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ok not sure if my last ask went through bc i got an error message (thanks so much tumblr) but i am here to say you FLAWLESSLY executed circus AU, like gave everything i could have ever wanted in that little fic so now i'm sorry to say i'm just gonna have to keep asking for more!! specifically, what happened to angus!
"Come on, boy! Come on, you can do it!"
Thena walked into the ring, left intact just this once between shows due to the short window between the saturday night show and the sunday matinee.
"Good boy!"
She stepped further out of the shadows, her feet completely silent as she moved forward. The place was dark except for a few oil lamps set up around the ring as Gilgamesh led Angus around with just a regular rope around his neck.
Angus cantered around within the circle. He was obviously still healing, a little more slow than he used to be. But he was on his feet--even the injured one. He knickered quietly.
"Atta boy, Angus," Gil cheered for him as he observed the progress of his healing injury.
They had been holding their breath.
She and Gil had, that was to say. No one else cared nearly as much, except maybe Kro, who was eagerly waiting to inflict some punishment on the innocent creature for costing him even a penny in profits.
Angus slowed his pace, bobbing his head as he caught sight of her.
"Mi--Thena!"
Thena walked right over to them, linen nightdress and light robe be damned. She picked up pace until she could embrace Angus' snout, pressing her forehead to it, "look at you."
Angus' tail swished, relishing in the warmth of arguably his favourite person in the world.
She pulled back, still holding the horse's massive head by his chops, smiling at him and leaning to be more in the view of his massive eye, "I knew you could do it."
Angus nodded, in a way.
She turned to Gilgamesh, who had put an appropriate and respectful distance between them since her arrival. He looked younger in the faint light of the lamps. "That means you too."
Gil managed a soft smile dripping with modesty, "it's all Angus, really. Even I had my doubts, but..."
But here he was, up before dawn to help him practice being on his leg? Yes, he certainly was.
Thena ran her hand down Angus' mane over his neck, "like you said, he's young. He's too young and too strong to let Kro put him out of his misery so early."
Gil never offered his agreement too eagerly when she spoke of her husband. Too much to say within too few words, maybe. "Well, hopefully today's show will go well, and we can put this all behind us."
"Indeed," Thena smiled, catching Gil crossing his fingers behind his back. "Truly, Gil, we both owe you more than words can say."
He gave her a somewhat curious look, as if to ask what she could possibly be doing thanking him for something--as if he didn't do so much for her with his mere presence. "Least I can do, Miss."
Thena looked back at Angus. She liked it when he called her Thena. It was sometimes the only time when she was actually able to hear her own name spoken aloud. "On the contrary, this was above and beyond, even for you."
He blushed, and he looked truly sweet when he did. "Anything, Thena."
She looked at him, finding him looking back at her this time. He had such nice and warm eyes.
"Anytime."
Truly, he had such an amazing heart, this sweet and humble man. She had known that from his occupation, of course, but the more she got to know Gilgamesh himself, the more she found herself enchanted with all there was to him.
Her eyes darted down to his lips for just a second.
He didn't catch her. No one ever caught her when she did that. But she was no spring chicken, and she knew very well that her desire to keep him around was no childish flight of fantasy. No, her life was far to coldly rooted in reality for that.
But she far preferred to have him just out of reach than not have him at all.
Gil looked over his shoulder. He was always checking his surroundings whenever they found themselves alone.
He was looking for Kro. All things considered, she probably could exercise more caution than she did. After all, it wouldn't be her whom would have hell to pay, but Gilgamesh. Her mind did reel, sometimes, to think of her husband turning a corner and seeing...something.
She wasn't sure what he would see if that day ever came, but she knew enough to say he would not like it.
"You should rest," she whispered, petting Angus' soft nose again.
Gil knew that it was meant for him anyway. "As should you, y'know."
She smiled directly between Angus' eyes, "sleep often eludes me."
"Thena-"
She turned to Gil, determined not to let herself pull on that thread. There would be no going back if she let herself get up to the knees in him. "You'll need your sleep, Gilgamesh. Kro will have you up as soon as he wakes, demanding to see how Angus performs."
Angus shuffled in place a the mention of his worst nightmare.
Thena turned and comforted her poor steed once again, "I'm sorry."
Gil nodded, putting his hand on the swell of Angus' muscled cheek. "Right, then, but only if you find some rest as well, Thena. You need it more than anyone here."
Exhaustion truly never left her. It was in bed with her far more than her own husband, that was for certain.
"Yes, I suppose you're right," she conceded, more so that he would find some sleep than anything. She inhaled, pressing her forehead to Angus' once more. "Knock him dead."
Angus nodded more certainly this time.
Thena smiled, kissing his nose gently. "And you."
Gil startled but held still as she pressed an equally chaste kiss to his cheek.
She walked past him, not willing to dwell on it, nor able to afford to. She did wave at him over her shoulder, "goodnight, Gil."
He blinked at her, stunned rabbit in a trap, "uh, n-night, Thena."
She turned again as a smile came over her; such a sweet man. She simply couldn't resist expressing the depths of her gratitude somehow. And in some ways, the kiss was better than throwing her arms around him in some way. Because then, what if he had put his arms around her in return?
If he ever did that, there would be no going back, for her.
#Thenamesh Circus AU#thank you for the ask dearest!#yes I think something did go wrong with your first one#but I got this one and that's all that matters!#I hope you like it!#I haven't done Thena's pov in this au yet but I've been dying to#Thena is no spring chicken#she knows herself and her own feelings#she has no illusions as to why she feels so much better when Gil's around#safer happier lighter take your pick#even just knowing he's lingering around while she's up on the wires helps her feel more assured#also she has all these expressions about chickens and rabbits#because she grew up on the farm with her father#she is an elegant lady now#but she's caught and skinned her fair share of catches#I'm not saying she's done that on the odd occasion when Kro forgets she's waiting#and doesn't bring her back any food#but I am saying that he is a bad husband#Gil *exists*#Thena's willpower: haha I'm in danger#let's use humour to cope with the angst fellas#I love this story though#so I'm glad others are liking it too
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CURIOSITY
pairing(s): orion pax x fem!cybertronian!reader
summary: you caught him red-handed! fortunately for him, he doesn't seem to mind at all.
author's note: the way nobody asked for this LMAOO. whateverr
orion wasn’t supposed to be here.
the hall of records in iacon wasn’t a place for mechs like him—too quiet, too controlled. it was nothing like the mines, where everything was loud and constantly breaking down. his frame wasn’t built for the delicate silence that lingered in the air. it was all too clean, too refined. he was just a miner—rough around the edges, marked by the press of hard labor, the grit of his life below ground still clinging to him like an afterthought. here, it was still, like even the air was afraid to move, and orion, with his dirt-covered plating and rough edges, felt out of place by just breathing in it.
it hummed with the weight of millennia-old history, each data strip stacked with a kind of knowledge he’d never needed before, never cared to learn. and yet, here he was, stepping into a space where the glow of the archive lights felt like a spotlight aimed straight at his back. it felt wrong to be here. but he was.
he had to be. the others were counting on him. counting on this risk, this stupid, reckless chance he’d taken because no one else would. because he was the only one dumb enough to think sneaking into the archives could make a difference, that he might actually find something useful buried in all these ancient records. something to change things for them. help the miners, help the mechs who spent their whole lives breaking their frames for endless crates of energon. give them a way out of the dirt and the darkness, show the rest of cybertron that those born without a cog were just as worthy and special as those who could transform.
now, he didn’t exactly have a plan, but he figured he’d know what to when the opportunity to do something presented itself. that was the kind of logic he lived by: act first, figure it out later. it hadn’t killed him yet.
but then he saw her, and everything else fell apart.
she was standing by one of the consoles, a mech built for this kind of space—quiet, composed, her movements deliberate. smooth lines and soft curves. she blended into the room like she was part of it, but orion couldn’t stop looking. it was like the stillness bent around her, and she was the only thing real in the room.
his processor lagged, cycling through useless thoughts about how different she was from anything he’d seen before. how calm she was, how she seemed to belong here, where he didn’t. and, for a moment, he almost forgot why he came. he was staring, no point in denying it, and that’s when she spoke.
“you’re not supposed to be here.”
his frame stilled, optics shifting from the corridor back to her—leaned up against the console, her posture relaxed in a way that made him second-guess his decision to leave. “uh… not exactly, no.”
“and you are here because…?”
he scratched the back of his neck, shifting his weight. “i figured it wouldn’t hurt to look around. you know, expand my knowledge and all that.”
“right.” her voice stayed even, neutral, though the faintest twitch of her mouth gave her away. “because miners always come to the archives to ‘expand their knowledge.’”
he laughed under his breath, the sound short and awkward. “well, we’re full of surprises.”
“clearly.” she tilted her head slightly, optics lingering on him a second longer than necessary. “you must be very curious.”
he shrugged, stepping closer. “i like to think i’m a mech of many interests.”
she raised a brow, almost teasing now. “you take interest in sneaking into places you don’t belong?”
he smiled a little, trying to keep his voice casual. “just a little.”
she hummed in understanding and everything remained silent for a while.
“you gonna turn me in?”
her optics flickered down, back up again, and something about the way she looked at him made the wires in his chest feel tighter, more constricted. “you really thought i would just let you walk out of here without saying anything?”
“i was hoping for something along those lines, yeah,” he said with a small grin.
she studied him for a moment, her gaze steady but unreadable. then, with the faintest tilt of her head, she asked, “and what do i get out of that?”
he blinked, not expecting that question either. “what do you want?”
her lips quirked, not quite a smile, but close. “now that depends on the offer.”
“the offer?” his voice dropped slightly, a playful edge slipping into his tone. “what makes you think i’m in a position to offer anything?”
“you’re the one sneaking around in a restricted area,” she countered, her optics narrowing just slightly, the amusement clear now in her voice. “seems like you’re the one who needs something from me.”
he exhaled, leaning in just a little, close enough that the air between them felt charged. “maybe i’m just here for the conversation.”
“mm.” her gaze flicked down briefly, then back up to meet his. “you must be terribly bored to come all this way for that.”
“not bored,” he said quickly, almost too quickly, and then laughed at himself. “just… curious. like i said.”
her optics lingered on him, and this time, there was no question in the way they softened, even if her expression remained cool. “you could’ve come during normal hours, you know.”
“where’s the fun in that?” his grin widened slightly. “besides, it’s quieter this way. fewer interruptions.”
the corner of her mouth lifted just enough to be considered a smile. “so you like the quiet?”
he shrugged again, trying to keep things light despite the way her gaze seemed to make his processor stall. “sometimes. depends on the company.”
…
“so,” she continued after a beat, her voice back to that easy, cool lilt, “what do you plan to do with your ‘expanded knowledge’ now?”
orion blinked, his processor stuttering again. “uh…”
she smiled then, fully this time, and it hit him like a shock to his circuits. “that’s what i thought.”
he laughed, more out of nerves than anything, but he couldn’t help the way his own smile lingered. “guess i’ll have to figure that out.”
“i guess you will.” her voice was soft now, her optics still holding his, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
then, without another word, she turned back toward the console, like nothing had happened, like the entire conversation hadn’t left his spark thrumming in his chest. “you should go,” she said casually, though there was something warmer in her tone now, something almost amused. “before i change my mind.”
orion straightened, forcing a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “right. i, uh… yeah. i’ll go.”
but as he took a step toward the door, he hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder. “unless, of course… you want me to stick around.”
“another time, maybe.”
he nodded, more to himself than to her, and turned to leave. “i’ll hold you to that.”
as he slipped out into the hallway, he couldn’t help but feel lighter, his spark still humming with the unspoken tension that hung in the air between them. maybe he’d have to find an excuse to sneak in again.
#orion pax#orion pax x reader#transformers#cybertronian reader#transformers one#tf one#tf one 2024#tfo
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Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader Fluff/angst 18+ for suggestive mentions WK - 4.3k TW for homophobic slurs Closeted reader and Robin, first kiss, first date, drive in date, Steddie setting up Robin and reader.
The overhead bell at Family Video dinged above you as you pushed your way into the air conditioned storefront.
“Right on time.” Steve said from the checkout counter.
He was glancing down at his watch, boyfriend and best friend huddled around him as usual. You’d made a habit of checking out two or three movies every week just to have an excuse to wander over from your job at the record shop next door.
“I take lunch at two o’clock every day, dingus.” You replied.
Robin couldn’t help but to smile. She’d noticed you’d picked up that nickname for Steve after hearing her call him it a time or two.
But she couldn’t smile for too long. Couldn’t let her eyes linger too heavily on the fray of your denim shorts — or more accurately, the flawless skin that sat just beneath it like a colliding estuary. Couldn’t let you know that she adored you in that way.
Robin took a step back when you approached the counter. Sometimes she felt scared to even be around you, like you could smell the fag shedding off of her. As if she was sickly. Contagious. That’s what people would say behind her back if they knew.
“Got anything new in?” You asked while sliding Steve the VHS you’d barely had for twenty-four hours.
“Since you came in yesterday?” He cocked an eyebrow, “No.”
“New release at the drive-in tonight though. Elm Street 4.” Eddie mentioned from your side of the desk. It was so miserable out that even he’d shed the leather jacket you typically saw him wearing, settling for a simple all black get up with that telling bandana hanging out the back of his jeans.
“Eh, let me know when it comes in. Last time I went to the drive-in alone some high schooler tried to hop in my passenger seat and cop a feel.” You mentioned.
You were content with watching re-runs on television late into the night while curled up on your sofa, you supposed. But a part of you wished you could just ask Robin to accompany you to that fucking movie.
“No goddamn way she’s not into chicks,” your co-workers told you to every time you came back from leaning over that fucking service desk during your half hour lunch. “She hangs out with Steve and Eddie all day, for fuck’s sake!”
Fuck, how you wished you could believe it as easily as they did. Even if you did believe it, it was easier just to protect your ego.
What if you made a move and she wasn’t into it? Would she recoil like she’d been shocked by a live wire? Maybe she’d use one of those hurtful words that you’d only heard while kissing girls outside of bars in the city. It was less painful to not take the chance. At least this way you could admire her from afar — on your lunch break, while she was dressed in that adorable uniform that fit her so well.
“Why don’t you go with her, Robin?” Steve said, ripping you out of your daydream and forcing fear up your spine like the knived fingers of Krueger himself. “You love the Elm Street movies.”
Robin’s baby blues widened from sudden anxiety. She used them to stare at Steve frantically, as if he hadn’t been the one to just thrust her into this situation in the first place. Instead, all she received from him was raised eyebrows and a humored smile while her own mouth failed to produce words.
“I, uh—” Robin stuttered, “I think I close tonight, actually!”
“Negative. Harrington closes tonight.” Eddie replied with cheek. Of course he had his own boyfriend’s work schedule down pat. God only knows how they defiled that check-out counter once Robin left those two alone in the evenings.
You cocked an eyebrow at her. The way your bubblegum peeked out from between your teeth when your lips parted into a smile had her wondering how sugary sweet it tasted — how sugary sweet you tasted.
“Don’t wanna be seen in my hatchback, Buckley? I’ll let you play DJ on the way there.”
Robin could feel the blood pumping through her veins. Every beat of her heart became so increasingly violent she could hear it in her ears. Of course she wanted to sit shotgun to you while you toted her around, but even the occupation of passenger princess came with its anxieties. What music to play, directions to give, do you hold a conversation or is that too distracting?
“Yes.” She burped out, and it sounded much like a bubble popping or a bullfrog croaking late in the night. All three of you looked at her with confusion.
“Yes, what?” You asked. “Yes, we’re going?”
“Ye—yeah, that. Let’s go!” She continued after flitting her eyes to Steve and then immediately away. “I get off at six, movie starts at seven. Pick me up at my house?”
She followed the question with that nervous, adorable half-smile you often saw — and adored — right after she did something embarrassing, but there was no excuse to be embarrassed here.
“Okay.” You said with disbelief. “Okay, yeah. You live off of Rosewood, right?”
She nodded through a broken grin and you began backing up toward the door. There was still plenty of time left on your lunch break, but suddenly Family Video felt even hotter than late August in Indiana and you needed air. Why was there no air in this goddamn building?
“Great,” you said in time with the bell above the front door. “Cool. I’ll be there.”
**********
“Cool, you finally asked her on a date!”
“I didn’t ask her on a date,” you told Mitch, your coworker, for the fifth time. “And I don’t even think it’s a date! Harrington kinda just set us up on some weird playdate like moms do with their socially awkward kids so they can get some alone time.”
You’d been trying for the past two hours to sort through the boxes of new inventory, but with your brain so scrambled, Blondie and Bowie read the exact same. Besides, you couldn’t get that adorable pout out of your head. The way Robin had looked so pitiful when she’d realized you were making an abrupt escape from such a sticky situation.
Sticky, because sometimes being queer felt like a glue trap sitting on your skin. Like you were a little mouse frantically trying to pull yourself free, or a fly hanging midair on a strip of paper. Sometimes you thought it might kill you.
“What’re you gonna wear?” Tiffany asked from behind the register.
You looked down at your sprawled out form, comfortable and covered in records on the floor of the shop.
“This?”
“That?” She asked again. “You look like fucking Munson.”
It was true that you and Eddie shared a few qualities, at least when it came to style. The frayed hem of your shorts tickled your thighs and was mostly chosen for aesthetic purposes, but the cut off sleeves of your Iron Maiden t-shirt were purely practical. It was too goddamn hot to not show a little skin.
“Robin dresses like a fucking dad. I’m wearing this, Tiff.” You reiterated.
Tiffany shrugged and went back to her counting, as if to say something along the lines of, “It’s your funeral.”
You stood in front of your mirror after your shift that afternoon.
Would it be your funeral if you wore the same outfit you’d been seen in earlier that evening? Maybe Robin didn’t like the way you dressed. If she didn’t like your cut offs, this very well could be the death of something that hadn’t even started yet.
You held up top after top in front of your chest, shorts after shorts before your waist and nothing seemed perfect. You wouldn’t wear a dress to the movies with a straight girl – which is all that you could assume Robin was, and all she could assume you were as well. So you remained in your cut off shorts and Iron Maiden tank top while sliding your sunglasses off of your forehead to face the blinding late afternoon rays. Grabbing your keys off of the counter seems like a battle in and of itself, as if holding them in your hand meant that you had to get in your car and make a fool of yourself, but you combated that thought by snatching them up quickly. Hardly giving yourself enough time to talk yourself out of the date that you’d been set up on.
But calling it that was dangerous. Presumptions got people killed. That’s what Steve and Eddie and Tiffany and Mitch failed to understand.
You’d heard the stories in the city. They were talked about loudly while you flirted with girls at gay bars in Indianapolis — how another queer teenager had been killed, a casualty of the growing “gay panic” that seemed to be the excuse of every homophobic, bloodthirsty meathead that was looking for an excuse to rough someone up.
Those thoughts faded away with the roar of your engine, and soon you were heading down Peony Circle, then Dahlia Street, and then Rosewood Drive. You recognized her house from the many birthday parties your mother had forced you to go to as a kid, until birthday parties became uncool — or at least until Robin stopped handing out invitations.
She was waiting outside for you. And Jesus Christ, the way she knocked her knees together while sitting on the front steps of her porch caused you to pump the brake just a little bit harder.
You liked Robin’s freckles the most. You liked how they didn’t stop at her cheeks, rather decorated her body in constellations. Even her shins and arms. Now that she was out of her Family Video uniform and adorned in a more comfortable pair of shorts and tank top, you could see the spots splattered across her chest, too, and that alone made heat fill your face.
“I think I prefer your uniform.” You teased as she plopped herself down into your passenger seat.
“Oh, shut up.” Robin spat with no malice, but the rasp of her voice never failed to make your heart swell. “I can’t believe you don’t have one. How long do we have?”
You glanced at the clock on your dashboard and signaled a three and then a zero with your free hand while popping a cigarette between your lips with the other.
“Want one?” You asked.
And to your soul crushing dismay, Robin visibly recoiled.
“Gross.”
Immediately, back into the pack it went.
She chose a Joan Jett & the Blackhearts album for the drive, which was to be expected. It wasn’t like you had any Madonna or Bowie albums lying around for her to choose from. And even if it wasn’t exactly her style, Robin put her feet up on your dashboard and tapped her toes along to the beat of Crimson and Clover like she’d been here before. Like you picking her up and toting her around was an everyday occurrence. Like she belonged in your passenger seat.
“I got it.” You told her when she tried to hand you a few crumpled up dollars as you pulled up to the gate, then handed the teller a fiver. Enough to cover the bill for both of you. The drive-in on a Friday night was a lot like a no man’s land. Everyone in Hawkins seemed to flock there for a bit of entertainment and respite from the summer heat once the sun went down. The layout was structured:
In the first set of rows were families with screaming, playing children and nervous first dates. Little boys and girls running around outside of cars with bubble wands and teenage couples who got there earlier enough for a good parking spot, that way there was no pressure to make out or fool around in the back seat once the stars aligned. In the second rows were those that needed the stars to align. The lovestruck couples that couldn’t wait for the lights to dim over Indiana, just so they could get a taste of each other. The second batch or rows meant heated touches and wandering hands, fogged up windows and cries muffled into a cigarette burnt seat cushion. It was sweaty, once in a lifetime summertime teenage love that one looks back on well into their life and reminisces just for a moment before continuing on with their day.
Had you gotten there earlier, maybe you could have been one of those second rowers. God knows you needed the stars to align. You needed Robin to be like you, needed someone in this town besides fucking Steve and Eddie to be queer and not be afraid to show it.
Instead, you parked your hatchback at the very back of the lot, where high schoolers and washed up jocks roamed the gravel like lions during a feeding frenzy.
“You’re sure about this?” Robin asked, nerves settling into her throat and weeping out through her tone of voice. You could see it painted on her face when she glanced past you and noticed Jason Carver leaned against the hood of his car, still sporting his letterman jacket from three years ago.
“We can go grab a movie at work and go back to yours instead?”
“I think we’ll be okay.” You said while flashing her a half-hearted smile, “Just… lock your door.” But the look on Andy’s face when you stole another glance their direction told you that you would make a liar out of yourself by the end of the night, and there was something comforting about knowing that maybe the universe was about to start making decisions on your behalf. Concessions came around shortly before the movie began, and you bought a large popcorn and two sodas. You let the bucket rest between the two of you and were careful to not put your hand anywhere near it when hers was there — as if one touch was all it would take. The simple brushing of a few fingers, and she would begin calling you that ugly “F” word.
“Does Steve do this to you often?” You asked when there was hardly any light left in the sky. Just a few more minutes, and you wouldn’t feel the need to make small talk. You could enjoy the movie in peace and go back to admiring Robin from afar tomorrow, just like you preferred doing.
“Set you up on playdates, I mean.” You continued when she scrunched up her eyebrows in an adorable manner.
“Oh, uh…” She said while glancing down at her hands, and you were afraid then that you might’ve offended her. “He just wants me to make more girlfriends — FRIENDS! Friends, I mean!”
She stuttered, and her baby blues became wide. But she snapped them up to you, and as more words came tumbling out of her mouth, you were just thankful that she was actually looking at you again.
“Friends. I don’t really have any besides Steve and Eddie, but no, they don’t do this often.”
Now you were the one furrowing your brow, along with the cock of your head. You turned sideways in your seat to face her.
“You don’t think we’re friends?” You asked.
Robin shrugged. “Are we? This is the first time we’ve hung out since we were in grade school.”
“I come to see you every day at work.” You slipped.
And with those words slipped your heart.
Little did you know, Robin’s heart slipped, too. Right out of her chest. She would’ve bet money that had she looked down, that still beating organ would’ve been a bloody mess at her feet and she would’ve had to apologize for dirtying up your floorboards.
“You’re visiting me?” She asked quietly, mouth slightly ajar.
“Not Steve?” is what she wanted to follow with, as she was more than used to seeing Steve upsell like a pro daily with the ladies at Family Video — even if they did know that he was dating Eddie.
Even with the truth laid out before her on a silver platter, Robin still refused to believe it.
And by the grace of God, before you were forced to answer with a gut wrenching, moment defining confession, the big screen lit up and A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master began its opening credits.
You turned forward in your seat, and Robin continued to rasp her fingernail against the side of that sweating Coca-Cola cup as the movie played on. Anxiety riddled thoughts played out in her head in rapid fire succession, so quickly that each jump scare didn’t cause hardly a flinch as she stared forward.
You’d been visiting her. In your cut off shorts and tank tops that’s been sliced down the sides. Every day, for months. Had those movies gone unwatched, or had you actually taken all of her recommendations to heart and played them over and over again in the darkness of your living room? Had you invited another girl along to watch them with you? Maybe they hadn’t even made it out of the record store. You’d left them there overnight just as an excuse to bring them back the next morning to see her again. And you were punching yourself for talking so much. Because everything was ruined now, wasn’t it? Robin would know you were a dyke, a fag, and she’d duck into the back of the store every time you came to snag a peek at those constellation-like freckles that darkened with the summer sun.
But all thoughts, yours and Robin’s alike, came to a screeching halt when faced with that damned waterbed scene.
A beautiful blonde, completely nude, hair splayed out around her, breasts pressed against translucent rubber. She was unrealistic. Not perfect, just unattainable, but that was what made Joey — and you — so fixated on her.
You had to move. You could feel your limbs tensing up, as if they were about to creak like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz. You slipped your hand to the center console to grab a fistful of popcorn. Even if you weren’t hungry, you had to pretend like you weren’t sweating bullets, right? Had to pretend that you didn’t feel like some undercover agent that was being talked about in the third person. But why did the girl on the screen have to be so pretty? You couldn’t help but to stare, and the warm butter mixed with the stickiness of summer air forced a whole new sensation to befall you. The sensation of everything closing in, of it all coming to a head, to an end. And then, there was skin.
Robin’s fingers met yours at the center of the popcorn bucket, and she was sure that her heart stopped. It might have minutes ago when that girl had popped up on the screen, but it was nonexistent now.
And you didn’t move your hand away when it met hers, despite it feeling much like a jolt of electricity racing through your entire body. That momentary effervescence, it was enough to get you through the stress of living in a world that didn’t understand.
But it wasn’t long lasting, as a chili dog thrown with the force of a football hit your back windshield full speed. You ripped your hand away from Robin’s, nearly knocking the bucket of popcorn all over her in the process.
“Fuck!” You mumbled to yourself. From the driver’s side mirror, you saw Jason and Andy approaching your window. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
It was Andy who tapped against the glass with knuckles calloused from years of playing sports, and you bit the inside of your cheek while rolling the window down.
“First date?” Jason grinned from outside of your car.
“Go fuck yourself, Carver.” You spat with immediate regret.
But then Robin’s elbow seemed to bump yours near the center console, and whether it was on accident or purpose you couldn’t be sure, but that skin to skin contact allowed you to ground yourself a bit this time around.
“Just trying to enjoy our movie.” You continued, and never once did you dare meet eyes with either of them.
Because last time you had, well, they’d seen too much.
You and some redhead tangled up in each other beneath a streetlight in a sparse parking lot. You’d thought you were the last ones out of The Hideout that night, but you’d been wrong, and they’d witnessed it all. Every bit of your mouth on hers, her hands around your waist, and the way you’d ushered her quickly into your car once you caught a glimpse of your audience.
“Right.” Andy drawled, and you saw him lean past you to look at Robin in the passenger seat. “Know what else she enjoys?”
“Andy,” You bargained with a nervous smile covered by your fingers, eyes closed gently so you wouldn’t have to witness the explosion of what could have been.
But Robin was already anticipating his next words, and her heart hurt for you.
“She’s butch.” He said loudly, “A fuckin’ dyke, y’know? Right here in Hawkins.”
There it was, the final nail in your coffin. You could feel the pity shedding off of Robin from the seat over, and perhaps that was the worst part of all.
“Come on.” She whispered. The blood and gore playing out before you was nothing compared to how absolutely gutted you felt inside, and Robin could certainly sense that. “Let’s just go home.”
“Home?” Jason teased.
From what little you could see through your back window, you noticed a third figure blocking your exit.
“So you lesbos can scissor it up in private? That’s what you came here for.” He continued, and your hand slowly made their way toward the keys that sat in the uncranked ignition. “Go on, give us a show. Just like you did at the bar.”
With the roar of your engine, Patrick McKinney scarcely missed getting snagged in the ass with the edge of your bumper. You peeled out of there, dodging roughhousing teenagers and kids that were just heading back to their parents with fresh buckets of popcorn just alike. You could hear your heart thumping like a drum in your ears, could feel the tears prickling the corners of your eyes — but you wouldn’t cry. Not yet.
It wasn’t until you pulled up in front of your apartment and let your knuckles soften around the steering wheel that you realized what you’d done.
“I didn’t — I didn’t mean to bring you back here.” You sighed while shaking away the thoughts in your head like an Etch-A-Sketch. “Like, I don’t want you to think I’m trying to—”
“I don’t think anything.” Robin interrupted.
She hadn’t put her feet up on the dashboard during the drive back. Hell, she hadn’t even put her seatbelt on — which was uncharacteristic of a hypochondriac. Instead, she’d sat there holding her hands in her lap, disbelieving of what she’d just found out to be true.
She wasn’t alone. In this small, backwoods town — there was someone like her.
You washed your hand over your face and contemplated where to go from there, and after a moment, you knew what you wanted to do.
“They weren’t lying, you know.” You laughed, and then looked at her for the first time in what felt like ages.
And the look you saw on Robin’s face, surprisingly, was not that of disgust. But one of hope. A light sheen covered her waterline, as if she’d just been granted her dying wish — kinship.
“I kiss girls.” You said while running your hand through your hair. “Like, a lot. Almost exclusively, actually. I just don’t want you to think that I was trying to bring you home, or that I was trying to pull anything weir—”
But everything past that first sentence was lost on Robin’s ears. The next thing she knew, her mouth was moving without permission from her brain.
“No, I kiss girls, too!” She blurted out, and then squeezed her eyes together with embarrassment.
You smiled, and she spoke quickly to save herself.
“I mean, in theory.” She corrected, “I would love to kiss a girl! I haven’t actually kissed a girl. I mean, it isn’t like there are tons of options in Hawkins. But if I had the chance — I mean, if the right girl came along—”
“Robin,” you interrupted, and her chest deflated with relief.
You reached forward to place a gentle hand on her cheek, and it almost seemed right that all of this was happening under the cover of the night. Like it was made easier for her because of it. You could feel the heat in her cheeks, and she could feel the pulse thumping away in your thumb as you brushed her temple.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” You asked.
And with a sigh, as if she’d been waiting for you to ask since you’d first set foot in Family Video some months ago, she replied.
“Please.”
So you did. You leaned across your center console, and her lips were just as plush and pillow soft against yours as they looked. It was everything that you’d anticipated, everything that those second rowers back at the drive-in were chasing after. Robin tasted like a cotton candy summertime sunset that would soon fade into a cashmere sweater, and there was no better way to explain that other than the cusp of summer and fall was your favorite. She was your favorite.
When you pulled away, you could see by the way her eyes remained closed that perhaps you were her favorite, too.
#robin buckley#robin buckley x reader#robin buckley x female reader#robin buckley x you#robin buckley fanfic#steddie#platonic stobin#stranger things fic#robin buckley angst#robin buckley fluff#stranger things
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Taking Up the Mantle
Read here on Ao3
Whumptober 2024 - Day 5 - Alternative Prompt: Forgotten
Rated: G | Words: 1939
Omega embraces him the moment Echo steps off his ship, her chin now able to hook over his shoulder without him bending down at all. “Welcome home, brother,” she says warmly.
“It’s good to be home,” he says, pulling back, but keeping his hand on her arm. “You’ve grown a bit.”
Omega grins and shrugs. “A bit,” she agrees.
“Where are the boys?” Echo asks, noticing their absence from the landing platform.
“Supply run,” Omega says, “but they should be back later tonight or tomorrow morning.”
They start walking toward the house, Omega linking her arm through Echo’s.
“The supply run was a three man job?” Echo asks with a chuckle.
Omega bumps against him playfully. “They get stir-crazy once in a while, so they all make an excuse to go. Sometimes I go with them, and sometimes I get the house to myself.”
Echo laughs at that. “Well, we’ll get some time to catch up then.”
“About that…” Omega says, the lightness of her voice vanishing. “I found something you need to see.”
Echo stops walking, pulling Omega to a stop. “What is it?”
Omega tries to smile reassuringly. “It’s nothing to be worried about, I promise. I just found something that I think…well, I hope…it will give you some closure.”
The assurance does nothing to ease the tension twisting like a knot in Echo’s chest. In fact, it feels substantially worse somehow. What in the galaxy could Omega know that would give Echo closure. Closure for what? He’d made peace with many tragedies in his life. It had become second nature, to bury and move on. A soldier couldn’t linger in what-ifs, not if they wanted to honor those who had gone before them or save those who would follow.
“I’ll tell you everything when we get to the house,” Omega promises, dark eyes sorrowful and kind. Wise beyond her young years. But she isn’t so young anymore, Echo remembers, and she has lived longer than any of them, really.
“Alright,” Echo relents and smiles if only to sooth the concern creasing Omega’s brow as she watches him.
The rest of the walk to the house is Omega updating Echo on the island and its inhabitants they have come to know as good friends. The Batch have adapted well to domesticated life overall, if their domicile, as Tech would have called it, is anything to go by. A raised bed garden carefully tended, island flowers tamed and climbing the lattice. They are proud of their new life, and it shows. They’ve earned it, and Echo is happy his brothers have found peace. They call it his home too, even if he spends most of his time away. The chaotic brothers who took him in so long ago still keep him grounded like an anchor.
“I’ll make us some tea,” Omega says the moment they are through the front door. Echo can’t help but smile at that, even with the apprehension looming. Omega is more like him in that way, enjoying a mild cup of tea over the pungent boldness of caf.
“Sounds great,” he says, shedding his outer jacket and putting it on his hook in the entryway.
He takes his pack to the room he shares with Hunter when he visits, dropping it on his bed and digging through it until he finds the trinket he’d found for Omega. It is a piece of wire twisted to look like a tooka. He wonders now if she’ll think it’s childish; however, on his way back to the main room, he passes by Omega’s open bedroom door and sees Lula perched proudly on her bed, the worn stuffed animal more faded than it was when he first met Wrecker’s beloved toy.
He hears Omega clattering around in the kitchen, her voice speaking softly to someone. He goes in and finds the droid, AZI, hovering underfoot, Omega moving around him effortlessly.
“Echo!” AZI cries when he sees him. “Omega has been upgrading my systems.”
“That so?” Echo asks conversationally, sitting down at the table where Omega has already put his favorite mug full of hot water. He can smell the aroma of his favorite tea steeping inside.
“Indeed!” crows AZI, whirring over to his side. “She has found several glitches, as well as lapses in my memory banks.”
“AZI,” Omega cuts the little droid off, her tone a warning, “We’ll get to that in a minute.”
Echo tries to ignore the knot continuing to tighten in his chest.
Omega slides into the chair across from Echo. She takes a deep breath and begins, “Months before the end of the Clone Wars, Nala Se was gone for several days. Usually, she’d leave AZI with me, but not this time. She told me that he had been tampered with by a trooper and had to be repaired. When I tried to ask more questions, Nala Se got angry with me and told me to leave the matter alone. It was not for me to worry about.”
Echo frowns, unsure what any of this had to do with him. It will give you some closure.
“When AZI finally returned to the lab, he had no memory of anything that had happened. His memory banks had been wiped, and at the time, I didn’t know how to retrieve lost data. Although, it was more curiosity that made me try than fear of what happened. After all, I trusted Nala Se. If she said I didn’t need to know, then I didn’t.
“I forgot all about the incident, and in light of everything that happened after the war ended, it seemed unimportant.” Omega picks up a data pad that had been left on the table. “Then, a few days ago, AZI was experiencing glitches in his internal systems. I programmed a software update, and went through his data files to find any broken links in his code. That’s when I found this. The file was so small, and had been removed from his main memory banks, so I decided to translate it.” She slides the data pad across the table.
Echo picks it up, the screen a series of ones and zeroes. Binary.
01001001 01001101 01010000 01001111 01010010 01010100 01000001 01001110 01010100 00111010 00100000 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101110 01100001 01101101 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01000110 01101001 01110110 01100101 01110011 00101110 00100000
His grip on the data pad goes slack and it clatters to the table, nearly landing on his mug.
Echo can read binary as well as he can read Basic. The Techno Union made sure of that. IMPORTANT: His name is Fives.
Omega flinches. “Are you okay?” she asks softly.
Echo’s mouth feels dry, his throat tight. He tries to regain his composure, but his voice is thick when he asks, “What does it mean? Why did he have this?”
It is AZI that answers him. “It was important that I remembered his name. He told me that clones do not use numbers anymore. He was my friend.”
“How did you know him?” Echo asks. “You were on Kamino…”
“ARC Trooper Fives was brought to Kamino for medical observation,” AZI says. His eyes flicker, and he doesn’t say anymore.
“I recovered as much of the wiped data from those dates as I could,” Omega says. “It seems AZI was able to hide some memory files in his core programming before the wipe.”
“That is against protocol,” AZI adds, “But Fives was excellent at not following protocol when it was important to do so. I followed his example.”
Omega smiles. “I found some footage that AZI recorded. There isn’t much, but I thought you would want to see it.”
Echo nods. He feels numb. Maybe it’s the shock of realizing he’s been so close to this data all along, the files hidden so deep, but he could have found them if he’d looked. But he never thought to, never tried…Fives was so close all along.
AZI backs away from the table, and a holo projector opens in his chest. A recording begins to project, AZI’s perspective following an obviously agitated Fives around a medical room.
“...a case like this, it is the logical course of action,” AZI is saying.
“No,” Fives says, turning to face AZI, anger clear on his face even through the distorted blue lines of the projection, “No. We were not created to be disposed of this way.”
“Perhaps you were,” AZI counters calmly.
Fives whirls around, slamming his fists down on the hard surface of a medical cot. Echo hears his brother’s breathing shudder. An ache in his heart pangs at the sound.
AZI’s voice continues, “CT-5385 will be terminated so that others like him could survive.”
Fives turns on the droid. “There aren’t others like him!” he shouts, the audio crackling at the input. “Tup doesn’t have to die. You found a tumor. I’m sure that’s the cause of all this. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
The recording sputters and flickers away to nothing.
“That was the only visual footage I could recover myself,” Omega says softly, “but I found some transcripts. AZI helped Fives remove his inhibitor chip, and they discovered that all clones had them implanted at gestation. He was going to present the evidence that AZI helped him find. He was trying to save our brothers.”
“But he was killed instead,” Echo says bitterly, fingers curling into a fist. “Rex told me what happened when he got to Coruscant.”
Omega reaches across the table and rests a hand over Echo’s. “It is because of Fives that Rex found out about the chips, because of Fives that Rex warned us about the effects.”
Echo can’t lift his gaze to meet his sister’s. The burning sensation prickling his eyes threatens to spill tears should he see the look of earnest empathy on her face.
When he doesn’t answer, Omega continues, “You’re finishing what Fives started, Echo. You’re helping our brothers. You helped us. I’m sorry I never met Fives, because he sounds like he would have fit right in with Clone Force 99.”
Echo swallows.
“And he would have been so proud of you, Echo.”
A tear slips through the barrier, and Echo pulls his hand from Omega’s to rub it away, trying to erase its track from his face.
AZI draws closer again. “I have analyzed the data of my friend, ARC Trooper Fives, and I must agree with Omega.”
“Thank you,” Echo forces out. “Both of you.”
Omega picks up the data pad and opens a file before handing it back. “These are the transcripts I was able to recover.”
Echo takes it, finding that the data has already been translated from binary into Basic. Words jump out at him, words his brother said, words his brother said leading up to his death…
“AZI and I are going to the market to pick up dinner,” Omega says suddenly, standing and putting her mug in the sink. As she walks past him, she clasps his shoulder briefly, a familiar gesture he’s received a thousand times from brothers all his life. “We’ll let you get settled.”
And Echo realizes that the Batch being away on a supply run isn’t just happenstance.
He reads through the transcripts slowly, absorbing his brother’s words, his determination to do the right thing no matter the consequences. Fives was the same and grown, and Echo was just months from being able to see him again.
Omega is right. Fives would have loved the Batch, and he would be proud of Echo too.
But not nearly as proud as Echo is of him.
Not by a lightyear.
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#whumptober2024#no.5#altprompt#forgotten#Star Wars the bad batch#emotional whump#mourning#hurt/comfort#tbb echo#tbb omega#tbb AZI#fives mentioned
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Little Surprises
Katsuki Bakugo x reader
~ It's funny how making just a little change in your daily routine can change everything...
Wc: 2.4k
Warnings: Injury, mentions of violence, mention of death cliffhangers, angst.
"Tell me" "No" "Tell me!" "No. Stop askin'!" "Okay…"
You look down at your text chain with Katsuki with a grin. The special trip he planned for you is a week away, and despite your best efforts, you still haven't figured out where he is taking you. Your Boyfriend is stubborn and unwilling to give you even a sliver of information. Clearly, you just have to push harder.
Chewing the inside of your lip you try to worm your way into the mind of Katsuki Bakugo. You twist your features into his signature scowl and try to think. When your caffeine-fueled brain reaches its first idea, you send him another text.
"The beach?" "Goddammit!!! I told you that I'm not telling you anything, so stop trying to guess. Don't you have work to do or something?" "You're deflecting! We are going to the beach, aren't we?" "Absolutely not, you dumbass. Get back to work."
You read his last message with a snort and shoot him a quick "I love you." before setting your phone face down on your desk. Looking around the office, you try and see if there is anything new to do to entertain you, but today is just a rather uneventful day; aside from a meeting with a prospective client and a few unanswered emails, there is nothing really to do.
"Hey," Mae, your favorite coworker, says, poking up from behind your cubicle. "Did you see our afternoon meeting got canceled? Apparently, the client's car got trapped behind one of Shoto's ice walls when he was chasing down a villain, and it won't be dethawed until the afternoon."
"Lucky us," you laugh, now clearing the last remaining item on your schedule today. "Do you think we will get sent home early today?"
She looks at you hopefully through her large wire-rimmed glasses. "They should. If there is nothing to do, it would be wasteful to have us here. Besides," she sends you a teasing look. "I'm sure you would love a bit more time to get ready for your Mystery Trip with your big shot pro hero boyfriend. Do you know where he is taking you yet?"
You let out a deep sigh and slap your hands against your wooden desktop. "Not a clue, and it's killing me. I keep trying to get little bits and pieces out of him, but he won't budge. I tried to ask some of his friends, but he knows that they would slip up, so no one is able to help me figure it out."
"Oh my, isn't that a pickle?" your sweet little coworker giggles, adjusting the cat-shaped buttons on her cardigan. "Whatever it is he has planned, I'm sure you will love it. That young man certainly cares a lot about you."
"I know, I'm just not great with surprises." You smile gratefully at your older friend just as the door to the break room opens, and a putrid smell wafts under your nose. It takes everything in you to not gag at the smell of your coworker microwaving their leftover fish stew for the third day in a row."
"Dammit, Greg," the little lady huffs as the man steps out of the room with his probably poisonous lunch in hand, the paper bowl it's in sloshes as he passes by your desk. Her hand already reaching under her desk for her emergency can of air freshener to kill the lingering scent.
But instead of avoiding you, the man chooses to stop right in front of your workstation.
"Shouldn't you be doing something productive, Y/n?" he sneers, looking at your blackened screen. "Especially since you chose to take off Friday and leave us to pick up your slack while you are on your little vacation," he says the last word bitterly as if the only reason you decided to take time off was to spite him.
Usually, you would make some kind of masterfully passive-aggressive retort back to his rudeness, but the smell of his lunch is practically lethal at this point, and you feel your life force draining. Thankfully Mae, your friend, honorary grandmother figure, and now protector, butts in. "Oh, don't worry about him, dear," she laughs, "He is just jealous that you are dating a Pro, and Pinky hasn't opened any of their digital fan mail or whatever it is you young folks call it."
You stare at her in awe as Greg stomps away with his smelly soup and stinkier attitude. Now that you can breathe again, words come easier. "Thank you for that; that soup smelled so bad I couldn't think clearly. Those leftovers can't possibly still be good, can they?"
"Absolutely not; they are clearly rancid by now. But I think that his quirk makes him a human garbage disposal. Not everyone can create bombs like your Dynamite ca~ "She pauses mid-sentence and stares at the window behind you in confusion.
"What is it?" you ask, spinning around in your chair, but your usual view looks no different than usual. Just buildings and the occasional pigeon flapping past
"Wait, really? "You turn and look at your friend in disbelief, you were just talking about him. There is no way he just passed by.
She put her little hands up innocently, "If you don't believe me turn on the tv, I'm sure some reporter is already on the scene watching Dynamite kick some villain ass."
You quickly snatch the remote for the office television and press down on the bright red power button. Sure enough, when the screen comes to life, you see a live report from just down the block from your office. He's moving far too quickly for the cameras to get a clear view of him, but you can tell from the sporadic explosions that shake the camera lenses that it's Katsuki.
Your stomach twists as your nerves take hold of you. Although he is one of the strongest heroes in the world, watching him fight live has you clenching your metaphorical pearls as you fear the worst.
Your nails dig into the soft flesh of your palm as you watch the screen. It only takes him a few minutes to apprehend the villains he was up against, but to you, it felt like hours.
"It looks like he got them all, "Mae says, noting your worried expression. "You should go down there and say hi to him. I'm sure it would make you feel better."
"I guess they're not too far away?" You say glancing at the clock, it's not lunchtime yet, but it's close enough to step away. Even if it wasn't your lunch break, you know that your manager would be fine with you going. "I guess I could take an early lunch and just wander over there."
Isn't it wonderful to not be working in a toxic workplace?
"Well, dear, you might as well just call it a day." Mae laughs. "There is nothing else to do anyways."
"Are you sure that will be alright?" you ask as she nods encouragingly. Although on paper, she is your coworker, you know that she has been working at your office long enough that she is practically upper management herself. If Miss Mae tells you to clock out, you clock out. "Alright then, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
"Have fun with loverboy," they call after you. You don't have to see their face to know that they are giving you a teasing smirk.
~
Even if you didn't know where he was fighting earlier, the large crowd of people crowding the crime scene would've tipped you off. Reporters press against the caution tape, flashing their cameras at the cluster of unconscious villains being fitted into quirk-canceling handcuffs. Nosy civilians gossip with one another as they try to figure out everything they can about the altercation.
You weave your way through the crowd of onlookers and adoring superfans with practiced efficiency. It isn't long till you find yourself at the edge of a caution tape with a perfect view of everything.
Surprisingly, the fight didn't cause much damage to the street; the villains seemed to litter the ground more than the usual rubble of a fight. And standing in the middle of the chaos is Katsuki. The blond man scowls at his defeated enemies, ignoring the trembling hand of the red-lipped reporter trying to interview him. He's always hated having to deal with the press, so he simply chooses not to.
His crimson gaze spots you in the crowd, and he sends you a satisfied smirk; you recognize that look; it's the one he uses when he knows he has impressed you. He turns away from the reporter and strides toward you, his dark boots blending into the asphalt and crushing shards of broken glass.
The man next to you seems to buzz with excitement as he turns to his friend. "Dynamite coming over here," he whispers. "It looks like we can finally get that picture with him."
"Screw the camera; I want to try and get a piece of his spiky hair." his friend murmurs back, "I can add it to my shrine next to that tissue I won at that auction."
You cringe hearing their conversation and discreetly step away from the obsessive fanboys. As Katsuki's partner, you understand why so many people are obsessed with him. But they should be well aware that Katsuki won't hesitate to blast them into next week if they get anywhere close to his personal bubble, and that's not something you want on your conscience.
He wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and stops a few meters shy of the tape, "Well, don't just stand there, y/n, get over here."
The eyes of the crowd are immediately fixated on you as you slip under the tape, but you are too focused on him to care about their curious murmurings. He carefully places his hand on the small of your back to lead you away from prying eyes. The intimate gesture sends electricity up your spine as your knees wobble slightly.
The two of you walk past the troves of law enforcement officers who nod respectfully at Katsuki while loading up the incapacitated criminals into their transportation vehicles.
"It looks like you had your hands full today," you comment, comparing the villain's various bumps and bruises to Katsuki's unmarred skin. "I'm glad that you are okay."
"It was nothing; I just wish one of these idiots would give me a challenge every once in a while." He scoffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest childishly.
It's infuriating how he can pout in a situation like this.
He just put his life on the line, and he's disappointed that they didn't try hard enough…
God…You could just kiss him.
When he takes note of your clenched jaw, he smirks, closing the distance between the two of you. "What's the matter, babe? You don't like it when I kick ass?"
You roll your eyes and lightly press your hand against his sturdy chest. "I like it when your patrols are boring, and you are safe. I mean it Katsuki, I don't want to lose you on a random Thursday to some kind of wannabe bank robber or whatever it is these guys did to end up splayed out on the pavement."
"Hey, I'm not going anywhere," he laughs confidently, but you notice a slight tremble on his lip. He knows more than anyone that he isn't invincible. His body is littered with scars, some of which have blossomed from near-fatal injuries. His tone softens as he gently takes your hand. "I wouldn't do that to you."
"You better not," you chuckle, trying your best to brighten the mood.
"Is that a threat?" he asks amusedly.
"Maybe it is." you tease grabbing his hand and pressing a soft kiss to the tips of his fingers. Katsuki has always been a sucker for PDA. He may be as tough as nails, but all it takes is a quick peck from your lips to turn the tips of his ears pink.
"Ahhh, what did I ever do to end up dating such a damn troublemaker?"
"You asked." you giggle, taking advantage of his rare, flustered state and pressing your lips to his. Cockily, you think you have the upper hand, but he soon proves you wrong.
He deepens the kiss greedily; the subtle taste of burnt sugar on his lips sends you into a haze. Your knees go weak, and his arms have to slip around you to keep you steady. You feel his smirk against your lips as he notices the effect he has on you.
Even as he pulls away you feel that you could bound over skyscrapers if he so much as asked you to. His gaze is full of adoration until he gets waved over by a sidekick. "Ah shit, these extras really know how to ruin the mood." He huffs, glancing back at that darn pesky active crime scene. "I gotta finish up here real quick, and then I'll meet you at home."
"Will you bring dinner?"
"Is that all you're thinking about?" he laughs, turning and walking away as if he isn't already planning out which one of your favorite meals he will cook for you later this evening.
He really is such a softie…
He only makes it a few steps when, all of a sudden, a panic shout arises from somewhere behind you. "THE CUFFS MALFUNCTIONED. EVERYBODY DOWN."
Your eyes go wide as you turn towards the chaos. One of the sidekicks from earlier is on his knees; the left cuff of his quirk-canceling handcuff has come loose, freeing one of his wrists. His gaze is dark as he raises a shaking hand in your direction. He must have an emitter-type quirk. "You're with Dynamite, huh? That jerk needs to be taught a lesson. I'm sorry that it has to be through you, though.
Before anyone can react, he shakily emits a Violet beam of light in your direction. You should try and dodge it or something, but at that moment, all you do is freeze.
Is this it?
Is this how you die?
You're so scared you cannot recall what your last words were.
A warm hand grabs your shoulder and pulls you roughly to the ground. The impact stuns you as you stare up at Katsuki. His gaze never leaves yours, even as the beam hits him square in the chest.
A blood-curdling scream echoes through the streets as his empty hero costume hits the floor.
End of part 1...
Tagging: @sleepyyshroom, @anjodedesgostoeerros, @isaacdaknight
#bnha x reader#my hero academia#bnha#katsuki bakugou#bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki#katsuki bakugo x reader#katsuki x reader#x reader
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Helpful Human - Ramattra
notes: here it is!! the very anticipated ramattra fic from this poll!!! I really love doing these polls, so expect another one today LMFAOOOOOO. but seriously though, thank you all for your patience. I really like this one. it's based off of a voice line that Rama and Baptiste have together that makes me so soft omg. this is a very fluffy fic that makes me very very happy. and jesus, i love making y/n a little omnic doctor, it makes me smile every time! please enjoy this fic and stay hydrated folks! love you all have a killer day <33333
word count: 1,199
No one looked at you the way he did. He looked at you as though instead of him being the predator, you were. He looked at you as if you could hurt him. As if you hated him. His eyes watched your every move and he even jumped when you would made any short, sudden movements.
You didn't want to hurt Ramattra. Hell, you never once thought about harming an omnic. Even during the war, when you were told you had to fight. All you wished was for a way that Ramattra could trust you. Trust anyone in Overwatch.
He wouldn't let anyone near him except any of the omnics/robots of Overwatch, spending most of his time with Zenyatta and questioning Bastion. If he was in the common rooms of the Overwatch headquarters, his eyes would linger on every human with hatred. He would watch as Bastion and Torbjorn would spend time together and Orisa would make jokes with Hanzo. He watched with what you couldn't tell was sadness, jealousy, anger or a mixture of all three.
He refused your help, even though you were the only one in Overwatch that could repair omnics like a doctor, only letting Zenyatta fix his wounds as best he could. Even though Zen knew what he was doing, it wasn't enough. He begged for you to help Ramattra, but you could only do so much.
"I want Ramattra to trust me," you had told Zen as you were cleaning up your studio. "More than anything. But I also know that he has been through hell and back. I can't force him to like me, let alone trust his lift in my hands."
"I understand my brother," Zen said to you. "But if he wants this terrible burden the world has given to him, he needs to allow humans to help. Especially humans like you." Zenyatta gave your chest a little poke and you smiled.
"I can't convince him to trust me..." You started.
"But I can try." You couldn't see it, but you knew Zen was giving you a warm smile.
After that, you didn't think much of the conversation. There was only so much that the two of you could do. You spent your time doing what you were used to doing, fixing up other robots and omnics alike who have seen more than one should.
Echo would come into your office with a smile and a crack in her arm and tell you stories, which always left you with a smile; Orisa would tell you about her past, and what she sees for her future; and Bastion would beep at you with pleasure, showing you what he had found for Ganymede.
You liked what you had, and if Ramattra wasn't a part of it, that was his choice. And that was the way you thought it was going to be for a while.
Until you heard the door to your studio open, the sound of sparking wires enter.
You smiled and turned around in your spinning chair, nearly gasping at what you found.
Ramattra's giant figure stood in front of you, his entire arm torn off with fiery sparks flying off of him, his artificial breaths uneven.
You jumped out of your seat and pointed to a medical bed large enough to fit him in the corner of the room. You didn't panic or rush, you just did your job.
Without a word, you fixed his arm and cleaned up burn marks and mud dusting his mechanical body. And he watched in silence as you mended his body back together, making it feel good as new.
You looked up at him with a smile and asked him to move his arm. "Better?" You asked, looking into his dark eyes.
He nodded at you, moving his elbow and fingers at the same time, seeing not only that they were fixed, but flowed perfectly, like a river.
"Need anything else done? Anything bothering you?" You documented your work on your computer and turned to Ramattra, who cleared his throat.
"No. Everything seems to be fine." You realized that this was the first time he had ever spoken to you and the first time you had ever heard his voice this close to you. It was deep and comforting with what sounded like gravel behind it.
"Well, I'm sorry that happened to you, but you should be good as new."
After a bit of hesitation, Ramattra sucked in a breath. "Thank you." His voice was soft and he looked down at his hands.
"You're welcome." You thought he would leave after that, but he didn't.
You paused and looked at Ramattra, who's eyes were still not on you. "You don't mind that I did that, right?" You asked, your voice kind and curious. "I know it must bother you that I'm a human and all."
Ramattra chuckled softly and looked up at you. "Well, actually, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. A helpful human is a nice change of pace. I feel," he looked up at the florescent lights in the room. "Better."
You smiled at him, but didn't know what to say.
"You know," Ramattra said, looking back down at his hands. "My brother convinced me to come here several times, but I never listened. He was on my butt about coming her now because there was no way he was going to fix a torn off arm."
You smiled. "Zenyatta's a great healer, but I don't think he knows how to weld back pieces of his own body."
Ramattra laughed at you, the roughness of his voice now soft and light.
"I don't trust him with fire at all to be honest," you said, laughing yourself.
That made Ramattra laugh harder and he looked at you with what seemed like a smile as he tilted his head.
"This took me a while," he admitted, sitting in a chair next to yours. He was a giant next to you. "But I'm really glad I came here. I don't know how often I'll be coming in though. I'm still... getting used to things."
"I understand," you told him, giving him the space he needs. "But if anything like this happens, know that I'm here to help. I promise."
Ramattra hums in approval and grabs your hand, placing what would be his lips to it, almost like he just pressed a kiss to your knuckles. You feel your face heat up as his cold fingers glide over your warm ones. He drops your hand and bows at you.
"I'll be on my way then," he says, getting up and walking to the door. "Thank you... for being so patient with me."
"Of course." You watch him walk out of the room, your voice trailing off.
You knew you were blushing, but how could you not. You hoped he would be back, but buried that thought. You don't want him to be hurt again, dummy. So you just sat and thought about what Ramattra had told you. A helpful human is a nice change of pace. You smiled at the thought. You hoped you could be the one to help.
~~~~~
overwatch masterlist | pinned post @tonberry-yoda
#i hope my ramattra simps enjoy this one <3#writing#fanfic#my writing#<3#fanfiction#overwatch#overwatch 2#ramattra#ramattra x reader#overwatch x reader#overwatch ramattra#overwatch 2 x reader#ow#ow2#ow x reader#ow2 x reader#<333#stay hydrated my loves
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Hello :) can you do a Peeta Mellark fic when she is one of the friend of Katniss and after the first game she goes on the woods. Peeta meet her, they were friends before and he heard her singing. And he confess his crush on her between the threes. Please ?
oh i most certainly can!! peeta is my boy i love him
masterlist
Peeta Mellark has something to tell you, you think, but for some reason, he cannot manage to do it. You watch him when he lingers next to you after school; when he waits in the bakery door as you pass by; when he calls by your house to ask some question for an answer he doesn’t need. His entire being seems chained to some great need, but for the life of him, he is unable to say what it is.
He had better get to it, though, as the Hunger Games are coming in season again and everyone knows all confessions are best said before the Reaping, just in case. The odds of either you or Peeta having your name called are slim to none, but this is the Games, after all; since when has anything been in your favor?
You think he tried to say something once, but fate wasn’t in his avenue. You had stayed late for your job, trying to pick up extra hours so you wouldn’t have to put your name into the Reaping any more times than strictly necessary. Peeta had seen you walking back down the street to your house, and he’d hurried from his post at the bakery to call your name.
You’d dutifully waited for him to catch up, then waited for him to get to the point, then waited by your window after he walked you home, wondering if he might double back and finally say something. In all that time, though, he never did. Peeta has always been strong in your eyes, but something far greater than even his control is holding his tongue, stopping him from telling you what he truly wants.
Of course, you could just be reading something from nothing. Maybe he just wants to make sure you’re alright. After all, tension in the districts is always high around a Reaping; too many nerves like split wires, everyone buzzing with the knowledge that soon two of their young will die, and no one can do a thing about it. No one likes helplessness, but everyone has it.
You should have stopped him, though. You should have stood stock still in the middle of the road until he was forced to tell you what was on his mind. You should have sensed that something would go wrong in your very close future and demanded that Peeta speak his truth.
As it turns out, he wouldn’t get a chance to say a single word. When that chirruping thing from the Capitol, Effie Trinket, you think, read out the names of the District Twelve tributes for the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, you knew one of them all too well.
That Reaping Day still has a place carved out in your mind. You think you’ll remember it until the end of time, that awful feeling of inevitability. For a while afterwards, you blamed yourself for it, like you’d worried over the possibility that you or Peeta would be Reaped that it actually came true.
Such a thought is ridiculous, of course, but when you were standing around waiting for him to die, you could not help but think it. Every detail of that day is painful, but it is still your memory; yours to haunt you, yours to cherish, yours to keep.
The girls were Reaped first, just like always. The Capitol woman reached her hand inside the glass vessel and cheerfully read out a name: Primrose Everdeen. You can recall a stillness falling upon the crowd, then; Prim was just twelve, barely anything at all more than a scrap of fabric, blond hair, and bright eyes. To see them close one final time would be a horror.
Primrose did not get a chance to die, then, not yet. She had hardly made it halfway to the stage before her older sister, Katniss, burst out into the aisle and declared that she would volunteer in her place. It is a terrible thing, to sign yourself up to die, but you have no doubt that it would be worse for Katniss to stand there with the rest of you and watch the murder of her sister, all the while knowing full well that she could have done something to stop it and didn’t.
That was the girl decided, then. The next matter was the boy. You were safe this year, but for some reason your nerves didn’t settle in the slightest. Peeta was not yet guaranteed another twelve months of life, and that meant that you could not rest until you knew he would be alright.
Effie strode over to the vessel with the boys’ names and plucked out one scrap of paper. So small, so insignificant, but containing on its surface the ability to hurt you more than anything. There are dozens of names she could have called. So many friends, so many strangers. An infinite amount of options, really, and of all the names to be called, you hear Peeta’s.
It isn’t real at first, not really. Some insistent part of you pushes itself to the front of your mind, tells you not to worry because this can’t be happening. Peeta has brothers, older ones who still have their name in the bowl. They could volunteer for him just like Katniss volunteered for Prim. You stand there, shaking slightly, and you wait for one of them to save him.
The waiting is the worst, and it is terrible because it never ends. After a long, uncertain pause, Peeta starts moving up the aisle towards the stage, and no one stops him. Not even after the Capitol woman raises both of their hands and shouts something saccharine and stupid about the odds being ever in their favor. Not even after they’re pulled away into the mayor's office to say their goodbyes. The time for a volunteer comes and goes, and no one lets Peeta leave.
You don’t expect to be let in, not being family, but you still hover by the door just in case. You can tell by the quiet set of his jaw that Peeta knows he won’t make it out, and worse, knows his family has realized the same thing. He’s running out of time when he finally spots you, and you just have enough time to reach through the quickly closing door and tell him that you believe in him, that you know he’ll make it out.
You try to imbue the words with as much certainty as you can. If he won’t believe it, maybe you can for him. Maybe you can convince him of his own likelihood of survival and make it real. It has to be real. He still has something he needs to tell you, Peeta cannot die now.
You watch with the rest of District Twelve as Peeta and Katniss are bundled into a train and taken away from you, spirited towards the Capitol. From then on, the only time you’ll see him is in interviews, and then the Games and then nothing more at all.
Watching the Games is, of course, mandatory, but you think that you would be affixed to the screens even if they weren’t. You must know what happens to Peeta, you must– if you don’t, if he died without you there, it would be some sort of betrayal, and you cannot do that to him. If he comes back– when he comes back– you have to be able to look him in the eyes and tell him you were watching for him the whole time, and it has to be true.
This gives you full access to every interview, every sneak peek the Gamemakers will let you have of him. There is one appearance of his that wrecks you to your core, although you cannot entirely explain why. Peeta was not hurt. In fact, he was joking with that blue-haired posturer, Caesar Flickerman, as if nothing was the matter at all, as if he were not a child that they were sending to die.
And then, almost when you had let down your guard, Caesar asked Peeta if there was a special someone out there, a girl back home he wanted to impress. Peeta answered that yes, there was a special girl, but she had come to the Capitol with him.
It was like a blade to the chest. You remember your friend asking you a question almost immediately afterwards, and being surprised that you did not spit up blood with your answer. You had never– you and Peeta had never– never so much as brought it up or thought about it or anything, but this hurts. You never claimed any part of Peeta’s heart, you were raised not to take things that weren’t yours, but knowing that Peeta is in the Capitol with the girl he loves makes your veins thrum with acid.
There is not much time for jealousy, though, for not long after that, the Games begin. You watch him fight, join the Careers, turn on them, grow sick and feverish from his injury. You also see Katniss run to him when she realizes that both of them can win together. You see her kiss him, and you pretend that it does not kill you every single time she so much as smiles at him.
You suppose you should be grateful to Katniss, though– when the Games end, both of them are the survivors. Katniss kept him alive. That’s what you should think about, and it is, mostly. Peeta is alive. Peeta is alive. It makes you want to scream and cry and shriek with relief.
And then, before you know it, he’s given his final interview, and has been placed on a train coming home. You join the crowds once more to welcome him back, but for some reason the thought of doing anything much more than that makes you sick to your stomach. You cannot watch Peeta and Katniss smile sweetly at each other anymore, you will not.
So you run. Running is easy, returning home is harder. You know about the gap in the fence surrounding the woods, you know how to slip away and make sure you’re never found again. It is risky to do this with the sudden influx of Peacekeepers in the district due to the return of its victors, yes, but you need it. The natural beauty surrounding you will help you clear your head.
You wander deeper into the woods, letting your gaze rest on the waving boughs, the rustling leaves. Birds chirp overhead, repetitions of the same song you’ve heard since you were a child. The air is cool and still, and when the breeze pauses momentarily to give the trees a respite, you hear someone say your name.
“Y/N?”
You whirl around, ready for a Peacekeeper to arrest you or someone to turn you in, but no. No, it is Peeta walking towards you, Peeta with his hair shining gold in the sun, Peeta who must have come straight from his family to find you. There would have been no time for anything else.
“Peeta?” It comes out as a question, some sort of lingering uncertainty that this could actually ever still be him.
“Yes,” he says, “yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”
You stare at him a moment longer, and then the spell binding you in place breaks and you all but run to him, throwing your arms around him just to remind yourself that he’s still here, still alive. He flinches slightly as you start to move and you whisper apologies, but he murmurs back that it’s alright, he’s alright, everything is okay. It isn’t, not yet, but maybe it could be.
You shake your head as you draw back. “How did you know how to find me?”
His smile is lopsided. “I could hear you singing.”
You laugh incredulously. You thought you’d buried that habit a long time ago; that was a thing of childhood, of a girl who liked the sound the birds made so much that she tried to imitate it, too. You learned any song your parents would teach you, then the parents of your friends, then any random stranger capable of being spoken to out of turn by some kid with too much curiosity. It’s been a nervous practice, but you thought you stopped doing it when you were small.
You tell Peeta as much, and he grins. “No, I’m afraid not. Usually you don’t, but when you’re stressed or tired, it slips out.”
You sigh. “That would make sense, then. I’ve been a lot of both ever since you left. Look at me complaining, though, you were the one out there. In the Games, I mean.”
Peeta shudders unconsciously when you mention the Games, and judging by the dark circles under his eyes, it’s not something he’ll forget for a very, very long time. “I know. It was– I was– Do you know what kept me focused during all that?” He begins again suddenly, “I thought about someone the whole time. Someone who needed me to live. Someone who told me that I would.”
“I know,” you reply softly, “Katniss, you said it in the interview.” Somehow, you think him repeating that sentiment out here, beyond the scope of cameras or attention-seeking interviewers, would make that blow so much worse.
It never comes, though. Peeta furrows his brow, confused, and then realizes what you mean.
“It was a lie,” he blurts out, “What I said in the Capitol, it was a lie.”
“What?”
“When I talked about the girl I liked, I said she had come with me to the Games. It wasn’t true. I needed some story to keep both of us alive, and it worked. Katniss never loved me, and I never loved her. We only ever kissed when the cameras were rolling. She doesn’t like me like that in the slightest.”
“Then– then who–”
“It was you,” he breathes, and you swear you can watch parts of his confidence leave him in that sigh. His shoulders slump like he’s been punched. “It was always you, Y/N, ever since we were kids. I was supposed to tell you how I felt, but then the Reaping– and I was never supposed to live– I was terrified that you would hate me for leading you on all this time and then saying that I loved Katniss, but it wasn’t true. It wasn’t.”
Your breathing feels ragged in your chest, even though Peeta is the one who just just given this helter-skelter monologue of a confession. It can’t be real. It can’t, but it is. All this time of hoping, and your dreams finally came true.
“That means you–”
“Love you? Yes, I do. I don’t know how to do anything but love you. It’s the only thing that has ever made sense. I was out there dying in the Arena, and all I could think of is that you were at home watching me give up, and that made me angrier than anything. I wanted to come home and tell you that I fought. I needed to tell you.”
You reach out and take his hand, and for some reason that brief moment of physical contact is enough to stop Peeta’s restless wave of words. “I love you too,” you tell him, and that makes the last of his worries bleed away into the empty air.
“You do?” He asks doubtfully, almost as if expecting you to laugh in his face and profess this all to be another Capitol illusion.
It isn’t, though. It’s real. All of this is real. The good and the bad. His memories and yours. Everything happening between these trees is absolutely genuine. Peeta knows it, you know it, and while the sun still shines overhead, bright and beautiful and glorious, you start to get the feeling that everything is going to be alright.
requested by @hope92100, i hope you enjoy!
hunger games tag list: @w1shes43, @ilovexavierthrope
#peeta mellark#peeta mellark imagines#peeta mellark x reader#peeta mellark oneshot#hunger games#hunger games imagines#hunger games x reader#hunger games oneshot#hunger games peeta#hunger games peeta imagines#hunger games peeta x reader#hunger games peeta oneshot#thg#thg imagines#thg x reader#thg oneshot#peeta#peeta imagines#peeta x reader#peeta oneshot
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@badthingshappenbingo Prompt: Grief/Mourning
Find the fic on Ao3!
Inspired by @16woodsequ's wonderful The Alternate End
Part I: Nebula
He’s put this off as long as he can.
Tony knows he should have done this much sooner. God knows how much pain Nebula’s been in while he’s been skulking in his hospital room, refusing to talk to anyone except Pepper. They’re probably all too occupied with their own pain to care. They probably think he’s angry over the Accords, the betrayal that still lingers there. He's still angry. He hadn’t realized until he was face-to-face with Steve Rogers in the home he’d decided wasn’t good enough for him anymore.
But that’s not why he’s avoiding everyone. He knows it makes no sense—after a long month in the cosmos, wondering who had lived and who hadn’t, he should just be relieved that they’re still here. Relief isn’t the word he’d use, though. It’s resentment.
He doesn’t care that he wasn’t strong enough to go after Thanos. He doesn’t care that the Mad Titan is dead. He doesn’t even care that the remaining Avengers hadn’t been able to win, not in the way that mattered. Tony had known it was hopeless long before they left the Compound. He knows because he’s been fighting this war longer than any of them. He’d known since he’d flown through the wormhole that this day would come if they didn’t pull out every weapon in their arsenal. Ultron, the Accords, scoping the planet for new talent like P—
Tony swallows back images of a dying planet and Mr Stark I don’t feel so good to focus on the project at hand. Nebula is already nervous enough without Tony’s mind being on a past he can't fix. There was never going to be a ‘fix’, this war always had to be won before it was fought, and no one had listened to him.
“We can wait another day,” Nebula bursts out. She’s been quiet since getting on Tony’s operating table, lying still and rigid as Tony tries to get a hold of himself enough to do this. She pushes herself up, swinging her legs over the side. “There is no urgency.”
Tony catches the flippant comment that comes to his lips. He’d gotten Nebula’s entire depressing backstory during their time slowly starving to death in space. He can’t imagine she associates body part replacement with fun and laughter. He nods at her damaged hand. “You can’t do anything with those fried wires. It has to be done sometime.”
“Some time does not have to be today.”
Tony pushes the rotating slideshow of Titan to the back of his mind, moving into her path as she attempts to leave. “Hey. You saved my life in space. I would have died of infection or, if I somehow survived, gone completely insane up there without our invigorating paper football tournament. Let me repay the favor.”
He forces himself to be patient as Nebula stares at her damaged hand. “You want to make us equal.”
That’s not Tony’s MO, but if it’s what gets this done, he’ll take it. “Yeah, sure. Equals” When she still looks nervous, he adds, “Besides, we don’t have to do the actual replacement today. I’m just mapping to get an extent of the damage before we take anything out or put anything in.”
It’s a straight-out lie as he’d been hoping to get this done all in one session, but Nebula’s shoulders finally relax. “Okay,” she allows. “We can do that. And you’ve done this before?”
Tony exhales, reaching for a holodisplay and moving it around so Nebula can see. He’d hoped to put this off until it was absolutely necessary. He doesn’t want to be reminded. He wants to take Pepper and find a cabin in the middle of nowhere and shut out the world forever. He shouldn’t have to fix things anymore. That’s what he’s been doing, for years, and he’s done it alone.
But Nebula shifts on the table, and Tony reminds himself that she wasn’t part of any of those fights, and it wouldn’t help to win the trust of a friend who comes without baggage. Bracing himself, he brings up the schematics for Vision.
Nebula’s breath catches as she takes in the holographic blueprints. “How much did you replace?”
“Replace?” Tony catches on and hurries to explain. “No, no, he was made like this from the start. He’s not a human we… Jesus, we don’t do that here.” He forces back images of a silver metal arm.
Nebula processes that. “He is all mechanics?”
“Was,” Tony murmurs. “Thanos…” He can’t bring himself to end the sentence. The death of half the universe chokes the Compound like a smog cloud, but the overwhelming nature of it has stayed in the abstract. Even now, weeks later, Tony cannot fathom just how huge a loss god knows how many planets have suffered. He can barely wrap his head around the death of four billion human beings.
But the knowledge that one of their own had been murdered in battle… That he can picture. That he can comprehend. Because one of his first ports of call when he could get out of bed without collapsing was Wakanda to retrieve Vision’s body.
He doesn’t know what to do with it. Vision had been very clear that in the case of his death, his parts were to be dismantled beyond repair. Tony knows he’s the best person left in the world for that job. It doesn’t mean he’s been able to bring himself to do it. He’s still not sure if the idea of keeping the corpse of a team member in the basement indefinitely is worse than the empty coffins they had buried on the Compound grounds.
“My father was a monster,” Nebula murmurs, staring at her toes. “I was never going to please him. And yet I tried to anyway. I would have done anything for him.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling.” Tony scrubs at his eyes, zooming in on the blueprints for Vision’s arm that will become the basis for Nebula’s new one. “Here, you can follow along with everything I’m doing…”
He trails off when he hears a sob come from the operating table.
He freezes. Their entire time in space, he had not once seen Nebula cry. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen him cry, either. It hadn’t mattered up there, not in any way that counted. They didn’t know who was gone. All they knew was that they would be gone themselves in barely the space of a few weeks, and then their grief wouldn’t exist.
But they didn’t die. Their grief didn’t pass into oblivion. They returned here, to Earth, and learned exactly what Thanos had taken.
Tony still replays that moment of seeing Steve sprinting toward the spaceship. Of Pepper following close behind. Seeing Rhodey, calling Happy. Realizing that, by some impossible odds, all the original six members of his team had survived the Snap.
Nebula hadn’t had that. Her team had crumbled in front of her. More than her team.
Tony moves over to her bedside to take her undamaged hand. “Thanos wasn’t your family,” he assures her. “You found a much better one. One who actually loved you. I know the feeling.”
"My sister..." Nebula angrily wipes away a tear. "She should not have shown him the Soul Stone to save me. I was not worth that sacrifice."
Tony squeezes her hand. "I doubt she saw it that way."
He sits and lets her cry into his shoulder as long as she needs to. He could have it worse. He could have lost so much more. He could still lose so much more if he stays in this mindset. He can’t change the past but he can stop it from changing him into a shape he doesn’t want to be anymore. Resentment is corrosive. He can’t afford it to spread when the rest of his life will revolve around construction.
Tony mentally puts aside Nebula’s repairs for another day. He has other building to do, anyway.
Part II: Thor
Clint’s gone and even Natasha can’t find him. Bruce is on the other side of the world, helping rebuild where he can, making vague promises about return dates. Tony’s not ready to face Steve. That leaves one.
The Asgardian refugees have taken over the Compound grounds. They’ve provided what they can for them but Tony still feels ill when he can see how few of them are left. Thanos had slaughtered half of those he'd found on the Statesman and then killed another half in the Snap. Asgard was gone, torn to pieces by an apocalypse they were never going to escape. Living on Earth feels the same way. They’d always known it would end here. Or at least, Tony had known.
He wonders if that is why his grief feels a little more tempered than the others’. This wasn’t a sudden loss for him. It’s the result of slowly losing a war, piece by piece, over the span of years. He always knew that they would only get one shot at victory. He’ll never know the future Strange saw where they scraped a win. He just gets this one and he has to do what he can with it.
He doesn’t find Thor with the rest of the Asgardians. A few conversations are enough to guide him to a tent in the far, far back, stationed away from all the others. Already a bad sign. So is the fact that the tent is dark as he approaches. Tony awkwardly paws at the tent cover to announce his presence in lieu of knocking, then calls out for good measure. “Thor. It’s Tony.”
He doesn’t get an invitation to come inside. He doesn’t get a refusal either. Good enough.
Thor doesn’t move from his prone position as Tony unzips the tent and steps inside. There’s no blanket over him or mattress underneath him, with barely the base of the tent to protect him. “You have a room at this Compound, you know. I built one for you. Just in case.”
Thor doesn’t look at him. He just keeps staring at the roof of the tent. “I will be with my people. Least their king could do after my brother sacrificed half of them for me." He spits the name of king out like venom. "After I could have killed Thanos when it mattered."
Tony still hasn't been able to wrap his mind around the image of Loki dying in a heroic attempt to kill Thanos. Whenever he thinks of the trickster god, the memory that tends to come to mind is Loki throwing him from a window or the mass of black clothing at Phil Coulson's funeral. If Bruce hadn't been the one who had told him the story, including Loki handing over the Space Stone to spare Thor's life, Tony wouldn't have been able to believe a word of it.
"I don't have siblings," he says. "And I know things between you and your brother were... complicated. But there were a lot of steps a lot of other people could have taken and didn't. It's not all on you." He's suddenly back on the spaceship again, listening to Strange lecture him about how he wouldn't give up the Time Stone even if Peter's life was on the line. Tony doesn't want to know what choice he would have made if it was up to him. "Guess it's easier to say you'll give everything up to save the world than to actually do it. You gave up more than most already."
Finding the Asgardians a more permanent new home is on Tony’s to-do list, but losing half a population apparently wreaks havoc on a planet’s infrastructure. There’s been so much to do, from getting hospitals up and running, to restarting supply chains for food, to getting entire cities’ electrical grids functioning again. After months of work, the world is somewhat physically functional again. Tony doesn’t know how many decades will pass before the human race emotionally recovers. He knows it will be a long, long time after his lifetime.
“Well. It won’t be tents forever. I can promise you that.”
“Promises,” Thor scoffs. Tony fights the sudden urge to bolt in the other direction. It isn’t right, seeing one of the strongest Avengers and one of the last to lay down in a fight so utterly void of spirit. Then again, none of them are themselves these days. “Wouldn’t make any promises. They just end up broken.”
“A lot of things have ended up broken.” Tony sits cross-legged in the tent, plucking at a stray thread in his jeans. “Luckily, I’m pretty good at fixing things.”
Thor’s next words are a whisper. “There’s no fixing this. It’s gone. It’s all gone, and it’s not coming back, and we’re all just going to have to live with that.”
Tony closes his eyes. He knows that’s true. He knows that they will never, ever get back to where they were. But they can take baby steps in the right direction. He reaches into his pocket. “I know you’ve lost a lot,” he says, the words so unbelievably inadequate that he almost quits then and there. He stays, though. He doesn’t get to quit. That’s not a luxury he’s had since Afghanistan. “More than most of us.”
Thor shifts slightly. “It does not help to compare losses.”
The guilt Tony’s been feeling since he returned to Earth swells, but now is not the time to voice it. “I can’t bring Asgard back,” he says. Even now, with half of Earth’s life lost, he can’t comprehend the magnitude of losing his entire planet. “Or anyone you’ve lost. But I’ve been thinking…” His mind trails to Nebula’s newly equipped arm, which he had put the final touches on that morning. “We have to focus now on what we can get back. Or find replacements for, at least.”
Thor finally looks at him. “Do not suggest that there is any replacement for…” He trails off, anger abating when he sees what Tony is holding. “Is… is that for me?”
“The talking raccoon told me the one you’re using… well, actually, you don’t want to know where it came from.” Tony holds out the mechanical eye he’s spent the past week perfecting. “Besides, I don’t think you’re really pulling off the whole heterochromia look. Thought you looked better in your classic blue.”
Thor gently takes the eye, marveling at it. “Thank you, Stark. And for letting us all stay here.”
“I’m not letting you do anything. I built this place for the Avengers. That includes you. Use this place as you see fit—hm, I could have used some warning there.” Tony barely has time to look away before Thor casually pops his fake eye out, tossing the brown iris aside. Tony waits until the squelching sounds have stopped before he risks looking back.
“How does it look?” Thor asks.
Tony takes in the two symmetrical eyes. To his trained gaze, the mechanical one is ever so slightly glassier. It’ll never live up to the original. But it’s a start. “You look great.”
“I doubt that is true.”
Tony hovers awkwardly, not sure what else to say. “Can I do anything else?” he tries.
Thor is quiet for a long moment before he speaks. “Perhaps…” He suddenly reaches out, grasping for Tony’s hand. Tony lets him take it. “Stay, for a while?”
A part of Tony rebels against the idea. He’s got so many things he’s supposed to be doing, to be building, to be fixing. Then he looks at his friend, sprawled and miserable on the ground, and realizes that fixing doesn’t always have to require tools and a workshop. “Sure. I’ll stay.”
Part III: Steve
Things don’t get better, but they do get easier.
The number of global catastrophes has reduced. Supply isn’t where it used to be, but at least most people have access to food, power and clean water. The daily body count of new Blip-related deaths reduces. Tony had provided whatever resources he could, but even his wealth couldn’t keep up with locating and identifying the bodies. There were those who had died on the roads after drivers had Blipped or had been on suddenly pilot-less planes that had tumbled from the air. There had been those who died in hospitals with drastically reduced numbers of doctors and nurses. And then, worst of all, the orphaned infants and small children who had perished from neglect.
A grateful universe, Thanos had called this. The Mad Titan title has never felt so fitting.
Tony finds Steve by Bucky’s grave.
They’d given each Dusted Avenger a tombstone: a place for the living to mourn the dead. Tony deliberately does not look at Peter’s as he approaches.
Steve must hear him coming but he doesn’t raise his head. He’s bent over a compass, holding it so tightly that Tony fears it might break. He figures that’s as good a place as any to start the conversation. “Careful. You remember you have super-soldier strength, right?”
Steve’s hold doesn’t loosen. “It hasn’t broken yet.”
Tony takes his place by Steve’s side. He wishes the pain of what happened in Siberia would dwarf in the magnitude of the Blip. It hasn’t. It’s just been buried, pushed aside until Tony’s heart has room to feel it again. “Rhodey says you spend all day out here.”
“There’s nowhere else to be. There’s nothing else I can do.”
Tony knows the feeling. “Still. It’s freezing out here.” It’s not, really. It’s just something to say to fill the silence.
Steve pulls the compass close to his chest. “Bucky gave this to me. Two weeks before he died. He was different after Azzano. Like he knew. And he followed me onto that train anyway. ”
Tony casts about for something to say to that. “Weren’t they already… doing stuff to him in Azzano? Winter Soldier stuff? That might be what he had been feeling. Not some kind of death premonition.”
Steve doesn’t react mollified by the words. He doesn’t react at all. “You know he had the offer to go home after Azzano? He could have. He didn’t. Because he chose to follow me. Then, in Wakanda, he was at peace. And I brought a war right to his doorstep.”
“I don’t think the narrative is that simple.”
“If I had—”
“What?” Tony interrupts him, a little harsher than he means to. “If you had made Wanda kill Vision earlier? It wouldn’t have mattered, Steve. We lost the second Thanos got his hands on the Time Stone.” He ghosts a hand over the scar disfiguring his abdomen. Why? he wants to scream at Strange. Why would you do it? I wasn’t worth it.
“Wanda could have killed Vision the second we knew Thanos was coming to Earth. It wouldn’t have mattered,” he continues. “And as for going to Wakanda—that wasn’t just your choice, Steve. All the Avengers with you chose to do that. T’Challa chose to open his borders to you. Everyone in that battle chose to fight. You didn’t pressgang them. In fact, I don’t think pressganging the Dora Milaje is humanly possible. Wakanda was the most prepared place on Earth to tackle an alien invasion of that magnitude and their technology probably prevented the pre-Snap damage from being even worse. Those aliens would have torn apart the Earth for Thanos.”
Steve is quiet as he absorbs all of that. “You’ve thought a lot about this.”
“Yeah. For six years.” One future where they win. Tony’s been ripping himself apart trying to imagine what it would have been, what step they didn’t take. Maybe there were more futures, earlier in the timeline. Roads not traveled that didn’t end with a line of empty graves.
“I know you tried to prevent this,” Steve says softly. “I have been thinking… Ultron, the Accords, if those had played out differently--”
“Don’t,” Tony cuts him off. He’s done dwelling on this. He can rage and storm and shout I told you so all he wants. It won’t fix anything. “It’s done. We’re here. We need to make what we can of it.”
Steve is still staring at Bucky’s tombstone in a way that’s becoming increasingly unnerving. “This is the second time I’ve buried an empty casket for him."
Tony swallows, all too aware that he nearly made that a full casket in 2016. If Bucky was still here, Tony would have apologized with an arm, like the one he had built for Nebula. But unlike with Nebula and Thor, there is nothing Tony can physically build here to offer comfort. At least, not anything he’s thought of yet. "I know I ruined things that day in Siberia," he manages. "That I made you choose between the two of us. That wasn't fair. That isn't who you are."
"Tony—"
"No, just let me say this. And fine, maybe, we could have made a few more sacrifice plays along the way and not ended up here." If Gamora had given up Nebula, it Loki havd given up Thor, if Strange had given up him. If Steve had given up Bucky, all those years ago, instead of fighting entire governments for his freedom. "None of us had the strength to do it. The only person who did was Wanda and then that didn't even matter. And maybe if we had... well, maybe we stop being the good guys the moment we start trading lives."
He's not sure how much of his own argument he believes. But, for the first time since he can remember, he has more goals than trying to prove that he's right. “I was relieved,” he finds himself saying. “When I stepped off the Benetar, and found out Pepper and Rhodey and Happy had all lived.” He doesn’t mention Peter. He hasn’t been able to put into words what exactly a teenager from Queens had meant to him. “I still feel relieved. And that feels awful. And it also feels awful that it doesn’t feel more awful.”
“I’m glad,” Steve murmurs. “I’m glad you got to keep them.”
Tony keeps an ear out for any bitterness in those words. He doesn’t hear it. Steve is being honest. Tony swallows past the stubborn lump in his throat. “I was relieved as well… when I saw you. When I got my feet back on land and saw you were there. I was relieved.” More than just relieved. In those first few minutes, none of their fighting had mattered. Tony had been grateful to tumble into the arms of a friend—someone else to hold him upright for a few moments.
Steve nods slowly. “I was too. I didn’t want to hope too much, not after weeks of not knowing, not after we’d lost so many. But I couldn’t kill the hope entirely. And then you were there, alive and…” There’s a small hitch in his voice. “God, Tony, if it had been Bucky and Sam and you, I don’t think I would have…”
Without letting himself think about it too much, Tony reaches out to grip Steve’s shoulder. “We’re still here. Still fighting. That’s something. That has to be something.”
Steve nods again. “We’ll make it something.” It’s the first time he’s sounded like himself in months.
“That we will.”
"Maybe..." Steve shifts his gaze, past Bucky's grave to Sam's. "Maybe fighting looks different now. Like... like what Sam did. At the VA." He straightens at little at the promise of a mission. "Maybe it would help."
"I have no doubt it would. God knows how many people out there need someone to talk to." Tony looks from the grave to Steve. “You know, I had the wild idea I might cook tonight. Want to make sure I don’t set the kitchen on fire?”
For a terrifying moment, he’s sure Steve is going to say no. Then, the man seems to pull some of his shattered pieces back together. “Well, we can’t have a fire, I guess. Been putting out enough of those already.”
It’s not a miracle cure. No one is magically better. But Tony gathers whoever is left and makes something hot and homemade with minimal kitchen damage, and for once the conversation is more than about the work they’ll have to do tomorrow.
He can’t fix the world. But he will fix what he can.
#bad things happen bingo#bthb card#grief#mourning#mcu#marvel#post-Snap#the Blip#avengers: endgame#whump writing#emotional whump#Tony Stark#Steve Rogers#Nebula#Thor
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Prompt: “Are you okay?”
Post 7.21
Sylvie has Olivia to blame for this new…feeling she’s developed for Casey. It’s entirely inappropriate and ridiculous, but her friend had to plant the seed.
Before, Sylvie’s never ever looked at Matt that way. He’s freaking Casey. Gabby’s ex husband and the same man she’s known for nearly half a decade. It never even crossed her mind until the stupid double date she set up.
Olivia was supposed to be the one crushing (or at least feeling) on Matt Casey. Not her. She thought they’d be a perfect pair, but turns out she just set up the worst turn of events in history.
If she’s dishing out blame, a little of it has to go to Matt. Yes, Olivia did plant the idea, but she didn’t buy it right away. She thought her friend was crazy, but then Matt started looking at her.
He’s holding eye contact longer and lingering and he’s not making it easy to bury whatever this feeling is. Something feels like it shifted on his end, but she’s probably reaching. She’s probably inventing a ridiculous narrative and there is nothing there.
There’s nothing there. It’s merely a pique per se. It’ll go away as soon as it blossomed and life will be okay.
Until then, she’s made a vow to ignore Olivia’s spin class invitations and also avoid Matt.
She thinks that’s how the problem began. It’s true that they’ve been spending one on one time more than ever. The new closeness has simply confused her. If she keeps distance, she can uncross the wires and go back to thinking of Matt as Casey.
He’s just the Captain at 51.
Her plan to dodge him is put on pause because they have unfinished business. When she walks into Molly’s after stalling in her car, Matt’s roman candle burn isn’t bandaged.
That’s not really the issue. She knows it’s been a few days so it’s okay to stop reapplying bandages, but she knows him. He doesn’t take care of himself and she needs one last long look to ensure it’s not infected.
She’s just doing her due diligence as a paramedic. It’s simply work.
Casey looks away from his conversation with Severide, waving her over.
See? Gestures like that make this really really hard.
She inhales a large gust of air and then joins her friends.
“Hey. Haven’t seen you around here in awhile,” Casey comments.
She’s been avoiding him for this very reason. He’s the reason she’s keeping her distance and he noticed. Why did he notice?
No. Nope. She’s sure he’d notice anyone dodging Molly’s. All of 51 is usually there every night.
“Yeah. Just been busy,” she fibs.
Stella dries a glass behind the bar. “What would you like to drink, girl?”
Alcohol is a bad idea. It loosens her lips and she’s not going to get caught blabbing these new developments.
“Uh, just a club soda,” she replies.
Severide wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Are you quitting alcohol or something?”
No, she’s quitting these awkward feelings. She’s so nervous she’s convinced everyone at the bar can read this secret right off her.
She’s going to check Casey’s burn, find Cruz to busy her time and then leave.
“I’m just not feeling it tonight is all.”
Stella hands her the non-alcoholic beverage while chastising her kind of ex-boyfriend.
Foster pops up next to her and she’s convinced this can’t get worse. Of all people, Emily will be able to read her like a damn book.
She needs to leave or at least pull it together. She sips the soda.
Matt frowns a little, watching her every move which again, does not help. He needs to stop caring.
“Are you okay?” He asks. “Your hand is shaking.”
Oh my god! She needs to leave. This is humiliating and everyone is going to know if she doesn’t pull herself together.
It’s freaking Matt Casey. She shouldn’t feel this nervous around him.
She diverts the conversation away from her physical symptoms of this new…feeling. “I should probably check your burn one last time to make sure it’s not infected.”
“It’s fine.”
“Casey, let me verify that, please?” She requests. Yes, she wants to ensure he’s fine, but she also wants to bury this whole weird week away. She can’t do that when his injury is still on her mind.
He complies and rotates on the stool so she has a full view. She barely inches forward and doesn’t make any attempt to touch the skin around his pulse point this time. She only needs visual confirmation.
It should be quick and easy, but it’s not.
Foster knocks her hip into hers. She’s half convinced her ambo partner somehow knows and it’s an intentional act because the momentum shoves her right into Matt.
She stumbles in between his legs, hands pressed between their chests. She’s bracketed between his thighs and blushing harder than she ever has when his hand lands on the small of her back.
The universe is so cruel.
She blinks hard, swallowing the lump in her throat. She thought the intense eye contact in the bunk room was bad, but now she’s millimeters away from his face.
Everyone in the bar has to know by now that she’s crushing (or whatever) on him. In any other instance, she’d find this situation awkward, sure, but not like this. Normally, she’d pull away with a laugh and a joke, but she’s paralyzed against him.
She expects several different pairs of eyes on them, but Matt’s the only one looking at her.
He laughs a little. “Woah, you okay?”
No. No. No. She’s not. Something has changed and she’s not okay.
She has to go. She can’t stay wrapped in his arm another second even if the tiny, deranged part of her wants to.
Sylvie tries to step away casually, but she reels back so hard that she smacks into Severide who is now between her and Foster.
“Geez, Brett,” he comments.
“S-Sorry,” she stutters. She averts her eyes away from Matt who is still looking at her curiously. “I gotta go talk to Cruz about you know, room dog stuff. I’ll catch you all later.”
With that pathetic lie, she snags her glass and beelines towards where Cruz and Chloe are sitting in the back.
She’ll make a fake conversation so no one at the bar thinks she lied and then leave.
She’s doubling her efforts to avoid Matt.
#brettsey#based on a prompt#prompts#sylkiddsey prompts#Pre canon owns me#this is a very old snippet from a longer work I scrapped
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green with envy
Summary: Being back in Storybrooke brought up a lot of emotions in Emma—some forgotten, some new, and mostly unpleasant. Is that why she literally seems to be turning green with envy? And what can she do about it? (canon-divergent-ish from 3x14)
A/N: Hello! I am still here! This is just a kind of silly idea I've had floating around for a while, and finally finished. All the thanks to @optomisticgirl for looking it over! Hope you enjoy it!
rated T | 5.7k | AO3
Emma was wired with nervous energy as she and her dad shuffled into the loft. Finding the Witch’s hideout—and apparently that she had been holding the supposedly-dead Dark One captive—was definitely jarring, but it wasn’t the only thing that had her on edge.
That moment with Hook in the woods was still playing through her mind.
“If it can be broken, that means it still works.”
Despite the distance she’d put between them after it (even though she came dangerously close to closing it), the idea lingered. She hated that he wasn’t as wrong as she wanted him to be, but mostly, she was envious that he could still have such an optimistic outlook, especially knowing that he’d been through as much shit as her, if not more, in the heartbreak department.
Jealousy wasn’t a good look on anyone, but that hadn’t stopped her from metaphorically taking on the same pallor as the forest around her. So she was going to try to ignore that—and him—as much as she could. There were much bigger issues at hand. But for now, she’d settle with a nap and a drink.
Cruelly, though, this new curse had taken her mother’s expectant condition into account, and upon inspection of the cabinets and fridge, there wasn’t a drop of anything harder than ginger ale in the loft. She was making a mental note to bug Granny for the good stuff once she got back to the inn, but her mom had a different idea.
“Well, Zelena left this tea here,” Snow offered, holding what looked like a homemade tea bag. “It’s green, so it’s got too much caffeine for me, and your father doesn’t like it. Why don’t you take it?”
Eh, what the hell; it would do in a pinch. And Emma did have to admit, as she sipped it from one of the mugs she’d favored before the first curse had broken, that it was probably the best green tea she’d had in a while, even better than from her favorite sushi place in New York.
It worked, for a bit, even though it made her a little homesick for the Big Apple. (The shot of whiskey she eventually got from Granny helped, too.)
And, like she was prone to, she swallowed down all those difficult feelings as she drifted off to sleep that night.
═══════════════
The alarm on her phone came way too early the next morning, even if it was one of her favorite songs. She started to groan and curl inward, until she remembered that Henry was still asleep, and quickly silenced both her phone and herself. She shivered a bit as she got out from under the thick covers, wishing she could stay in the warmth but knowing she had stuff to do.
That didn’t stop the brief pang of jealousy as she looked over at Henry, still asleep and snug in his bed. But that was why she was doing this, right? To make sure he stayed safe and comfortable? She’d take a nap this afternoon or something.
As quietly as she could manage, she grabbed some clothes and headed into the bathroom to get dressed and ready. Except—was it just her, or were the lights in there terrible? She knew she was probably a little pasty after having spent most of the last year indoors, but she didn’t think she looked…green.
It looked better after she put on her foundation, though, so she finished her makeup, pressed a kiss on Henry’s head, grabbed her coat, and headed downstairs to meet her parents and the rest of their motley witch-hunting crew.
She blatantly ignored the flip of her stomach when she saw Killian was already in the sitting room, quickly jumping into business with her parents, who were also expectedly punctual. They set a plan for the day, and if Killian noticed that she intentionally put distance between them—both during their meeting and in their plan of action—he made no effort to breach it, thankfully.
Though even that was its own kind of torture—that he knew her so well as to give her space. Ugh.
Anyways. The rest of the day went without event—no progress, but no setbacks, either. She’d take that as its own kind of win, and couldn’t wait for one of Granny’s grilled cheeses for dinner.
At least, she had been, until she walked into the diner and saw Killian seated at the counter, leaning across it with a lascivious smirk on his face as he apparently flirted with Ruby. That jealous feeling from this morning turned her stomach again, so badly that she made a dash for the restroom. She thought she heard a “Swan” spoken on her breeze as she crossed the dining room, but she didn’t want to stop.
In the privacy of the ladies’ room, she took a deep breath. The nauseous feeling dissipated, but the longing didn’t quite. She splashed some water on her face to cool the flush that had arisen, and put a bit on her neck, too—but when she brought her hand back, it wasn’t red on her throat…it was more green, all along the left side. Not anything dramatic, but a noticeable change from her normal skin tone, and she couldn’t blame it on the lighting this time..
What the hell? Was there something wrong with the water? Maybe she should shower at her parents’ tomorrow.
But for now, she just tied her scarf tighter around her neck and decided to call it a night; there were some Pop-Tarts in the room that would have to suffice (goodness knew she’d had worse meals in the past).
She hit something warm, solid, and wrapped in leather when she emerged, though. “Love, are you alright?” Killian had a steadying hand on her shoulder and worry in his brow.
“I’m fine; just tired,” she said quickly, stepping away from him—and pointedly avoiding his eyes.
“Swan, I know that’s not the whole of it,” he protested as she started to move for the stairs.
“Well, it’s certainly part,” she tossed back. “I’ll see you tomorrow; tell Ruby I said hi.”
She probably didn’t need to say that last part, but the jab felt good as she took the stairs two at a time. (The fact that he had no response—and knowing it was a low blow—wasn’t something she’d think about until she was safe in her room. She also may have feigned a headache as a reason to dim the lights, lest Henry notice the odd spot on her neck.)
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It seemed like the spot had faded the next day; or, at least, she’d done a good job of convincing herself it had. She still needed her scarf to cover it, though; winter in Storybrooke necessitated one, so no one would really notice.
In fact, she was feeling totally fine until she got down to the dining room. Henry had headed down first (only after promising not to talk to strangers, which was still most of town) and she saw him across the way, seated at a booth, laughing. For a minute, she was confused, until she saw David was sitting across from him.
She should have been happy to see that, even without Henry’s memories, he was still getting on well with his grandfather, and how good David was with him regardless. She may still have a hard time accepting David as her father, but there was no denying the man’s paternal leanings.
The longer she watched, the more that sour, jealous feeling stirred in her stomach again. Henry didn’t have a complicated relationship with his father—not that he knew about, anyway; and he didn’t have to grapple with all the fairytale BS in his background. (She may have told him that he came via stork when he asked when he was 5, but that was still more probable than being shoved through an intra-realm portal in a tree.)
But at the same time, she didn’t want to rain on their good time with her descending mood, so she took the last seat on the counter instead. Granny almost immediately noticed the way she was slouching in her seat. “Hot chocolate and bear claw?” she called out from the other end of the bar.
“Please,” Emma gratefully replied.
It only took her a minute to get the necessary sustenance to Emma, and she expertly slid them across the counter. But before Emma could even pick up the mug, Granny’s firm grip was holding her chin. “Hold on there, girl; you have something on your nose.”
Emma had never known the feeling of a grandparent tending to her; it was simultaneously touching and embarrassing—especially when Granny used a little too much force trying to wipe away whatever was on her face. “Huh; it’s not budging. How did you get green on there, anyway?” she asked, narrowing her eyes and peering closer.
Shit—more of that? What the hell? “Oh, I must have knocked into something and bruised it,” she quickly lied, hopping up off her stool and out of Granny’s grasp, covering her nose with her hand. “I should…probably go look at it; I’ll bring the dishes back,” she blurted out, grabbing her plate and mug, and hurrying back upstairs (well, as fast as she dared with a mug of steaming hot cocoa).
Once back in her room, she set the food items aside and ran to the bathroom, flicking on the light. Sure enough, there was a greenish smudge on the side of her nose—not terribly dark, but noticeable.
Quickly, she grabbed her concealer stick and attacked her nose. A few times. That seemed to moderately cover it up. But this was getting weird; just what was in the water here that was causing—whatever this was? A rash, maybe? She’d gotten hives from nerves a couple of times; maybe this was related?
She stared for one more minute, but then just sighed and put her concealer in her pocket. There were bigger things to worry about than some weird blemish.
To her dismay, she ended up needing it more often than she expected. It seemed like every time she was in the restroom, she was reapplying makeup on some new spot. The rest of her nose changed color after a meeting in the mayor’s office, where Regina and Robin were shamelessly flirting (and honestly, they should just get together—but she envied that they both seemed so comfortable together); she had to cover up a spot on her chin after patrolling the woods with Robin and Roland and being in awe of how great a dad Robin was (she was jealous of how confident he was, and maybe a bit that Henry didn’t have any positive male role models like Roland did in abundance); and nearly caked it on the back of her hand during another stop at Granny’s, just after seeing a mouthwatering-looking grilled cheese on someone else’s plate.
As she frowned at her pallor in Granny’s washroom, still coveting that sandwich, she had to remind herself that envy didn’t look good on anyone, even though that was all she’d been feeling all day.
Wait—was that it?
Was she literally turning green with envy?
This was Storybrooke; stranger things had certainly happened. (Flying monkeys, anyone?)
But…this seemed like a step too far. No, it was just a weird rash or something. She’d just make a dermatologist appointment when they got back to New York, she’d get some cream, and it’d go away in a couple weeks. Yup, that was all.
And everything was fine until she went back out to meet Henry for dinner. She glanced around the dining room for him, only for her stomach to turn more than once.
First, when she saw Killian seated at the counter with Tink, deep in what seemed like a friendly, light conversation. There was a salacious smirk on his face, but Tink looked to be giving it right back to him—especially when he threw his head back and laughed, showing off the cords of his neck and that constantly teasing bit of chest hair that seemed to become even more exposed as his body heaved and shook. She’d love to have something like that with him, but her damn walls and worries kept that from happening.
Forcing herself to look away, her gaze settled on her parents, seated together on one side of a booth. The way they were cuddled together was almost sickly sweet, but what really got to her was the way David’s hand rested high on Snow’s so-round baby bump, likely feeling her future little sibling move around. God, was Granny chopping onions? She wiped some mist from her eyes, but it was hard to ignore the overwhelming jealousy she felt—both that her baby sibling would always know they were loved and wanted, and that she had to go through her own pregnancy just like she’d done everything else in life: alone.
God, she was queasy from how much it stung—both of those sights. Hopefully no one had seen her yet because, oh god—she was gonna be sick.
Fast as she could, she ran back to her room, just making the toilet in time before bile came up. She felt flushed and angry and bitter, even if she really had no reason to feel those things—or every reason to, and had just been triggered too many times in one day.
She turned back to the sink and ran the cold water, splashing a bit on her face to hopefully cool her overheated skin. She closed her eyes and did briefly enjoy the sensation; it helped a bit. At least, until she opened her eyes.
Because when she did, it became blatantly obvious that her hands were green.
And so were her forearms, when she pushed up her sleeves.
And then she looked in the mirror—and let out a yelp. Because whatever this new skin condition was had covered her entire face and neck now—even her scalp, when she moved her hair a bit to check. It wasn’t an ugly green, at least—kind of a light fern-y color—but still, so wrong.
What the fuck was going on?
She felt her face; her skin didn’t have any different texture than it usually had, so maybe the rash idea was out.
Algae in the water, maybe? No; that didn’t do…this, whatever this was.
She’d look perfect if she wanted to audition for Wicked once they got back to New York, but there wasn’t enough concealer in the whole town to cover this up until then.
For a moment, she was envious of the way she looked when she woke up that morning—and, to her horror, watched herself turn a shade of green darker as that jealous feeling overcame her.
Fuck. She hadn’t been wrong—she was literally turning green with envy.
She groaned and hung her head. This. This was why she wanted to go back to New York. Where none of this stupid magical shit happened. At least, she had to assume that was the cause; she’d worry about the ‘how’ later; for now, she just had to not make it worse.
Maybe if she just stayed away from the stuff that seemed to be triggering it, it might reverse itself? With all the other crap going on, she didn’t want to pile this on—but at the same time, she knew trying to go out and about would inevitably draw attention to it, and her mom or someone would want to fix it.
But mainly—how the hell would she explain it to Henry?
So yeah, trying to resolve on her own was the best plan of action.
She called down to Granny to see if she could run up some food; the old wolf was confused by the request but complied, and Emma was careful to make sure she’d gone back downstairs before opening the door to grab the (perfect, beautiful, delicious) plate of grilled cheese and onion rings.
Playing the headache card again bought her another night in the dark with Henry, but she’d have to come up with a valid reason for that tomorrow. (Was it logical to say there was a power surge and the room was out of electricity? Even though there were other empty rooms on the floor? Eh, that was a tomorrow Emma problem.)
Thankfully, he didn’t question it again, and she was able to chalk up the hoodie wrapped tight around her head to the room being drafty.
But the next morning was another story. She woke before he did and tiptoed to the bathroom, but there was no change in her complexion. Damn.
She managed to get back under the covers and wrap them around her head before Henry stirred. Bless her caring boy, he figured she was still asleep and moved quietly around the room as he got ready before gently shaking her “awake”. “Hey Mom, you want to get some breakfast?”
She had to feign sounding ill. “Sorry, kid; I’m not feeling the best,” she said weakly. “Maybe go see if Killian wants to go with you? And ask if you can hang out with him today?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just a stomach bug; I’m feeling a little green around the gills,” she said, then winced at the accuracy. “Give me a day and I should be fine.”
“Are you sure? Want me to get you some ginger ale?”
“Mm, maybe later; I just want to sleep right now.” Thank god her internal lie detector wasn’t hereditary.
“Alright,” he said, though he sounded uncertain. “I’ll check on you later, okay?”
“Okay,” she chuckled. “Have fun.”
She felt him press a kiss to the blanket wrapped around her head, then waited until she heard the door click shut to remove it. Hopefully, she could convince Granny to do delivery again.
Several minutes later, she was still sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling her phone absentmindedly (she’d been about to call Granny when she got distracted by a Facebook notification) when a sudden, insistent knock on the door made her jump and drop the device in her lap.
“Swan? Are you alright, love?”
Dammit. She should have known Hook would want to check up on her after Henry talked to him. Though, based on the way he’d been flirting with every other woman in town the last two days, she was mildly surprised.
“I’m fine,” she called back. “Just a stomach thing; I’ll be good by tomorrow. Can you watch Henry today?”
“Of course, but who’s going to look after you?”
She scoffed. “Me. I can take care of myself.”
“You don’t have to, you know,” he said softly; she almost didn’t hear it through the thin door.
“I’ve made it this far,” she bit back. “I’ll survive another day.”
“Can I bring you anything, then?”
“No!” she yelled, mostly out of panic; knowing him, he wouldn't be satisfied to leave her something without actually seeing her. “I’ll be fine; just—go.”
He sighed, and it wasn’t hard to imagine him hanging his head in frustration. “Can you at least open the door for a moment? Assuage my worries?”
She rolled her eyes. “You have nothing to worry about. Besides, I look super gross.” That part wasn’t entirely a lie, at least.
“I find that very hard to believe.”
“Trust me,” she lamented, looking over her chartreuse hand. “Seriously, just—take Henry fishing or something, or go hang out with Tink; I know you’d be happier hanging out with her.”
“Swan, you do realize that by insisting on my absence, I’m far more likely to want to stay?”
Emma groaned at his persistence and flopped back on the mattress, making her phone clatter to the floor.
“What was that? Hold on; I’m coming in.”
“No!” she shouted again, jumping up and running for the door. Henry hadn’t locked it so Hook had no trouble turning the knob. But she was on her feet immediately, and he’d only opened the door a few inches before she was slamming her whole body against it, forcing it shut.
“Emma, what the bloody hell is going on?”
“Nothing! Can’t I just have a day to myself?”
“If it were that simple, then why feign illness?”
“Well, I thought that meant people would leave me alone, but I guess I was wrong.” Who knew she’d long for the days when she didn’t have people looking out for her—but, more importantly, expecting her to save the day? She held her hand up, and sure enough, it turned another shade of green darker. At least she’d have good camouflage the next time she went into the forest.
“Perhaps it’s because people care about you,” Killian snapped. He may not have said it specifically, but they both knew he was referring to himself. “Have you considered that?”
“Yeah, well, maybe they care too much. The sooner they figure that out, the better.” She was being dramatic, she knew, but until she got over this thing, it’d be better to keep people at arm’s length.
“Swan,” he nearly whined. “You can’t possibly still think so little of yourself. There are so many people here who—”
“Don’t even start,” she cut off. “I’ve heard that hope speech before. But it’s not exactly something you can easily accept when your whole life, you’ve been some orphan freak. No one wants that.”
Well, now it was getting personal, it seemed. Why did he always have that way of cutting to the deep of her issues?
“You are not some ‘orphan freak’, love,” he replied, almost indignantly. “You are a fierce, strong—”
Okay. It was time to shut him up. Without even thinking, she swung the door open and finished his sentence for him. “Green-skinned weirdo?”
It was rare she was able to render him speechless; this situation wasn’t quite the confidence boost it normally would be, though. His jaw hung slack and she could see his eyes roving over what skin he could see (not much outside of her hoodie and sweats).
After an eternal several seconds, he closed his mouth and swallowed. Then, to her surprise, he gave her a smirk. “That’s quite the look, Swan—it rather complements your eyes.”
She rolled her eyes; of course he’d turn this into flirting, so she tried to close the door on him. But he stopped it with his hand. “Hold on, darling—might I come in? I suspect you don’t want to draw any wandering eyes into our forthcoming conversation.”
She hung her head; he was right—they needed to talk, but she didn’t want anyone else to see her. “Where’s Henry?”
“He’s downstairs with Ruby.”
She snorted. “Surprised you’re not there to properly teach him how to flirt.” It slipped out automatically.
“Beg your pardon?” Killian sounded slightly offended.
“You heard me,” she scoffed. “I saw you with her yesterday; I know you can’t resist her charms,” she replied, mimicking his accent (poorly).
His brow furrowed, but not in anything resembling the shame she wanted to see on his face; no, his eyes were wandering over her own face and neck in a way that made her feel exposed. She looked away, down at her feet, but that was when she noticed that the skin of her hand was yet darker. Dammit.
She just sighed and stepped aside, extending an arm to invite him in. He slipped into the room swiftly and quietly with a grace that she was doing her damnedest to not be envious of; surely there was a maximum on this thing? (Plants could only turn so green, right? Maybe this was a…chloroform? No, chlorophyll—thing. She’d never paid much attention in science class.)
She closed the door quickly behind him, and he turned to face her, his jacket swishing distractingly around his legs and making it seem like he was taking up more of the room than he actually did. Or maybe it was just the overall immensity of his presence in the room, or the weight of the tension between them.
“Is it safe to assume that this isn’t a cosmetics choice?” he started, gesturing at her face.
“Obviously,” she confirmed, rolling her eyes. “And last I checked, my foundation hadn’t gotten moldy.” Though she did need some more—she’d just about used hers up with all of this.
“Am I to gather, then, that it’s something a bit more…supernatural in its occurrence?”
“If that’s your fancy way of asking if it’s magic, then yeah; at least—I think so,” she shrugged. “I don’t know how or why it started all of a sudden, but every time I feel jealous, I get a little more…like this. Looking like the freaking Wicked Witch herself.”
“Do you think it was her?”
“I don’t know; maybe,” she huffed, then flopped down on the end of the bed. “I hadn’t exactly gotten that far. It’s not like I’ve really had a chance to think about the things happening to me. It’s as good a guess as any, but it doesn’t solve a damn thing.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he concurred, his voice gentle, and she could almost cry—it was the first time anyone had just simply agreed with her in nearly a week and let her vent. “What started it?”
She recounted as much as she could remember over the last couple of days—the little things, like wanting to sleep in or coveting a sandwich, and the bigger emotions from last night when it came to her parents and Henry. She couldn’t bring herself to mention anything regarding her emotions towards him, though.
He listened, but tilted his head when she was done. “That doesn’t seem like everything, love. I’m no expert on magic, but I know it involves emotion, and you haven’t described anything particularly deep.”
“What, seeing my parents getting ready to have the perfect life with their new baby isn’t a deep enough emotion? Why would they still want me around when they’ll have everything they ever wanted with that one?”
It was a cathartic release of everything she’d been holding in on that subject pretty much ever since they got back to town. Killian said nothing, just stared intently, seemingly inviting her to go on—so she did.
“And Henry—I’m so jealous of the fact that he doesn’t have to deal with all this magical bullshit, but even the fact that he’s missing those memories is magic in itself and…god, I wish I was still there with him. I miss our old life, and I feel like such an awful parent having to lie to him constantly here.
“And you!” she continued, now on a roll. “I’m still mad and a little heartbroken over the Walsh crap—absolutely not in the market for a new guy, at all—but you’re here and being all caring and I think, y’know, maybe? But then I see you flirting with Tink and Ruby and I just remember—why on earth would you want someone with all my baggage?”
She paused to catch her breath. Then, in a small voice, ended with, “And how much of an asshole am I for thinking all of this?”
She wasn’t prepared for whatever judgment was on Hook’s face, so she just fell backwards against the bed and threw her arm over her eyes.
No response came immediately, but then she felt a dip in the mattress near her and the springs squeaked as Hook took a seat a respectable distance away. “A completely normal one,” he finally said. “Perhaps even justified.”
She rolled her eyes, even if they were still hidden under her arm. “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not. It’s not uncommon for an older child to feel replaced by a younger one; even if the age gap is a bit more dramatic here, given the course of your life, it’s completely understandable. And it’s even more so that you miss what you and Henry had; even if it started falsely, the last year was real, and special, it sounds like.” There was a bittersweet edge to his voice at that, reminding her that he still hadn’t been fully honest with her regarding his past year. Not important now, though.
“And, love,” he went on. His careful fingers found her wrist and gently pulled her arm away from her face. She was hesitant to meet his gaze, but when she finally did, the condescending look she was expecting wasn’t there—only a small, almost insecure smile and understanding. “I don’t know why you’d think I’d be concerned about the complications of your past, when my own is significantly moreso—a fact of which I know you are aware.”
He had her there; it was no use to try to argue that fact.
“And when it hasn’t stopped me from admiring you thus far,” he added, a bit quickly—like he was blurting out a confession, even though he’d never exactly hid his feelings. She certainly hadn’t forgotten the Echo Cave, or their brief encounter prior to that. The one that meant a lot more than she’d told herself it did.
Although—she’d kind of just admitted as much, hadn’t she? She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks as she blushed (and wondered what color it came up as).
“Yeah, well, I’m sure your daydreams didn’t include some green freak,” she countered, rolling on her side away from him and crossing her arms. Even if she had just accidentally admitted her feelings, that didn’t mean she was ready to pursue them right away. So back behind her walls it was.
“Emma,” he sighed, sounding almost exasperated. Good. He stood and stepped around her, looking down at where she was pouting. “Despite my care for my personal appearance, I’m not actually that shallow. I don’t give a damn what’s on your outside; your spirit and your soul are what’s beautiful to me. And don’t you dare doubt it for a second.”
She swallowed; he sounded genuinely angry, and she could see something resembling hurt within the fire in his gaze. She sat up. “You really mean that?” she asked quietly.
He sat down again next to her. “Bloody hell, love; how else can I convince you?”
Her entire body was suddenly aware of how close his was to her—even more than their moment in the woods the other day. She wasn’t sure if she was feeling heat from the adrenaline of their conversation, or just off of him, or both, but she found herself swaying ever so slightly closer to him, chasing it, until her face was hardly even an inch from his.
He was watching her carefully, his blue eyes taking her in under the studious set of his brow. She held his gaze, but then glanced at his mouth—and that was all it took.
Almost involuntarily, she leaned the rest of the way in and found his lips with hers. He stiffened at first, but only for a fraction of a second before leaning into her, his hand finding its way into her loose hair.
She hadn’t forgotten how skilled he was in this department, but it was a nice refresher; like their first time, she grabbed his jacket to get closer and deepen the kiss. His hand slid down, gripping her waist, and she felt his hook settle on her other hip.
And as they sat there making out, it was like a weight lifted off her—yeah, she was dealing with some pretty heavy feelings, but she didn’t need to feel guilty about it; she just needed to feel them, and then move on. The people that loved her would love her no matter what. She maybe wasn’t ready to admit that was what the situation was with Killian, but he was on her side—and that was enough.
And goddamn, could he kiss.
She couldn't help it—she was craving more and threw her leg over his lap to straddle him. But he wasn’t ready for that and ended up falling back on the mattress, bringing her with him. “Oh, shit—sorry!” she blurted out (while trying to catch her breath).
He just laughed, that deep chuckle that did nothing to tamper her growing arousal. “It’s plenty fine, love,” he wheezed, grinning with his eyes squinted shut.
She at least rolled to the side so she wasn’t crushing him while he tried to catch his breath, and couldn’t help but laugh a bit herself. Finally, he turned his head to her and opened his eyes, a soft expression settling over him. “There you are, Swan,” he said, reaching across and brushing her hair out of her face. “Looking more yourself already.”
Huh? She glanced at her hand where it had settled on his chest, temptingly close to the open vee of his tunic. It was back to its normal (probably too) pale color.
“Though I must admit, the green had been growing on me,” he quipped. She lightly slapped his chest where her hand rested. “You seem to be in better spirits, then,” he observed.
“Yeah,” she confirmed. “Thanks for getting me through that.”
“Anytime, love,” he said softly, and she knew he meant it.
So she kissed him again.
(Several times.) (And maybe a bit more than kiss.)
═══════════════
They did eventually meet back up with Henry, who had been hanging out with Ruby in the meantime. He might have given Emma a knowing smirk she pretended to ignore, but was mostly happy she was feeling better. (And later, when he got his memories back, was far too amused by the fact his mom was dating Captain Hook.)
She might have leaned a little bit harder into her parents’ hugs that week. And might have enjoyed a couple more grilled cheeses.
But the most satisfying moment came during an encounter with Zelena at Granny’s, once they knew she was their enemy. She looked at Emma and sneered. “Why aren’t you green?”
Emma glanced over her shoulder at Killian, who was giving her an encouraging smirk. “Guess I just didn’t let envy get the better of me. Better question is: why aren’t you?”
Zelena screamed in frustration and disappeared in a cloud of green smoke. They hadn’t beat her yet, but with everyone who loved her on her side, they were bound to yet.
Though if she took a few extra kisses from her pirate for moral support…that was her business.
═══════════════
thanks for reading! tagging some peeps: @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @phiralovesloki @thisonesatellite @iverna @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @its-imperator-furiosa-default @fergus80 @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke @deckerstarblanche
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In Her Arms - Queerplatonic Miranda/Robin (Top of the Lake)
This is my entry for @duckprintspress‘s May Trope Mayhem 2023 Day 1: Queerplatonic Relationship. As soon as I read the prompt/trope, I thought of my favorite underrated pairing, so I hope you enjoy! Crossposted on AO3 - if you prefer reading it there, link is in the title below.
Tags: Spoilers for Top of the lake: China girl season finale, Hospitalization, Gunshot wound (mentioned - not graphic), Coma, Jealousy, Infidelity, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending.
Fandom: Top of the Lake: China Girl - Pairing: Miranda Hilmarson/ Robin Griffin - Wordcount: 1052
In Her Arms
It's a split second decision: she doesn't stop to think, she doesn't - for once - let the voice of reason convince her that she shouldn't, that coworkers that barely know each other don't simply jump into each other's arms. She just jumps, as instinctually as Miranda has opened her arms, expecting nothing less than for Robin to trust her.
Surprising even herself, Robin does.
That's why Robin is now enveloped by Miranda’s strong arms, being held against the blonde's chest and being deposited so very carefully on the warm sand.
Miranda’s arms linger a little longer than would be normal, and at the same time they leave too soon. It all lasts too little, and yet to Robin it feels like a lifetime. She can still smell Miranda’s delicate soap scent lingering around her, mixing with the saltiness of the seaside air. It is as if Robin has found something in those arms, something she didn't know she had lost.
"There you go!" comes the cheerful voice from up above her head, and Robin tries to once again focus on her job, on her professionalism, pulling her usual mask back on her face. But as she looks up, she can see a warm understanding in the deep blue eyes above her, and that shakes her even more than the unexpected hug did.
*
"What is she to you?"
Adrian looks at her accusingly from across Miranda’s hospital bed, pain and regret distorting his face. For a man who's still married to his wife while trying to build a family with Miranda, he sure doesn't make much of an effort to hide the jealousy in his voice, Robin notices.
Hypocrite. As if he was the only one allowed to care.
But Miranda wouldn't want her to lash out at him, however much Robin wants to - he was supposed to be the one directing the mission, he was the one supposed to have contingency plans and safety measures in place, he was the one who should have kept Miranda safe - so instead she focuses on his question.
What is she to you?
Robin thinks of the ease with which Miranda reached over and held her hand while they walked side by side. She thinks of the tears that they have shed together. She thinks of Miranda’s arms around her, holding her, grounding her, keeping her together. She thinks of the special, secret smile that lit up the constable's face when her eyes found Robin's from across the room.
"She's my friend." The word feels wrong in her mouth - to reduce what she had with Miranda to simple friendship feels unfair, especially now - and yet, theirs was not a romantic relationship either, was it? Miranda had Adrian, after all, and Robin...well, Robin didn't need anyone else.
"A friend she'd take a bullet for."
"As I would for her."
"I wish you had."
Robin's eyes travel along Miranda’s body, looking so uncharacteristically small under the bandages, the tubes and the wires that keep her together - that keep her alive - and finds that his words don't hurt her as he probably wanted them to.
"I wish I had too."
*
He stops visiting after a while, and Robin is both relieved and angry. Relieved not to meet him anymore - the tense silences in the hospital room wore her out more than the loneliness does - but angry, because how dare he abandon Miranda. Word around the station is that he patched things up with his wife and Robin can't help but think how heartbroken Miranda will be when she wakes up and hears the news.
Because she's going to wake up.
Robin squeezes the long, slender hand she's holding, as Miranda used to do with hers when she could feel Robin was upset.
She's going to wake up and Robin will be there when she does.
The nurses stop trying to make Robin leave the room when visiting hours end. The people from HR stop asking her how much longer her carer's leave will be. Robin stops counting the days.
It feels as if her whole world is waiting with bated breath for Miranda to wake up.
Robin keeps holding her hand, waiting.
*
"Hey."
Miranda’s voice is rough and crackly, her lips are chapped and her cheeks are sunken in, and yet her small, tentative, tired smile is the most beautiful work of art Robin could imagine admiring, her voice the sweetest song ever heard.
She can now admit to herself that a part of her had been terrified to not be able to hear her voice, to see her smile anymore.
She squeezes that soft hand once again, and this time the long fingers wrap around hers.
"I had the weirdest dreams."
And it's such a Miranda thing to say after being in a coma for weeks on end, that Robin can't hold herself back anymore and - carefully, delicately - hugs Miranda around her shoulders, and what starts falling from her lips as a laughter quickly turns into sobs as all of her fear, her sorrow, her guilt finally come out. Miranda’s hands come trembling up - even this small movement is such an effort for her - and land on her back, soothing, comforting.
*
When the doctors clear Miranda to go back home, with strict orders not to tire herself out too much, Robin puts her foot down and convinces her to come stay at her place - only for now, she reasons, until you get your energies back. Miranda accepts, looking at her with that soft, understanding look that makes Robin stammer and bluster and remind her that it's just because Miranda needs someone to keep her in check otherwise she would overexert herself within five minutes of being home.
Miranda doesn't say anything, and just smiles down at her, her eyes crinkling up as if they had just shared a secret joke.
That evening, when she sees Robin bringing her pillow and linens to the couch, she's the one putting her foot down, and telling her not to be ridiculous and just come to bed. She holds her arms open, welcoming, and as Robin curls up against her side, she can't help but think of how perfectly she fits into the blonde's embrace, and she allows herself to simply bask in the happiness that she only finds in Miranda’s arms.
Liked it? You can find more of my fanfiction on my fanfiction masterlist!
#may trope mayhem 2023#may trope mayhem#duck prints press#may trope mayhem day 1#queerplatonic relationship#top of the lake: china girl#top of the lake fanfiction#dianneking#dianneking writes#dianneking fanfiction#miranda hilmarson#robin griffin#miranda hilmarson/robin griffin#miranda x robin top of the lake#gwendoline christie characters fanfiction#angst#tw: gunshot wound#tw: coma#tw: hospedalization#tw: jealousy#tw: infidelity#miranda top of the lake#crossposted on ao3#dragonmist fanfiction
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17 and 19
17. Character you think had the best arc
Sort of Rindo, sort of Shoka
Shoka's arc is probably the best-written in the game. She's given the most backstory out of all of the new characters, and with the main antagonists of the game being her own once happy, now crumbling family, the whole narrative is perfectly suited to fleshing out her individual storyline. There's a lot of room to develop her and the writers definitely made the most of it. It's just not my personal favourite. Shoka's a good character and all, but she didn't really click for me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
I think Rindo's arc is pretty decisive in the fanbase? Some people think it was done well, others think it pales in comparison to Neku's. Personally I think that subtlety in a character's arc is a good thing (I say subtlety lightly, Rindo's deal becomes pretty obvious if you're paying attention in the right places) but it's not really in the twewy spirit. Neku set a standard of heavily flawed protagonists with very clear deficits of character to the point of starting off as flat-out unlikable, and while early Rindo does teeter towards this, it feels like the writers didn't commit to it entierly. Or didn't want to. Or couldn't.
One of Rindo's biggest problems is that the medium he's in can be counterintuitive to what his arc is trying to achieve. Rindo is supposed to be a weak-willed, indecisive train wreck who constantly hoists responsibility onto others so that he can avoid the consequences of having made the wrong decision. And while this does come across, it's hampered by the fact that as the player character, you are constantly taking control of and making decisions for him. He starts to feel less like the kind of person who's incapable of making a choice, and more like someone who can and will when it really comes down to it.
I dont think his arc is bad or especially unclear. I think it can be easy to forget what his deal is supposed to be when from the player's perspective, he's been in control this whole time, even when the narrative is trying its best to tell you that this isn't the case. You've gotta look just a teensy tiny bit closer into what he's thinking and saying over what you're leading him to do.
It also doesn't help that the most obvious instances of him being indecisive or having lingering doubts are entierly reasonable. For example, it is a huge decision whether or not to trust a rival team leader who's survival depends on your demise. Really, it starts to feel more like Rindo is being understandably cautious and Fret is the one at fault for pushing him to make a quick decision based at least in part on his crush. He's not at all impartial, and Rindo doesn't push it down to the wire enough for it to be a major issue.
Also!!! The absolute biggest issue I take with Rindo's arc is that he never abuses his Replay in a way that would've made sense for an arc centered around avoiding responsibility. He's pretty much always forced to use it during situations that are out of his control because they could've only been avoided with information that he didn't have at the time. So much of the Soul Pulvis generated isn't Rindo's fault at all. It's Nagi's for exploding him with her mind or Minamimoto's for withholding his help (twice!) with the express purpose of triggering a Replay, or its because he and the others were held up by completely unforeseeable circumstances caused by Noise or other Players. Had Rindo been forced to use Replay for situations he undeniably caused because of his inability to make a decision, or even better, if he'd started to make decisions apathetically knowing that he can just go back and fix it if it didn't work out, I think his arc could've absolutely shone and even rivaled Neku's, as iconic as it was.
This has become a whole essay now and I'm sorry. The TLDR is that Rindo's arc is good, but it definitely has its faults. Some are on the part of the writers, but some are unavoidable based on the fact that he's the player character and is going to be subject to some projection that might make him appear to be more of a leader than he was in the early days of the game. It could've been better, but it's definitely not as bad as some people make it out to be.
19. Overall, do you prefer the first game's cast or Neo's?
In retrospect the second game is filled with so many recurring characters that this is a hard question to answer. Plus there was pretty even focus on the Reapers vs the Players whereas the first game was pretty solidly concerned with the core Hachiko Gang, and every other character was designed with the intent of contrasting with them in some regard (Konishi and Beat's whole mind vs the heart deal for example). It's kind of an unfair comparison since both games set out to accomplish different and not necessarily better or worse things with their casts, but in general I've got a bigger soft spot for twew1's cast over neo's. I like the Shibuya Reapers a lot. I'm literally writing a whole collection of drabbles about them being friends. It's some kind of brainworm idk
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Five Nights at Freddy's: Obsolete, Night 14: The Game Continues
''Reawaken the fears that you know and summon the shadows that quickly grow. The lingering of our mechanical appearance, leaving you paralyzed in a box of defense. Are you fearless? The wires that surround you are closing in. Where can you go? He is getting closer, you can feel you're not alone. Repairing familiar faces, but one mistake and you are gone for sure. So stay alive from the violence you've endured!''
– Haunted Reality by PsychoticFox (Five Nights at Freddy's: Help Wanted)
xXxXxXx
Sam stared at the screen before her, at the tiny game icon on it, holding the VR headset. Even though she was adamant about playing the Halloween DLC, even though it was way past Halloween, she decided to wait until the weekend, when she had enough free time to play through the game DLC in one day. Frankly, it was a rather awkward week for her, considering Springtrap's return and the fact that she was still furious at him for what happened months ago. To her surprise, or perhaps, she should've expected it, Springtrap respected her wishes and gave her space to process the situation and her own feelings. If she ignored him, he didn't try to talk to her, but Sam noticed the hopeful glances sent her way, only to turn ito disappointment when she gave him the cold shoulder. Even if they wanted to talk, Sam had been too busy with school and her work at Freddy's, so things were a bit of a blur.
So, once her schedule cleared, she walked straight into the guest room, or perhaps, it was now just Springtrap's room, telling him, ''I'll be playing the Halloween DLC today.''
Springtrap perked up, clearly more happy about the fact that Sam was talking to him for once than the information they might get from the Halloween DLC, and waited for her to set up everything. Emma had already left for work earlier that morning, but she gave them a dubious look in regards to hearing how Sam's plan for today was to play a video game. Springtrap understood that Sam probably didn't tell anything to Emma about Glitchtrap, and while he knew that Emma would be interested in their activities, this was above what either of them were comfortable sharing.
''I wonder what Glitchtrap will have prepared for us this time,'' Sam said, looking at Springtrap, who was sitting on her bed.
''I wish I knew, but I can only make assumptions,'' Springtrap responded.
''Of course,'' Sam responded in a snarky tone, with Springtrap's ears drooping.
''Trust me, if I knew what was going on, I would've told you everything,'' he said, sounding a bit hurt. Sam didn't seem to care about that though, turning on the game instead.
''I know. Anyways, I'm starting the game. If anything suspicious happens, just close the laptop. That should also shut down the game,'' she told him. Springtrap nodded in acknowledgement, observing her as she placed the VR headset on. He then got up, looking at the screen of the laptop to watch her progress.
''So, this is the Halloween DLC…'' Sam mumbled under her breath as she found herself at the main hub, noting the cupcake bucket with a remote inside it.
''Congratulations. It appears you have been granted access to additional holiday content. Press the special button in the candy pail to enter the Halloween hub. Keep in mind that this DLC pack is nothing more than a festive holiday themed ad-on which has absolutely no hidden intent or purpose. So, have fun!''
Sam snorted, shaking her head. ''Yeah, I sincerely doubt that this DLC pack has no hidden intent or purpose.'' She looked around, finding a green bunny plushie next to her, and picked it up. ''Oh, hey, look who is here!''
''Is that Glitchtrap?'' Springtrap asked, leaning over her shoulder as he looked at the screen.
''Yeah, he is,'' Sam replied, looking around the main hub. ''It doesn't appear that he is anywhere at the hub in his normal form.'' She then grinned, grabby a candy bar from the table and fed it to the Glitchtrap plushie, then patted it on the head. ''Okay, now be a good murderous virus and let me play the game to figure out what's your deal.''
She then promptly turned around and threw the plushie away.
''Uh, was that a good idea?'' Springtrap asked, feeling both baffled and impressed by her audacity.
''He deserved that,'' Sam responded, pressing the button and entering the DLC properly. The first thing she and Springtrap saw was some desolate area with pumpkins and bare trees, and a projector showed the title of the DLC.
''Curse of Dreadbear,'' Springtrap read it, with Sam then looking up. Suddenly, there was a lightning strike, briefly illuminated the figure with glowing yellow eyes looming over them. It was clearly a bear with bolts attached to his neck. ''I suppose that's the titular Dreadbear.''
Sam looked around the area, trying to see whether there was anything of interest, and she was surprised to spot Withered Bonnie in the distance. As lighting illuminated the area again, she could also see Withered Chica. Once she couldn't find anything else, she pressed the nearby button to proceed and finally found herself at the Halloween Hub.
It looked like she was at some kind of abandoned farm area, with a shack nearby, pumpkins decorating her surroundings, a banner with Fallfest 83' hanging behind her, a malfunctioning car in the distance with its lights flickering, and a tractor on the other side. She then pulled the switch on the table before her, causing everything to be coated in purple light, but didn't find anything. She returned the hub back to normal and focused on the screen before here.
''Okay, so it looks like there are three new game modes: Afraid of the Dark featuring Plushkin Patch, Pirate Ride and Corn Maze, Spooky Mansion featuring Hallway, Build-A-Mangle, Trick or Treat and Dreadbear, and Danger! Keep Out! featuring Night 01, and what I assume to be Night 02 and Night 03,'' Sam sighed. ''Okay, depending on how hard those games are, it might take me longer than I assumed to complete them.''
''I wish you good luck with all of them,'' Springtrap said. Sam stretched out her arms, selecting one of the mini-games, called Hallway Crawl, and started the game properly.
''Woah, is that the Five Nights at Freddy's 4 house?'' Sam was surprised, listening to the wind blowing and storm outside. Springtrap watched her as she slowly walked through the hallway, only to notice an animatronic hiding in the shadows, with Sam suddenly stopping as she realized that this was a game of Red Light, Green Light with the Nightmare Animatronics. ''Okay, there is Nightmare Bonnie and… am I being followed?'' She turned around, only to see the faint outline of another animatronic. ''Goddamnit, I'm on a timer here!''
Springtrap watched her as she made her way through the hallway as carefully as possible, when Nightmare Foxy suddenly appeared, jumpscaring her when she made a move. Sam was startled, crying out in surprise, only to find herself at the Game Over screen.
''Aw, com'n… What the-?!'' Sam was surprised to see a giant Dreadbear looming over her. ''Where did you come from? Oh, and hello!'' She had turned around, finding what looked like Nightmare Foxy set on fire standing behind a gate and dragging his sickle-like hook down the stone pillar. She had to admit, they certainly made the game creepy. ''Okay, I suppose I should've expected that.''
''They certainly nailed the Halloween atmosphere,'' Springtrap commented as Sam restarted the game. He wasn't exactly a huge video game enthusiast, but he had to admit that the Halloween DLC had certainly a lot of effort put into it. He was also a bit fascinated with how video game technology advanced, to the point where they could use headsets like the one Sam had to immerse themselves into the video game. He muttered to himself, ''I still remembered when Pong was popular…''
''What's Pong?'' Sam rose an eyebrow as she made it through the hallway successfully and into a room that looked exactly like the child's room from Five Nights at Freddy's 4. She was then taken to a barn decorated for a party, with a banner hanging over a prize box, congratulating her on winning the game. She quickly grabbed her prize, a piece of candy, and went for the next game, Plushkin Patch.
''Pong was basically a table tennis game, and one of the first arcades Henry and I had ordered for Fredbear's, and later on Freddy's,'' Springtrap explained, his ears lowering and his tone filled with clear disappointment about the lack of recognition. Sam shrugged, too busy with keeping eye on the Circus Baby plushies. Springtrap took a step back, letting her complete the game and noting how Sam wasn't exactly interested in talking to him.
It took a bit, but Sam eventually made it to the next game, Build-A-Mangle, and as the instructor helpfully explained, she needed to gather the components to build an animatronic, while also shocking everything that wasn't supposed to be on the assembly line, like an annoying Freddle.
''No, animatronic engineering is not as simple as this guy says,'' Springtrap said, a bit amused that Sam basically got fired over the animatronic abomination she had built.
''That's true,'' Sam responded, picking out the next game, Pirate Ride. ''Oh, wow, a shooter mini-game!'' She smiled happily when she saw Foxy in his pirate attire giving her instructions on what to do in the game. ''Okay, let's try to get through this in one go.''
''You're pretty good at this,'' Springtrap commented as Sam proceeded to hit the targets in one or two shots.
''If you think that flattering me will get you anywhere, you're mistaken,'' Sam responded in a cold, matter-of-fact tone, with Springtrap feeling a bit hurt by her comment. He was well aware that he hadn't been completely forgiven, but he still hoped that Sam wouldn't be as bitter as she was before. It appeared that he was mistaken.
''So, what is this one about…'' Sam muttered as she moved on to the next mini-game, that being Trick or Treat. She found herself at a door with a Foxy-shaped knocker and six masks, that being of Foxy, Freddy and Balloon Boy on one side and Mangle, Chica and Bonnie on the other side. She pressed the doorbell, noticing the animatronics inside the house, and quickly realized what she was supposed to do as music played, along with ticking and the animatronics moving around. She quickly put the Foxy mask on once she realized that he was missing, and as expected, Withered Foxy opened the door.
''This game doesn't appear to be particularly difficult,'' Springtrap commented.
''That's because you're not the one playing it… Mangle, get off there!'' Sam was annoyed that Mangle obstructed her view, but managed to put a Chica mask on just in time for Withered Chica to open the door. ''It's a completely different experience when you're playing it instead of watching.''
''Okay, I believe you,'' Springtrap responded, with Sam placing the Balloon Boy mask just before Balloon Boy opened the door. Fortunately for her, she just needed survive three rounds to win all the games.
''What does make me curious is how I haven't really found anything in relation to Glitchtrap aside from the plushie earlier. You'd think there was more to this game,'' Sam said, this time deciding to play Night 01 on Danger! Keep Out!. She found herself back at the Five Nights at Freddy's office, this time decorated with a carved pumpkin and Jack-O-Bonnie and Jack-O-Chica trying to get into the office through the boarded doors. ''Ah, so we're going back to the basics.''
Springtrap observed her as she successfully fended off both animatronics, flashing lights at the two animatronics. He still thought that she made it look very easy. She eventually made it to 6 AM, with nothing eventful happening, and hovered with her hand over Night 02, only to go back to the Pirate Ride.
''Why don't you continue the Night?'' Springtrap asked her.
''I… I don't know. I just feel like I missed something at the Pirate Ride. I only got First Mate ranking, and I know I hit every target. There was to be more to it,'' Sam responded. Springtrap tilted his head, only to realize that her gut feeling was right when Helpy suddenly appeared and Sam hit him. This led her to an area where she had to shoot targets before she got attacked by Jack-O-Bonnie and Jack-O-Chica. ''Now, that's what I'm talking about! Still, there don't seem to be any secrets.''
It took a while, but eventually, Sam explored all of the areas of the Pirate Ride, having restarted the game several times, but there wasn't really anything of interest there. Eventually, she returned to the main hub and decided to go for the Dreadbear mini-game.
''Welcome back to Research and Development. Today, we are using science to pervert the mysteries of life and reanimate the inanimate. To begin, it is customary for the creator to give a melodramatic speech. Go on. I'll wait…''
''Uh, Springtrap, do you want to do the honors? You're the melodramatic evil scientist guy, you'd know what to say,'' Sam asked, turning to where she assumed Springtrap to be standing. All she got was a groan in response, and even though she couldn't see it, an eye-roll, causing her to giggle.
''All done? Good job. Let's wake our little experiment with a controlled shock. Throw the switch, then lower the platform.''
''This feels like something out of Frankestein,'' Sam said as Dreadbear was lowered down and she started the experiment by shocking the animatronic.
''It's alive, but lacking the necessary control module. Namely, the brain. So, let's calibrate one. Use the laboratory tools to adjust the brain's vital characteristics. Use the pull-down blueprints as a guide for matching the correct colors, size, and neural feedback loop. When you are satisfied, carefully place the brain in the creature's animatronic head cavity.''
''Maybe this game doesn't have any secrets,'' Sam said suddenly as she started matching colours with Dreadbear's brain.
''What makes you think that?'' Springtrap asked, narrowing his eyes.
''Well, this seems like a completely normal Halloween DLC. There are no secret messages or tapes or anything… or maybe I wasn't looking hard enough,'' Sam responded, finishing the mini-game and returning to the main hub. ''I still got three more mini-games to play. Maybe I'll get something if I finish the whole game.''
''Maybe… I will say, I do have a lot of fun playing this game,'' Sam responded, going for Night 02 and Night 03 in Danger! Keep Out!. Night 02 added Grimm Foxy, while Night 03 added Dreadbear to the game, but she still managed to get through it with not much difficulty. ''Okay, I got one more game left, Corn Maze.''
''Do you want to take a break?'' Springtrap asked as Sam lingered in the main hub.
''I guess…'' she said, looking around the main hub and trying to see if anything was different. To her surprise, she spotted a button on the side of the monitor, having not seen it earlier. She pressed it, but nothing happened. Frowning, she turned the whole hub into Blacklight Mode and then pressed it. ''Do you see anything, Springtrap?''
''No… There doesn't seem to be…'' Springtrap squinted his eyes as he stared at the monitor, only to notice a figure in the distance. ''Wait, stop right there!''
''Where?'' Sam asked, not moving,
''There on the hill, do you see it?'' Springtrap asked, with Sam squinting her eyes. To her surprise, there was a figure on the hill, dancing and swaying in a familiar manner.
''Wait, is that… Glitchtrap?'' she asked, feeling chills down her spine. ''Yeah, it looks like him.''
''It doesn't appear as if he's going to approach you,'' Springtrap noted.
''Yeah, it looks like this one needs to be activated deliberately. It's not less creepy, though,'' Sam responded, and then selected the Corn Maze mini-game. Finding herself in the titular maze, she soon learned that she was being hunted down by Grimm Foxy, and to hide from him, she needed to get behind the cardboard character signs. She eventually came across a red key, realizing that this was probably her way out of this place. ''How many keys are there?'' She wondered as she found a green one. She also noted that Grimm Foxy got more and more aggressive the more keys she collected, but she could deal with him if she waited at one of the character signs and hid behind it, letting Grimm Foxy run past her. This game was long and tedious, especially since she wanted to win it on her first attempt, and she couldn't rush things. Fortunately, she had managed to find all four keys, and now all that was left was to escape the maze.
''Do you know how to get out?'' Springtrap asked her as she started to aimlessly wander around the maze.
''I'm just exploring,'' Sam responded, not wanting to admit that she had no clue where she was going. However, it seemed that her aimless wandering did benefit her in some way, as she found one more key, which turned the top of her flashlight purple. ''Great, now where is the exit?''
''Over there is a cellar,'' Springtrap pointed out, with Sam sprinting towards it and quickly opening it before Grimm Foxy could get to her.
''This doesn't look like the actual exit. It is more… what the-?!'' Sam was genuinely surprised when she found a mask lying on the table. It was a white and brown rabbit mask with red eyes. She stared at it in stunned silence. ''That… I don't think that's supposed to be here.''
''I think you should pick it up,'' Springtrap told her, with Sam following his instructions and putting the mask on. There was some heavy breathing, and the screen turned black, only for her to return to the title screen for the Halloween DLC.
''Okay, that was weird,'' Sam said, lifting the VR headset up and rubbing her eyes. She had been playing this DLC game for around two hours at this point and her eyes and head began to hurt. ''I wonder what that rabbit mask is all about.''
''It doesn't look to me like any character belonging to the Freddy's franchise,'' Springtrap replied. ''The only rabbit character that was ever present was Bonnie and his counterparts.''
''In other words, it is possible that this is what we've been searching for,'' Sam responded. She returned to the Halloween Hub, but after messing around with it, she couldn't find the rabbit mask, so she returned to the main game's hub. There, she spotted the Glitchtrap plushie next to her and picked it up. ''Okay, I need answers. What is up with the rabbit mask?''
''I don't think the plushie is going to provide you with an answer,'' Springtrap told her in a somewhat snarky tone. Sam frowned.
''Thanks for pointing that out, Mr. Obvious. I knew that already,'' she replied, deciding to look around the main hub area to see if she could find anything. Fortunately for her, the rabbit mask was at the Prize Corner. Sam picked it up, only to remember something. ''Hey, wait, didn't Tape Girl say that one of the previous players, Jeremy, made some kind of Halloween mask? What if this was it?''
''Do you really want to put it on?'' Springtrap asked, a hint of concern in his voice.
''I came so far, and I'm not going to run away from a mask,'' Sam replied, then glanced at the mask and then at the Glitchtrap plushie she was still holding. She then put on the mask and grabbed the Glitchtrap plushie, only to feel chills when a message started playing.
''Yes, I hear you. I know... No. There's no miscommunication... I understand... Yes, I have it. I made it myself. I think you would like it... No, no one suspects anything... Don't worry, I'll be ready, and I won't let you down. It will be fun.''
Sam froze, then quickly took off the VR headset, shaking her head as she processed what she just heard. ''D-Did you…''
''Yeah,'' Springtrap nodded, a grim look on his expression. ''Are you okay?''
''I'm just a bit tired,'' Sam replied, closing the game and sitting down on her bed, pressing her head against her temple. She figured that the headache she felt was the result of playing the Halloween DLC without a moment of rest. Springtrap sat next to her, still worried about her, but he didn't say anything. Instead, Sam rose her voice, ''That woman that works with my Dad, Vanessa, she sent me all of this stuff. What if she works together with Glitchtrap? I mean, with that message and mask… Would it be possible?''
''I'm not sure, but considering all the things that happened to you, this Glitchtrap entity may have hold more power than either of us had assumed,'' Springtrap said, his eyes narrowing. He wasn't really sure how to feel about the whole situation, considering how Glitchtrap was him, but was also an individual separate from him. Even though he knew what had happened, it still felt hard to comprehend what had happened.
''I wonder if I should send an e-mail to Vanessa to tell her that I completed the game. Although, I do feel that that would be a bad idea,'' Sam replied.
''If your gut feeling tells you that you shouldn't do it, then don't. After all, you always trusted it in the past,'' Springtrap said. Sam looked up at him, her eyes narrowed.
''You mean like the time I decided to bring you home even though you almost murdered me,'' she replied in a snarky tone. Springtrap felt a sting of guilt as he remembered that event. He felt as if it had been a long time since that happened, even though it was only a few months ago.
''I regret… what had happened. You know that,'' Springtrap told her.
''Yeah, you regret it now,'' Sam said casually, leaning back against the wall. Both were silent for a bit, only for Sam to start the conversation again, ''Hey, Will…'' she said, drawing Springtrap attention. ''Is it really true that you have returned just because of me?''
Springtrap glanced at her, answering her question without hesitation, but still with a hint of curiosity in his tone, ''Of course I did. I had no regrets in death besides not apologizing to you.''
''Really? No other regrets?'' Sam pressed.
''I'm fairly certain I said all I wanted to those who knew me,'' Springtrap responded, giving Sam a questioning look. In turn, Sam sighed, biting her lip as she clearly wanted to say something else, but didn't know how to express herself. ''You know, Sam, I can handle some brutal honesty. So, if there is anything on your mind-''
''I'm sorry,'' Sam blurted out, cutting Springtrap off. He just stared at her in stunned silence, with Sam continuing, ''I shouldn't have yelled at you when you came back.''
''Sam, you and I know both that you had a good reason for that. After all, I did leave you without any explanation,'' Springtrap responded.
''Yeah, but still, I didn't want to admit to myself that I did know and understand the reason why you have left,'' Sam replied. ''After all, everyone was saying that you should go back to Hell, and taking Connor down with you would be a bonus.''
''First and foremost, staying in that fire was my own decision… although I admit that hearing everyone else telling me to leave didn't help. I had just figured that I should finally put the past behind me, and to do that, I also had to remove myself from the situation given how I was a huge part of the problem. I had figured that it would be better for you not to be anymore involved in the mess I had created, while also making sure you had all the necessary knowledge to keep yourself safe. I had hoped that you would move on eventually, and I believed that you would understand. I wanted for the nightmare that I started to finally end.'' Springtrap fell silent for a moment, snorting in amusement and shaking his head. ''Thinking back to it, it was incredibly pointless. Why would I even try to do something selfless? I didn't mind killing Connor a second time, but going down with him was just stupid of me.'' He turned to Sam. ''So, after spending more time being driven crazy by the literal ghosts of my pasts, I decided that I should just come back, as I'd always do.''
Sam was silent, staring at him for a moment, then sighed. ''Okay, I will admit, even though I was angry at you when I saw you again, I also felt relieved; and it made me angry that I felt relieved because it felt like that was the wrong emotion. I know what you had done, and you being in Hell would be the best resolution, but at the same time, I wanted to be selfish and feel happy that the person who was basically my best friend and father figure has returned.''
Springtrap's eyes widened, a bit surprised and pleased to hear that Sam still genuinely cared about him, even still seeing him as a father figure, and he felt quite proud of that.
''I think that is okay to be selfish, especially if you're not hurting everyone,'' he told her, with Sam snorting in response.
''It's ironic that you're the one to talk about that,'' she said. Springtrap smirked.
''Perhaps, I should just stick to what I'm doing best,'' he said.
''Murdering children?'' Sam responded in a deadpan stone. Springtrap's ears lowered and he gave her an exasperated look.
''I didn't mean that… I thought about helping you deal with the current situation,'' he replied. ''After all, Glitchtrap is something I'm responsible for, and I'm not letting another murderous bunny steal my spotlight, even if it is part of me.''
''So, you are going to stay here for good?'' Sam asked.
''I'm staying here as long as I want… or until Emma gets that flamethrower she constantly threatened me with,'' Springtrap replied, shrugging. ''Rest assured, I have been thinking, and I realized that as long as the Freddy Fazbear's Franchise is around, I'm not leaving either. Especially not in a time like this.''
''You mean, the Mega Pizzaplex that is being currently worked on?'' Sam asked. Springtrap nodded, folding his arms across his chest.
''I want to see what Fazbear Entertainment has come up with this time. From what I've seen, they are trying to move on from the past while making fun of it, but I'm certain that something bad is going to happen because this franchise has always something bad going on,'' he explained.
''Sounds to me like this is going to be just like the old days,'' Sam said, smiling. Springtrap was quite happy to see her like this. He could see her eyes sparking up with excitement and intrigue.
''Well, it wouldn't be exactly like the old days, but I can assure you that I'm not going anywhere. It doesn't matter if any of the other ghosts return to drag me back to Hell, I'm not leaving,'' he told her in a firm tone. He was startled when Sam suddenly hugged him. Surprised, but happy, he hugged her back in assurance. ''I hope you feel better now.''
''Yeah, I do,'' Sam replied, leaning back as she broke off the hug and gave Springtrap a serious look. ''Speaking of which, has anyone contacted you yet?''
''No,'' Springtrap replied, shaking his head. ''At this point, I believe that everyone has given up on me.''
''Perhaps, that's for the best,'' Sam responded, humming in thought. ''So, the Pizzaplex… Anthelm had told me how I'd get training in order to learn how to handle the new animatronics, and honestly, I'm looking forward to it.''
''Do you plan on continuing learning more about robotics?'' Springtrap asked. Sam placed a finger on her chin, looking up in thought.
''I never really thought about that,'' she replied. ''I'll think about it, though. For now, we'll have to meet up with the Showtime Animatronics and go over an actual plan for the future.''
''So, you plan to involve the Showtimes into this as well?'' Springtrap asked curiously.
''Considering how they're under Glitchtrap's influence, they are already involved,'' Sam responded. ''So, the most I can do is to give them the complete rundown on the situation. Afterwards, we can work on what to do once the Pizzaplex opens, as well as how to deal with Vanessa and, more importantly, Glitchtrap. Not to mention all the stuff Fazbear Entertainment might try to cover, because even if you're not around to cause trouble, something will definitely happen at Freddy's. It's like a curse at this point.''
''I completely agree with that,'' Springtrap responded.
''Have you already figured what your role is going to be while you're at Freddy's?'' Sam suddenly asked.
''Not really, although I'm certain that none of the Showtimes would be happy even if I do,'' Springtrap responded in a snarky tone.
''Well, I think you can talk to them about it. I might not be working today, but I want to go back to Freddy's tonight,'' Sam replied.
xXx
Vanessa stared at the computer screen, at the message she had sent over a week ago. It was addressed to the daughter of a man who worked on the Five Nights at Freddy's: Help Wanted, allowing his daughter to have and early VR experience than others, one that would literally send her into a neverending rabbit hole of mystery, horror and murder. But, why had she done that? She just made the decision out of blue the moment she heard the name of the person she was supposed to send it to. Her memories of that were quite blurry, parts of it even missing. At nights, she had been suffering from nightmares, holding nothing but a lamp and running through some kind of castle while being hunted by monsters. But still, something told her to continue, despite her reluctance. She became more irritable and paranoid, always feeling as if something was lurking over her shoulder, guiding her, sometimes by force. She scrolled up the recent e-mails from one of her co-workers.
"no subject"
To: nessie97
From: luis.cabrera
Ness,
I guess you're not coming in today, which is too bad - not just because you brighten up the office (which you do) but because I really need to talk to you.
I didn't want to put this in writing, but over the weekend, did you happen to create an IT department email address for yourself and use company credentials to reach out to a subcontractor and access their system?
I know that sounds crazy - I mean, why would you even do that? It's just that it really looks like you did that. I'm sure it's a misunderstanding or a glitch or something. Just get back to me as soon as you can, OK?
-Luis
"no subject"
To: nessie97
From: luis.cabrera
Hey, Ness,
I haven't heard from you. I guess you probably know that. Does _pizzaplex mean anything to you? Whoever created those false credentials also used them to override security protocols and allow a data packet through after it was flagged as a virus.
I know it wasn't you. I just need to hear you say it. Or write it, whatever. Please just get in touch with me.
-Luis
"no subject"
To: nessie97
From: luis.cabrera
Ness,
Please just let me know you're OK. There is a package here for you from a fabric company. Are you making a costume? :-)
Yours,
Luis
Reading those e-mails, she felt quite irritated. Luis was quite annoying, and she was glad that the e-mails had stopped, even though she didn't know why. However, he had proven to be quite useful, especially since she needed a bit… help, due to working several jobs at this point. She had managed to transfer from her position as a video game beta-tester to that of the security guard at the new Pizzaplex. Of course, that hadn't been the only thing she was busy with.
Vanessa looked up at the closet behind her, staring at the white costume with stitching all over it, and a blue bow on the neck. A white bunny mask was hanging next to it.
Vanessa narrowed her eyes, shaking her head as her vision turned blurry, with a purple haze falling over like a curtain. She then turned back to her computer, continuing her work.
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#Five Nights at Freddy's: The Untold Story#Five Nights at Freddy's: Obsolete#five nights at freddy's#fnaf#five nights at freddy's help wanted#fnaf help wanted#fnaf hw#curse of dreadbear#fnaf help wanted curse of dreadbear#william afton#springtrap#fnaf vanessa#fnaf vanny#glitchtrap#fnaf halloween dlc#Happy Halloween!!
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employee of the month
“Ben!” Maran beams across the threshold at the other man. He feels lighter for the sight of him stood on the doorstep. In one piece…relatively speaking. Temporary that status, isn’t it? Kind of fucking flimsy. Maran feels the same sort of helpless anticipation that he had with Benji, distance and hurt feelings aside. He’s waiting for the day Ben will turn up bloody again. Or worse than bloody. Or worse than that, even. Maran thinks about what might happen if doesn’t turn up again at all. And he’d have to find out the news from, well, who exactly? Xavier? And how long after? Would he find out at all? Would he —
Maran is aware his smile’s fallen a bit, so he hides his face in the hug he pulls Ben into, fingers wormed under his arms to tuck around his back. He doesn’t pull any punches to smush them together as best he can.
“By the way,” he starts, dropping his head back to the ceiling to avoid a kiss. It gets placed to his throat instead. “Ben. Anika’s here.”
“Anika’s here?” Benny takes an involuntary step back, glancing back and forth between Maran and the entryway. His eyes narrow shrewdly instead of widening in fear.
He steps in front of the door to his bedroom, hands up. “Not, like, around here. Put her away when you texted.”
Benny stares at him, halted with one foot still behind. He’s poised like he’s ready to run at any moment — or maybe drag Maran between him and snapping jaws. Not that they ever would, just that Maran’s got the funny image in his head now. He smiles and is snatched up quickly, jaw cradled for the brief entirety of a chaste, yet firm, kiss.
“B-because you know I don’t like dogs, you put the d-dog away.” He squishes Marian’s smiling cheeks, shakes his face. “The dog you’re w-watching for your best friend? Because… you’re just th-that nice a guy?”
Maran raises a corrective finger. “Anika is my god daughter, actually, so get that straight. S’basically law that I’ve gotta babysit.”
In response, Benny snatches him close again. This time into an iron-tight crushing thing that might not even be a hug. Like he’s trying to atomize them both. Maran wheezes a bit for effect and then huffs out a laugh when he does feel really truly breathless, squirming to free his arms and push half-heartedly.
“Please, I’m a professional. I’m on the job, Ben.”
“I wish I could squeeze you into fuckin’ d-dust, man.” Benny’s groan is muffled in his neck. Maran shivers at the scratch of facial hair, making a hysterical sort of airy noise that signals a laughing fit. “And then snort it. Holy shit. Shut up, are you joking me? S-Stop. Jesus.”
*
Benny’s there for a few months, but Anika only a week. And Maran is determined to prove she’s a fantastic guest over the course of it. He’s not trying to fix or solve anything on Benny’s end — knows more about the live-wire linger of fear to even be stupid enough to try. So they take it slow at first. She sits dutifully in her crate at the end of the night and only looks at him a little morosely when she’s shut out from the bedroom. Maran is dutiful about keeping Benny warned when she needs to be let out and they’ll have to briefly occupy the same space.
And when they do, Anika watches him like a hawk. She always watches Ben like a hawk, her eyes big and knowing, chin dropped low to keep him in range. Maran can see why it makes him nervous, but that instinct isn’t aggression. It’s the same response Maran himself had received their first meeting. She���d squirmed into his lap belly up, using the demand for scratches as a method to distract him from some difficult story or another he’d been relaying to Benji.
Benny takes his cigarettes on the balcony while Anika watches from inside. Oh kid, is how she looks at him. How she looks at Maran mid-panic attack. Oh, kid. All sympathy, like she gets it. Maran imagines she’s got the pleasantly raspy voice of a veteran waitress. The honey-sweetheart-baby sort. Oh kid, that’s rough. Let me help you out.
*
On their third day watching Anika, Benny’s gotten comfortable enough sitting on the couch with her at the other end of the room. Maran calls her over and sends across the small space at Benny’s request. Sort of like a parade. Showing off how she’ll listen, stay focused, she won’t attack. Benny still watches her hawk-like in return, his feet tucked up on the cushions.
“You know,” Maran says, watching him stiffen upright as Anika passes by slightly closer than before. She sits near the door to the patio, her flank pressed against cool glass.“She doesn’t go after the ducks. Or anything, for that matter. She won’t bite you.”
Ben glances over, expression skittishly wary. His laugh is high, croaky, nervous. “Oh, thanks. You know, Mar, like how a picture of the ocean c-can’t get you from a screen, right? That’s on me. How fucking silly. Forgot how to act rational.”
Maran scrunches his mouth, feeling his mood sour. “Don’t be a prick.”
“Then y-you gotta try not stating the obvious.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, right, because everything I say should be taken literally.” Maran leans forward in the chair, smacking his hands together a few times. “Not like it was an example to attempt to, I dunno, help you be a tiny bit more at ease? ‘Cuz that’s what I’m trying to do. Help.”
Benny’s eyebrows hitch high, his look of guilt theatric and snide. “Oh my fucking God, Mar, I’m so sorry. Thank you so much. I didn’t consider how you were feeling about all this.” His arm tosses to the side. “In your nightmare scenario, dude. My bad.”
Maran sighs dismissively. Realizes as it’s leaving him, breathless and low, how cruel and condescending it sounds. It has a visible effect, that tone. Benny’s real in tune with how peoples’ voices go when they’re feeling cruel and condescending. Had to be. Maran, too. They’ve talked a little about those: the similarities. Not in great lengths, but enough to recognize the lingering ripple of that dropped stone in the pond.
All the heat of the argument goes out of him at that realization. At the tinge of panic beneath Benny’s own bubbling temper.
“You’re definitely transferring on me,” Maran says softly. He can tell the even tone pricks at Benny’s temper, sounds too much like pity. So he holds his palms up to placate the sharp glare his words earn. “Listen, okay? It’s hard. M’not saying it isn’t. But — look at how comfortable you are with her.”
“I’m not comfortable with the fucking dog.” Benny hisses. His throat bobs anxiously and his next blink is long. Maran watches his chest heave deep in a breath meant to self-soothe. “I am not comfortable with the dog.”
“Yeah?” Maran puts his elbow to his knee, chin propped in his palm. He looks towards the ground with a slowly growing smile. “Dunno, she’s good at her job I think.”
“Holy shit, I’m sure she’s employee of the month.” Benny grumbles. “Doesn’t mean we’re cool like that.”
“No?” Maran makes eye contact with Anika, where she’s sat beside his bouncing knee. “What’s that about, then?”
Benny’s own blue ones snap open, glaring at Maran in confusion before the drop. He stares for a moment at Anika where she leans against his calf, but more importantly, at pale fingers stroking rhythmically between her ears. Her tongue’s out, her shiny button eyes blinking slowly up at Ben. At some point, she’s crossed the room to nudge herself under his hand as it dangles off the couch, provide something tactile as he got worked up. Well-trained dog, she is. Maran grins.
“Mar.”
“Yeah.”
Anika settles onto her hip, one paw splayed out in a way that makes him laugh. But Benny doesn’t — Benny winces as the dog leans into him. And although his whole body gives a shudder, his hand doesn’t move from he top of her head. It pets once more, actually.
“She’s therapizing me, man.”
Maran tosses his head back and laughs. “Good at her job. Told you so.”
*
When it’s time for her to go home, Benny watches from inside. He peeks from one of the two windows in Maran’s unit as Anika is handed back off to Benji, leaping up into the backseat of their truck to be buckled in. Maran leaves both of them off with a squeezing hug and messy departing kiss to the forehead. Although it’s raining, Maran stays on his step waving for a second before darting back into the flat. When he slips back in, the big expanse of outside just starting to make his ears ring with anxiety, Benny falls over him like a draped blanket. He wipes the warm afternoon drizzle from Maran’s scalp.
“Thanks, Mar,” Benny says, using the leverage of his weight over Maran to stumble them both into the living room. They fall onto the couch, sliding it enough to knock against the wall.
“What’d I do?” He laughs, accepting the series of kisses over both his cheeks with a squirming giggle.
“You know.” Benny scoffs. He uses Maran’s chin to tilt his face to the side, make them look at one another. His breath catches in his chest. “Don’t act like y-you don’t.”
Maran tucks back into the pillows more, settling back in an invitation Benny accepts immediately, smoothly crawling up from the end until Maran is properly pinned.
“I told you that she was nice. And that you’d like her.”
“I don’t like her.” Benny lies. He trails the back of his fingers down Maran’s cheek, leaving it to flush at the gentlenesss. They bask in that for a moment until Maran is too shy to keep it up, letting his eyes slip shut. Benny flattens on top of him comfortably. He feels sometimes like he’s so hollowed out that he’ll float with too much air in him, so it’s good to have someone keep him grounded.
“Benji asked if I’d watch her next time they’re off somewhere exciting. She doesn’t get on with his sister’s old girl. Plus I’m closer.” Benny lifts up on his elbows. He waits for Maran to smile and finish. “I said sure…” he plucks at his knuckles, examines his fingernails, looks up through his lashes. Y’know. Long as you don’t mind.”
Icy blue stares down at him for a long, long moment. Then Maran’s gathered up into another biting, consumingly desperate kiss. Benny tugs him up off the bed slightly with a fist in his shirt. When he’s finally unhanded and bounces back down the mattress, he knows for a fact the smile on his swollen mouth is dreamy instead of smug.
“Because you’re always here, get it? So I wanna get your permission in case you don’t want Anika—” He’s kissed soundly again. Maran laughs breathlessly and, incentivized, goes for it again: “Fuckin’ hell, do I get to talk —”
“No,” Benny repeats between even more. “No. Now sh-shut up before I do something insane.”
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CHANGE OF HEART [O!Bakugo Katsuki x A!Male Reader]
You and Bakugo had a complicated history to say the least; in the romantic sense. Back in your UA days you had attempted to court him. You two had been doing this sort of dance around each other for a while; he’d ask to to scent things for him like blankets and pillows for his nest — something about having a familiar alpha’s aroma helped a mateless omega’s heats be more bearable. In return, you occasionally asked Bakugo to scent a hoodie or one of your shirts for you to defer away unwanted attention from some of the more pushy omegas (mostly Hatsume).
You had gotten your wires mixed and mistaken Bakugous comfortability with you as attraction. You had spend hours picking out the perfect courting gift for Bakugou, even going as far to ask Izuku’s opinion on the matter. You had settled on a expensive cashmere blanket — sunset orange. It was the kind of blanket that was advertised as peak nesting material. You scented the blanket and sealed it up in a plain box with a ribbon wrapped around it. Simple, like Bakugou would like it.
The humiliation lives with you to this day when you remember Katsuki’s horrified expression when you presented him with the gift, yelling at you and slamming the door in your face, but not before dropping the gift at your feet.
Your relationship was never quite the same after that. You trashed the blanket in the closest bin from his dorm to yours, washed all the clothes that still lingered of Bakugou’s scent, and avoided him for weeks on end. Izuku was kind enough to scent some of your shirts to ward off other omegas, and to let you lay your head in his lap while stroke your hair for a little after you explained why you couldn’t just have Bakugou do it. He would make a good mate for someone one day.
Time heals all wounds though, because as you grew up, and focused more on your hero work, yours and Bakugou’s relationship repaired on at least a professional level. You were one of the few alpha pro-hero’s that didn’t care if they were teamed up with a omega in the battlefield, which ended up with you and Bakugou being partners more often than not. The last alpha they tried to make Bakugo team up with made a snide comment about what was the superior secondary gender, then ended up in the hospital with a broken arm and pretty nasty gash on his head.
That leads you to where you are now: sitting in a bar with all your co-workers/high school friends for a after patrol drink. You were exhausted to say the least, after a day of crime fighting and a not so well night of sleep, you didn’t really feel in a partying mood. But it was rare for all of your schedules to line up for a get together like you used to have, so you put a smile on your face and order two fingers of whiskey. The group had already been here a hour and a half, you had just payed all the tabs and were getting ready to leave. You leaned your head against the back of the booth and closed your eyes— just for a minute to rest them, blissfully unaware of the way Bakugou was side glancing you. Kaminari was going on about a bank robbery he busted a couple of days ago and did you think he was embellishing some of these details? Yes. But it kept the rest of the group in a trance so you were gonna keep your mouth shut about it. Everyone had been drinking pretty heavily, everyone but you.
You open your eyes back up. The bar was loud and smelt like a locker room of different scents. You were tired and grouchy and miserable today. It was times like these to you think about how nice it would be to have some…ahem…stress relief. Your eyes scan the bar area for a minute, zeroing in on the waitress you had earlier. She was a petite brunette with blue eyes and a short skirt. She smelt like a beta, but you could see scent patches on her neck— definitely a omega; a alpha would wear a stronger brand. She must have felt your gaze because the next thing your know she’s looking over her shoulder and batting her eyes at you in a almost seductive way.
You suddenly feel a petite hand on your face following a big shove, “Hey!” You protested, ushering Uraraka’s limbs away from you as she giggled, definitely a little drunk. All eyes on the table turned to the two of you as you struggled to get the wiggle worm to calm down.
“Someone’s making sex eyes at you” she teased in a sing song voice, definitely too loud for any sort of subtlety. The whole group irrupted into “Ohhh” and “Ahhh” and you suddenly wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Everyone started their teasing, everyone but Katsuki who was being uncharacteristically quite. You groaned and buried your head in arms, a blush covered your face that was so pink it looked like you were sunburned. Everyone at the table quite down almost instantly, and you allow your eyes to peak just above your arms to access the situation.
“Ahem,” you looked over to your right. The pretty waitress was staring back at you. She had her check book clutched to her chest in a nervous manner and her eyes seemed to look anywhere but at yours. Thanks for being so loud, Uraraka. “Your receipt.” She said, placing the paper on the table and sliding it to you. You nodded, a small smile of gratitude gracing your lips before she turned around and walked away. Your friends broke out into whispers and Kaminari started annoyingly nudging you in the side as you all stood up to leave. You wave him off.
With the receipt still in your hand, you all spit off in your different directions when you exit the bar. You and Bakugou head toward the direction of your car, since you work together it’s not uncommon for you to carpool to or from work, and since you had shared plans with your friends tonight it was decided by him that you would take the both of you. You haven’t heard a peep from the blonde since he yelled at Kirishima for double dipping in the salsa earlier. He had only spoke when spoken to tonight but you brushed that off as him being as tired as you were right now.
“She gave you her number.” He said emotionless, gesturing to the receipt in your hand. You flipped the piece of paper around and well, she did. Written in pretty girlish handwriting was her name, number, and ‘call me’ on the back of the receipt. So that’s why she gave it to you. Your face flushed again at the thought of a pretty omega taking interest in you. Sure there had been omega in the past that had took a shining to you, but most of them you shrugged off in favor of focusing on work or well, when your head was too fuzzy with the thoughts of maybe being with Bakugou. You wanted to know what she smelled like, without blockers on, would your scents be compatible? Of course, it could be a one night stand sort of deal, which would mean compatibility is basically a moot point because it wouldn’t be going anywhere serious. “Are you going to call her?” Bakugo pressed, which wasn’t like him at all. The two of you didn’t talk about your romantic lives ever. It was the one unspoken rule you shared since that dumb night in the dorms.
You knitted your eyebrows together, unsure of what answer he was probably expecting. “I think I will.” You answered honestly, feeling the burning gaze Bakugou had on your hand as you stuffed the receipt into your coat pocket and took your car keys out.
“You don’t even know her.” He argued, his pace slowing as he trailed behind you. There was something in his tone that you didn’t care to decipher, because you stopped trying to understand Bakugo on a personal level years ago. “I didn’t take you for the kind of alpha that sleeps around.” That was a low blow. You turn around, a hand on the drivers side door, and look at him. His eyes were unfocused, and stance was wobbly. How much did he have to drink again?
“Let’s get you home, Bakugo. We have to work in the morning.” You’re gonna brush off his words as after affects of too much alcohol. You were suspecting this to happen, it’s why your only had a sip of your drink the whole evening. Someone needed to drive home. Bakugou’s eyes narrowed in almost a menacing way and he didn’t take anymore steps towards your car.
“No!” He shouted, and suddenly you remember just how public this parking lot is as a passerby send a look your way. “Tell me your not gonna call her! You’re not that kind of alpha!” Your silent for a second, accessing your choices. You could have a loud verbal argument with your co-worker in the middle of the street, or you could put him over your shoulder like a child and take him to the car. You quickly rush over, all but throwing the blonde in the passenger seat of your car as he fight you in a very ungraceful way. “You wouldn’t do that to me.” That made you pause, halfway into bucking Bakugo’s seatbelt you turn to look at him. He had tears in the brims of his eyes and he looked like he was about to have a breakdown. He was a very emotional drunk.
“Bakugo, calm down.” You whispered, you don’t want him to cry. You’ve never seen him cry. You reach out and gently rub his cheek with your thumb, ignoring how your heart dropped to your stomach when he leaned into your touch.
You shut the passengers door on him and got in the drivers seat, Bakugo’s was struggling against the seatbelt. Tears were free falling down his cheeks and his breathing was getting short and rapid. It broke your heart to see the omega in distress over something stupid and meaningless like a phone number. He needed to calm down. You needed to calm him down. You quickly peeled off your scent blockers on your neck, allowing a calming scent to overtake the car. Bakugou found the click release of his seatbelt and launched himself into your lap, straddling your hips, rubbing his face on the sides of your neck, leaving a trail of tears in his wake.
The car was filled with a gentle humming sound. Purring.
_____
It was a surprise you didn’t get pulled over driving home. Bakugo refused to leave your lap, he refused to get out of the car without you when you drove to his place. You climbed up the stairs of your apartment complex to at a time, Bakugo was still in your arms and you had a feeling he wouldn’t let go of you anytime soon. Thank god you only lived on the second floor. As soon as you opened your front door Bakugo lifted his head from your neck, accessing your surroundings as you walked him further inside. He had never been to your place before — your den.
“Alright,” You said as you walked him into your bedroom, you manhandled the blonde on to your bed, met with a whole new wave of purring as you did so. Bakugo looked up at you with hooded eyes, rolling his back on your comforter, coating himself in your scent from the it. You were suddenly met with the scent of a very horny omega. Great. When did he take his scent patches off without you noticing. “You sleep here, I’ll sleep out there.” You ordered, before pointing out the door and to the couch in the living area. You had to be the one to keep a cool head in this situation, no matter how much his scent is making you want to bend his knees to his shoulders and rail into him until morning. He’s probably flexible enough to do it too. You made a move to leave.
Bakugo stared at you for a minute, then his hands had iron grips on your forearm, forcing you back on top of him and caging himself under you — you were dominating him. You could see the outline of his dick in his pants, and you could smell the slick gushing out of him. He was making it very hard to be a gentleman right now.
“I haven’t smelt your scent since high school” he whispered, hands began to stroke your shoulders and neck, a gesture he was hoping would invite you in, closer to him. It was the first thing he said since you had got out of the car. It was true, during high school you wore your scent blockers religiously after Bakugo had rejected you. You had to be with such close quarters with each other that you figured you’d be doing him a favor. You wore them during work for professionalism. The only time you didn’t wear your scent blockers now were when you were at home by yourself. “I’m sorry,”He whispered again, like someone else was gonna hear him. His hand slipped up from your shoulder to your neck, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs, just like you did to him in the car. “I’m sorry I didn’t accept your gift then.”
You swallowed, you didn’t want to talk about it. You went five years without bringing it up, why was he bringing it up. “It’s okay.” You whispered back, then tried to untangle yourself from his limbs. You had to get out of here.
Bakugo didn’t let you go, as you tried to get him to release one of his hands he grabbed you with his other, and his legs around your waist, then flipped you over so you were trapped between the bed and him. He buried his head in your neck and inhaled deeply. He missed your scent, he missed you. And he didn’t want you to move on with another omega because of a mistake he made when he was seventeen. He wanted your pups, your mark, a bond. He never seen you take any interest in a omega that wasn’t him. Being here — in your apartment, surround by the scent he missed so much — was overwhelming. Had you ever brought anyone else here?
“It’s not okay.” He said, pining your hands to your side so you couldn’t lift him off of you. “I was miserable without you, you didn’t look at me for months, you asked fucking Deku to scent your shirts for you.”
“You didn’t want to be with me.”
“I’ll always want you.” Your faces were too close, you could feel his breath with every word. “I should’ve realized it then.” Bakugou kissed you, in a sweet and loving manner, it was slow and coordinated. It wasn’t aggressive and forceful like you always thought his kisses would be like. You tasted to alcohol on his tongue and suddenly remember just how much Bakugo had to drink tonight.
“You need to sleep, your gonna have a hangover in the morning.” You mumbled against his lips.
“Not if you don’t stay with me.”
“Just for tonight.”
_____
A/N: I’ll edit and proofread this later, I had a sudden burst of energy to write.
Edited and proofread 7/6/22
#bakugou katuski x reader#bakugo x male reader#bnha x male reader#kirishima x male reader#denki kaminari x male reader#todoroki x male reader#izuku x male reader#bakugou angst#bakugou imagine#mha x male reader#male reader#alpha x omega#alpha genetics#omegaverse#alpha beta omega
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“You’re crazy.” You whisper yell, careful not to raise your voice past a certain volume. “Is this even allowed?”
Behind what contained the DJ booth a few hours ago, Atsumu is fiddling around with a bundle of wires whilst you shine a torch courtesy of your phone from above.
“Aha! Got it” Atsumu exclaims, “Give me a second. And stop being such a scaredy cat.”
Sending a glare to his back, you shove the blond with your foot making him squawk as he wobbles in his crouched position.
“Hey! I know this ass is irresistible but I’m tryna do something here!”
Gasping, your nervous eyes sweep the empty banquet hall. “Don’t be so loud.”
Finally standing to his full height, Atsumu turns, a bemused smile pulling at his lips. “I’ve literally just plugged my phone into the sound system and you’re worried about me being loud?”
Before you can reply, you hear the click of a button and suddenly the dimly lit hall is bursting with a kaleidoscope of colours dancing along its expanse.
“Oh my god, you’re insane.” you whisper, eyes instantly drawn to the vibrant hues painting the room.
Atsumu only allows himself a few seconds to take in the childlike wonder in your eyes before he’s unlocking his phone, releasing a deep exhale as discreetly as he can before pressing play.
It's only when you hear the beginning of a familiar melody that you slowly pull away from your daze. Instantly, warmth floods your cheeks. Clasping your hands together, you peer down at your thumbs.
“You didn't have to do all this.”
Feigning confidence, the setter smirks mischievously as he ushers you towards the centre of the room. “Come on, I know you were devastated you couldn't get a dance in with me.”
“Yeah well I didn’t even manage to get a dance with my own date so...” You chuckle humorlessly, remembering the way he had been more interested in flirting with the other women sat on your table than you - his date.
You were originally planning on coming to the event alone, but after the endless pestering from your friends, and finding out Atsumu would be bringing along a date, you had decided to take up your friend’s offer and let her set you up. Never again.
“Hey, his loss.” Atsumu scoffs, expression darkening. “You could tell that asshat had two left feet anyways.”
Giggling softly, you nod in agreement.
As you reach the centre of the dance floor, you both come to a pause glancing at the other.
“What- what about your date?” you mumble, focusing your gaze on the undone bow tie hanging down his neck.
You feel a twinge of guilt for taking the man away from the eager woman who had been hanging off his arm the whole evening, but the selfish part of you can't help but revel in the extra attention Atsumu so often paid you.
Before any response, calloused hands slowly reach out to yours, guiding your arms to rest around broad shoulders. Atsumu rests his palms against your back, slowly sliding them down the length of your back, leaving a trail of warmth as they reach your waist where they finally rest.
Clearing his throat, Atsumu begins swaying you, steady steps faithful to the slow rhythm of the song. “She wasn’t a date.” he clarifies.
“Did she know that?” you laugh, finally mustering the courage to peer up at the setter.
You’re surprised to find him facing away. The room is still fairly dim but you can still spot the faintest of pink dusted on his cheek.
“Yeah, told her she was just coming with me as a friend.”
Titling your head in confusion, you ask him, “Then what was the point of bringing her?”
It’s only the two of you and the low croon of the song for a while, and you wonder if your question had been lost to the music, but Atsumu eventually manages a response.
“To tell you the truth, I heard your friend was setting you up.” Atsumu exhales, pools of brunette finally meet your gaze.
“Oh.”
The blond reaches a hand to gently tuck away a few stray locks back in place, fingers lingering against your cheeks. With the other, he pulls you closer.
Atsumu feels brave.
“Hey, next time why don’t we come together?”
You can hear the softening of the music as the song comes to an end. Naturally, the two of you come to halt but Atsumu’s arms feel more welcoming than ever. The next song begins and you release a slow breath of relief that it’s fitting of the situation.
As the melody carries your feet, a slow dance begins, again and you smile.
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
#miya atsumu#miya atsumu x reader#haikyuu#haikyuu x reader#atsumu x reader#haikyuu!!#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu fluff#hq x reader#miya atsumu x you#miya atsumu fluff#atsumu scenarios#miya atsumu scenarios#miya atsumu imagine#uhh literally wrote this after i saw a tweet about how with you sounds like the last dance on an empty dance floor after everyone is gone#and it feels like time has stopped just for you and the one you love#and i want that with tsumu#cries
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