said as the woman hurried off. “Huh. That was weird.” Peter shrugged and laughed. Tony ruffled his curls and they set down next to each other at a small table.

“How’s that Shirley Temple?” he asked when Peter took his first large gulp.

“Good!” he answered truthfully. Tony smiled fondly at him and reached out to ruffle his hair.

Peter took another sip, expecting his dry throat to be blissfully cleared by the sweet cherry flavored drink.

Instead, the liquid that trickled down his throat stung and burned. He choked silently and took another drink, hoping it would help.

The burning in his throat only grew. He felt like his stomach was turning inside out and his chest had been stabbed with needle-sharp knives. The back of his neck prickled and he felt like he was in the middle of a blizzard but also in a desert with the sun directly overhead at the same time.

He tried to reach for Tony, desperately needing the man’s comforting arms around him, but his arm and fingers would move. All that came out of his mouth was a strained gasp when he tried to get his attention.

Tony was texting Happy about the potentially dangerous Stephanie who had been following them all evening, when he heard a thud and the sound of glass shattering.

He whirled around. “Peter!”

One moment he was sitting in a squishy, comfortable chair, the next kneeling on the ground next to his kid’s small form, the chair falling to the ground loudly behind him.

“Peter?! Peter, baby!” There were glasses being set down and plates clattering on tables as people near them noticed the terrified billionaire. Tony quickly pulled off the boy’s tie and gathered him in his arms and cradled him close, his focus on his kid and nothing else. Peter’s head flopped against his chest limply, his face clammy and turning gray, his chest heaving with every strained breath. Tony cupped his cheek and smoothed his thumb over the hollows under his eyes. “Peter?” His voice came out in a whisper instead of a terrified cry. Tony didn’t know what to do.

Peter clawed at the man’s chest, his chest feeling as heavy as lead. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. Peter choked and gasped, coughing and trying frantically to get air into his lungs.

Tony’s blurry face hovered above him. He could tell the man’s lips were moving quickly, could feel his heart beating a mile per minute in terror and panic, but he couldn’t hear anything except a blur of shouting and running.

Tony, sirens, heartbeat, Tony, kiss on his forehead, hand in his curls, shouting, shouting, sirens getting louder, Tony getting louder, heartbeat, glass, high heels running, Tony, sobbing, tears falling to his hair- not his tears, Tony’s tears. He didn’t want Tony to cry. “Don’t cry,” he tried to say, but nothing came out of his mouth but a strangled wheeze.

Bubbles foamed around his mouth. The tears fell more rapidly and the strong arms around him were almost painfully tight. A kiss to the forehead- more words. Another kiss, this time on the cheek. Gentle, calloused fingers, tears, voices- different voices, not just Tony’s. He wanted Tony.

And- Painpainpain. Suddenly Peter was drowning in white hot agony. Make it stop makeitstopmakeitstop. His teeth were grinding together, Tony was crying, words of comfort were coming out of the man’s mouth but Peter couldn’t understand them-

Pain. Great waves of pain washed over him. Make it stop, Tony, please. This time the tears were his own. Soothing hands in his hair- he could barely feel them. Too much. Too much everything. Make it stop! He needed it to stop. Toomuchtoomuch. Too much pain. Please. Please.

That was a word coming from Tony’s mouth. Please.

Please.

The pain stopped.

Everything stopped.

~~~~~

Tony felt like throwing up. His heart was beating so fast it felt more like an erratic hum. His hands shook violently and had he not been sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, he knew he would have collapsed long ago. His suit was dirty and wet with tears- not that he cared.

He dropped his forehead into his hands.

When Tony closed his eyes, all he could see was the cold, pale face cradled against his palm that was so unlike his beautiful, warm, rosy-cheeked kid.

He leapt to his feet and began pacing the length of the medbay waiting room, fear flooding through his veins, every instinct in him telling him to move, to get to Peter, to protect his kid.

But he fucking couldn’t, he couldn’t, because Peter was down the hall in a room filled with strangers, and oh god, Peter had been poisoned. His kid could be dying and he was stuck out here, so far away, and he couldn’t even fucking hold him and brush his fingers through his soft curls and tell Peter he had to stay. He had to.

Tony knew he couldn’t live without his kid. Peter was his everything- he couldn't do this without him. He needed Peter- and Tony knew he couldn’t survive without him.

He slid down the wall weakly, his breaths quickening. “Oh my god,” he whispered. “Peter, oh my god. I’m right here, Peter. Don’t leave me, baby, please.” He didn’t bother to wipe the tears trickling down his cheeks. “Don’t make me lose him, oh god please, I can’t. I can’t.”

Tony began to sob. He pressed his hands against his face to muffle his loud cries.

Peter, eyes closed, not breathing. Looking dead. Face gray and pale. His own anguished sobs flooding his ears as he hugged the boy to his chest.

Peter, on a gurney, taken away from Tony before he could process that his kid wasn’t in his arms anymore.

Too terrified and stunned to move- then sprinting after him and trying to fight through the doctors and nurses to get to Peter. Happy and two others struggling to hold him back.

“Tony,” said Dr. Cho, the door swinging shut behind her. “Are you okay?”

He spun around so fast he could hear his neck crack. Tony lurched to his feet, heart pounding. “Peter,” he croaked, blood draining from his face.

She gave him a weary smile. “He’s okay, Tony. You can see him now. He’s awake, actually, but he’s really out of it.”

Tony hadn’t processed even half of her words before he was running. He dodged past her and sprinted down the hall, skidding into a familiar room.

“Peter…” he breathed, his eyes blurred with tears.

Before he knew it, Tony was at his kid’s side, sobs racking his chest. He gently lifted the disoriented boy into his arms, carefully avoiding the oxygen mask strapped to his precious face, and rocked him back and forth.

He wept into Peter’s hair, pressing kisses against his curls in between sobs. “You came back to me,” Tony cried. “You came back, you came back. My Peter, my baby, you came back to me.” He squeezed Peter gently. “I thought I lost you, I thought you were gone- I- I can’t, I can’t do this without you, I-”

Tony took a long, deep breath, broken with small cries. He cupped Peter’s confused, tired, still far too pale face. “I don’t- I- oh baby, thank god you’re okay.” Tony tried not to burst into another round of tears.

He squeezed his kid close and pressed a long, tender kiss to his forehead. “My sweet boy,” Tony murmured. He ran his fingers through Peter’s soft curls.

Peter blinked up at him, a slight crease between his eyebrows. His lips parted, trying to form words, but Tony gently stopped him.

“Shh, shh, baby, no talking yet, okay?” He tapped the plastic of the oxygen mask. “We need to keep this mask on to make sure you get enough air, see? Just rest for me, bambino, I’ve got you.” Tony sniffled and tried to give him a reassuring smile, discreetly wiping away the tears that had pooled in his eyes. He wasn’t sure if Peter had even processed what he’d said, but he seemed to relax and practically melted in his arms.

Tony felt such overwhelming relief washing over him as he watched Peter’s chest rise steadily. Wiping his eyes again, he pressed his lips to Peter’s forehead and let his eyes close for a long moment, desperately trying not to think about how close he had been to losing his baby.

There was a quiet sniffle, and his eyes flew open, his heart racing once again. “Peter? Peter, baby?” Tony was panic-stricken to find a pearly tear running down his face.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurting?” He wiped Peter’s tears away with the pad of his thumb. “What is it, bubba? Should I get a doctor?”

Peter shook his head, a squeak coming from his throat even though he was trying hard not to cry. He tapped his pointer finger on the rough skin of Tony’s hand, hoping he would get the message.

... -.-. .- .-. -.--

Scary

Tony’s eyes softened. “Oh baby.” He squeezed his hand comfortingly and traced his thumb along the boy’s cheek. Peter sniffed again. “I know, Petey, I was scared too,” he murmured. He still was, but that was beside the fact. “But I promise you’re okay baby, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, I promise.”

.--. --- .. ... --- -.

Poison

Tony flinched and held his kid tight. Peter was far more coherent than he had thought. “Yeah, sweetheart. Poison.” His voice was gravelly and Tony looked to the wall while he tried to pull himself together. “I was so scared I was gonna lose you,” he whispered.

-.. .. -.. -. .----. -

Didn’t

Tony grinned tearily but couldn’t find any words. He sniffed and ran his fingers through the boy’s hair, stroking his soft curls. Peter’s eyes were slowly drooping shut- which terrified him.

The inventor knew that his baby was stable and safe and breathing- but he couldn’t get the image of Peter’s sheet-white, still body out of his mind.

Tony took a deep breath to steel himself and smiled down at his kid. “You can sleep now, bubba. I’ll be here the whole time. It’s okay.” He brushed a finger over Peter’s eyelids. “I love you, baby,” he whispered, softly kissing his forehead.

Peter closed his eyes and soon his breaths were slow and steady. Tony’s gaze was full of love as he cradled his sleeping kid. “I love you,” he repeated a little hysterically, somehow aching for the boy, even though he was already in his protective embrace. “I love you.” Tony pressed his lips against his temple for a long while.

Ever so gently, he lowered Peter to the mattress, careful not to jostle the sickly boy. He moved around so that Peter’s head was cradled in his lap and pulled the covers to his chin, adjusting a spare pillow behind his back despite the padded headboard.

The inventor looked up at a quiet knock on the door. Helen stepped in, giving the pair a fond smile.

“How’s he doing?” she asked, brushing her hair out of her face, then taking Peter’s wrist and checking his pulse.

Tony massaged his forehead and sighed. “I…. He responded to me. Um... he used morse code.” He gave a strained chuckle. “He’s so goddamn smart.”

“The smartest of us all.” Helen looked scrutinously at him. “And how are you?”

He snorted. “Honestly? Like I got run over by a couple of eighteen-wheelers.” Tony shook his head. “How are his vitals? Is he breathing okay? Is he okay?”

“Tony. Deep breath,” she instructed. “Yes. He’s fine, he’s doing great, actually.”

Tony breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Helen-” His voice broke. “Thank you. I-” Tony’s eyes watered and he looked away. “I can’t thank you enough. You saved my kid.” He brought Peter’s hand to his lips. “Thank you.”

Helen shook her head, smiling. “Tony, I don’t need thanks. I may be a world renowned geneticist-” her grin widened, “-but patching up your danger-prone kid every other day is a very important part of my job too.”

They shared a chuckle, and after checking several of the monitors around them, Helen left, giving him a little wave. “I’ll be back in half an hour to check on him,” she said. “Try to get some rest.”

The door closed quietly behind her. In the growing silence, the heart monitor’s monotonous beeping seemed to grow louder. Tony gazed down at Peter’s lax face and he felt so much love. His heart seemed to burst with all the overwhelming love he held for his sweet kid, and he could only press a long kiss to the boy’s forehead.

Tony scooted forward and pulled the expensive blankets over his shoulder, wrapping Peter in his arms and bringing him close. He held him against his chest and combed a hand through his curls. “I love you, Petey,” he murmured.

Tony pressed a tender kiss to Peter’s temple and, after hugging Peter closer, he allowed his eyes to slip shut. Peter’s soft breaths heated the crook of his neck. After a few peaceful minutes of listening to his kid’s breathing, Tony’s own breaths eventually steadied.

~~~~~

Helen paused in the restroom, relieving herself and then fixing her bun. She washed her face with the warm water that came from the faucet and took a moment to breathe. The bathroom door slid shut behind her and she turned around, and nearly rammed into the one and only Happy Hogan.

“Happy!” she exclaimed.

“How is he?!” Happy gasped breathlessly, pulling at his tie. “Is he…?” The unspoken words on his tongue made him shiver and he shook his head.

“He’s fine,” she assured him. “He’s fine. Tony’s with him right now.”

Happy breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank god,” he muttered. He turned to discreetly wipe the dust out of his eyes.

Helen smiled. “Peter’s okay. He’s stable and already recovering.” She shook her head and sighed, the worry lines around her eyes creasing. “Happy, it was arsenic poisoning.”

Happy’s lips pressed into a thin line. He swallowed thickly and nodded.

“We caught her,” he said abruptly. “Stephanie Wright. All we know so far is that, um, it wasn't the kid she was looking for. Her target was Tony.” Happy cleared his throat. “I’ll let him know. Later. Not now.”

“But Peter’s okay?” he asked once more.

“He’s doing fine,” Helen assured him.

“Good. Good.” Happy nodded. “That’s… yeah, good.” He began making his way down the hall to the waiting room.

She gave the weary man a kind smile. “I’m about to go check on him. I’ll let you know how he’s doing.”

When Helen poked her head to Peter’s hospital room a few minutes later, she couldn’t help but chuckle fondly.

Peter was wrapped in Tony’s arms, barely visible in the protective embrace of his father. The man’s quiet snores and Peter’s adorable snuffles filled the empty, machine-like silence of the room. Even in sleep, Tony’s arms were still tight around his kid.

Helen slipped in and quietly checked the monitors, nodding to herself. She saw Peter’s hand move almost violently on the pillow out of the corner of her eye, and she had to hold back a laugh when Tony let out a loud snort and pulled Peter closer.

After adjusting a few wires, she smiled at the sleeping father and son duo and waved slightly, then watched the door shut behind her.

Back inside that serene room, Tony pressed his nose into Peter’s curls and breathed in deeply. His face was relaxed and peaceful as he held his precious kid. Peter, looking absolutely tiny in Tony’s arms, was snuggled against his chest, his lips parted slightly with a little drool dripping down his chin.

Though they were both fast asleep, a feeling of peace and love filled Tony and Peter. Warm and safe in each other’s arms, they would sleep for a long while.

~~~~~

Taglist: @imissyoutoo @aj-that-person @tonystark-deserves-better @nathaly-ab @skeeter-110 @peter-and-tony-vlogs @teammightypen @joyful-soul-collector @loveliestdisappointment @depuella @scwene-qween @honeythepooh @pixiethefirecat7 @spider-man-lover @jami161 @bringitonvoldie @queen-of-sarcasm-25 @roxy3457 @memilon @iron-loyalty @gralaca @bitchingpretty @pillowspace @thatminecraftgal @clockworkteacup @hatakehikari @wtfischeese @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @skydiving-without-a-parachute @yansi1923

If you want to be added/ removed please let me know!

~~~~~

/ST*RKERS DNI/

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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

91 notes · View notes

clumsyclifford · 3 years ago

Note

lashton prompt: luke falling asleep on skype and ashton taking the opportunity to draw him, bonus if someone else finds the sketches before ashton shows them to luke

meghna this prompt is from almost a full calendar year ago. i am proud to report that after all this time i did in fact manage to set it in spideyverse because that’s how determined i am. more info in ao3 notes but it takes place in the summer before their senior year of high school, so after the events of everything else in spideyverse so far

read here on ao3

Ashton will have to thank Maya later for the tip about the Fine Arts Room. He jimmies the door handle and, as promised, the door swings opens to reveal a darkened room full of half-finished projects. They must really take the decency of humanity on faith here. Anyone could come in at any time and sabotage any of this work.

Ashton has less nefarious plans.

He sits at his usual spot but doesn’t turn any lights on; the big windows shine just enough moonlight into the room that Ashton can see the silhouettes of the furniture, and his laptop will be on in a moment anyway. Careful of the scattered pages over his workspace, he opens his computer and loads up Skype.

Just in time for an incoming call.

Ashton fumbles with his headphones and plugs them in with one hand while he accepts the call with the other. The screen fills with Luke’s brightly-lit, highly pixelated face. Chin in his hands, elbows propped on his desk, hair a ruffled mess (from the mask, Ashton knows) — the sight of him fills Ashton with warmth.

“Hey,” Luke says, smiling his usual cheeky smile. They’ve been texting sporadically, but seeing Luke’s face — hearing his voice — gives Ashton a fluttery feeling behind his sternum. Calum would call that anatomically impossible, but he’d do it with a smirk. “I can barely see you.”

“I’m sitting in the dark,” Ashton explains. His voice is a hushed whisper even though he knows it’s absurd to be paranoid. They’re supposed to be confined to their bunks by now, and the staff and counselors will all be asleep. The only reason he and Luke are calling now, past midnight, is because now is the only time they’re both available. “I’m in the Fine Arts Room.”

“Ooh, can I see?”

“I don’t want to turn on the lights,” Ashton says. “There are windows and stuff.”

“Are you not supposed to be there?” Luke raises an eyebrow and grins. “Ooh, is Ashton Irwin sneaking around?”

“Well, if we weren’t calling at the middle of the night, I wouldn’t have to.”

“Don’t they lock the buildings?” Luke suddenly looks concerned.

Ashton shrugs. “Maya told me that if I jiggle the handle, the door will open. She was right.”

“Go Maya,” Luke says. “I like Maya. Who’s Maya?”

“My new friend,” says Ashton. “She mostly paints. We’ve got a challenge going on about whether she’s better at drawing or I’m better at painting, since neither of us really use those mediums. Hannah — one of the other campers — is going to find something for us to both paint slash draw and then there’ll be an unofficial panel of judges. It’s pretty stupid.”

“You’re smiling a lot,” Luke says, and Ashton realizes he is. “Doesn’t sound stupid to me. You think you’re gonna win?”

“No,” Ashton says honestly. “I’m pretty awful at painting.”

“I’m sure you’re better than you think. How hard can it be?”

“That’s very rich coming from you, Mr. I-Can’t-Draw-A-House.”

“Hey, fuck off! I can draw a house, thank you very much.” Luke looks down at his desk and his focus shifts, and Ashton watches in bemused patience. As he waits, he draws a blank piece of paper towards him and grabs the nearest pencil lying around. His hands move almost unconsciously, drawing lines and curves and sketching the outline of something Ashton hasn’t quite decided on yet. Luke finally lifts his head up. “Here, see?” He holds up a piece of paper to the camera, where he’s drawn a box with an isosceles triangle on top for the roof, complete with a little chimney sticking out. “House,” Luke proudly declares. “Boom. Get fucked, Irwin.”

“I stand corrected,” Ashton chuckles. He hums. “They’ll probably just find us equally talented because painting is different from drawing and blah blah blah artsy hipster bullshit.”

“Stop dismissing the artsy hipster bullshit,” Luke says stubbornly. “I’ll have you know my boyfriend deals exclusively in artsy hipster bullshit.”

“You think my drawings are artsy hipster bullshit?”

“No, babe, I think you are artsy hipster bullshit.” Luke grins widely and then gets cut off by a yawn. Ashton bites back a very cheesy comment about how Luke should web himself up for being criminally cute.

“You know what, I’m gonna let you have that one,” he says instead. “Since I am at an artsy hipster bullshit summer camp.”

“I miss you.” Luke pouts. It’s a funny look on him. Ashton tries to imagine Spiderman pouting and completely fails. Sometimes it’s hard for him to reconcile Luke and Spiderman being the same person. That this adorable six-foot-and-change beanstalk who yawns on Skype is the same person who can do a double-backflip and land on his feet on the rooftop of any building. Ashton’s boyfriend stops crimes. What the fuck.

“I miss you too,” he says. “You seem tired.”

“I’m not tired.” Instant karma is a bitch. Luke immediately yawns again, this time much wider. “Okay, I’m a little tired,” he admits, smacking his lips like a child. “Summer break is deceptively boring. I…I run out of things to do all day, so I just kinda…keep patrolling. I might be wearing myself out.”

“Jesus, Luke, take it easy on yourself. Queens goes the entire school day without Spiderman’s protection during the school year. You can handle a break.”

“Yeah, but I might as well patrol,” Luke counters. “I have the time, and it’s not like I’m doing anything else.”

“I thought you and Michael were working on new specs for the suit.”

“It’s mostly Michael. Also, I think he’s kind of annoyed about the whole 24/7 patrol. He can’t work on the suit if I’m wearing it.”

“That is true.”

“But he’s been spending a lot of his time with Calum, anyway,” Luke says coolly. “So I figure he’s probably got other priorities.”

“Well, if you keep blowing him off to obsessively patrol the city, I can’t possibly imagine why he’s making other plans.”

Luke stares through the camera. His shoulders slump. “Maybe. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Ashton chirps.

Luke sighs deeply. “You’re not here, Ash.”

Ashton purses his lips and frowns. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, but I’m just saying. I miss you. I wish you were here.”

“Yeah,” Ashton says. He misses Luke too, more than is probably healthy. That’s what he gets, he supposes, for only having a handful of close relationships; Luke and Calum are his whole life, and not being able to hug either one of them for even a week has been pretty challenging. “But look, it’s only another week, and then I am all yours, I swear.”

“Don’t enable me,” Luke says, affronted. “You’re supposed to say things like… ‘You don’t own me’ and ‘I’m my own person’ and stuff like that.”

Ashton blinks, confused. “Uh…well, yeah, but we both already know that. I’m just saying I miss you too. But if it’s any consolation, Maya has ruthlessly mocked me for all the drawings I do of you. Like mercilessly. It’s actually kind of embarrassing.”

“That is super embarrassing,” Luke says, with a small, bashful smile. “You’re so fucking lame, Ashton.”

“Wow,” Ashton says. “You even sound like her.”

Luke giggles, which turns seamlessly into a yawn. “Hey, I came first. Maya sounds like me.”

“Luke, babe, just go to sleep,” Ashton says. “We can talk another night. Maybe one where you’re more well-rested.”

“I’m super rested,” Luke says in a monotone. “King of restedness, me.”

“Wow, I’m suddenly convinced.” Luke makes a half-hearted face at him and Ashton makes one back. The sketch under Ashton’s pencil has revealed itself to be Luke, yet again. Shocker. It really is embarrassing that Ashton defaults to drawing his boyfriend. If they ever break up, Ashton will be fucked.

“Are you drawing?” Trust Luke to notice. Although the fact that it’s taken him this long to notice means he must be slower on the uptake than usual.

“Yeah,” Ashton says, because when is he not.

“Drawing what?”

“Guess,” Ashton says dryly.

Luke gives a sleepy smile. “At least you’re predictable.”

“Luke, I’m begging you to get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow or this weekend or something, okay?”

Luke yawns yet again. “Okay,” he agrees, right hand propping up his head. His eyes flutter shut and then open again. “Okay, fine.”

“And please let Michael look at your suit,” Ashton adds. “You know he’s only going to make it better.”

“I know, I know, I just…” Luke’s eyes fall shut again. It seems more out of tiredness than distress. “If I give it to him, then I can’t use it.”

Ashton’s pretty sure if Luke’s hero complex gets any bigger he’s going to have to start renting out rooms. “It’ll be two days, tops,” he says. “Take two days off.”

“I wanna wait ‘til you’re back,” Luke mumbles. “Spend ‘em with you.”

“You spend most of your time with me,” Ashton says gently. “Spend them with Michael. Hell, spend them with Cal.”

“But I want…” Luke yawns. He lists sideways a little. “I want you.”

Ashton chews his lip. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he says. “You won’t be able to get rid of me.”

Luke hums absently. “‘Kay, g’night,” he slurs, but makes no gesture to hang up the call. He probably expects Ashton to end it. If Luke is as asleep as he looks right now, Ashton kind of has to.

The graphite on the sketch paper is smudging a little. Ashton glances down at the half-assed likeness of his boyfriend and has an idea.

Quietly, he grabs another blank page, moves his laptop back a little, and starts to draw.

They’re up bright and early the next day, and after breakfast Ashton follows a decidedly more lively Maya into the Fine Arts Room, where she takes her place diagonally from him at their table. They’re both mid-project; Ashton stacks and sets aside his scratch papers and pulls forth the drawing he’s currently working on.

“So? You talked to Luke?”

Ashton blinks and looks up at Maya. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks for the tip, I meant to say.”

“Hey, don’t thank me, thank Cupid,” Maya says airily. “I’m on the side of love, baby.”

Ashton snorts and rolls his eyes. “Let Cupid know I say thanks.”

Maya hums. “Cupid says you’re welcome.”

They’re quiet while Maya gets herself set up — she has to put all her acrylics back every evening only to set them back out every morning, another reason Ashton prefers pencils over paints — and Ashton picks up his pencil and starts to draw.

“Is this yours?” Maya asks, peering at Ashton’s discarded stack of sketches.

“Yeah,” Ashton says without looking. “Just sketches and stuff.”

“Wait, this is so cute.” She’s leaning over the drawing on the top. Ashton glances up.

It’s Luke from last night, soundly asleep over Skype.

Ashton had ended the call after about ten minutes of silence, enough time to get the rough outlines of all the important shapes. The video quality wouldn’t have lent itself to a good sketch anyway if Ashton had been chasing authenticity, but fortunately he knows Luke’s face well enough — both from drawing it and gazing at it in real life — to pretend the call had had a crystal-clear picture. None of it is colored in, but it’s as obviously Luke as all of Ashton’s other drawings. Somehow, though, this one feels more personal.

“Did you draw this last night?”

“Uh,” Ashton says, reaching for the drawing. He shuffles it between several other papers so an innocuous collection of doodles is now at the top of the stack, and Maya clicks her tongue in disapproval.

“Hey, I was looking at that. It was cute.”

“Yeah, it’s— it’s just nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, it’s adorable,” Maya says. She fixes him with puppy-dog eyes. “Pleeeease can I see it? I won’t show anyone. I’m studying so I can kick your ass in our competition.”

Ashton sighs. “It’s just Luke. You’ve seen millions of drawings of him.”

“But those were obviously from memory,” Maya points out, taking his non-answer as an affirmative and sifting through the stack. Ashton doesn’t bother trying to stop her. It’s not like he has anything to hide — or at least not anything Maya could figure out by looking at the drawing.

And in her defense, Luke does look cute as fuck in the drawing, because he’d looked cute as fuck in real life.

“For all you know, this one is also from memory.”

“You drew the screen, Ash, it’s clearly from last night.”

“Well,” Ashton says diplomatically. Then he abandons diplomacy, because Maya has located the drawing and is grinning and aww-ing. “Well do you blame me? He fell asleep on our call. It was adorable.”

Maya giggles. “You guys are so fucking cute,” she says. “Y’know, most people would be insulted if their boyfriend fell asleep on a video call with them.”

“He’s been really busy lately,” Ashton says. “And it was the end of the call anyway.”

“One day, I will have someone to draw me when I fall asleep on our Skype calls,” Maya says wistfully. “I’m putting the vibes out into the universe so it’ll happen soon.”

“Maybe you’ll be the one drawing them,” Ashton points out.

Maya finally sets down the Luke drawing. She dips her brush in red paint, clearly intending to put it into her work, but at Ashton’s words instead brandishes it threateningly at him. “I won’t be drawing anyone, buddy.”

Ashton laughs. “But you’d date someone who drew instead of painted?”

“At this point?” Maya sighs theatrically. “I’d date just about anyone who did anything.”

Ashton laughs again. They work quietly for a few minutes. Ashton starts shading.

“Why do you only ever draw Luke?” Maya asks. “You said you’ve been together for less than a year. Who were you drawing before then?”

Ashton shrugs. “Uh, anyone, really,” he says. “People. There are a lot of pretty interesting people at my school, and besides, I’m from the city.”

Maya snorts derisively. “You’re from Queens.”

“Queens is in the city.”

Another derisive snort. “Queens is in the city the same way using ink stamps is painting.”

“That’s not even a little bit the same thing, at all.”

“You’re not a city boy.”

“I am literally a city boy!” Maya waves him off, but Ashton ignores her. She’s from Massachusetts. She has no leg to stand on. “My point is that there are lot of interesting people near where I live, too.”

“You didn’t ever, I don’t know, draw your friends? Calum, didn’t you say he’s your best friend from home?”

“Ah, yeah,” Ashton says. “Calum. Didn’t like when I drew him.”

“What, seriously? Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Ashton says, and it’s true. “He just asked me to stop drawing him one day so I did.” He hesitates. “...Mostly. Sometimes I still do. But if you knew Calum you’d understand why. He’s extremely good-looking.”

“Of course he is,” Maya says. “Any chance he’s single and/or interested in women from several states away?”

“No to both questions,” Ashton says sympathetically. “But good try.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Maya says good-naturedly, and they lapse into silence again.

It’s broken by Maya, again. “Do you show Luke the drawings you do of him?”

That’s a complicated question. No, Ashton doesn’t actively show his drawings to Luke, but Luke usually sees them anyway. Some of them are more private; Ashton keeps the one of Luke in the Spiderman suit sans mask folded up in the bottom of his socks drawer where he’s pretty certain no one ever looks. There doesn’t seem to be a point to showing it to Luke now, so long after he’d actually done it. But for the most part he’s not hiding his art from Luke; Luke sees what he sees, notwithstanding Ashton’s intention.

“Sometimes,” Ashton says.

Maya nods at the drawing of Luke asleep on Skype. “You gonna show him that one?”

“Uh, probably not.”

“What, why? It’s so cute.”

“I don’t know, maybe because it makes me seem like a ridiculous lovesick borderline creepy idiot?”

“Guys love that,” Maya assures him. “Or so I’m told. C’mon, why hold out on him when he already knows you’re basically obsessed with drawing him?” She taps the drawing. “And when he looks this adorable?”

Ashton breathes a laugh. “You have a point.”

“I always do,” Maya says, and she flips her hair dramatically.

Maybe Michael would let Ashton draw him. That would be a nice change from always drawing Luke and never drawing Calum. Maybe Ashton could just do it and then ask Michael what he thinks. It would be nice to have new muses. Ashton has spent a lot of time on Luke; maybe it’s about time he branched out again.

“Hey,” Ashton says, struck with inspiration as he watches Maya make brushstrokes across her paper. “Can I draw you?”

“Hell yeah, go for it,” Maya says. “I’m not sitting still for you, though.”

“I’ll live,” Ashton says dryly. Maya grins and laughs. A fresh page before Ashton and a new pencil in his hand, he studies Maya’s profile carefully and then brings his pencil to the page.

“Did you break into the Fine Arts Room again?”

“I don’t think it’s breaking in if it’s technically unlocked,” Ashton points out.

Luke squints but evidently fails to argue with this logic. “How’s artsy hipster bullshit camp?”

“Really good,” Ashton says, cracking his knuckles. His parents have told him repeatedly that doing so will give him arthritis, but Ashton suspects that’s more of a scare tactic than a fact. At this point he doubts even rehab could get him to stop. It’s the only thing Ashton can think to do with his hands when he’s not drawing. “By the way, remember the other day when you fell asleep on our call?”

I fell asleep at the end of our call,” Luke corrects him. “We were done talking.”

“Okay, weirdo,” Ashton says, shaking his head. “Well, anyway, Maya convinced me that I should show you this because maybe you’d think it was cute, or something.” He holds up the drawing of Luke.

Luke leans closer to the camera. Anyone else might have trouble discerning what’s on the page given how dim it is around Ashton, but not Luke. Luke has super-senses. His visual acuity is, like, a thousand. (Rough estimate.)

So when Luke’s face splits into a grin, Ashton knows he’s seen exactly what’s there. “Oh my fucking God, you sap,” he says. “I thought you just hung up straightaway.”

“Nope,” Ashton says. “I’m just saving moments. One day I’ll have enough for a flip book.”

Luke’s expression goes all mushy and heart-eyed. “You’re unbelievable,” he says, fond and endeared. “I can’t believe you’re not bored of my dumb face yet.”

“Are you kidding? Have you seen your dumb face?” Ashton laughs. “It’s impossible to be bored of it.”

“Ashton,” Luke says, his eyes crinkling so much that the blue all but disappears. “I love you.”

And everything makes sense.

“I love you too,” Ashton says, struck by the realization that he does. The drawings, the midnight Skype calls, the death-defying trips around the city with only his faith in Luke to keep them afloat, the fluttery feeling — all of the colors lock into place, and Ashton can see the rainbow clear as day in front of him. He’s never been in love; of course he couldn’t tell. But there’s nothing else it could be.

“Oh, good,” Luke says timidly. “I was a little worried you wouldn’t say it back.”

Ashton glances from the drawing in his hand to the look on Luke’s face on the screen, and he cracks a crooked smile. “Then you, superhero, have not been paying attention.”

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wormstacheangel · 4 years ago

Text

Almost: Ch 6

Summary: Dean is a little too distracted by everything Cas. Even when he tells himself he has to move on and just be happy for his old best friend. But it's hard when Cas is now just a text message away again.

Read on AO3 link (maybe leave a nice little comment?)

Word Count: 2959 More Under The Cut

“Rich people really don’t eat, huh?” Charlie said as Dean gets into the drive-through line for some burgers and shakes. She leaned forward on the seat, her head closer to Dean’s as she tried to look at the menu. “Well, at least I know what their houses look like.”

“Why did we have to leave in such a hurry anyway?” Sam was in the passenger seat also staring at the menu before he turned to Charlie. “Are you getting a chocolate one or vanilla? I’ll get the opposite of you.”

“I’ll get chocolate. You get vanilla and Dean can get the strawberry one.” Charlie decides, patting Dean’s head. “Yeah, why did we leave? Didn’t dreamy little Cas just get there?”

Dean rolls his eyes but doesn’t look back at them as they made kissing noises at him. “I won’t buy you guys shit if you keep this up.”

That shut them up pretty quickly. Good. Dean was still trying to process what was even said. Cas’s number felt like it was burning in his pocket. He felt stupid for wanting to call him already just to hear his name being said by Cas’s dumb raspy voice. Years of not hearing it really was catching up to him.

Sam then hit Dean’s arm to grab his attention. “Dude, we’re next.”

“Oh.” He went up to the speaker and ordered whatever Charlie kept telling him to say. He wasn’t sure if he got something for himself or even how much it was, just handing his card over when he got to the window.

Charlie and Sam must have noticed his mind was somewhere else. Lost in the tingle that still lingered on his cheek. Lost in that big bear hug that Cas gave him. The way Cas said his name, like a damn prayer, when he finally saw Dean made him feel weak in the knees and he hated it. Hated that Cas already had such a stronghold of him.

Of course, they didn’t know that was what he was thinking about. And he’s sure as fuck not going to tell them any of that. It’s his guilty pleasure that he gets to relive in his head and their nosy asses can have none of it.

As soon as they had their food Dean parked them in the emptier side of the parking lot before turning the car off. “Okay,” He turned towards them and took the food Sam handed him. “Dude, this is strawberry. I don’t want that shit.”

“Too bad you already agreed.” Sam held his shake away from Dean.

“I paid so I should get first dibs.” Dean reached for it again but Sam held it back, his bitchface front and center. “Sam. Give it.”

“No. This one’s mine.” Sam opened the lid of his shake and licked the top of the ice cream. “See it’s mine now.”

Dean laughed coldly. “Like that will stop me.” Dean was about to jump his brother but Charlie, who probably was tired as shit of seeing their bickering and saw the signs that this was about to turn into an actual wrestling fight, reached forward and took the strawberry shake from Dean’s hand. Replacing it with her chocolate one.

“There. Happy?”

“No.” Not really.” The brothers both mumble as Charlie lifts her hand as a threat and even though she would never actually hit them they saw that she was annoyed. So they both quickly said, “Sorry.”

“Good.” She sat back in the seat and started unwrapping her burger. “Now can we get back to the topic on hand?”

“Which is?” Dean had a mouthful of burger as he talked.

“Why did we leave so early?” She stuffed a few fries in her mouth as she looked at him with raised eyebrows. Looking like a curious little chipmunk as she chewed.

“Yeah,” Sam took a bite of the small yellow pepper before he bit into his burger. “I thought Cas wanted us there or whatever.”

“He did.” Dean looked down at his burger as he talked.

“Oh, so you did talk to him!” Charlie moved forward in the seat again. She frowned at him/ “How was he? Nobody looked really sad for it being a funeral and all.”

Dean shrugged. “He seemed fine. Didn’t talk for long cause he told me to leave.”

“What?!” Both Sam and Charlie said at the same time.

“Why’d he tell you that?” Sam asked, looking at Dean with round puppy eyes, probably trying to read Dean again.

While Charlie quickly picked up with angry steam. “And after telling you to go? What the fuck kind of-!”

“Charles. Breath.” Dean put his burger down and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. “I guess I should tell you guys since I’m gonna have to tell Bobby soon.”

They looked at him. Waiting for answers so Dean quickly told them about the will reading he was invited to go to. Leaving them just as confused as Dean felt.

“But...but why you?”

“Shit if I know, Sammy.” Dean finished his burger off and worked on his fries, dipping them into the shake. “Cas just said Bobby and me gotta be there for it to be read or whatever.”

“What if you get money?!” Charlie hit Dean’s shoulder in excitement.

“Doubt it. I’ll be lucky if he gives Bobby’s shop back to us.” Sam and Charlie sat back in their seats, nodding in agreement. “I feel kind of bad that a lot of people weren’t mourning and shit but...that dude was weird.”

“Creepy.” Charlie added.

“Gave me the chills.” Sam shivered.

“Rest in peace, Chuck!” Dean added at the end, holding his spoon up in solitary. “May you give Bobby the garage and hopefully your kids won’t kill me. Salud!”

Charlie and Sam smiled, even Sam who rolled his eyes but played along, as they held their spoons up. “Salud!”

When Dean finally arrived home, dropping off Charlie and Sam first, he dragged his feet to his room. This is around the time he hated living by himself. When he comes home and the lights are all off. The air is still and cold. No warmth or sense of home even if this has been his home for the last three years.

Dean took off his clothes as he went. Dumping it all into the chair in his room before he pulled the covers from his bed to climb inside them. He was too tired from the emotional roller coaster ride he went on the last few days. Tomorrow isn’t going to be any better so he might as well get some rest now.

“Fuck. My phone.” Dean groaned as he kicked the covers off and dragged his feet to grab his pants. Digging into its pockets to grab his phone and then stiffening up when he felt the crumpled piece of paper.

He took it out and walked back to bed. Staring at the phone in one hand and the paper in the other.

“Hmm,” Dean hummed as he studied the number. “So Cas did end up changing it.” Explained the dropped calls and unread text at least.

Dean slowly added Cas’s number to his phone. He debated on having the name down as Castiel or Cas. Then he debated if he should add an emoji, just something as dumb as a ghost for ghosting him, but he decided against it.

“Just Cas.” He whispers to himself as his thumbs hovered over the screen. His eyes narrowing at the name that haunted him for years. Cause that’s what he was, right? He was just Cas. He wasn’t even his friend anymore. At least Dean doesn’t think so. Even though he wasn’t so sure if he could be just friends with Cas, not yet, but...“Fuck it.”

He quickly opens a new text box and shoots a small little text.

‘Hey. It’s Dean.’ Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t discourage himself from adding. ‘Just wanted to make sure you had my number too.’

Dean looked at the clock on the corner of his screen and thankfully it wasn’t so late that it’ll be mistaken as a damn booty-call. Not that Dean would do that. Not to Cas at least. Maybe he’ll call somebody else for that later cause right now he feels too damn lonely and it’s just fucking suffocating him.

He started to scroll through his list of possible hookups - not that big of a list anymore now that people are getting married and shit - when a text notification got his heart racing in his throat. He sat up against his headboard and took a calming breath. His thumb hovered over the screen because he was nervous. It’s probably just a dumb reply too and he’s making this into a big fucking deal when it’s not going to anything important.

If it’s not a big deal then open it. He tells himself before sighing and opening up the text.

‘Hello, Dean. I saved it now.’

“Of course.” Dean rolled his eyes and dropped his phone on his lap.

His hands went up to cover his face, palms pressing hard into his eyes as his fingers grip at his hair in frustration. He was just mad -no fuck that he was annoyed- at the fact that he gave himself that dumb pep talk and he still held on to hope that maybe Cas would say...what the hell did he want Cas to say to him?

“Hey, Dean, you looked great today so I’m leaving my fiancé for you!” Dean mimicked Cas’s voice out loud to himself.

He groaned and picked up the phone again to just shut it off. There was no need to reply to that. The conversation was over. Clearly, the dude was busy with his damn fiancé.

But then Dean stopped short because he found the ‘...’ that kept appearing and disappearing. Damn it! He’s hoping again.

Dean kept his eyes on those dots for what felt like hours instead of the minute that it actually was. His heart beating hard against his chest as he imagined Cas trying to think of what to say. His dumb concentrated face glaring down at the phone. His too big hands holding the phone in between them and his thumbs hovering over the board. Probably overthinking his words or correcting something that just didn’t sound exactly right. Was Cas overthinking his text or was Dean just a dumbass for believing that?

Then finally the dots were replaced by words.

‘I’m sorry if Mick was bothering you earlier.’

Oh. Not what he thought Cas was gonna say at all.

Dean straightened up against the headboard. Pulling a pillow against his chest to hug as he texted back right away. Dean wasn’t the type to wait to look cool and Cas knew that.

‘He wasn’t.’ Dean sent first and then he rolled his eyes as he sent the next text. Nobody can tell Dean he’s anything but supportive. ‘He’s a nice guy.’

Even if it fucking kills him inside. He bangs his head back against the headboard a few times.

‘Wow. That must have taken so much out of you to type out.’

Dean laughed. Of course, that bastard will know. ‘Shut up, dumbass.’

‘I’ll let Mick know you think so highly of him.’

‘Okay, I wouldn’t go that far.’

‘Is he not your idol?’ Cas sent and Dean rolled his eyes but Cas quickly sent another one. ‘Are you not practicing your accent so you can be just like him?’

‘Ha. Ha. Very funny, Cas.’

‘Thank you. Glad one of you thinks so.’

‘What? Mick not a fan of your dumb dry humor?’

Cas sent three texts back to back. ‘No.’ ‘At least I don’t think he does.’ ‘He doesn’t seem to understand when I’m being sarcastic’

‘Well, it takes a while.’

‘We’ve known each other for 5 years now.’

‘Oh.’ Dean said it out loud as well. ‘That long?’

‘Yes.’

‘Almost has us beat.’

‘…’ Dean thinks he fucked up somehow but before he can completely freak out Cas texts. ‘Mick doesn’t come close to what you and I had, Dean.’

His breath catches in his throat and Dean starts to choke on-air as he reads the text again. What the hell was he supposed to respond to that?! “Lol. Good.” Dean jokes out loud as he wrote those words down but erased them just as quickly.

‘Sorry. I should go. Sorry to keep you up.’

Shit! No. No. Don’t go Cas. ‘No biggie. Talk to me whenever, Cas.’

‘Thank you. Goodnight, Dean.’

‘Night, Cas.’

Then - cause Cas couldn’t get any damn cuter - he sends a sleeping cat emoji along with a flower emoji.

Something came over him. Dean can say he was possessed or something but he sends the damn heart emoji. Then before he can see Cas’s reply - if he does reply - he turns off his phone.

“Yeah,” Dean tucks himself in his bed. Covers over his head as he closes his eyes. “I’ll deal with that in the morning.”

“I’m just saying,” Bobby has been just saying all the way to the lawyer’s office. “We better be getting something good if they’re making us waste another afternoon not working. Are they gonna pay our bills? No.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Just get everything out now before we get inside.” Dean tells him as he parks the car. He turns the car off as Bobby already reached to open his door. “Hopefully Chuck liked us enough to just give us the shop back. Cause as long as we own it and not them then that's good.”

“That’s all we can ask for now.” Bobby gets out of the car and quickly closes the door behind him.

Making Dean flinch as he sighs, his head hanging for just a second before he followed Bobby out. Thankfully, because of Chuck, they got to keep the shop open as long as they have but now they’re in a solid place where they can keep it open, and if one of the Novak’s gets it...Dean was just sure they would sell the property. Their family business will be no more.

Why else would Chuck want them here if it’s not for that?

Dean quickly caught up to Bobby, who didn’t bother to change out of his working clothes and had the damn ripped trucker cap on, before he noticed that his Uncle was walking towards someone.

“You’re late.” Cas quickly reaches to take Dean’s hand to drag him inside the large office building as he updates them. “Gabriel is inside trying to keep the peace but don’t worry,” He turns his head to Dean and winks at him. That bastard. “We will be your buffer so you’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Buffer?” Bobby’s voice gets Dean to stop floating away into Cas’s eyes. “We’re gonna need a damn buffer? What has your Daddy gotten us into, Cas?”

“I’m sorry, Bobby. If only I knew.” They get into the elevator and Cas lets go of Dean’s hand to smooth his clothes down. Eyebrow raised as if telling him ‘Couldn’t pick anything nice to wear to this important event?’ but Dean also just came back from work. He was lucky that his damn button-up didn’t have any oil stains. But then Cas smiled, “You look nice.”

Before Dean could answer, or even think of any words, Cas moved on to Bobby. Surprisingly Bobby let Cas fuss over him.

“The lawyer told us that all of us, including you two, had to be present in order for the will to be read.” Cas fixed Bobby’s hat and nodded before he stood in front of them, facing the door with a heavy sigh. “Hopefully you guys are ready for some fun Novak family time.”

Dean didn’t stop himself as he quickly reached to take Cas’s hand in his. He pretended not to see Cas’s eyes widen as he faced the doors as well. “As long as it’s not some big dumb elaborate joke. We’re missing work for this you know.”

“I know.” Cas squeezes his hand, smiling before he turns towards the doors as well. “I’ll take you both out for dinner after this if you like.”

Both. Dean’s heart raced even if it does sound like a date with his Uncle tagging along.

The elevator door opened and Cas quickly started pulling Dean along again. Bobby clearly was looking at them but right now Dean didn’t care as he bumped shoulders with Cas. “That sounds great. What do you have in mind?”

“Whatever Bobby wants of course.”

“I wanna get the hell out of here.”

“I was thinking more like in the realm of Biggerson’s?”

“Yeah, sure, we can do that too.”

Cas and Dean both laughed as they bumped shoulders, fingers locking together now before they stopped in front of the right door. Cas turned to smile at Dean, it was soft and reassuring but he was asking Dean something.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“If you’re sure.” Cas quickly tells him as he squeezes his hand once before letting go.

Dean really missed that weight in his hand now.

As soon as the door opened Cas walked through it - he easily ignored the angry glares that seemed to sting Dean frozen - and Bobby had to shove him a little for him to start walking. When the door closed Dean flinched hoping this would end soon.

This was going to be a long meeting. But hey, Dean goes to where Cas was patting the extra seat next to him on the couch and falls beside him, at least Cas was here.

“Now that we have everyone. Let’s get started. And please remember that security will call the police this time.”

Oh. Fuck.

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dacuslucy · 4 years ago

Note

Sobiana Dorothea au????

HELL YES

Summary: Sophie has a simple job, a simple life, but her ex has risen to become a ‘viral’ philanthropist. Sophie reflects on her relationship with her. (basically: sophie is very gay and biana ie very rich. yearning. lots of it.)

do you ever stop and think about me? - sophiana, but it’s mostly just sophie yearning. 1.3k

ao3 link

Sophie turned on her tv as soon as she got home from her job, as usual.

Her heart skipped when she saw what was on. She didn’t know why she had expected something else.

She’d seen all the magazines at work today. Everyone in her (admittedly small) friend group had talked only of it at lunch; in hushed tones, of course. No one talked to her about it. No, they must’ve assumed she was too fragile for conversations about her ex.

Her rich, charity making, dream selling ex.

I can handle it. It’s not like I'm still that crying schoolgirl.

Ignoring the shaking in her shoulders, she unmuted the tv.

“...Biana Vacker, founder of the Moonlark charity. Kelly, don’t you think it’s incredible what she has accomplished? A project to help, house, and feed children in need! I am shocked she has come this far, being so young and all.”

A sharp stab of anger flared inside of Sophie, distracting her from the crushing feeling in her heart. How dare they question her accomplishments? She’s done this all on her own. She deserves so much more than these people.

But, however much she disliked the way these hosts talked about Biana, she still wanted to see. She wanted to see her.

“...And now we have the woman herself!” The stage audience claps, and Sophie freezes.

She was as beautiful as ever. She wore a stunning dark purple dress that perfectly complimented her dark skin tone and a yellow ribbon amongst her curly hair.

Biana made her way onto the stage, and turned and smiled and waved at the camera, blowing a kiss, and a small wink.

Sophie blushed.

“Miss Vacker, it is such an honour to have you on the show today!”

“Thank you so much, the honour is mine!” She brushed a small part of hair that had escaped the ribbon behind her ear, but it just popped back out again. Biana giggled.

She used to laugh like that with me.

Sophie didn’t realize how hard she had been squeezing the remote until Kelly started talking again.

“So, Biana, we were just discussing how amazing it is that you’ve come so far in this industry, especially so young!”

“Oh, I didn’t do it alone! My incredible friends helped me so much, and I would love to thank them, particularly-” Sophie shut the tv off before she could hear any more.

Hands shaking, she hurried upstairs to her bedroom.

She sat down on her bed, brushing her fingers across her faux fur pillows to calm herself down.

They’re right, i suppose. She thinks of her friends. I am too weak to talk about her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots her box.

The box.

Their box.

Sophie took a few deep breaths, before walking across the room and grabbing the box.

Once she was back seated on her bed, she gently ran her fingers over the top of the box. It was covered in peeling stickers, polaroids, and writing.

In her scrawl, it read: “Sophie”, and in Biana’s beautiful script, “+ Biana’s memory box” with a little heart at the end. She carefully lifted the top off of the box.

Inside, there were photo booth strips, pressed flowers, Biana’s origami birds, and the letters.

Oh.

The letters.

Not particularly thinking about the emotional damage it may cause, Sophie unfolded the first letter.

“My Dearest Sophie,” it read.

“We arrived at Mom’s cottage today! Fitz is utterly bored, but he knows nothing of the woodlands here! I found a bunch of mushrooms, and many types of moss on the trees!

I also found a truly beautiful clearing (or it would have been beautiful, if it were not full of dying chrysanthemums!) behind the cottage. Mom said that the people that lived here before were extremely fond of the chrysanthemums, but she had never really liked them herself.

I was obviously horrified, so I took to caring for them myself! It gave me great sorrow to cut this one, but I told myself it was for the greatest cause ever.”

Pinned below was a dried, pressed, red chrysanthemum.

“Sophie, dear, I have been reading up on the language of flowers. Everyone says that roses are the flowers of love, and they are! but chrysanthemums are the only ones that mean ‘I love you’.

~ Biana.”

Sophie sat there, for a little while, in silence.

And then the tears came.

She shook, covering her mouth, as to make no sound.

It took her a few hours to calm down, but when she did, she made her way downstairs, and made herself some tea.

Spiced tea. Herbal tea. Biana liked-

No. You will not do this to yourself, Sophie. focus.

Long story short: she did it to herself.

She soon found herself back upstairs, the contents of the box spread all over her bed.

She had met Biana at a football game she had been convinced to go to by her friend Keefe. (Though in all fairness, Keefe only went to watch Fitz play.)

Biana had been hiding under the bleachers, avoiding the players at all cost.

“Hey, why are you down here?” Sophie had asked. (she had spotted Biana down there when she had gotten up to stretch her legs.) She kind of found it hard to start a conversation, though. Very pretty girl and all that.

“Oh, you know.” Biana shivered, she was only wearing a dress, and it didn’t even have substantial sleeves. “Avoiding the boys. Apparently, they can’t take no for an answer.”

“Oh,” Sophie said. “I’m sorry. Um, do you want my jacket? Actually, no, that’s not a question. here, take my jacket.” When Biana opened her mouth to object, Sophie quickly said, “I have a hoodie underneath anyway. I guess Keefe overestimated how cold it would be.”

Biana laughed, and took the jacket gratefully. “Well, I suppose I underestimated, then. Thank you!, Uh, for the jacket. What’s your name? I’m Biana.”

PrettygirlwantstoknowmynamePrettygirlwantstoknowmynamePrettygirlwantstoknowmyname- “I’m Sophie,” she managed to say.

“Well, Sophie, I have a feeling I’m going to be here awhile. And I don’t think Keefe and Fitz are going to be in a hurry soo…”

“...So?”

“You’ve been to our house before, haven’t you?”

Sophie shrugged. “Yeah, once or twice to help Keefe and Fitz make some posters. Why?”

Biana grinned. “Would you like to go and have some herbal tea with me?” She squints playfully at Sophie. “Or…are you more of a hot chocolate person? We have that too!” She got up from where she had been sitting on the ground.

Sophie couldn’t help laughing at this girl’s energy. “Sure,”

Biana beamed. “...Maybe I could braid your hair as well? I know quite a few, and your hair is pretty long, so-”

“Uh, yeah! That’d be really cool!” Sophie smiled dorkily.

“Well, what are we waiting for, then?” Biana looped her arm through Sophie’s.

Sophie sighed, her dramatic flashback coming to a close.

She slowly started to put the assorted letters and trinkets, finally coming back to the red chrysanthemum.

It’s the only one that says ‘I love you’.

She stuffs it in messily with the rest, then shoves the box under her bed.

A buzz from her phone startles her. Oh, it’s just Keefe.

She quickly responds to him, and then exits back into her contacts.

She scrolled down her text chains, down, down and down until-

There.

She hadn’t even changed her contact name.

Bia 💜

Sophie opened the chat.

Her fingers hovered over her keypad for several seconds.

She knew exactly what she wanted to say.

Do you ever stop, and think about me?

Because I do. I think about you every fucking day. And it kills me. It kills me, Bia.

A few minutes later, she closed the chat.

Later, she found herself strangely wishing there was a red chrysanthemum emoji.

#tw swearing #amelia's writing #hEY I LIKE THIS #i wrote this SO FAST #interaction with amelia #sobiana #sophiana #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc fic #sophie x biana #biana x sophie

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matrixaffiliate · 4 years ago

Text

Endeavor

Chapter Update! FFN and AO3

Early Update! The autumn colors are coming in where I live and tomorrow my little family and I are going to go enjoy them. Which means you get an update a few hours early! The next chapter posts on Saturday, September 26th. :)

Chapter 11

Victoire managed to make it home after her family had gone to sleep, but she stayed up another hour on the phone with Ted. He'd made her promise that if she was going to drive herself home at one in the morning then she would call him once she was home.

But when Dom came in at nine and pounced on her bed, Vic's roughly six hours of sleep made her regret not giving into Ted's suggestion that it was late and she should just stay at his flat.

"Someone got home late," Dom sprawled out next to her, tugging down on the covers that Vic pulled over her head.

"If you knew I got home late why are you in here?" Vic threw her arm over her eyes and tried to get back to sleep.

"Because, I want to gossip with you about your new beau, obviously."

Vic felt the smile pull on her lips, even as she contemplated throwing a pillow at Dom for waking her up before she was ready.

"It was amazing, Dom."

Dom rolled onto her stomach and pushed Vic's arm away from her face.

"Did you kiss him?"

Vic didn't open her eyes, but she could feel the smile spreading across her face.

"Oh! Whatever could that smile mean?" Dom laughed. "Come on, Vic, I helped you pick out clothes and I did your hair and makeup!"

Vic finally batted her eyes open and smiled at her sister.

"Dom, it was amazing!"

"So, tell me!" Dominique shoved her.

"For starters, he called it a date." Vic smiled over at her sister.

"Ha! I knew it would be!" Dom cheered.

"And, he took me back to his flat after dinner," Vic rolled over to her side and propped herself up on her elbow.

"Oh, come on! Did you kiss him?" Dom moved to mirror Vic's position.

"We snogged and talked until one in the morning," Vic bit her lip and felt her toes curl at the memory of it all.

Dominique squealed loudly, "I knew it! I knew it! When are you seeing him again?"

"Today," Vic looked over at the clock on her wall. "I'm meeting him at his flat for lunch."

"Well then you should get up and get ready," Dom gave her a shove. "And while we're talking about how wonderful your night was; when do we get to meet your new lover boy?"

Vic felt her stomach clench, "I don't know about that yet. No one knows that we're together or anything except you."

"Ooo, secret relationship, kinky," Dom poked Vic's side and laughed.

"Stop teasing me and let me get ready for the day," Vic gave Dom a half-hearted shove. "I won't be able to give you more gossip if I don't make it to lunch with him."

"Off I go," Dom jumped up and moved to the door, "but I expect a full report when you get home."

Vic just rolled her eyes and wondered if maybe Ted would mind if she showed up earlier than they had decided on.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Vic bit her lip as she knocked on Ted's door. She was nearly fifteen minutes early and she was hoping that he'd be pleased as opposed to annoyed.

"Couldn't stay away?" Ted teased as he opened his door.

Vic just laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Don't try to deny that you haven't been waiting on the edge of your seat for me to show up; you were the one trying to keep me here all night yesterday."

Ted shook his head as he grinned.

"Still so torturous," then he lowered his lips to hers.

Vic sighed into his mouth and pressed Ted back against the door frame.

"What the hell?!"

Ted's head whipped up and he pulled Vic closer to him, tightening his arms around her.

Vic looked with him toward the sound of the voice. To her surprise, Jamie stood staring at them with his mouth hanging down by his trainers.

"What are you doing?!"

"Welcoming Vic to my flat," Ted rolled his eyes. "Did you need something, Jamie?"

"You two are together?" Jamie's eyes were still wide.

Vic laughed, "Yes Jamie, now did you need something or can I go back to snogging my boyfriend?"

Jamie shook his head, "I was just going to see if Ted could help me with an assignment, but er, I think I'll see if maybe anyone else can help."

Ted chuckled, "Text me before you show up the next time, mate."

"You're as bad as Mum and Dad," Jamie shook his head, "I'll see you later."

He gave them one more incredulous look before turning and hurrying back down the stairs.

"Looks like the cats out of the bag," Vic chuckled.

"Did you mean it?" Ted brought his nose to nuzzle against hers.

Vic closed her eyes and hummed as she tried to kiss him, but he moved his lips to her ear.

"Did you mean to call me your boyfriend?"

Vic smiled and leant in to murmur in his ear.

"If you think I'm girlfriend material."

Ted moved his lips down her jawline and Vic felt her breath catch.

"I think you're quite a bit more than just girlfriend material," he murmured against her lips. Then he smirked. "You're author material and editor material and chocolate eater material and…"

Vic giggled and cut him off by pressing her lips to his.

"Take your girlfriend inside and make her some lunch, won't you?" She pulled back a moment later.

"So demanding," Ted stole one more kiss before pulling them inside.

"Do you think Jamie's going to broadcast this to both our families?" Vic asked as Ted moved with her into the kitchen.

"Oh, knowing Jamie, we can count on it." Ted rolled his eyes.

"Are you alright with that?"

Ted paused as he pulled out a box of pasta from the cupboard. He turned and leant back into the counter, gripping the edge behind him.

"I guess I should explain that my family more or less knows about you already."

"Did you text them all this morning or something?" Vic laughed.

Ted gave a nervous chuckle before looking down at the floor.

"Er, no, but, while we worked together, and especially after you got engaged to Sean, I went to them for support, told them a bit about what the situation was, asked for advice, that sort of thing."

Vic felt her stomach clench.

"Did, did that by chance, include my Uncle Harry?"

Ted rubbed the back of his neck, "Yep."

"Oh," Vic fell into a chair at the kitchen table, "How, how much does Harry know?"

"Only that I told you I loved you back in January," Ted finally looked up at her. "And I told him to keep it on my side of the family, it shouldn't have gotten around to your side."

"So, no one on your side knows that we kissed?" Vic bit her lip and started to wring her hands.

"None of my family, no," Ted looked down again, and his tone quieted.

"Wait, does someone on your side know?"

"Just a friend, she listened to me when I was freaking out about being such an arse for kissing an engaged woman."

"Oh," Vic nodded, "I guess I should tell you that I told my mum that I had kissed you, but I didn't give her much more than that. I told Sean I kissed someone, but he doesn't know it was you."

"I appreciate that," Ted's grip on the counter behind him was turning his knuckles white.

Vic rested her head in her hands and took a deep breath.

"Are, are we alright?" Ted's voice was quiet, timid even.

"I don't know," Vic sighed, "I just didn't think this part through, you know? I sort of thought that once we were together it would be sunshine and roses or whatever they advertise in those princess movies."

"Do you fancy yourself a princess?" Ted chuckled.

Vic turned and gave him a small smile, "Not at the moment, no."

Ted let out a long breath before pushing off the counter and coming to sit next to her at the table, grabbing her hands as they tried to rub her fingers raw and lowering them to the table with his.

"Vic, I know this is going to make things weird and awkward to some extent, but the best day of my life was yesterday, and I don't want to lose this a second time; I don't want to lose you."

Her chest ached as she tried to figure out what she wanted, how she wanted this to go. If she could only turn back time and dump Sean the day Ted started at Bread & Butter, maybe this wouldn't be so hard. Maybe she and Ted would have had a normal build-up to a relationship. Maybe this wouldn't feel like everyone knew that she'd been having an emotional affair for the last six months of her relationship with Sean. Maybe she'd feel less like she was tarnished in everyone's eyes.

"Vic?"

She lifted her eyes from their clasped hands and met his gaze, rich amber meeting deep blue.

"I'm not leaving," she sighed, "It just feels like now everyone knows what sort of girl I am."

Ted blinked.

"What?"

Vic shook her head and looked back down.

"Ted, you can't deny that I'm not going to be highly favored in your family, or with that friend that listened to you talk through what happened. You can't pretend like they aren't going to question whether I'll be faithful to you since I wasn't to Sean. What happened didn't paint me in the best light."

"Stop," Ted shook his head. "Vic, no, you've got it all wrong. You're amazing! There's no way they won't see that."

Vic shook her head, "I appreciate that you think I'm not a slag."

"Anyone who does is going to meet my fist," Ted growled.

Vic gave him a small smile, "I'm not going anywhere, I just think that your family might wish I would."

"They won't," Ted squeezed her hands.

Vic didn't believe him; she didn't see how anyone couldn't see what was happening and not immediately point out how manipulative her actions were. Especially when Ted and Harry were the only kids from that generation. How could these people not be protective of Ted?

"Hey," Ted brought a gentle knuckle to her chin and guided her face back up to his. Then he leant in and brought their lips together, all warmth and reassuring; his hand came to cup her face as his lips slanted over hers, holding her, pulling her closer.

"We're going to be ok," he smiled when he pulled back. "And I think that my girlfriend was asking for some lunch made by her boyfriend a moment ago, and I'd like to deliver on that."

Vic finally laughed, "Want a hand?"

"I'd love one."

Vic followed him to the counter and tried to ignore the knot that formed in her stomach, the knot that stayed throughout the rest of the day.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Vic made it home earlier than she had the previous night, which meant her family was still awake.

"Back before the crack of dawn, I see," Louis teased.

Vic gave a nervous chuckle.

"Be nice to your sister," her dad chided, "She always lets us know where she is and if she's staying where she is."

"If she had her own place, she could do whatever she wanted," Dominique chimed in.

"You only want her to move out so you can switch rooms." Louis shot back.

"She has the better view of the ocean; of course, I want to switch rooms."

"Well, if one of the leads Aunt Ginny has for me works out, maybe you will get to switch rooms with me." Vic moved to the stairs. Dom winked at her.

"Or you just move in with this bloke," Louis called as she started to climb.

"Louis!" Her mum swatted him with her magazine.

"Ouch! Maman!"

Vic smiled, it didn't sound so bad, living with Ted. And based on the way everyone acted, it sounded like Jamie hadn't texted her family and told them everything. At least her cousin hadn't completely freaked out. But she was sure of one thing, Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry definitely knew.

But as she stepped into her room, Vic took comfort that at least they didn't know everything.

"Ma chérie," her mum tapped on the door frame.

"Hi Maman," Vic tried to breathe through the panic she felt that maybe her mum knew. Her mum tended to know everything.

"How was your date?" Fleur sat down on the foot of her bed.

Vic couldn't help the smile that grew across her face.

"It was lovely."

"And are you going to tell your poor maman who the lucky boy is?"

Vic bit her lip and looked down at what was left of her chipping blue nail polish, she'd conveniently left out the name of who she was with the last two days.

"Er, it's Ted, actually."

"The boy you worked with?" Her mum's smile was small but Vic could see it in her eyes that she was laughing.

"Yes," she sighed, "the one I worked with."

"Have you thought about the things I wrote down for you?"

Vic blinked. She hadn't looked at that page in her notebook since the first time she'd summoned the courage to read it.

"N-no, I mean, I read it back when you first wrote it, but, I, well I forgot about it." She finished lamely.

Fleur stood and moved to Vic's desk and retrieved the notebook.

"You and your desires are important," her mum read. "Have you thought about what you want, both now and in the future?"

Vic shook her head no.

"You are a good person. You are brave." Fleur continued, "Do you believe this?"

Vic swallowed and shook her head again.

"You must decide your life's story." Fleur set the notebook down. "What will you choose?"

Vic shook her head, "Maman, I don't get to just choose what my life is going to look like."

"No, ma chérie, you misunderstand me. You are not in control of what will happen in your life, but you are the leading lady. Life is going to send much your way, but you must choose how you react, you must choose what the story looks like. You have determined that because you are not the author, you must simply float along, doing nothing. This is not the case. Do your characters in your novel not help to shape their stories?"

Vic blinked, "No, because I write them."

Fleur pursed her lips, "Think about what I've said, ma chérie, you might find that it's different than you think it is. Youth often makes us believe that things are only as we perceive them, but often we are simply not seeing the whole picture."

Vic sighed as her mum moved to wrap her in her arms. Leave it to her mum to make everything sound like a riddle.

"Thank you, Maman."

"Of course, ma chérie, and when you feel ready, we'd love to meet your Ted."

Vic felt her face grin of its own accord.

"I'll talk to him."

"Good," Fleur kissed her cheek and then slipped back down the stairs.

Vic watched her go and shook her head. Why did people who had never written a story think they knew anything about writing? But before she could really brood over that, her phone rang.

"Hey, Ted," Vic fell back onto her bed.

"Whoa, you alright? That was a very dejected sounding hello."

Ted's voice was warm and comforting and Vic felt herself falling into the embrace of it.

"I just have very well-intending family members who think they know what they're talking about."

"Did Jamie tell your parents? Because I will dunk his head in a toilet or something."

Vic laughed, feeling her frustrations slowly fade to the back of her mind.

"No, no he didn't tell my family, I just, my mum seems to want me to find myself or something or other and she tried to use a writing metaphor, but my mum has never written a novel and it seemed like she was trying to point out what's been wrong with my story and I don't know, I'm just frustrated."

"I didn't know you thought something was wrong with your story."

Ted seemed focused on the wrong point, but Vic decided that she'd rather talk to him about her book than her family troubles.

"I, yeah, I know something is off, I just can't figure out what it is." She paused. "Before, before everything in January..."

"Vic, you don't have to dance around that," he interrupted. "You can say, 'before you kissed me while I was engaged' and it won't offend me."

She rolled her eyes, "Except when you include that I kissed you back."

Ted hummed, "Not like you did today."

"Will you focus," Vic laughed.

"Right, yes," Ted laughed with her, "You were saying that before you kissed me back with great reservation you were going to…"

Vic shook her head as she smiled.

"Yes, that I was going to ask you if you wanted to read the draft I have and let me know what you think?"

"I'd love to," Ted answered immediately. "Ooo do you have it printed off with red pen marks everywhere?"

"No," Vic laughed, "It's an online document, I'll send you a link."

She pulled her laptop to her from her night table and powered it on.

"I'm going to have to be careful," Ted's voice vibrated in her ear as she used her shoulder to keep her phone in place. "If I can read it on my phone then that means I can read it at work."

"You love your job," Vic rolled her eyes as she sent the email invite to view the doc. "And I doubt my little story is going to be that captivating."

"There's the first problem," Ted's voice was almost stern. "You need to think more highly of yourself, and what you create."

"Ted," Vic sighed.

"No, you're amazing and you need to believe you're amazing, Vic."

"Now you sound like my mum."

"Your mum sounds like a smart lady."

Vic laughed. "You're ridiculous."

"And you like it, so where does that leave us?"

Louis stuck his head in the door and nearly spooked Vic out of her skin.

"Vicky, Maman says dinner is ready."

"Thanks," Vic mouthed to her little brother.

"Well, I suppose that leaves us with me going to dinner like I'm still sixteen."

"I hope you're not still sixteen, I'll go to prison forever if you are."

Vic burst out laughing, "I repeat, you're ridiculous, and I need to go."

"Text me tomorrow, I'll start on your novel tonight."

Vic smiled as she pushed off her bed. "Thanks, have a good night."

"I'll do my best without you." Ted's voice betrayed his smirk.

"For heaven's sake, Ted, go make yourself some dinner or something!" But she couldn't keep from laughing.

"Alright, alright, enjoy your family, I'll talk to you soon."

They disconnected and Vic felt like maybe it wasn't so bad to have her family meddling in her life if she got to spend time on the phone teasing Ted as well.

#Endeavor #tedoire #tedoire fanfiction #tedoire au #tedoire muggle au #teddy x vic #ted x vic #teddy x victoire #teddy lupin x victoire weasley #teddy lupin #victoire weasley #next generation #next gen fanfic #next gen au #next generation muggle au #fluff #romance #coworkers romance #harry potter fanfiction

11 notes · View notes

regolithheart · 5 years ago

Text

Love In The Time of Coronavirus: Chapter One

Summary: One pandemic, one lake house, and two people who loathe one another. Will they be able to survive the outbreak...and each other?

MASTER LIST

Read on AO3.

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

CHAPTER ONE:

Nesta Archeron tapped her pen against her notebook wondering how much longer her conference call was going to last.

“Okay, team. Sounds great. Hopefully this thing will end soon and our lives can get back to normal. We’re eager to break ground,” a voice crackled through the line. “Send us the package when you’re done.”

“Will do. Thanks everyone.” Nesta clicked off the call before anyone else had the chance to respond. She could see her friend and desk neighbor shaking her head.

“You really have a way with words,” Amren said, playing with the heavy ruby earrings dangling from her earlobes.

“I hate conference calls.”

“And here I thought you were just eager to get on the road.” Amren’s smile was feline.

“Don’t remind me. I’m thinking about calling Feyre and cancelling. I’d much rather stay in my own home, get my work done, and avoid having to talk to a single soul for two weeks.” Nesta began shoveling the contents of her desk into her work bag. “At least then something good will come out of this pandemic.”

“Don’t put me down as your emergency contact when they find your body a month later, half-eaten by feral cats.”

Nesta leveled her grey eyes at Amren. As if she’d ever put anyone down as her emergency contact. She was the type of person who didn’t believe in emergency contacts and was offended that Amren thought otherwise.

“Besides,” the tiny woman said, flipping her jet black hair. “You make it sound like you’re being shipped off to Siberia. I would kill to be quarantined in a house on Lake Velaris.”

“You’re more than welcome to come. I’m sure there is plenty of room.”

Amren eyed her friend and smirked. “Tempting, but I need to go home and take care of Varian.” She held up her cell phone. “Some idiot assaulted him when he was trying to help an old lady at the grocery store. Can you believe these people?”

Nesta knew exactly what people were capable of and the fact that everyone was running around with no reins on their stupidity in a time of panic did not come as a surprise to her.

“Is he okay?”

A wicked smile spread on Amren’s face and her eyes gleamed silver. “Oh he’s okay. He’s just using this as an excuse to get me to dress up as a nurse.”

“Okay, goodbye!” Nesta shoved her laptop into her bag and heard Amren cackling behind her as she walked through their nearly empty office.

As she strode past the glass cube that was her principal’s office, she nodded her head to indicate she was leaving, but he waved her over.

Devlon Cerny was still waving her over while he nodded his head into his phone, “Right, right, right.”

Nesta suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She leaned against the door, another glass panel, waiting for his call to end.

“Well listen, we’ve been through this with our China and Southeast Asia offices months ago. I’d like to think we’re better prepared in this situation than most architecture firms.” Devlon nodded again.

Nesta glanced at her phone, wondering how much longer he was going to make her wait.

“Yep, we’ll continue to coordinate with the consultants. Thanks, Tamlin.” He finally turned his eyes onto her. “How’d the Carver call go?”

“What, don’t you trust me?”

Devlon gave her a pointed look. “Of course, I do. I still want to know how it went. I’m in charge of ops for this office, aren’t I?”

Nesta relented. “Business as usual. They signed off on the master planning package and we’re full steam ahead on block F. Whose available on the viz team for renderings?”

“VR?”

Nesta shook her head. “We’re focusing on the commercial tower right now. A couple of exterior shots and some lobby and amenities spaces.”

Devlon thought about it. “I’ll let you know.”

Typical.

“Anyone but Eris.”

Devlon snorted. “I’ll let you know.” She knew he hated when she gave him orders. “You headed out now?”

She nodded. “Unless you need me to stay.”

Devlon shooed her away with his hand. “Go see the sisters. And stay safe out there.”

Nesta made sure he saw her rolling her eyes this time. “Anyone but Eris,” she reminded him before turning around to leave. She heard him half-scoff and half-laugh as she retreated.

She flipped her phone back and forth between her hands as she waited for the elevator to take her to the parking garage. It would be so easy to send a text to her sisters, telling them that she changed her mind—that she wouldn’t be joining them on their isolation at the lake. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to stand hearing the hurt and disappointment in their voices when they’d inevitably call her, demanding a reason. It didn’t matter that they’d be with their respective boyfriends and Nesta would be left to talk to Feyre’s boyfriend’s cousin who barely hid her disdain. Or one of the family friends, the one who barely said a single word, or the other one, who—

Ding!

The elevator doors slid open, distracting Nesta from her thoughts.

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

Nesta stood in front of her bed, trying to decide between the two sweaters in each hand while her sister, Elain, kept her company on the phone.

“How much clothes are you bringing?”

Elain hummed, her voice on speaker. “Between the two of us, I think we have four suitcases.”

“Four?!” Nesta thought that was absurd.

“Well… we don’t know how long this thing will last, do we?”

Nesta could just imagine Elain crossing her arms defensively.

“I’m sure there will be a washing machine.” She folded the grey sweater and tucked it neatly into her suitcase.

“Yes, but…you’ll need a couple of bathing suits and some nice dresses…”

“Elain, we’re going to be in quarantine, not throwing dinner parties. And who is swimming in the lake in March?”

“I think Feyre said there was a heated pool…or was it a jacuzzi? And you don’t have to be so…practical all the time. What’s wrong with wanting to dress up every now and then?”

Nesta snorted. There was no one she needed to dress up for in that particular group—not that she believed in dressing for anyone but herself.

“And how many grey sweaters are you bringing?”

Nesta looked down at her suitcase and threw a glare at her phone.

Elain’s voice was much more cheerful after Nesta’s silence. “Nes, promise me you’ll bring at least one bathing suit, one nice dress…oh! And some work-out clothes. Feyre says there is a gym. I need you to show me your arms routine.”

Nesta sighed, “Elain, you do realize that I’m going to be working most of the time, right? This is not going to be a vacation for me. Maybe I should just—“

“Don’t you dare think you can worm yourself out of this, Nesta. You’ve already promised Feyre and me and what do we say?”

“An Archeron never breaks her promise.”

“That’s right!”

Nesta sighed again.

Feyre had come up with the brilliant idea three days prior. Her boyfriend, no, fiancé owned a house on Lake Velaris and with the pandemic racing it’s way across the globe and people beginning to self-quarantine, it was only a matter of time before it was a mandate and not a request.

And Feyre, always making lemonade out of lemons, decided that if they were all going to be quarantined somewhere, it might as well be together and on a beautiful lake. The phone calls were made, plane tickets were booked, and arrangements were set.

Nesta had flat out refused when Feyre had called her sisters from France.

“But we’ll be together,” Elain had said.

“With five other strangers.”

“They’re not strangers.” Feyre had said through a sigh. “You’ve met them all, numerous times. I’m marrying Rhys! They’re going to be my family…and yours.”

Probably sensing Nesta’s anger building, Elain had pivoted the conversation. “Nes, Feyre’s flying home to be with us. We haven’t see her in three months.”

“She was the one who decided she wanted to live in France for a year.”

“For art school!” Feyre’s voice had gotten high-pitched.

Ever the diplomat, and referee between Nesta and Feyre, Elain spoke gently. “It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that we should be together.”

“Fine,” Nesta had finally relented.

If she was going to be cooped up in a house with seven other people, it might as well be a big house where she could hide if need be, and knowing Rhys, the house was going to be huge.

“What time is Feyre’s flight?” Nesta asked as she dumped the contents of her suitcase out on her bed to reassess, given Elain’s new parameters.

“Not for a couple of hours, I think.”

Nesta frowned. “Isn’t it a ten hour flight from Paris?”

“I think they’re taking some new jet that gets you there in half the time.” Elain’s voice grew soft, as if she were unsure of the facts.

That’s how it always was with Rhys. Nesta never knew if half of the things he said were true or not, mostly because they just seemed so unrealistic or unbelievable. It always irritated her when she was proven wrong. Still, it was easier to believe that he was a grifter lying about being rich than accept the fact that he was actually the sole heir of his father’s multi-million dollar real estate empire.

“I hope they bring goodies. Would it be horrible to ask for a box of macracons from Laduree? I should text Feyre now!”

Nesta shook her head as she rearranged items back into her suitcase. Elain would be happy to know that she had room for two dresses and Nesta was also pleased she was able to squish another sweater in before zipping the whole thing up.

“How many books are you bringing?” Elain asked, knowing her sister too well.

Nesta eyed the tote bag crammed full of books sitting by the door. “Not that many.”

“Good! We’re going to have so much sisterly bonding time that you’re going to get sick of me by the end of this whole thing!”

“Never.” Nesta looked around her apartment longingly, but after hearing the excitement in Elain’s voice, she lifted the phone and suitcase off the bed, heading to the door. “Are you sure I can’t pick you up?”

“I’m sure. Graysen should be getting off soon and I know you hate my music choices.”

It was hard to argue with that one.

“If you don’t mind waiting, you could ride with us,” Elain suggested, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

The truth was that if Nesta and Graysen were to be locked in a confined space together for the whole ride, no one of them would not make it to Napa alive…and there was a very big possibility that Nesta would end up being charged for murder. They all knew this, but it still never stopped Elain from trying to force Graysen and Nesta to get along.

“Thanks for the offer, but you know how I hate sitting in the back seat.”

“Okay. Call me if you need anything. I’ll see you soon.”

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

Six and a half hours later, Nesta pulled up the gravel drive of Rhys’ lake house. To call it big would have been an understatement. The house was actually a mini-mansion which stood two stories high, but also had a ground level cut into the sloping hill next to it and she had a feeling she was only seeing half of its actual size from her viewpoint.

The sun was beginning to sink below the edge of the lake, causing the windows to glitter with the reflecting light and Nesta had to admit to herself that it really was beautiful.

She turned off her ignition and looked around. She had expected Feyre to bound down the porch stairs to usher her inside, but the house sat quiet. And with the sun fading, she thought it was odd that there wasn’t a single light on in the house. There were no other cars that she could see besides her own and a beat up truck with peeling paint on its tailgate.

Perhaps it was a maintenance man, or gardener. Even with the woods at its doorstep, the house still had a manicured lawn and enough of a garden that Elain would swoon over the roses and an hydrangeas swaying happily in the breeze.

Nesta grabbed her phone to make sure she got the right address. She was certain that she had, but she was starting to get an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach, and that was when she saw the missed call and texts from her sisters.

She almost didn’t want to read them.

01:03 Feyre: The airport is packed. Gross.

01:03 Elain: Don’t touch anything! Wash your hands!

01:22 Feyre: Flight is delayed. Don’t worry, Rhys is trying to find us a charter.

01:24 Elain: Keep us posted.

Nesta shook her head in disbelief as she scrolled down to the bottom of the text window.

04:58 Feyre: No one’s flying out of Paris and London’s due to cancel all their flights.

04:58 Elain: So you’re stuck in France?!?

04:59 Feyre: For now, yes.

Nesta’s knuckles were turning white from clutching her phone. She tapped the play button on Feyre’s voicemail, one that she clearly left without allowing Nesta to pick up.

“Nesta, don’t be mad. We’re doing everything we can to get home. Rhys is calling in all his favors. It’s going to be okay. You’ll be with Elain and you can call me at any time—we’re heading back to the apartment now. I’ll call you if anything changes. Stay safe.”

Nesta could feel the heat rising from her chest and crawling up her neck as she punched in Elain’s number.

“Nesta! Don’t be mad!”

She had to take a deep breath. “Where are you?”

The two seconds of silence immediately made Nesta want to bare her teeth.

“We…haven’t left yet.”

“Elain! I offered to give you a ride. I even left work early! And now Feyre…”

“I know! I know, Nesta. Don’t hate me, but Graysen had some things he needed to finish up at the office and it’s already so late. We’d be lucky if we got there before midnight. But don’t worry! We’re going to drive up first thing in the morning.”

“Why didn’t you call me when you knew Feyre’s flight was cancelled?”

“I knew you were driving and I didn’t want you to be upset. Are you there now?” Elain’s voice went small.

“Yes. I’m sitting in the drive way with no way to get inside because both my sisters have abandoned me.”

Elain sighed, “We didn’t abandon you.”

“No? How am I getting inside the house? I’m all alone.”

Nesta could hear Elain’s breathing on the other end of the line, it was quick, almost…nervous. She narrowed her eyes.

“Elain?”

Elain’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Well… you’re not entirely alone…”

Nesta closed her eyes and breathed out of her nose, trying to calm herself. She had felt that sense of doom all day. She should have listened to it—should have turned around on the highway and headed back to Los Angeles all those times her body was telling her too. But she ignored those warning signs—didn’t know what the universe was trying to warn her about.

But she knew now. She knew even before looking, knew before Elain said the words out loud.

When she opened her eyes and looked out her window, standing there, with his arms folded across his broad chest and a shit-eating grin on his face, was the very last person on earth Nesta Archeron wanted to be stuck in quarantine with.

And his hazel eyes gleamed with delight.

#acotar #nessian #nessian fanfic #cassian #cassian archeron #elain archeron #feyre archeron #love in the time of coronavirus

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mcgrillzdumpinc · 4 years ago

Text

Hak x Kija - First Date

Wow, I’m back doing stuff for Akayona! Request comes from the lovely angryharmonyqueen

Word Count: 2103 Warnings: None ao3 link

It was a regular autumn afternoon at Kouka University. Calm weather, slightly cloudy skies, and a campus milling with pods of busy students. Kija had just finished his morning Thursday classes and was eating his lunch, taking what little time he had to enjoy himself before his final class of the day. He was scrolling through missed texts, mainly from his grandmother, when he heard a noticeable whump in front of him. Looking at the sound, he saw Hak sitting down in front of him, book bag slumped heavy on the wire table.

“So… want to go on a date?” he asked, casual, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb.

Kija spat out his drink. “Wh-what?!”

Hak raised an eyebrow, his expression infuriatingly expectant. “Did you forget you confessed to me last week?”

Kija crushed his juice box, not really caring that its contents spilled over his scales. It was true, he had confessed in a spectacularly embarrassing fashion nearly a week ago. But that was due to his brothers egging him on and – “I wasn’t expecting anything from it!” he protested.

For the love of the gods, Hak pouted in response. That was nearly enough to give Kija a heart attack! “If you didn’t expect anything from it, why would you tell me?”

Spurred on by his eager nerves and the bothersome stickiness between his scales, Kija stood up from his seat and hurried to the nearest water fountain, throwing away the juice box as he went. Hak followed him. As Kija ran water over his hand, Hak leaned over his shoulder, his face much too close for Kija’s enjoyment.

“So? Will you tell me?”

Kija resolutely turned his head away. Hak moved to lean over his other shoulder. Kija scowled.

“Why are you so angry, White Snake?”

“Y-you…!” Kija started to dry his hand with a handkerchief. His face was burning, and it had everything to do with Hak. “D-don’t… don’t get my hopes up.”

A noise of disbelief came from the other man. “Do you really think I would do that? I’m hurt.”

Kija squeaked. “No! You’re a perfectly respectable individual, very sweet and honorable! I-i-it’s just that—”

Before he could continue, Hak took his hand. It was perfectly dry now, but still he took Kija’s handkerchief to rub at the scales. Through the thin layer of fabric, his thumb rubbed across Kija’s palm, and the dragon could’ve kissed him right then and there.

“Then go out with me. I want to try with you.”

Kija stared at him. The expression before him was as serious and steadfast as Hak could ever get. There was no denying his honesty, not when he looked so much like a loyal knight.

Embarrassment broke their eye contact. Kija whispered, “Okay.”

~~~

They agreed to meet up at Hiryuu Park the following Saturday. Kija arrived in a pair of tan oxford boots, light blue acid-washed jeans, and a white with black stripes open shirt, with a blue tank top underneath. He was there first, of course, because it was only reasonable to show up to a date fifteen minutes early! He managed to pass the time by texting his friends, almost lulling himself to a total calm by the time his date arrived.

“Hey, White Snake.”

Hak’s voice, deep, rumbling, and unbearably sexy, interrupted Kija from typing an indignant response to Jae-ha’s teasing. Hesitantly, Kija looked up to greet his date, only for his mouth to run dry at the sight. Hak was in a rich blue button-up tucked into black trousers, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and buttons undone just enough to offer a peak at his chest. The trousers had embroidered details along the pants’ leg—stitched in grey so they were barely noticeable except for an observant eye. On his feet were a pair of black dress shoes—bluchers, was Kija’s best guess—and in his hands was a sizeable bouquet of pink and white flowers, interspersed with little yellow flowers. Hak, the bastard, smirked when he noticed Kija’s fluster.

“That sexy, White Snake?”

Kija gawked, spluttered, all but threw his phone and wallet at the stupidly hot man, before he managed to squeak out, “You’re too dressed up!”

Hak stared at him, dumbfounded.

“We agreed to a simple lunch date! I came in casual clothes! Why are you dressed like we’re about to travel to Europe?!”

Hak pouted, the bastard. “Yona said you’d like this…”

Kija actually screeched at that. “Don’t bring the princess into this! Her taste is impeccable, and she’s right, I do like it! But not for a casual date!” Before he could think twice, he took Hak’s free hand. “Come on, we’re getting you changed!”

~~~

They ended up in a retail store nearby. Much to Kija’s embarrassment, Hak picked out an outfit that matched his—dark blue jeans, a white tank-top with blue stripes, and a grey button-up unbuttoned to this navel. But arguing was pointless when Hak only had to smile knowingly to shut Kija up. With Hak’s previous outfit in a bag and the bouquet resting on Kija’s arm, the two hurried to a café one of Kija’s cousins owned.

“I-I really hope you don’t mind coming to a place my family works…” Kija mumbled as they were seated. What he didn’t say was my grandmother insisted we come here.

Hak hummed. “No, I don’t mind.”

The menus were laid out before them, but Kija could only stare at his hands in his laps. He heard Hak order their drinks for them—hazelnut coffee for Hak, lemon green tea for Kija—but he couldn’t say a word until the waitress left. “Th-th-that’s good…” he managed to whisper.

They lapsed into silence. Peaking up revealed Hak with the menu in one hand and his phone in the other. To Kija’s chagrin, he was much more interested in the latter.

When their drinks were delivered and the waitress asked for their food orders, Kija managed to order a salad. Hak ordered a sandwich. The menus were returned and the unbearable silence resumed.

Just as frustration was about to win over Kija’s nerves, Hak finally spoke. “So, um… what are your hobbies?”

That elicited a surprised chuckle out of Kija. “Why would you ask me that? You’ve known me for years!”

Hak pouted, overly adorable for such a handsome man. “The article said to…”

Kija crossed his arms, finally sitting up straight. “The article?”

Hak grumbled and passed over his unlocked phone. On the screen was an online article titled AWKWARD FIRST DATE? HERE’S 10 CONVERSATION STARTERS. Kija couldn’t help himself—he started laughing instantly. “You—you looked this up?! We’ve been friends for so long, you don’t need this!”

“That’s the problem!” Hak argued as he retrieved his phone. “This is our first date, it should be—I don’t know—different? I don’t want it to be like every time we’ve hung out.”

In truth, their hangouts were the definition of casual. Usually, them and their shared friend group would meet up at either Hak or Yona’s houses and watch movies or play games. Kija tended to fall asleep before midnight and had to be carted back to his home. But on more than one occasion, Kija and Hak would spend a night alone watching B-rated sci-fi movies or forgotten action classics, since they were the only two people in their friend group who liked such flicks. Those nights were the instigator behind Kija’s feelings as well as a treasured source of memories that he could play over and over when he was lonely. But he had to agree with Hak—it wouldn’t be a good first date if it was at all like their usual hangouts, silence that was only interjected with jeering or laughter. He wanted something lovely, something more like a cheesy romance novel than a movie for teenagers. It made him happy, knowing that Hak felt the same.

Kija heard a camera snap and immediately turned to glare at his cousin from where she was peeking from the kitchen. She only giggled and noticeably took another picture before escaping to her station.

Kija sighed before pulling on a smile. “It’s nice we agree, then.” Remembering the bouquet, he leaned over to the bag holding Hak’s clothes and the bouquet to pluck out one of the small yellow flowers. The tiny stem pinched between his thumb and pointer finger, he held it out to Hak. “To a good first date?”

A dusting of pink peeked out from Hak’s tan skin. “Yeah…” he agreed as he took the flower and tucked it behind his right ear, “to a good first date.”

Things become easier, after that. The food was delivered and quickly devoured. A chocolate cake, “compliments of the chef”, was placed between them within minutes of finishing lunch, and the two of them split it. Hak, of course, has more of the cake than Kija—the man was the quicker and more voracious of them, but Kija didn’t mind. He was too enchanted by the specks of chocolate cake on Hak’s mouth, the flower in Hak’s hair, and good conversation to complain. Thankfully, Kija’s cousin doesn’t bother them any further, and Kija paid the cheque without hassle.

They walked somewhat aimlessly after that. A live band performance was scheduled at the park they met at, but that wasn’t for another hour. Kija found himself enjoying the easy silence, and he kept staring at the bouquet once again in his arms. He couldn’t believe Hak, a brute by most estimates, had chosen something so beautiful for him. Just as Kija was about to properly thank him for the gift, Hak suddenly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, hands dug into his pants pockets and face towards the ground, and asked, “Are you having fun…?”

Kija turned to face him. “Of course I am!” The sullen dip of Hak’s lips and scrunch of his eyebrows didn’t lift. Kija stepped into his space, forcing eye contact. “I’ve had a lovely time so far.” Embarrassment flooded his cheeks and made him look away. “I… This is better than anything I’ve imagined.”

He heard Hak snort. “I know about those romance books you like to read. This hasn’t been as great as those, I’m sure.”

Kija frowned, crossed his arms. “Those are dramatic. I don’t read them because they’re exactly what I want.” Age-old frustration rose within him, threatening to force out the wrong words. He was never good at saying exactly what he wanted. Instead, he took a deep breath and waited out the frustration, then the hint of awkwardness, then managed to say, “Everything I’ve imagined and everything I’ve read haven’t had the reality of having you actually here with me.” He grabbed Hak’s wrist and kept on charging through, before humiliation and anxiety could catch up to his mouth. “I’ve wanted to be with you for years. You could throw me into the sea and I would still consider this the best, most fun date I’ve ever been on.”

Hak was silent. Kija was about to take back all his words, save himself a least a little pride, when a calloused hand reached up to caress Kija’s chin and guide him to look up. Kija followed through and barely had time to appreciate the vulnerability on Hak’s face before the taller man kissed him.

Fireworks burst beneath his lips, spread through his teeth and his gums, traveled down his throat and expanded through his entire body. In that moment, he could lift a piano with his human hand, could run a marathon without breaks, could hold the entire world on his back. His heart burst, and it was the most wonderful Kija had ever felt.

“I feel the same,” Hak said when he pulled back. “I-I mean…” He snaked an arm around Kija’s back, tugged him closer. The flowers crushed between their chests, but Kija couldn’t find it in himself to care. With his hand on Kija’s cheek, their breaths intermingling, black hair tickling pale cheeks, Hak muttered, “My feelings for you are recent, I think. But, I… I wanted to go out with you and it’s been great. You’ve been great. Kija, I want to be your boyfriend. Can we?”

Kija’s smile could barely contain his joy. This was more than he had ever dreamed of on those lonely nights. Hak wanted him too. Hak wanted him. His happiness alone could power the whole city.

“Of course,” he said. “I want to be your boyfriend, too.” And then he leaned in to steal a kiss of his own.

#akatsuki no yona #sometimes i write #son hak #Hakuryuu Kija #hakkija #kijahak

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 5 years ago

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can't stop it all from changing

Penelope and Schneider, ODAAT. Also on AO3.

Deleted scene fic from 4.02, immediately following the collapse of the couch. I miss their S3 levels of intense sincerity and I needed a conversation to happen in this episode that didn’t.

“Well, that settles it, then,” Schneider declared. “Your couch is dead. May it rest in peace.”

What was that? You okay?

Penelope got the text while she was still on the floor, so she knew Schneider heard the couch collapse. The fact that he texted instead of running downstairs immediately was unlike him.

I’m fine, she sent back, dusting herself off.

“I expected better from you, though,” Penelope told her couch once she was standing and could stare down at it with disappointment.

What was she going to do now?

What happened? Schneider asked, when no more information was forthcoming. I’ll be there in a sec.

No, you don’t have to do that! She sent back, knowing it was already too late. Damn it. After the argument they’d had earlier, he was definitely not gonna shut up about the couch now.

She was lucky her Mami wasn’t here, Penelope thought. She couldn’t handle the prayers and the loud Spanish laments or the two of them ganging up on her. She would figure this out.

What if she shoved some really sturdy boxes into the gap? And filled them with something heavy so they could hold the middle up?

No, that was dumb, Penelope. Who wanted to sit on a couch made of bricks?

Maybe Schneider could reinforce the center of the couch with wooden boards and then it would be like it hadn’t broken in the first place. That would be better.

Schneider let himself in as she was nodding along with that thought.

“Oh. My. God.” She watched as her best friend--how was he almost as dramatic as her mom?--crossed himself in the face of her disastrous furniture.

He still wasn’t any better at that. But it almost made her smile, which was nice.

“Penelope. What on earth did you do to it?”

“Nothing! I sat down. It just happened.”

“Well, that settles it, then,” Schneider declared. “Your couch is dead. May it rest in peace.”

She turned away from him to look back at the collapsed mess in the center of her living room. “You’re sure you couldn’t...fix it? With tools?”

“Not even Jesus could fix this couch, Pen. And he built miracles and furniture. It’s time to replace it. But don’t worry--you don’t have to go through this alone. You have me.”

She grabbed hold of the first excuse that came to mind. “Aren’t you busy moving Avery into your place? And speaking of Avery, shouldn’t it be your girlfriend you go furniture shopping with?”

"Avery isn’t the one who needs furniture, Penelope. She’s still sorting through her house. The hard part is figuring out what to combine at my place and what to put into a multilevel storage unit.”

“Besides, this is important.” He grinned. “Important family business. If I don’t help you, there’s no way you’ll unclench long enough to actually bring a couch home.”

“Your lack of faith in me is starting to get annoying,” she shot back.

“I have enormous faith in you!” he argued. “But I also know your weaknesses. Clearly, this is one of them.”

Arms crossed, she stared him down. “If I’m really doing this, I’m going to need you to make sure I go through with it. Okay? Don’t let me talk myself out of it. Make sure I leave with a new sofa picked out.”

“Hey, I’m going to be there every step of the way.”

Penelope nodded, trying to feel comforted by his support.

“I mean literally, Pen. I’m looking up stores right now, and we’re going together. After all, I’ll be using your new sofa as much as you do.”

“No, you won’t.”

He ignored that. “Give me some time to read up, and we will head into a furniture store ready to find you the perfect couch. What good is having a best friend if you can’t take him couch shopping, anyway? ”

Did she have another choice? “All right, Schneider, you win. I could go on my lunch break tomorrow if that works for you.”

“It’s fine by me. My schedule is wide open. After all, it’s not like I have a job or anything. I’ll just be at home, setting a stack of twenties on fire whenever I get bored.”

“Schneider...”

“No, no,” he waved away her guilty expression. “I know what you really think of me, now. The truth may be ugly, but at least it’s honest.”

“That’s not what I think of you, Schneider.”

He shrugged, but she knew the hurt under the sarcasm was real. Sarcasm was one of Schneider’s tells--he didn’t tend to slip into it unless he was defensive or hurting.

Or both.

“Hey, it isn’t. I swear.”

She huffed out a breath and stepped closer to him, grabbing both of his hands. “I think you’re amazing, okay? You may be obscenely rich, but you do good things with your money.”

“Well, dumb things too,” she added. “But also good things. I was just freaking out. I was trying to get you to shut up, and when it didn’t work...I got mean. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing dumb about my bidet,” Schneider said.

“What is with you and that French toilet? Speaking of that, what happened to your Japanese toilet? Why do you need international toilets anyway?”

“American toilets are antiquated, Penelope! They’re stuck in the dark ages. Both individual health and lifetime maintenance costs are improved by a modern approach.”

“See, I think that’s weird,” she told him. “It doesn’t mean I don’t love you. And you know that already.”

Schneider would forgive her for being mean, Penelope thought, watching his face as she waited. He was still Schneider.

But it hadn’t been that long since his relapse, and she needed to remember how recently he had picked himself back up. She needed to be more careful with his feelings.

“You really think I’m amazing?”

Schneider from three years ago would have aimed the question at her with a grin, probably a flirtatious one. Now he was genuinely asking. His voice was small.

She lifted their joined hands and squeezed. “I do. And I completely trust you to help me find a new couch. Even though I’m scared.”

“Okay.” Schneider smiled. “Cool. I can pick you up on your lunch hour then.”

Penelope nodded. “I’ll bring a change of clothes to work. It’s going to be uncomfortable enough, going to stare at overpriced furniture. I’m not doing that in my scrubs.”

“We’re gonna do much more than just stare,” he said. “We are going to touch, we are going to peruse...we might even go nuts and sit down!” Schneider gripped her hands for one last firm moment before he let go. “But it’s going to be okay, Pen. I promise.”

“If you say so.”

She looked over at the couch that had gotten her family--Schneider included--through so many moments, good and bad, and sighed. “I guess it’s time for this to go out to the curb.”

“You think somebody else is going to want it?”

“For parts, maybe. Could you take it downstairs?”

Schneider’s brow was furrowed, but he nodded. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

“Thanks.”

Penelope took a seat at her kitchen table, stared resolutely away from the living room, and imagined picking out a new couch.

She pretended she couldn’t feel a wave of anxiety coming on in response.

#one day at a time #odaat #schneider #penelope alvarez #odaat spoilers #penelope alvarez fic #schneider fic #odaat fic #my fic

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fallinfor-youreyes · 5 years ago

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You Have Not Touched Me (Yet)

Malcolm’s going to get a restraining order against her hands. Ao3

He’s staring.

Has been for the last twenty minutes at least, long enough for her to almost finish her crossword puzzle. Long enough, that if it were anyone other than Malcolm Bright, it would have passed the super weird mark about 17 minutes ago.

But, he is Malcolm Bright, so instead she is just ignoring him. Because she doesn’t want to startle him. He’s been staring at her for about 20 minutes, and his hands haven’t trembled in about 16, and if this is what it takes for him to relax for a few moments, she can deal with the odd feeling of being seen while she gets in her own few moments of her own relaxation.

If Gil asks, she’s been writing her after action report. Definitely not doing a crossword puzzle. But Gil doesn’t ask, because she always gets her reports in, and always before JT, so she’s not worried. Crosswords clear her mind.

Maybe zoning out while staring at people is what clears Malcolm’s.

“Do you have bad circulation?”

Her pen slides right off the page, effectively ruining her almost prefect crossword.

“What?” Dani lifts her eyes to him, and his head is tilted, ice clear eyes already waiting for her.

“Your hands.” He holds out his own and beckons her, and for whatever reason she complies. She drops her hand into his, and he flinches, just slightly. “Your hands are freezing.”

His hands are warm. Like insanely warm. Probably a side affect of his constant moving.

He stares at their hands a moment before his eyes flicker back to hers. “You should talk to your doctor.” His hands cup hers and they are warm, warm, warm.

“Some people have cold hands, Bright.”

“Some people have bad circulation.”

He’s still holding her hand, and suddenly more than his hands are warm. Her cheeks are warm. She feels like the entire room has warmed up serval degrees.

She’s not a fan.

Something crashes in the common area, and she jumps back, pulling her fingers from his grip.

Malcolm blinks. Then he shakes his head and stands, stretching as he does, instantly becoming more of the Malcolm Bright she knows, almost vibrating with chaotic energy. “Think Gil will let us outside now, or will we be punished because you haven’t finished your report yet?” He says, tossing in a teasing smile that makes her want to punch him.

“You are allowed to leave whenever you want, you know. Perks of being a consultant.” Dani says, stuffing her crossword under her notebook so she can officially get to work.

“I do not miss the paperwork of being a special agent” Malcolm agrees.

Dani glares at him and turns to the half done report. “Lucky you.”

Someone knocks on the glass of the conference room, and they both turn, Gil shaking a new folder at them.

Dani sighs. New case. More paperwork.

Malcolm looks almost giddy. Dani grabs her things, and smiles at Malcolm as he holds the door for her.

Then she brushes her fingers across the back of his neck and he yelps, and she runs off before he can retaliate.

“Why are your hands so cold!”

xXx

There’s a box on her desk. A box with a bow. She vaguely recognizes that is only a week until the holidays, and that she is woefully behind on present shopping.

But it doesn’t explain the box. The precinct had given up on white elephants after a disastrous year that lead to nothing but chaos, and her and JT had decided to be the type of people who exchanged old bottles of alcohol, so the box with the very pretty bow is a mystery.

“Ohh!” Edrisa rushes up to her desk, drowning in a scarf that is almost as big as her. “Is that your gift from Bright?”

“Uh,” Dani picks up the box and finds the label, Malcolm’s terrible handwriting a clear give away.

Dani-

For your hands ;)

-Bright

“Yes. I think it is.”

Edrisa wraps her scarf closer around herself. “He got me this scarf.”

Dani smiles, Edrisa’s contagious mood spilling around her. She carefully opens the box, and a pair of gloves fall out.

Real, genuine leather gloves. The kind the fancy rich kids used to wear when she was in college and they wanted to look rich and fancy.

“Ohh.” Edrisa moves closer to get a better look. “Those are lovely.”

Dani slips one on and it’s a perfect fit. Thy are soft and warm, and she can’t help but smile.

Malcolm Bright was worried that her hands were cold.

It does a stupid thing to her heart, but she ignores that.

“I think he went for a winter protection theme in his gifts.” Edrisa says, holding out her scarf. “Feel how soft. He got JT a wool hat. And I’m almost positive Gil’s surprisingly festive turtle neck is also courtesy of Bright.”

The scarf is fantastically soft, and exactly the kind of thing Edrisa would choose for herself. He’s good at this. Finding gifts for people that are functional and meaningful, and she almost hates him for it.

“Huh,” Dani says, letting holding out the other glove for Edrisa to try on. “This glove is surprisingly soft as well.”

“Maybe he just really likes soft winter gear.”

“What’s the point if it’s not soft.” Malcolm says, appearing over Erdisa’s shoulder out of nowhere, wearing a ridiculously festive hat.

“I see you got your gifts?” he asks. He’s smiling, but Dani can see the tiniest bit of uncertainty in his eyes. He’s nervous. It makes the stupid feeling in her heart multiply.

Edrisa nods hard enough Dani’s afraid she’s going to hurt herself. “Yes. Thank you so much! I love it.” She holds it the edge of it out to him. “It’s so soft.”

The uncertainty in his eyes flashes away as he prattles to Edrisa about the importance of soft scarfs and some science thing but it’s back the second he turns to Dani.

She stretches her hand that’s still gloved, and feels her lips quirk up without her consent. “They’re very warm.”

Malcolm’s smile matches hers. “I’m very committed to making sure everyone stays warm.”

Before she can answer, JT claps Malcolm on the back, wearing his own hat, much more subdued than Malcolm’s.

“Bright, what’s your favorite alcohol.”

The conversation derails until Gil has to heard them into a semblance of productive, and Dani let’s herself get lost in her thoughts once everything settles down.

Malcolm Bright bought her gloves for Christmas, because he knows her hands a perpetually cold. It’s stupidly cute.

She slips the gloves on at the end of the day, and from the corner of her eyes she can see him smile to himself. And this time, when her heart squeezes just a little too tight, she doesn’t ignore it.

xXx

It’s odd, Dani notices, how one second, he can be panicking, and the next, be so exhausted he looks almost peaceful.

His apartment is quiet, except for Sunshine shuffling in the corner and the sound of his breath slowly working its way back to normal. His eyes are closed and the worry has seeped out of his face, and for a second, Dani can forgot that not 10 minutes ago he was in the middle of panic attack.

She’s seen the tremors and been present for some of his outbursts, but she’s never seen him like this.

But he’s calmer now, his breathing back to normal, his hands still in his lap, eyes closed as she watches him from her side of the couch. She was here by accident, dropping off a case file he had forgotten, and things had been okay until he got a phone call. Well, more like 7 phone calls, that he all promptly ignored until said caller started texting, and then it happened. She never had training on how to help someone through a panic attack, but they were here now, on the other side, both still in one piece.

She reaches out and gently presses her fingers against his forehead, one of those moves she inherited from her mom who would do this to her and her siblings no matter what was ailing them as kids.

Malcolm hisses softly, hand snapping up to grab her wrist, not bothering to open his eyes. “I am going to get a restraining order on your hands.”

“Oh, really?”

Malcolm opens a single eye in an attempt to glare at her.

His thumb runs over her pulse point.

Her cheeks may or may not flush.

“Yes. They cannot come within ten inches of me unless thoroughly warmed.”

Dani shifts so she’s slightly closer to him. She doesn’t move her hand. He doesn’t let go of her wrist.

“How do you propose I warm them, Bright. Pretty sure you're the one who decided I have a medical condition.”

He gives her a tight smile, one that if he wasn’t coming down of a panic attack might have been less strained. “I’m glad you asked.” He turns her hand in his and stares at their interlocked fingers instead of her face when he talks.

“You can sit on them. Stuff them in your pockets. Hold a nice cup of very hot tea or coffee for a bit.” Her keeps talking to their hands, but his arm is moving now, twisting her palm so it’s face up. “Blow on them. Or my personal favorite, rub them together.” He says, and then he does just that. He rubs his hands gently over hers for a few second before bringing her hand back up to his cheek.

“Ahh,” Malcolm closes his eyes, and lets go of her hand. “Much better.”

Dani wants to kiss him. It’s impulsive and spells for a disaster, and is definitely not in the “how to care for your friend after a panic attack” manual, but she really, really wants to kiss Malcolm Bright.

She let’s her fingers trail down his cheek, over the day old stubble he has growing and he leans into her touch.

He’s tired. Exhausted. She can see the dark circles under his eyes, and she’s positive if they stay still for long enough, he will fall asleep on her.

“Bright,” Dani says, pulling her hand away from his face. His eyes pop open and he follows her hand as she brings it back other lap. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He blinks, and suddenly he’s a different person. No longer the Malcolm she’s only seen glimpses of, but Bright, the man who shows up to crime scenes with a mask on his face, over compensating in personality for something she hasn’t quite pinned down yet.

“Yeah! I’m great!.” He forces a smile, and when she doesn’t smile back, he cracks. The mask slips off again. He drops his head to the back of the couch. “My sister has been seeing my dad.”

She doesn’t want to push him, so she just sits, listening.

“And he’s, well you know, a serial killer, but he’s so charming and all consuming. I still find myself wondering if I made him proud, which is ridiculous. And Ains, jesus, I though Ainsley was safe from it.” He pauses, dragging his hands down his face. “But that was my mom, calling me. Apparently she hasn’t shown up to work for a few days. Said she needed some time off, but she’s been to see him every single day, and it’s been twenty years, and he’s somehow gotten all of us back to him within a few months of each other. He’s behind bars and locks, and is literally chained to the wall, but he still has us in his grasp, seeking his approval.”

Dani notices his hands are starting to shake.

“I didn’t even know Ains was seeing him. I’ve failed her-“

Dani grabs his hand, and he startles. “Breathe.” She tells him, squeezing his hand until he listens to her. “You’re going to be okay. And I’m sure your sister will too.”

He’s staring at their hands again, and she doesn’t let go until he sighs, slumping back against the couch.

“Thanks, For you know, staying and dealing with all this.” He waves his hand around, and Sunshines chirps at them from her post.

“Anytime. If you need someone to talk to, or to shock you into reality with freezing hands.” She smiles at him, before pushing herself off the couch. She knows a dismissal when she hears it. “You have my number. Do you need help with the night terror locks?”

Malcolm smiles, a real, true smile, One that betrays his exhaustion, edging slightly on delirious.

“No. I think I got those myself. Thank you, though.”

“Don’t mention it.” She grabs her coat and says goodbye to Sunshine, pulling on her gloves before she turns to say goodbye to him.

“Powell,” Malcolm says, pushing himself off the couch as he moves toward his bed. “I mean it about your hands.”

Dani rolls her eyes at him. “Goodnight, Bright.”

xXx

She’s not sure how they got here.

Well, she is. Sort of. Vaguely.

They were on the train. It’s so late, it’s early, but they closed a huge case, and Gil broke out the very good, very special whiskey, and then they were taking the same train home.

And Malcolm decided to stand even though there was only like 5 other people in the car, so she stands with him for solidarity or companionship or whatever. And she’s been a New Yorker since the day she was born, riding subways before she even took her first steps, but even she is not immune to the sudden jerks of the train.

Which leads to her crashing into Malcolm, and Malcolm oh so valiantly grabbing her waist to steady her, which leads to her oh so causally not stepping away from him.

Which somehow, eventually led to this. His lips on hers as she falls against the door of her apartment.

Dani is not sure how they got here, but she does not want it to end.

His lips are soft and warm, and her heart is doing literal jumping jacks, and she doesn’t want this moment to end, ever.

But she also doesn’t know how to let it continue. This is still Malcolm, who might be kissing her, but his one hand is still decidedly on her waist, the other pushing into the wood of her door. His hands haven’t moved. And she desperately wants to let her hands travel to the front of his jacket and start undoing the buttons, to relieve him of at least one of his million layers, but this is Malcolm and she doesn’t want to push him too hard. She doesn’t want to cross his boundary line and push them back into a place that doesn’t lead to this.

To him kissing her and her trying to stop herself from smiling so she doesn’t accidentally bite his lip.

He pulls back, breathing hard, and it takes all her willpower to not grab his face and pull his mouth back to hers.

He would probably complain that her hands are too cold.

“Hi,” he says, once he’s caught his breath. He’s got the look in his eyes like they just got a case, but he’s looking at her like she’s a puzzle he desperately wants to solve.

“Hi,” she says back, but it’s more of a sigh than an actual word.

“This okay?”

They’ve know each other for over a year know, and she considers them friends, but this is the most uncertain she’s ever heard him sound. And they’ve been through a whole lot of shit together.

Dani nods. “Totally.” She drags her teeth over her bottom lip, and Malcolm swallows hard. “You okay?”

Malcolm blinks, and his cheeks flush pink

She wants to kiss him again. She wants him to move his hands.

“Totally.”

Slowly, she reaches up, dropping one of her hands on his shoulder, the other coming to rest just below the collar of his shirt.

“Restraining order,” he teases, voice hoarse. Before she can roll her eyes and kiss him again, he grabs her hands and brings her fingers up to him mouth, gently blowing over them.

It’s intimate in a way that makes her knees weak. He’s going to be the death of her.

“Malcolm.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to her fingers. She uses her free hand to open the first button of his vest and his ice clear eyes snap up to hers.

“Dani.”

She pops the second button, and his lip quirks up. She wants to kiss the corner of this mouth. So she does.

She slides her hand to the back of his neck, and he hisses when hers finger brush against his skin, but then he’s kissing her again.

And Dani doesn’t know where this is going, or really how they got here, but for right now, in this moment, she’s good.

They can figure everything else out later.

She snaps the final button of his vest.

His catches her lip on his teeth.

Yeah, she decides. They can figure it out later.

#prodigal son #malcolm bright #dani powell #prodigal son fic #brightwell #dani has cols hands and malcolm is a baby about it #wow i love them so much #my fic

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Galactica, Chapter 14 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Hey friends! Hope you like this one! Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Violet agreed to a date with Sutan, and to her delight, he was just as charming as the night they’d met.

This Chapter: Chocolate cake is the only acceptable apology.

***

Courtney entered the conference room with an armful of drinks, helping Violet set up for the design meeting. She was stopped in her tracks when she realized that Violet was humming, very softly, under her breath, so surprised that she almost dropped the bottles, a gasp coming from her.

Violet looked up at the sound, her eyes sharp.

“What?”

“Uh...nothing. Is this enough Red Bull?” Courtney asked.

“Not even close. Alyssa insists that she needs--” Violet sighed before saying the words, “--go-go juice. You’ll want to get at least 3 more cans.”

“Okay!” Courtney scampered back to the kitchenette to grab the additional drinks, and when she returned, she saw that Violet’s usual neutral expression was a tiny, secret smile. Courtney put a hand on her hips, a grin spreading across her face.

“What?” Violet asked, looking up at her with an exasperated sigh.

Courtney leaned on the table, guessing, “You’re seeing someone.”

“What?” Violet blushed all the way to her ears. “That’s not any of your business-”

“Oh my god you are seeing someone!”

Violet had spent the last two days either texting Sutan or working. The man was endlessly fascinating, his reply to her texts keeping Violet glued to her personal phone in a way she had never tried before.

They had eaten lunch together yesterday, Violet hiding everything that could identify her as an assistant at the bottom of her handbag.

Conversation had flown freely, Sutan full of stories and Violet liked listening to him talk. He had given her a sweet goodbye kiss on the street that made her weak in the knees before his driver had taken her back to Galactica.

Dating Sutan felt perfect, except for the lingering hurt that overshadowed everything each time she saw Pearl.

“Courtney, we’re at work-” Violet almost looked panicked as she desperately gestured towards the wall that was shared with Fame’s office.

“Come on we both know that thing’s soundproof. Tell. Me. Everything! Who is it, do I know them?!”

“Please-”

“Is it someone I know? Oh my god...it’s Pearl. It’s Pearl, isn’t it?”

Courney recalled the way Pearl had been so obviously flirting, a strangely funny feeling in her stomach remembering how excited she’d felt while watching them.

“I’ve started seeing someone, but-”

“You have?! Omigod, that’s amazing! Have you had sex?”

Violet groaned, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. “I’d never have sex with someone on the first date, that isn’t-”

“Is Pearl a good kisser?”

“Stop!” Violet didn’t even realize how loudly she had said the word until she had already done it. She slapped her hand over her mouth, looking completely mortified.

The both stood in complete silence for a moment before Violet turned to Courtney, hissing through gritted teeth.

“Don’t pretend like you know me, Courtney. I’m your superior. I don’t, my personal life isn’t any of your business and I- Just. Don’t. Okay? Just don’t.”

Courtney bit her lip, guilt washing over her. In her enthusiasm for some juicy gossip, she’d obviously hit a nerve.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.” She lined up a few cans of Dr. Pepper for Alaska before admitting, “My friends say that I’m an oversharer.”

“You don’t say,” Violet replied flatly, but there wasn’t any venom in her voice.

“Sometimes I forget that other people are more private. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Violet nodded, “Now give me some of that go-go juice.”

***

Violet was late. Not fashionably late, but actually late late.

Sutan had invited her over to his apartment for dinner, and while Violet had been a bit apprehensive at first, she couldn’t wait to see where Sutan lived. There was so much about him that was a mystery, and while Violet knew curiosity killed the cat, she needed to know.

She had cancelled dinner by text, and given Sutan a new ETA, but she had overshot that deadline by 20 minutes as well. Fame had held her back at work, her boss demanding that she stayed for the extra meeting with design, Trixie and Fame running through the pieces that had been sent up from tailoring.

She was really and truly royally fucked.

Violet groaned as she hoisted her totebag back up her shoulder, her handbag digging into her elbow, a white box balancing on her hand. She hadn’t meant to bring half of the office with her, but Fame had asked her last minute to take some fabric samples home to Trixie, and Violet would rather die than admit that she wasn’t going home, so here she was.

Sutan had texted her his apartment number, but Violet still paused for a moment. She so desperately wanted to check her makeup, to make sure that everything about her was perfectly presentable, but she had already made Sutan wait way too long, and she wasn’t sure if she could even get herself untangled without dropping everything.

Violet took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

At first, no one answered, Violet nearly panicking that she was on the wrong floor, but then, the door opened.

“Hello Violet.” Sutan was wearing a black fitted t-shirt and dark jeans, and Violet realised this was the first time she had seen him without a suit on. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “You’re late.”

“I know.” Violet cringed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” If the earth opened and swallowed her up, it’d be less painful. “I got so caught up at work and I-”

Violet could feel her throat close up, panic scratching in her chest, but then, Sutan did something totally unexpected. He leaned forward, catching her lips in a kiss, and for a second, the entire world disappeared.

Sutan broke away, taking a step back as he pulled her into his apartment, and closed the door behind her.

“Sutan I-”

“We’re okay.” Sutan interrupted, and Violet felt a rush of relief go through her. “I mean, of course I don’t love you being almost 2 hours late-”

“I wasn’t 2 hours late-” Violet was 1 hour and 28 minutes late, which was an entirely different story.

“But we’re both professionals in a demanding industry. It’s August, Fashion Week claims it’s victims, I get it.”

“Thank you.” Violet blushed. “I promise I’m a lot better at work.”

“You work at Galactica,” Sutan smirked, “I’d expect nothing less.” He reached out, and Violet realized he was offering to help her with her bags. She shuffled her handbag down her arm, her tote following right behind, and Sutan took both. It wasn’t until he peeked into the tote bag, that Violet realized she had made a mistake.

“Are these fabric samples?”

“Umh-” Violet didn’t know what to say, her tongue tripping over itself. She didn’t want to lie, but if Sutan assumed? Was that all that bad? “It’s, umh, it’s for-”

“I know, I know.” Sutan smiled, closing the bag again. “Company secret, no one can know, collection isn’t out yet. I can’t help it, I’m a noisy bastard” He put the tote on a table, Violet’s handbag earning a place right next to it. “What’s in the box?”

“Oh.” Violet had completely forgotten the white box. “It’s cake, I brought dessert-” Violet held it out. “Since I didn’t make it in time for dinner.” She had ordered the cake right after she had sent off the text, a delivery boy dropping it off at the office while Fame was ranting away. “It’s chocolate.”

Chocolate was one of the few treats that could tempt Raja, so Violet hoped that the same would be true for her twin.

“An apology cake…”

“Know what? We’re more than okay.” Sutan smiled, taking the box while Violet took her jacket off. “Keep apologizing like this, and you can be late whenever you want.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sutan’s apartment reminded Violet so much of Raja’s office--strangely so. There was the same heavy oak furniture, the same rich colors and thick rugs. Violet didn’t know a lot about interior design, but it wasn’t at all what she was expecting from the man who dressed with such clean, simple lines.

“Sit down-” Sutan pointed towards a purple velvet couch as he placed the cake on the coffee table. “I’ll get us forks.”

***

Violet couldn’t pinpoint exactly how her and Sutan had ended up kissing, the piece of cake they had shared barely touched. Sutan’s hand was in her hair, his fingers ruining the carefully styled curls, but it didn’t matter as she got to rock against him, her core burning hot as she sat on his lap, her arms around his neck.

“Let’s get this off you.”

Violet nodded, and Sutan pulled back. If she was honest, she had picked her silk shirt for that reason, the tiny buttons just waiting to be popped open, but as she leaned back to make space, when she expected Sutan to go straight for her shirt and what she knew every man was after, he leaned forward, grabbing her shoe just as Violet moved her arms, and it was too late before she realized her mistake, the two of them fumbling to the floor with a thump.

“Fuck!”

“Violet! Are you okay?!” Sutan had grabbed her head immediately, his big hands holding her, his weight on top of her.

Oh god she was such an embarrassment, not even able to sit on a couch right.

“I’m fine- I’m- I’m fine…” Violet cracked an eye open, terrified of what she’d see on Sutan’s face.

“Thank god.” Violet didn’t understand, but as she opened her eyes fully, she saw Sutan smiling down at her, his entire face lit up, as if what had just happened didn’t mean anything. “I guess you could say-” His smile grew even wider. “That I just fell for you.”

He burst into laughter, and Violet felt herself laugh with him, his joke so utterly stupid and yet so absolutely perfect, all of the tension disappearing completely from the situation.

She knew she had to look a mess, her shoes still on her feet, her face without a doubt red, her makeup smeared, but somehow, somehow, with that laugh, that wonderful laugh, it didn’t really matter.

It felt like weight had just been lifted from her shoulders, as if she had been freed from a burden she didn’t even know that she was carrying. Violet felt joy in her chest, still laughing, everything bubbling out of her as she quickly pushed her shoes off with toes, hooking her ankles behind Sutan’s back, bringing him even closer to her.

***

Sitting back on his knees, Sutan got to take a look at Violet, the woman lying on his bed. He had carried her in from the living room, and Sutan was so very happy he had asked his housekeeper to be extra thorough with her cleaning, the sheets fresh and crisp.

Violet was a work of art. He had opened her shirt, a black lace bra teasing him with the promise of the delicious tits he had barely had time to see in the car. She had stepped out of her skirt and shoes herself, and Sutan had bitten back a groan when he saw her stockings, Violet of course the type of woman who wore a garter belt just because.

“Please-” Violet reached out, her fingers grabbing the bottom of his t-shirt, tugging up on the fabric. “Please?”

“Of course.” Sutan pulled his shirt over his head, and while most other men in their 40’s would probably worry about disappointing, Sutan knew he looked good, the gym regime his personal trainer refused to budge on keeping him in shape.

“Mmh...” Violet smiled, one of her fingers gliding over his stomach. “I like your tattoos.”

Sutan chuckled. He had gotten most of them in his teens and twenties, Raja’s skin a mirror of his own. They were slowly fading, black lines turning grey on tanned skin, but they were a part of him.

“Less flattery-” Sutan climbed back on top of Violet, leaning on his arm on the side of her head. “More kissing.”

Violet giggled and soon they were grinding together, their bodies pushing against each other. He could feel how she was aching, her pussy burning hot against his hip, and her panties had to be soaked through.

“What do you want?” Sutan kissed the corner of her mouth, peppering kisses on her.

“Touch me.”

“I am touching you.”

Violet groaned, the frustrated sound causing Sutan to laugh.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Violet dug her nails into Sutan’s forearm, “Please.”

“My pleasure.” Sutan pulled back once again, fumbling with his belt buckle, when he saw that Violet was trying to wiggle out of her panties.

“Fuck…” Sutan stopped what he was doing, watching Violet before he grabbed her wrists and pulled her away. “Let me.”

He leaned down, slowly kissing his way down Violet’s chest and onto her stomach until he could take the fabric of her panties between his teeth, pulling them down, the scent of her filling his nose as he kissed his way up her thigh.

Violet became completely still underneath him, almost frozen in place, not a sound coming from her.

This wasn’t normally the reaction he received when he was about to eat a girl out, so Sutan stopped. When he looked up, Violet’s eyes were clenched shut, her teeth buried in her lip, the signs of pleasure from seconds ago no longer clear in her expression.

“Are you okay?” Sutan gently ran his hand over Violet’s stomach, now feeling with his hand just how tightly wound her muscles were.

“Yes-” Violet groaned, but the sound was so different. “I’m fine, keep going.”

“You don’t seem fine…” Sutan sat up on his elbow.

“Just get it done!” Violet snapped, which made Sutan pull away completely.

“Hey, hey...” He quickly crawled up the bed, laying next to Violet on his side, his head propped up on his arm, his other hand still on Violet’s stomach, the muscles there already a lot less tense. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to with me…”

Violet looked up at Sutan, the shame clearly visible in her face. “I’m sorry. I just don’t… that.” Violet vaguely gestured, “I don’t like it very much.”

Ah. It wasn’t often that Sutan met them, but there were girls who didn’t like being eaten out, and it seemed like Violet was one of them.

“Don’t ever apologize for that.” Sutan leaned down, gently kissing her until he could feel her relax.

“But I ruined the mood.” Violet bit her lip, and the gesture made Sutan’s cock jump slightly. He took her hand, putting it on top of his jeans, and he could see the blush return to her cheeks.

“You haven’t ruined anything, lovely eyes.”

Violet nodded, accepting the kiss Sutan gave her. Violet’s hand was still on his cock, her fingers slowly squeezing and he wasn’t even sure if she was aware that she was doing it, but as Sutan ran a hand over her stomach and down between her legs, he felt Violet gasp, the girl bucking against him as two fingers gently parted her folds, everything still wet and hot.

“Nothing is ruined.”

***

Violet was lying on Sutan’s chest. She was pleasantly sore and wonderfully relaxed, the sex some of the best she had ever had, not that she had a lot to compare it with. Sutan was endlessly better than her first boyfriend, but it somehow didn’t feel fair to hold Milk to the standard of a grown man when they had done it in dorm beds, their sex defined by exhaustion after long days of work or started by the simple need feel the other ones body, both of them terrified that they’d be discovered.

Violet hid a yawn, the fact that she was so comfortable actually a problem.

“Do you need the bathroom?” Sutan looked down, his hand slowly running up and down her bare back.

“No.” Violet sat up, her hair without a doubt a mess, but she didn’t miss how Sutan’s eyes instantly went to her breasts. “I have to go.”

“You have to go?” Sutan pushed himself up. He was smiling, but he also looked a little confused. “I’m not kicking you out?”

“I know.” Violet gave him a gentle peck, “But I have work tomorrow and I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”

Violet didn’t want to know what time it was, didn’t want to even think about how hard it’d be to get up the following day, but she had done worse, and she’d survive this too.

“I’ll call you a cab.”

Violet kissed Sutan one last time before she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the hunt for her bra beginning.

“I can get one myself.”

“I insist.” Sutan got out of bed too, and if Violet took a second or two to look at him, that was her business. “It’s the least I can do.”

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