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wayfayrr · 5 months

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Copy and pasted This was a request from @yourlocaltreesimp and @sketchyspook as a continuation of self aware sky!! This man has my heart and soul <3 we've got two skies trying to come to terms with each other while reader is stuck in the middle <33 Btw if ever there's a one shot you'd ever like a continuation of I'll always be happy to write it if you drop a request <3 seeing as that's how this came to be in full, I had no intention to carry on with sky otherwise The first - second

[masterlist]

... “And why do you look just like me?”

This is so different to what happened the first time, he’s less emotive with his face still rigged to the model the way he’s moving seems far more stiff like he’s fighting against the game. The biggest difference though?

He’s petrified.And not of any one thing in particular every single thing is setting him off, from how my link is looking at him to even the feeling of his skin from what I can see. Link - the one on my side I mean - is hard to read, tensing up, gritting his teeth and looking at his other self like a threat.

“Why are you both just looking at me like that - what - I - I - please I can’t handle anyone else keeping me in the dark - no one seems to remember my name - my real name- I don’t… this is all so… so”

Even his crying sounds similar to link’s - my link’s - oh I’ll need to come up with nicknames for them both now otherwise there won’t be an end to the confusion. Anyway it sounds similar, but far more broken, almost as if he’s having an existential crisis during his breakdown which, to be fair, is probably what is happening. One of us needs to explain everything to him and with links reaction? I think it’s going to be up to me. With a quick glance at link telling him to stay out of this, moving to sit closer to the screen to talk to him face to face like a real person, all I have to do is hope that it goes well; that he doesn’t do anything rash.

“Link - I’ll explain whatever you want explained to you that I can with what I know, you just need to calm down enough to ask alright?”

That stopped the crying, his head jerkily moving so that his eyes can meet mine with each movement he makes becoming more fluid and natural. Each second that passes only seeming to bring him more alive all the while link behind me only seems to be getting more upset over it all.

“I - I - Yeah… I can calm down, th-ank you..?”

“[name], you can call me that if you want or whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Ri-ight then feather, what’s happening - why are you watching me? And why - why does he look like me?”

Anomaly, I think that’ll suit him, didn’t take kindly to me being called a nickname so quickly but he’s the one who wanted to play the game so badly so he’s got to suck it up. Besides it’s not like he’s got to shatter someone's worldview, hopes and life, that falls on me. I can comfort anomaly later on, when this is cleared up.

“Link you, aren’t real. You’re the character the player controls to play through this game you’re in, we weren’t just watching you, he was controlling you.”

“...”

“As for why he looks like you? He is you, a version of you anyway.”

“One who managed to learn about it and get out on his own, guess that makes me your better self huh?”

Because that was the right thing to tell a version of yourself having a breakdown, he had the decency to at least look a little ashamed when I turned to look at him. Not that his remorse helps how replay seems to have gotten worse again, this time the sound of crying pairing with tears streaming down his digital face. Even if he isn’t the same link I’ve been living with, his tears still hurt far more than any wound.

“So none of it - nothing - I went through is real, I’m not real? This is all for nothing, Zelda's not, she isn’t real either, so she, I’ve been through so- You helped me through it all…”

“Link..?”

“He - I? - said he got out, I - so that means I can too right? You - You’re not going to put me through everything, through learning all of that and keep me trapped in here right? Please [name], feather, please don’t make me stay here.”

“So you can try to take the love I earned? [Name] you were right I should never have played it.”

Oh, he knows exactly the right way to word it to hurt replay as much as he possibly can, it’s like he feels some sickening joy at this version of himself sobbing his heart out and knowing he’s the cause of the pain. Replay’s face has nothing more than horror on it now, he’s more scared than earlier. Hopefully anomaly comes to his senses soon so he doesn’t traumatise him any more than he already has.

“Link, can you go getmy first aid kit and some extra bandages? I think they’re in the bathroom.”

“Wait dove you’re not planning to - right?”

“I didn’t leave you stuck and come on, love. I know you don’t actually hate him.”

“I - sure, for you though, no other reason.”

He didn’t fight me back at all, proving my own point that he most likely just feels threatened when he has no reason to be. Maybe replay staying with us will even be good for him, I know he’s been struggling adapting to being real and not having anyone who he can really relate to; replay being a version of himself in a very similar spot should really help.

“[name]... you told him not to play? W-were you scared of this - of me learning? Of me being an issue… is that why you told him not to?”

“It wasn’t about you coming to life persay, I said it as a joke about how he got out of the game. He broke something that was very expensive to replace and I was teasing him over it. I know he was just saying that to hurt you though, so don’t worry about it. I’m sure he’ll calm down if you give him some time.”

Arguably it feels more like I’m facetiming someone now, his movements are so life-like he’s just like a real person, just in time for him to show a shy smile. Was this what anomaly would’ve looked like if he wasn’t in such a rush to get out that he was on the verge of corrupting the data while he was still in it. It’s unnerving, but less so than when he shoved his hand through the screen without warning.

“Besides I think I have a way to prevent you from breaking anything hopefully, my boyfriend’s just getting it set up. It shouldn’t take long but seeing as we have a bit of time… is there anything else you wanted to ask or do you wanna talk for a bit?”

He seems flustered now, blushing red and everything, it’s kinda sweet more but does this me that he’s also. Be real with yourself [name] what are the odds that the same guy fell for you twice. Those would probably be higher wouldn’t they now I think on it. That look in his eye doesn’t make sense if he’s not as much as I hate to think it. It’s the same way anomaly looks at me, tamer yes but still has the same obsessive energy behind it, like he wants me to give him permission or he doesn’t understand why he feels like the way he does. Hopefully it won’t cause issues. He seemed to back away a little when I felt arms wrap around my shoulders, clearly someone wasn’t as pleased with how he was looking at me, while the other doesn’t like not having my attention. A nip at my ear was all I needed to turn back to him.

“I hope you understand why I don’t like this, I love you far too much to consider losing you to another version of myself… but I did go and get the first aid kit like you asked. I don’t see why he needs it, can’t he just bring a potion with him or down a guardian potion beforehand?”

“Thanks love, I really appreciate it. You do have a point though, but still it’s better to prepare for the worst.”

“This isn't going to change anything between us, because I can’t lose you my player, just - just promise me that alright?”

“Of course link.”

Then the promise was sealed with a kiss to his cheek, tension leaving him instantly now that he knows his position as my partner isn’t at threat. Honestly it’s so cute how territorial he gets, nothing bad has ever happened and he’s the best partner you could ever want outside of that so really it’s not much of an issue. Other than that how many people can say their ‘fictional’ crush both reciprocates and gets possessive of them, it’s a very small number as far as I’m aware. Now all that’s left to do is for replay to break his way out. Replay’s already tearing up again.

“So then me what do I have to do to get out, and - and to throw away my past.”

“Break the screen, put your hand up against it and break the glass. I’ll be honest though, it will hurt a lot.”

“So I should take a potion right, to make it hurt less?”

“I didn’t take one, but if you feel you’ll need it. Go ahead, it’ll only prove you’re less than me.”

That final insult seemed to make replay steel himself, gripping a potion in his hand staring at it like it was what threatened him instead. He didn’t drink it though. Instead he opted to take his shield and use the pointed base to break through, faster and arguably much smarter than my beloved anomaly did, reaching out afterwards to pull himself out leaving my tv in a broken pile yet again but replay himself was left relatively unharmed in comparison. Was link really that desparate to be with me before? I can’t say that I’m not flattered by that, I only wish he took his own health into consideration. Now I’m simply stuck between the two of them staring at each other, I wonder how long it will take them to grow up and stop silently arguing.

#I won't lie if you want a long request written fast by me? any self aware boy.#I will write it within a day of starting it - it's an issue :]#linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #link x reader #lu sky #lu sky x reader #yandere link #yandere link x reader #yandere legend of zelda #self aware au #moss✦writes

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voidpetrova · 8 months

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game changer — isaac lahey x reader

☄. *. ⋆

content warnings and genre: swearing, violence — drama, humor

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

synopsis: in isaac's eyes, there was room for only one star player on the field, and it had to be him

✧.*

the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the beacon hills high school lacrosse field. you adjusted your gloves, gripping your lacrosse stick with a determined look. on the other end of the field, scott mccall, your loyal friend and pack leader, crouched with an equally determined expression. “ready to go?” scott called out, his brown eyes gleaming with a playful glint. you smirked, twirling your stick. “always.”

the two of you had been training like this for weeks, using your unique circumstances as both a werewolf and a skilled lacrosse player to improve both of your abilities. the goal was simple: you'd fire shots at scott, and he would do his best to block them using his reflexes. it was a friendly competition, a way to make use of your supernatural traits for fun and growth.

as the whistle blew, you dashed forward, weaving through the field with agility. with each shot, you aimed with precision, testing scott's speed and accuracy. to your satisfaction, every ball you launched found its way past him and into the net.

amid the sound of pounding footsteps and the swish of the net, you caught sight of isaac lahey watching from the sidelines. his arms were crossed over his chest, a scowl etched on his face. he'd joined the team recently, and his competitive spirit was clear in the way he observed your practice. you weren't on the team, thankfully, but knowing you had more skill than he did, werewolf or not, irkee him.

after the training session, you caught your breath and wiped the sweat from your brow. scott approached you, a grin tugging at his lips. “you're getting really good at this, you know.“

“practice makes perfect,” you replied with a shrug, though a sense of accomplishment warmed your chest.

isaac strode over, his expression tense as he looked between you and scott. “impressive shots, (y/n). but i'm guessing there's more to it than just practice.” you raised an eyebrow at him, not missing the hint of challenge in his tone. “and what makes you say that?”

isaac's eyes flickered to scott before returning to you. “you've got some secret for controlling your abilities, don't you? i've seen enough to know that much.”

you smirked, a spark of amusement dancing in your eyes. “maybe i'm just a natural.”

Isaac's jaw clenched, his frustration palpable. “just because we're in the same pack doesn't mean i won't hit you. i wanna know your secret.” you leaned in closer, your gaze locked onto his. “and why would i tell you?”

“because we're on the same team,” isaac retorted, his voice low and intense. “actually, i'm on the team. unlike you. i wonder why that is.”

you chuckled, a hint of mockery in your tone. "“so, what? you want me to give you a tutorial on how to be a better werewolf?”

“something like that,” Isaac replied through gritted teeth.

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “sorry, lahey. have fun with your school's losing streak.” isaac's nostrils flared, and his fists clenched at his sides. “we'll see about that.”

isaac's departure left a trail of unresolved tension hanging in the air, but you pushed it aside for the moment. scott's voice pulled you from your thoughts as he approached, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “he's got a fire in him, doesn't he?” he mused, his gaze following isaac's retreating figure. you chuckled softly, rolling your eyes. “more like a burning obsession to know everything.”

scott laughed, clapping you on the shoulder. “well, if there's anyone who can handle his curiosity, it's you.”

“thanks, i think,” you replied with a grin.

scott's expression turned more serious. “you know, we could really use someone like you on the team. if finstock knew just how good you are—”

you raised an eyebrow, skepticism lacing your voice. “finstock? you really think he'd let a girl on the team?” scott's gaze held a mixture of determination and hope. “i've seen you play, (y/n). you're as good as any guy out there, maybe even better. and finstock can't argue with results.”

you considered his words, the idea taking root in your mind. it was true that you had always been passionate about lacrosse, and your supernatural abilities only added an extra edge to your skills. the prospect of joining the team officially was both intriguing and tempting.

“i'm not sure about this, scott,” you admitted, uncertainty in your voice. "i'm used to the taunts and the doubt." scott's grin widened. “maybe it's time to show them all what you're made of?”

you nodded slowly, a determined fire igniting within you. “maybe it is.”

as you headed off the field with scott, your thoughts were a whirlwind of possibilities. if you could prove yourself to coach finstock, if you could overcome the stereotypes and expectations, you might just change the game.

the anticipation hung heavy in the air as you stood just outside the boys' locker room, your heartbeat resonating like a drum in your chest. scott, your unwavering supporter, stood beside you with an encouraging grin. his hand rested on your shoulder, offering a silent reassurance that you could do this.

“ready for this?” he asked, his voice carrying a mix of excitement and amusement.

you took a deep breath, nerves and determination intertwining. “as ready as I'll ever be.”

with a knowing nod, scott pushed open the locker room door, and the clamor of voices abruptly hushed as you stepped in, immediately drawing everyone's attention. their gazes flickered between you and scott, a mixture of surprise and confusion on their faces.

“guys, i've got someone here who wants to join the team,” scott announced with a grin, his eyes meeting yours briefly before he addressed the others. “you all know (y/n).” a ripple of incredulous laughter swept through the room, a few snorts of disbelief mixed in. you held your head high, refusing to let their skepticism weaken your resolve.

“is this a joke?” one of the players, you had recognized as jackson, muttered, earning a chorus of chuckles.

your jaw tightened, but you forced a smile. “no joke. your team kinda sucks.”

another round of laughter echoed, but scott's amused glance conveyed his confidence in you. with a nod from him, he led the way out to the field, and you followed, the weight of their stares burning into your back. the open expanse of the lacrosse field stretched out before you, the grass vibrant beneath the setting sun. coach finstock, leaning against the goalpost, raised an eyebrow as he glanced between scott and you.

“alright, mccall, what's this all about?” finstock demanded, his tone a mix of irritation and curiosity.

“we've got a new recruit who wants to give it a shot,” scott replied, his grin unyielding.

finstock's gaze shifted to you, sizing you up with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “a new recruit, huh? a girl, too. this is a boys' lacrosse team.”

you stood your ground, your gaze locking with finstock's. “i'm not asking for any special treatment. let me prove myself,” you paused, scanning the competition before your eyes. “your players are all a tutu and wig away from being girls, anyway.”

finstock's lips curled into a slow, skeptical smile. “tutu, huh? alright then. you want a shot? let's see what you've got.” you had to borrow gear from the lost and found bin, but you didn't complain. you weren't in any position to complain.

he blew his whistle, and the players assembled on the field. the tension was palpable, an electric charge that crackled through the air. scott gave you a reassuring nod, and the game began.

the boys moved with precision, their passes and maneuvers executed with practiced fluidity. and then, suddenly, the ball was in play. scott passed it to you, and the moment you caught it, the world around you narrowed to the field and the goalpost. with a burst of speed, you weaved through the players, your lacrosse stick an extension of your arm. the wind rushed past your ears, and your heart raced as the goalpost drew closer. you launched the ball, and it soared through the air, hitting the back of the net with a satisfying thud.

silence followed, broken only by the rustle of the grass in the wind. the players stared at you in disbelief, their expressions shifting from astonishment to something bordering on respect.

but the true test had yet to come.

as the game resumed, you found yourself against a flurry of opponents, their tackles and passes relentless. yet each time the ball came your way, you were ready. your reflexes were finely honed, and your movements were a dance of precision. you deflected every pass, anticipated every move, and when the ball was in your possession, you seized the opportunity to score.

the scoreboard began to tip in your favor, and finstock's murmurs of astonishment grew louder. but there was one player you couldn't ignore—the dark figure of isaac lahey, his eyes trained on you with a mixture of frustration and intrigue.

finally, as the game reached its climax, the ball was thrown high into the air, a chaotic scramble ensuing. it was isaac who lunged for it, his determination etched across his face. but in that moment, something ignited within you, a surge of strength that defied explanation. isaac's outstretched hand barely brushed the ball before you snatched it away, your body moving on instinct alone. and then, with a force that took even you by surprise, you pivoted and threw him over your shoulder.

time seemed to freeze as isaac sailed through the air, his expression a mix of astonishment and disbelief. the impact as he hit the ground was both satisfying and jarring, a testament to the power you hadn't realized you possessed.

the field fell into a stunned silence, punctuated by the ragged sound of isaac's breaths. coach finstock's mouth hung open, his whistle forgotten in his hand. and then, slowly, the silence gave way to a smattering of applause that grew into a roar of cheers.

finstock's eyes locked onto you, his disbelief shifting to something resembling respect. “alright, (l/n), you've got yourself a spot on this team.”

and just like that, the impossible became reality. the cheers and congratulations of your new teammates washed over you, and as you looked across the field, you caught isaac's gaze. the fire in his eyes was undeniable, but beneath it, something else simmered—a grudging respect born from the intensity of the challenge you'd just posed.

the following day, the buzz surrounding your triumphant display on the lacrosse field still hung in the air like static electricity. the halls of school seemed to crackle with an energy you couldn't ignore. as you walked into the bustling cafeteria, you were met with curious glances and hushed conversations that faded into whispers as you passed.

joining your friends at the usual table, you settled into a seat with a grin. scott, stiles, lydia, and the rest of the group greeted you with enthusiastic smiles and cheers. “(y/n), that move yesterday? It was amazing, you gotta teach me,” stiles exclaimed, his hands mimicking your throwing motion as he animatedly recounted the moment. “i swear, it was like something out of an action movie.”

you chuckled, grateful for your friends' support. “thanks, stiles. it was pretty intense.”

he continued his animated retelling, punctuating his words with dramatic gestures and exclamations. as he launched into a description of your skill, a familiar voice cut through the chatter.

“stiles, shut up,” isaac's voice broke in, his tone a mix of annoyance and exasperation.

he blinked, momentarily taken aback. “wait, what? i'm just giving credit where credit's due.”

isaac's gaze shifted to you, his eyes narrowing as they met yours. “you don't need his play-by-play, (y/n). i'm sure you're already well aware of how impressive you were.” his tone was borderline mocking.

a challenge seemed to spark between the two of you, a battle of wills and egos that went beyond the lacrosse field. scott exchanged a knowing glance with you, while the others exchanged uneasy looks.

“okay, enough of the tension,” scott interjected, attempting to diffuse the situation. “we're all friends here, right?”

lydia nodded, her lips curved into an apologetic smile. “yeah, isaac, don't rain on the parade.”

isaac's expression remained unyielding, but he finally relented with a sigh. “fine. you were decent, (l/n).” your own lips quirked into a small smile, a glint of amusement in your eyes. “thanks, isaac. coming from you, that means absolutely nothing.”

his jaw clenched, his competitiveness still evident, but there was something different in his gaze—a flicker of begrudging respect that didn't go unnoticed. he practically hunted you down with his eyes, staring you down much harder than necessary, as if he was ready to pounce at any given moment, a special type of rage coursing through his veins. “danny's been throwing all sorts of comments my way because you joined our team.” he announced, a sense of biterness detectable in his tone.

you shot him a confused look. “well, tell him you're flattered but you don't swing that way.” a wave of silence crashed over the group.

“he wasn't hitting on me, you idiot. he was threatening me.”

as lunch continued, the conversation shifted to less intense topics, and the camaraderie of the group eased the lingering tension. still, the dynamic between you and isaac had shifted, the rivalry mingling with a newfound acknowledgment of each other's abilities. and as the cafeteria buzzed around you, you couldn't help but feel that this was only the beginning of a story that would unfold with every practice, every game, and every challenge that lay ahead.

the days passed in a blur of practices, games, and schoolwork, the intensity of the lacrosse season escalating as each opponent was conquered. the rivalry between you and Isaac had taken on a life of its own, simmering beneath the surface of every interaction. there was an undeniable chemistry, a magnetic pull that went beyond the confines of the field. it was a tension that drew you together and pushed you apart in equal measure.

one evening, after a particularly grueling practice, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the field. the cool breeze rustled the grass, carrying with it a sense of anticipation that matched the electric current in the air. the field was empty now, the players gone, leaving you and Isaac alone.

“you're really something, you know,” isaac's voice broke the silence, his tone a mixture of exasperation and awe. you turned to face him, your gaze locked with his. “coming from you, i'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult.” his lips curved into a wry smile, his eyes glittering in the fading light. “take it as you will.”

the tension between you was palpable, a living entity that seemed to crackle with every breath. in that moment, you were aware of nothing else—the world seemed to narrow to the two of you, the weight of your rivalry and attraction intertwining in a dangerous dance.

“lahey,” you began, your voice low and edged with a challenge, “you might be the most infuriating person i've ever met.” his laughter was a mix of amusement and something deeper, a hint of vulnerability that caught you off guard. “and yet, you can't seem to stay away.”

uou took a step closer, the distance between you narrowing to nothing. “maybe i'm just drawn to danger.”

his gaze was unyielding, his eyes searching yours as if seeking something hidden beneath the surface. “or maybe you're drawn to something you can't quite understand.”

a shiver ran down your spine, a tremor of uncertainty mixed with anticipation. the lines between rivalry and attraction blurred, leaving you teetering on the edge of a precipice you weren't sure you were ready to leap from.

the sound of footsteps approaching broke the spell, and you both turned to see stiles walking toward you with an expectant look. “hey, you two ready to head out?” the interruption was a jarring reminder of reality, and the tension that had woven between you and Isaac seemed to dissipate. but the unspoken connection remained, lingering in the air like an echo.

“yeah, let's go,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

as you walked away from the field, you stole a final glance at isaac. there was a depth to him that you hadn't anticipated, a complexity that went beyond the competitive surface. the path ahead was uncertain, a tangled web of rivalry, attraction, and unspoken truths. but in that moment, as you looked back at him, you couldn't deny the magnetic pull that seemed to bind you together, promising an adventure neither of you could fully comprehend.

the night of the big game had arrived, the tension in the air almost tangible as the stands filled with excited spectators. the rivalry between beacon hills and their opponents crackled like electricity, amplifying the energy that flowed through the stadium. as the minutes ticked down to the final play, the score stood tied, victory within reach but just out of grasp.

on the field, you moved with a fierce determination, each shot fired with precision, each pass executed flawlessly. the spectators roared with approval as the scores climbed, the exhilaration of the game mingling with the adrenaline that pulsed through your veins. and yet, beneath the surface, there was an undercurrent of something more—a tension that seemed to draw you inexorably toward Isaac.

as the final play approached, the score remained tied, the outcome of the game hinging on this one decisive moment. the ball was in your possession, the weight of the team's hopes resting on your shoulders. the pressure was palpable, the crowd's collective breath held as you prepared to make your move.

but as you sprinted toward the goalpost, the world around you seemed to blur, isaac's figure suddenly looming in your line of sight. in a split second, the ball was intercepted, stolen away by an opposing player. the seconds that followed were a blur, the crowd's cheers turning into gasps of disbelief as the opposing team capitalized on the opening and scored, securing their victory.

the cheers of the opposing team's fans echoed through the stadium, the disappointment of your own supporters almost tangible. as the players began to disperse, a stunned silence settled over the field, punctuated only by the sound of your own ragged breathing.

frustration surged within you, a fierce anger that needed an outlet. and before you knew it, you were storming into the locker room, your heart pounding in your chest. the frustration was aimed at Isaac, the weight of his mistake, and the way it had stolen victory from the team and from you.

“isaac,” you snapped as you spotted him, his expression heavy with guilt as he stripped off his gear. he looked up, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of surprise and resignation. “what?”

“you screwed up that play,” you hissed, the frustration seeping into your words. “we had it, and you let it slip through your fingers.”

his jaw clenched, his frustration matching your own. “oh, don't put this all on me. i wasn't the only one out there.”

“doesn't matter,” you shot back, stepping closer until you were within arm's reach of him. “you were the one who blew it.” isaac's eyes flashed with anger, his chest rising and falling with every heated breath. “you have no idea what it's like out there. you don't know the pressure.”

“i know the pressure of being on a team,” you retorted, your voices rising in a heated exchange. his expression shifted, a mixture of frustration and something else you couldn't quite place. “you don't get it. you piss me off. you're distracting.”

“distracting?” you scoffed, disbelief coloring your voice. “is that your excuse?”

his gaze bore into yours, a fierce intensity that seemed to strip away everything but the two of you in that moment. “yeah, (y/n), you distract me.”

before you could respond, he was suddenly in front of you, his hands on your waist, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was as fiery as it was unexpected. the world seemed to spin, the tension that had simmered between you igniting into something more, a mixture of anger, attraction, and a tangled web of emotions.

your initial surprise gave way to a fierce desire that matched his own, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer. the kiss was a tumultuous storm, a maelstrom of pent-up frustration and longing that had been building for far too long.

and then, as suddenly as it had begun, the kiss ended, leaving you both breathless and reeling. Isaac's gaze bore into yours, his eyes searching for something you weren't sure you could define.

“it's not just about distraction,” he murmured, his voice low and raw. “it's about you getting under my skin in ways i can't explain.”

the truth hung heavy in the air between you, a confession that left you both exposed and vulnerable. and as you looked into his eyes, the anger and rivalry seemed to fall away, leaving only the raw intensity of your connection.

“i don't understand this,” you admitted, your voice soft as you met his gaze. “but i can't deny that it's there.”

isaac's fingers brushed against your cheek, his touch feather-light. “maybe we don't have to understand it right now.”

before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, the kiss a mixture of desperation and longing. and as you surrendered to the pull between you, the world outside the locker room faded away, leaving only the two of you and the unspoken promise of something that had yet to be fully explored.

#teen wolf #tw #beacon hills #isaac lahey #isaac lahey fluff #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey smut #isaac lahey angst

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ikkosu · 2 months

Text

SOME WORDS UNSAID

(prowlxfem.reader)

author’s note : hello yes, I bring another angst. whew another long, long fic I’ll probably never look at agn. a draft that's been rotting for like months now. had the chance to finish it now. (a bit inspired by the prowl headcannons)

summary : prowl soon realizes the extent of his own loneliness is something he pushed away for far too long. (alternatively, the three times he's asked you to stay; you were never able to.)

warnings : a bit of smut. death. blood. emotional manipulation.

[i]

He's yet to understand these patrons. Why they frequent the bar so often. Drink away to forget their problems.

Prowl leers at the purple ripple, watching it crest before it breaks out into a wave. His digits were deft and tense, wrapping around the mug, rims caked with the same kind of sludge. Pressed against the table, his helm buzzes with the clamour of the bar.

'It's simply illogical, how can someone be so reeled into their thoughts it becomes a plague? 'He'd chastise Chromedome once.

Now, his face is a clear visage on the engex, seams of a frown present, yet the more he glared, the more it churns into something different. Into something alien. Into something unlike him.

"I think it's time we open up that box of problems," Rung's voice was gentle. Unbiased. Not sickly sweet, not monotone, just a clean middle ground where it doesn't ring a bell to punch.

"There are two ways a Cybertronian choose to store their memories." A digit juts out, perking in tandem of his list. Prowl holds back the urge to roll his optics.

"One is much like a gift, wrapped with an abundance of colors. Sparkly and bright. All the good things you'd want to store. The other is a safe haven. A comfort you can dwell when weather comes hard. The last—''

"Let me guess, garbage?" He says dismissively, unbothered to hold the spectacle-looking bot his gaze.

He’s looking at the wall behind him, at the certificates and little ‘toys’ lodged up on the shelf. Is he even a licensed psychiatrist? He'll have to review his profile in full.

"If you want to put it that way, yes." He eventually voices, then seemingly with a more cautious tone he edges on. "Are you bitter about what transpired?"

"Don't even try." Prowl grips the armchair with a vice "There's no point talking about this. What's done is done; it's all in the past. Locked away, tucked neatly from where it came from. I don't get why some people think it's a good idea to re-open up the memory lane."

Rung smiles, often directing his gaze back to the scribbles on the datapad. "I'm sure to you it won't mean much but it helps to understand the underlying emotions of your own grief."

"Yeah? Well, what' it going to do, bring back the dead? " An accusing digit juts out to Rung's chassis. "So, immediately after I open up, it's all sparkles and glitter and everyone lives happy? Is that it? You think it's going to do something?"

'bring her back to life?'

"Loss is something we inevitably face. Avoiding that prospect only broils more complications." He tries to explain.

"Oh, forget it. Why did Rodimus thinks he can be bothered enough to urge you to 'talk' to me about how 'oh-so-feel'?"

"It wasn't his orders, actually. It's Chromedome." He fixes his spectacles, still treading on the gentle tone.. “ He was, ah, in his own terms, worried about how you'll approach the situation...."

Prowl grits his teeth, bristling. "You think I'm mad? You think I need help?"

"Prowl, please." The datapad is laid on his lap as Rung tries to reason. "Nobody thinks that way. In fact they're all worried about you despite your unnatural disposition—"

"About me." He laughs. A bitter one. "About me?"

Prowl stands up with a kick of the chair. It's sent sprawling to the other side of the corner. Momentarily lost, Rung doesn't notice Prowl inching up close to the psychiatrist, snarling much like a jaguar.

"Listen here, goggles." Every enunciation pelts him like a bullet. "If they're so worried about me they would've listened to my concerns the moment I tell them something's about to go wrong. You think I want this? You think I'm mad enough that I need help?"

Rung winces when his helm hits the headrest, avoiding prowl's domineering gaze when he leans in. Nose to nose. Up and personal.

"I'll say it once and I'll say it again. So don't pester me with all this ridiculous requests. I. Dont. Need. His. Help. Yours, either. Everyone's too. So, don't expect me to come back here."

[ii]

None of his business.

Prowl grips the hinds of the door, staggering out from the bar. The engex pounded his helm. It reeled him senseless, mindless. The ground spins beneath him. He's dizzy, close to stumbling. He ignores whatever the bartender chattered about as he left. Something about straightening out the local punks causing trouble. Something about graffiti.

The city lights are a mingled mass of blur as he sauntered across the pavement. Funny looks were thrown at his expense. The ironic visage of his own authority dawdling off like a drunkard. Every organic he sees churns his spark. Forget about transforming, he can't even think straight. Can't even discern which left was his right, or which right was his left. Or if anything was anything, for that matter.

Wherever his mind wanders, his pedes too follows, and against his better judgement, he finds himself stumbling onto your bed. His nose dives into the soft cushion of your pillow, satin silky, a citrus kind of cushion. He closes his optics.

It still smelled like you.

"perhaps it is time you should come to peace with it..."

Maybe, just maybe. Now?

Not yet

[iii]

"You're what?"

"Leaving." You say, a cheery disposition bounces off your tone as you're packing your things, shoving and stuffing whatever you could nab from your desk and into your bag. The leather satchel you're so fond of.

"Leaving? You're kidding me." He scoffs and bristles when you're also grabbing the snow globe from the counter. "Look at me for a second and would you put that thing down? You're seriously leaving."

The snow globe dawdles above the pouch. "Uh huh."

He reels away, mollified. "You're joking."

"Not this time I'm not."

"You too? First, Ratchet, Chromedome and now you? Did he bribe you to come along? Is this some horrible stunt you're pulling to piss me off again? If it's about the time i—"

"What? No! Just..." You look up then away. "Look, Rodimus made a good deal—"

"A lie is what it is!" He grits out, following, as you pawed around your workstation for your trinkets. Those little boxes you marked with stickers. Insides are souvenir of your travel off-world.

"—Sugarcoat, sweet, crafted lies meant to reel you along to ridiculous shenanegans. And for what? A waste of time! An officer of the law like you should know better than to trust those kinds of bots!"

You whirl to face him, clutching the duffel bag like a barrier. "And, as the officer of the law I'm obligated to aid my people into doing right."

"Your people?" He scoffs. "By joining a ship filled with, Primus knows who, on there?"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do."

As you're about to turn away he grabs your forearm, grip unrelenting. "You're making a mistake."

"What do you want me to do here?" You manage to break free, exasperated at his eagerness to coop you up in this place. " The war is done. All opposing factions already withdrew. Organics and Cybertronians are living with each other now. There's nothing to be done anymore!"

"Why does everyone say that?" He equals your look of irritation, servos gesticulating abrasively to prove his point. " No, it's. Not. Just because the war is over doesn't mean the repercussions are gone. We're living off the effects of the war. I need officers, soldiers, anyone who can listen to rebuild the structural order of society." His hand holds out, placatingly. "I need you."

"You don't."You look away. " You need someone better."

"You're better."

"Prowl, please."

"Look, I just." He looks away from a moment, chuffing out a quick vent. It's all transpiring so quickly his emotions pass through the filter in almost a sporadic breeze. "Can we talk?"

You kick the ground, not holding his gaze.

"What's there to talk about?"

The wide, spanning glass, overlooking the myriad of buildings were veiled by the darkness of space, freckled with an occasional shimmer of stars. You're looking off to the side. He's turned away, fixed on the datapad on his table. It's his list. A list of your travels.

His mouth opens. Then, it closes, uncertain. He wants to say those words. Purge them out like his spark is on its last grip. Maybe you'll stay. Maybe, you won't. It doesn't matter because, despite the strange churning in his spark, he can't find himself to do it.

"Stay." He tries for a last grip of hope. It's almost imperceptible to your ears. A daunting whisper. He doesn't bother regarding your apologetic eyes.

"I can't."

[v]

He's lying but he thinks about you a lot. He thinks about how different you are to him, an oxymoron of some sort, baring the usual 'opposites attract' kind of shtick. It was ridiculous, really.

"Who's this?" Prowl waves off the profile dismissively.

Chromedome holds it up with a raise, "New recruit from Iacon. Heard she's a heavy hitter. No, actually— I meant in Forensics. Uh, the Organic department. You know, like, ah, dog sniffers?"

Prowl does a slow one eighty turn. "....Dog sniffers?"

Silence.

"Forget it." He tosses the datapad to the desk. " Just be nice."

"I'll give you a week max before she quits."

And in typical Prowl fashion he'd already did a background check on your profile, pulling up a list of your 'miniscule' crimes, like missing the crosswalk by a second when the signal churns red, or eating in public when you're not suppose to.

Those kinds of stuff.

Chromedome stares at the datapad, scrolling down the 'list' as they trudge towards the conference room. These aren't even illegal. They're just insanely normal things to do. He's not sure how Prowl thinks they are.

"Primus, Prowl. Isn't that a bit kind of creepy?"

"You're a Mnemosurgeon, Chromedome." A mocking croon pelts back. "You go through brains. Isn't that kind of creepy?''

Like a newly wrapped gift, you turned up in front of their office, dressed in a neatly tucked police uniform, wide smile and sparkling eyes, hands primly folded behind your back. The desperate detective wannabe.

"It'll be a pleasure working with you both."

Intuitive yet naive, idealistic yet grounded. He hated that you couldn’t choose a middle ground.

"It won't be, trust me."

[iv]

Under the autumn tree, you held up one leaf to your eye as you peer over to prowl, sizing him up with child-like curiosity. He's hunched over his shoulder, grimacing at the data pad. Sometimes, he thinks if you're even capable of dropping the act.The typical junior constable, laughing under the shade. The occasional spool of light from the crevices, reflects the white of your eyes.

“You know the people that sat next to me on this bench..." You begin, pelting a rock across the river.

It skidded three times before it dawdles off.

"Are mostly held up in vases. Those customs where they put the dead's ashes in. Keep them on a table and light an incense stick to honor them."

He leans against the bench overlooking the lake. In his servos, his digits clamp around an ice cream cone, half melted. He'd spent more time scrutinizing the germs on the sludge, more than he indulged in the taste.

"Y'think you can beat that?"

His tongue shoots out warily, curling up to lap at the cream. "Beat what?"

You threw another rock. This time it doesn't skid. It just sinks, the water rippled after, breaking into a gentle wave.

"Turning up dead."

[vii]

“Wait!”

"Why are you still here?" You snap back, legs unable to upholster your balance.

He managed to grab your arms but you struggled, wrangling away from his grip.

“You don’t care about me." You laugh. A bitter one. "Wait, why should you? I thought we were friends, Prowl. Friends. friends don't do this. Friends don't disrupt the only trust you have with them!"

The sky thundered, dark clouds rolling. The gentle pitter patter of rain prickles your uniform. The cold seeps into your back. You're too messed up to care. He made you mad. Made you angry. He'd call you useless, a martyr. You’re slurring, staggering.

You’re upset.

"Is that why you wanted to leave? To see if I cared enough to ask you to stay?”

"You think I'm asking you to care? You think I wanted you to care?" You jabbed a finger to his chassis. Alcohol reeks from your breath, sweet and ozone tangy. He doesn't move, the scowl on his face undeterred. Your lips quiver, nose scrunching, eyes misty.

"You know what's funny? You always go on about this and that, paranoid about the people who'll betray you, when you're exactly the type to— actually, no the person who went behind my back and tampered with my files—"

When he opened his mouth you cut him off with venom.

"—And don't you even try to cover it up. You know what Red Alert told me this morning? That I was an anomaly! That I couldn't go in!"

"I ensured your files were of proper order. Nothing beyond that is tampered."

"Stop— when will you stop lying to me!"

Against his better judgment, his servos fisted your collar and he reeled you in, "You think I enjoy doing this?"

Before you could reply, his lips catches your own, pressing you up against the wall. The rain is pelting now, soaking you both. Your lips, mingled with the alcohol, tasted sweet. Almost, electric. He can't get enough. So soft, pliable.

You try to break away. He only deepens the kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth, suckling your own, forbidding you the chance to speak.

His digits curl into your waist, clutching the fabric, holding you close. He needed you to stay. He needed you where he could see your face. Where you're there. Somewhere, close to him. You can’t leave him.

You can’t.

“I don’t care.” He breathes against your lips, "I don't care. Not now. Not yet."

It was a blur. Before long, you find your back dipping against the cushion of your bed, servos palming your thighs, chassis against your bare chest. Uniform fumbled and peeled away to the ground.

Maybe it was the alcohol talking. Or maybe you were too tired to protest. It didn't didn't matter. His lips latched onto your neck, suckling on a light bruise as he rolled his hips, yours moving in tandem, rocking against the bed.

“Prowl—“ He kisses you again.

Don’t speak yet.

Even when you’re pulling the sheets, arching against the soft bed, whimpering, straining out every sound he wrangles out from you, he's erratic, just how he’s rutting you up against the headboard, gripping your wrist, not your hands, face pressed up against your neck

“Stay.” Is a breathless whisper against your flesh.

"I—I can't."

He pulls you into a deeper kiss before you could say anymore, transfluid unspooling, purging the bedsheets mauve.

[viii]

The next morning he’s gone.

You’re alone.

You curl into the blankets, cheek against the pillow, not sure what to think. Perhaps it's a better goodbye than whatever you had in mind. It's not like Prowl is the sentimental type.Theres a note on the floor though, but it’s crumpled, torn apart, pieces littered in a clean pile. The pen is discarded in the kitchen counter. A last reign of control.

Tiptoeing across the cold floor, you scrape it against your palm and dropped it in the bin. It was better not to pry his thoughts. But there was something there, a glimpse of the words you always wanted to see, but still. You don’t believe it.

It's better when things are left unsaid.

'yes, yes. Hello! This is Rodimus speaking! Heard your files were a bit in a pickle yesterday. No worries! I managed to convince Magnus to let you in. Apparently, the system is now of working order. Strange, huh. Should hire better engineers, am I right? Anyways, how about a tour round the ship?'

[viiii]

It’s been months.

You were tinkering in your habsuite, a screwdriver in hand, fisting the electrical cord on your lock, the mini-enabler (a made up name as per Brainstorm's insistence for it to be so) when the communicator on your table pinged. A quick glimpse of the name blared out five familiar characters : Prowl.

Prowl? Your Prowl? What's he doing at this hour? He's, like, miles away. In that space station or whatever. What could he possibly want?

You were tempted to ignore it, reminded of your last meeting with the cop-bot that's likely to grant an awkward reunion. Then, you think with a grimace. What's the point? He'll probably forget about it, avoiding his feelings like the purge of the black plague.

So, you went through and now you're both staring at each other. Expression, neutral. Not sure what to say.His military-like stance contrasted your casual one. Though, he loosed up when the scowl on your face deepened. The holographic display did an impressive job at scaling his actual height. You had to crane your neck to see the light, cyan blue fizzle of his face.

One of Brainstorm's better invention, if you must say.

He looks around, scanning the interior of your habsuite, taking note of the cluttered books on the table, the snow globe you perch on your desk beside your datapads. A complete replica of the cubicle beside his own before you left.

"You’re not..." He trails off, unsure if it's safe to proceed. "...living alone are you?”

With a you huff, you cross your arms.“If you’re here to be a piss baby about it, leave.”

He vents, "I'm not here to be a 'piss baby', I'm here to check up on you."

“Right. So, you can what? Go behind my back and do something stupid again?"

He stiffens up on the immediate defensive. "Fine. I admit it. I did that. But you have to understand—"

"Yeah, well there's nothing to!" You throw up your arms, "You think you can just, I don't know, leave me hanging by a thread then call me five months later when you feel like it? Don't you care about how I feel? Or—"

"Can you listen for a moment?"

"Oh, now you want me to listen. What else, you want me to hear you voice out your justification of being an ass?"

"I did that because I..." The hologram looks away, glitching slightly, "...Because I don't exactly trust the crew enforcing their responsibility over you."

The thrum of the generator lulls over the silence. You stare at him, exasperation fading away. He's no longer staring at your feet, directing his gaze firmly to your eyes.

"It's not that I don't trust you." He says. The hologram takes a step close. You don't turn away, basking in the attempted touch of his servo on your shoulder. It phases through your arm, anyway. Even when it's an affectionate gesture, his expression is strained.

"You've got the knack to pull yourself in unpredictable situations."

You turn away with a huff. "If this is your way of trying to butter me up it's not working."

He looks off to the side, fixed on the snow-globe. "How about a tour of your room for a change?"

You're silent for a moment. "...We can start with the trinkets. "

[viiiii]

The alarm blared before you could think.

Prowl is half-way inspecting another faulty contraption upon your urge when the room is flared in a dark, crimson red, a sporadic bursts in tandem of the swirling siren. The connection is momentarily lost and the hologram fizzles away.

"What's going on?" His voice is a warbled glitch from the datapad. The visage of prowl in his office greets you.

"...The alarm sounded." You stammer, clutching the datapad close, a desperate reign of touch for him here, "That...that doesn't happen often. Well, sometimes . I think. But that was false alarm.

"Then, stay in the room." He commanded. "I'll try to get in touch with Magnus. There's a probable breach going on."

"You think so?" You pace around, a nervous twitch of your fingers, glancing to your door. "But this is. This is different. Usually, Magnus would pinge us. Tell us the situation. Last time, with the sparkeater—"

"Sparkeater?"

"Oh, you can arrest everyone later!" You huff. "My lock's broken, Prowl, what if—"

A distant explosion sounds, rattling the ship just slightly. It's muffled. You vaguely hear the clamour of pedes running, the yelling, the clang of metal scraping — then the storm. It's footsteps. Quick, loud footsteps pattering along towards this hall. Louder and louder. Heavier and heavier. Something clenched your heart tight. Whatever's raging through the ship can't be heading this way, can't it?

Prowl seemed unnerved. "Stay where you are."

"I'll try to close the lights. Maybe it'll disguise me here."

It's proved futile as the moment you reached your door, the shadow does as well, and you're sent sprawling across the floor as your habsuite door is torn wide open. The perpetrator tosses the flimsy metal to the side.

"Oh, dear. Wrong room." The familiar drawl dances through the air.

Your head swivels up, trailing along the path of the navy blue paint scheme, to the notorious curve of a grin, then to the eyes — blood lust.

Over lord.

"My, my, my. Have I seen you before? You look quite familiar."

He starts sauntering towards you. The datapad is clutched taut against your chest. Your eyes flail around for an exit. You're crawling, backing up against your desk.

"I was hoping it was the dreadful warden. You see I've got unfinished business with the latter — but you'll do as well."

"Get out of there!"

Prowl's yell was enough to deter his focus for a moment. You lunge for the space between his legs, rolling across the ground to the other side.

"Feisty little thing!" You hear him croon.

It wasn't long before you pick up the pace and start belting. Boots pounding the metal floor. At the end of the hall, you spot two figures from your periphery : Chromedome gesturing to the trapdoor on his side. Rewind jumping to get your attention.

"Lead him here!"

You yell back. "I've got a better idea!"

"Absolutely not!"

"But he's behind me, Prowl! We can't keep him here forever! Uhnf—"

The momentum of your sprint sent you stumbling into Chromedome and the Archivist, Overlord, following along, clattering against the wall of the hull. The one meant to trap the six phaser. You feel your lungs give out, grime scraping your elbows. Prowl's visage momentarily glitches as it clatters to the ground. Chromedome managed to toss Rewind out in a fit of panic. When it's your turn to grab his servos, you realized it's a spliced out limb from the swift shutting door, energon spooling out from the chafed sockets.

Rewind's staring at the window with despair. Chromedome is slamming his fist against the window, yelling.Prowl grips the screen tight, digits denting the rims of his datapad. He's not breathing. He's lightheaded. He can't get you. You're out there. He's here. You're there. Get out. Get out. Get out!

"Prowl?" Your voice is shaky as you speak. You're hunched over the datapad on the floor. He can see the shadow looming above becoming more prominent. More darker. More daunting. Two crimson flicker for eyes.

“Stay."

Don't let go yet.

Don't let go just yet

“I can't."

#transformers #maccadam #transformers x reader #idw prowl #transformers idw #prowl x reader #Overlord #idw prowl x reader #mtmte x reader #mtmte prowl

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surplus-of-sarcasm · 3 months

Text

31st Story, Part 2

TW: Blood, implied past captivity and torture, stitches, wound description, angst, corrupt system, issues regarding figure (brief), bruises, angst, knife, touch starvation

Part 1

Guess who's back with a hella long piece. vacay from college for some time with semester 1 over, woo! enjoyyy 💙

“So how did you sleep?” the vigilante asked as she walked downstairs to find the villain sitting cross-legged on her couch.

“Well,” he answered evenly, emotionlessness overtaking his tone as usual. It wasn't a complete lie; he'd slept better than he had in a long time, but his eyes had wrenched open a little after sunrise, even though he wasn't a morning person. He couldn't relax too much into this life, the knife he took shoved into the pocket of his sweatpants, but she didn't need to know that.

“I'll make us breakfast,” she announced.

“I'll help you out,” he offered, even though he knew she could probably infer what his motives were. He still wasn't taking any chances anyway.

She nodded curtly in response, leading him to the kitchen. And he'd almost wished someone had warned him about the whiplash of doing something so outlandishly casual with your enemy, as he watched her make a sandwich and soon enough followed suit, still hyper aware of the knives and the boiling water in the kettle.

And of course, nothing was lost on Vigilante, even if she probably wasn’t half as nervous as he was, the half-frantic, wild animal wrapped in the poorly fitting garment of someone calm and collected. “Are you always this tense?” she questioned as she sat down at the table and he sat opposite from her.

“Just hungry,” he shot back smoothly, a seasoned liar. Sure, he technically was half-starved, trying to eat slowly just so he wouldn’t retch, but if that was the case, he would’ve relaxed when he ate.

The vigilante said nothing as she took a bite of her sandwich, but her disbelieving eyebrow raise needed no further additions.

The villain’s grip tightened on his mug as he worried his frayed bottom lip between his teeth,”What do you want? If you’re going to question every micro-gesture of mine, then why’d you bring me here?” His voice was hoarse with exhaustion, probably from all the screaming he couldn’t muffle, not that he cared.

“I get it,” the vigilante said placatingly, even though it was clear she was somewhat irritated. She wasn’t a goddamn bleeding heart just oozing compassion and patience, not that he expected any different. “You’re afraid of getting hurt.”

“I am not afraid of crap, Vigilante.” It came out softer than he’d intended, almost as though he was the one trying to calm the situation, a new trait of people-pleasing a new and heavily despised survival skill he’d recently acquired.

The vigilante wanted to argue, but she also knew that from the day she’d walked into his cell and pulled him out, that she’d been walking on thin ice. That the man in front of her wasn’t his normal, unflappable self that could dish out a lot worse than whatever she dared to throw at him, so for the rest of this tense, awkward breakfast, they both remained quiet.

It had taken them about two hours of trepidation spent in the opposite ends of the living room for Vigilante to break the silence. “So, about the plan,” she started.

“Yeah?” he asked, now turning to face her.

“We can’t fight her by traditional means. We don’t have the time to amass an army big enough to rival my sister’s own. The main thing we need to do is find some way to desecrate that shining image of hers,” she explained.

The villain let out a low hum as though he was contemplating something, but the slight shift in the nature of his gaze indicated he’s noticed something. “Knocking your sister off of her pedestal is surely going to gain you some traction,” he noted.

“I don’t care much for the spotlight,” she countered.

“I know. But you seem to care about making sure your sister doesn’t have everything. Still, that isn’t the issue anyway.”

And again, he was right. There is something so utterly sickening of being born in someone’s shadow, of having all your power from someone else’s name. Vigilante was only formidable in people’s eyes because it was required of Superhero’s sister. Again, she’d never claimed to be dramatically selfless.

Still, she took note of how the villain made no effort at eye contact, his eyes trained on the pattern of her wooden coffee table, but she refrained from commenting. “Right. The general idea is, if the adoring public find out what she does to the people in her custo-”

The villain, in his most daring act of the day, had let out a sardonic snort. “Oh, save it. I don’t think you realise that how people like me are treated doesn’t really irk anyone. Because that’s how the world works, it’s easier like that. I’m not the most notorious, but it’s safe to say I’m ‘famous’ enough,” he made air quotations with his fingers, “People usually want to know about the trial, when it comes to people they’ve heard of, but no one gave a damn. No one cared to know I never really got a trial in the first place. Because they were just relieved that the Big Bad Guy was off the streets. Locked up somewhere. It doesn’t matter that my record says I’m guilty of crap I’ve never done. Because technically, I’ve committed my fair share of my crimes, what’s more to the pile? Hell, if it keeps me locked away for all eternity, then why not?”

This time, the villain’s gaze was steely, his teeth gnashed together and his tone harsh, and yet before she’d even commented, the villain was quick to force the muscles of his face to work on pulling it into a blank expression, his hand going to his pocket.

Where, unbeknownst to Vigilante, the knife from yesterday was. . .

It took her a moment to register his words and realise he was right. The likes of Villain wouldn’t garner the sympathy of the same people that cheered when they were locked up, at every suffocating press conference where her sister’s airy voice seemed to ring in her ears.

But how else was she supposed to rouse some sort of public outcry against her sister? She needed the key, the concept, the idea, and from that she could form a plan. It was why she thought of asking the villain in the first place.

“Then what should we do to get people to notice?”

The villain’s pale hand made its way out of his pocket, his expression still nearly unreadable. “Your sister’s clever. She’s almost untraceable, and uncovering her shady past would be difficult. Or actually, more difficult than having her do something terrible now.”

“So you’re saying we somehow force her to commit some sort of terrible crime?”

“Force is the wrong word. It wouldn’t be a choice she wouldn’t make on her own accord. And that’s our selling point. No one needs to make her pull underhanded crap because she’ll take that choice anyway. And from then, whatever it is you want to reveal is actually going to have a basis.”

The villain straightened his posture, pulling his now slightly loose fitting hoodie down so straighten a wrinkle only for it to come down with a strange difficulty, like it was stuck to his skin, the man letting out a soft hiss.

“You alright?” she asked.

“Fine,” he answered curtly, getting up. He knew exactly why his jacket had stuck to his form in the first place, and he really didn’t need Vigilante’s supposed concern. There’s a lot worse he’d seen in his life, in those three months alone than some old scratch reopening. Walking into his room, he shrugged his hoodie off in front of the mirror only to notice that the stupid scratch was in an area he could barely reach, deeper and uglier than he thought, blood running down it in crimson rivulets, exposed tissue that was barely healing showing too. He didn’t know where the gauze was, or how he’d even manage treating the wound. And somehow, his past vanity, or rather basic awareness of his appearance that he now called vanity hadn’t completely faded away considering he noticed bone and skin where muscle used to be and the ridiculous amount of bruises adorning his figure in various shades of dusty purples and browns; every sign of how his captors had turned him into a punching bag for all their sadistic cravings.

“Villain?”

Hell no. He didn’t want anyone in this room with him while he looked like this, frantic again and wishing he could rip his hair from its roots. He almost didn’t care that he was still bleeding and it hurt to shift even slightly, or that his wound felt warm to the touch and was probably infected. He sat there on the bed, gripping onto the sheets like they were the only thing tethering him to the world around him. “Just,” he faltered. As much as the villain hated it, he couldn’t do crap right now without her help. He bit his lip again and exhaled slowly. “Come in.”

She cursed softly when she looked at the wound, the scarlet already snaking down his lower back now. It didn’t take her long to come back with a whole lot of first aid equipment. “This’ll hurt,” she said slowly.

All she got was a low grunt in response as she pressed antiseptic-soaked gauze to his back, and even though he barely let out a noise, didn’t move out of the way, his shoulders still tensed up under the pain.

Involuntarily, she stroked a hand through his hair, a reflexive action even though the vigilante wasn’t particularly touchy, especially with her enemy turned ally of convenience. He turned to stare at her, looking nothing short of surprised, but not irritated or afraid. He turned around again as she stitched up his wound and tended to his other scratches, surprised how well he was holding out. The villain barely flinched through the process, but again the man had always been surprisingly enduring.

The villain seriously didn’t remember the last time anyone had tended to his injuries, even before getting captured. He’s sure someone did, during the times he couldn’t do it himself, but no one had ever run a hand through his hair when he’d tensed up or anything of the sort. He despised the fact that it hadn’t irritated him, instead he was left there dumbfounded, half-wishing she would do it again and half-grateful she refrained from it, from making him feel so bloody exposed like that. This entire ordeal, how strangely gentle the vigilante had been with him, how he slowly relaxed even though the idea of being this vulnerable, this close to one of his enemies terrified him.

The villain didn’t like to feel things that weren’t dry, controlled anger or smugness or absolutely nothing. So he didn’t, pretended he couldn’t until he believed it.

Every lie dies in the end, no?

The vigilante had got up to hand him a new t-shirt that he slowly pulled on, minding his wounds but still refusing any help with it. “Thanks,” he mumbled awkwardly.

“Y-you thank people?” she asked, half out of genuine surprise and half to lighten the mood.

The villain didn’t smile, but his lip twitched up ever so slightly with a half-smirk, “I’m a villain, but I’m not a complete tactless bastard.”

“I guess you could say that, and you’re welcome. I’ll just go clean up. Put your jacket in the basket over there.” The vigilante looked down at her bloodstained hands, and the villain gave her a curt nod.

He was lucky she hadn’t taken the jacket herself, or noticed the knife somehow, and he could still keep it. It felt even scummier after right now, when she could’ve just let him bleed out, or made it worse since she was this close to him. He didn’t even know what she would try the second he was no longer useful.

Carefully, he lowered his form onto the bed, letting out a soft groan. This was the strangest stage of his life yet, he presumed.

So many times, life is about choosing the worst option, the choice you’d swore to never make, about condemning yourself to being at the mercy of the unknown. People will scream at you to avoid the lion’s den, but sometimes it is the only shelter from a raging storm ready to destroy you into nothing. And yet, maybe there is wisdom in the most foolish decisions, and safety in the most dangerous risks. Because even if you’re riddled with deep wounds and scars, even those can heal under care, even in the most unexpected places.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi @those-damn-snippets @genuinelythioehat-is-whump @ghostofnorth

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

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katana-no-neko · 6 months

Text

Call Me By My Name

ao3

Natsu laughed voraciously as he flew, twirling through the air while the wind gust around his scales, not paying any mind to his cousin shouting after him. Many of his fellow dragons were remaining in their den with the rumors of a fae in the area, but Natsu didn't really care. He'd never met a pureblooded fae before, but really, how scary could one be? He was way stronger than some hoity-toity faerie, and it's not like he was stupid enough to tell one his true name.

He soared past trees and through mountains, smiling the whole time before spotting a crystal clear lake down below and deciding to drop in for a swim. With a big splash, he landed, diving deep into the water and transforming to his human form as he came back up with another hearty laugh.

It didn't take much longer for him to feel a gaze upon his back. Spinning around, Natsu quickly spied a pair of round, brown eyes peeking out at him from behind a tree. The eyes widened and turned away, the owner realizing they'd been caught.

"Hey!" Natsu called, "Wait! I didn't mean to bother ya, come back! I promise I don't bite," he smiled a toothy grin as the eyes hesitantly peered back at him again. "At least not usually."

A gorgeous laugh rang out from the eyes' direction, and Natsu found himself wanting to hear it more. He made his way towards the shore, closer to his mysterious visitor. An 'eep' sounded out as he approached, and Natsu was suddenly very aware how naked he was. With a bashful flush, he dipped back in the water before he flashed this person any more than he already had. "Heh, sorry. Forgot I wasn't wearing clothes in this form. Not used to running into people while I'm out like this. I'll stay in the water!"

"I..." a voice started to say, and Natsu was eager to hear more of it. "I suppose that makes sense. Dragons probably don't often wear clothes."

Natsu grinned excitedly, finally hearing his new friend speak. "Yeah, I'm a dragon! I guess you saw me fly down, huh?"

The woman laughed again. "It would have been hard to miss..."

He chuckled. "'Spose so. Why don't you come out? It'd be easier to talk if you weren't behind the tree. Or don't," he added, sensing her hesitation to reveal herself. "You don't have to. So how are you? What're you doing all the way out here?"

"I'm a traveler..." she started. "I wander from place to place and this lake looked like a nice spot to rest for a while."

"Oh wow, I bet you've seen lots of cool stuff doing that! I've flown about everywhere near here but I never leave home for too long - always back before dark. Dad'd have my head if I disappeared like that," he laughed.

"Sounds like he really cares about you," the voice responded, almost a little sadly.

"Well sure, he's my dad! Doesn't yours?" Natsu cursed his lack of filter, sensing the woman tense. "I'm sorry, that was a bad question to ask. Sorry if you've got a shitty dad."

"Yeah, he's... Something all right." She let out a sigh. "But it's okay! I don't have to deal with him. Not anymore and with any luck, not ever again."

He smiled at the determination in her voice. "Yeah, screw him! Who needs that bastard!?"

She giggled. "You don't even know him!"

"Ah but if he's made someone as cool as you upset, he's gotta be a bastard." He grinned, hearing her laugh some more, the sound her quickly becoming his favorite. "Hey, I just realized we never introduced ourselves! I'm Na-"

"DON'T!" the woman shrieked, finally coming out from behind her tree, frantic in her cry.

"You're..." Natsu took in the sight of her as his eyes widened. The pretty brown eyes he'd already been watching, supple pink lips that had released those wonderful laughs, braided golden hair that reached near to the ground, and long, pointed ears poking past the strands. "a fae," he finished.

She nodded, ears twitching nervously. "Do not tell me your name."

Natsu cocked his head. "But why not? I wanna be your friend. I think you're really cool, I wanna keep hanging out."

The woman shook her head with a frown. "You know I'm a fae and you want to be friends!? Don't you know how dangerous we are!? Everyone avoids faeries for a reason - as soon as I learn your name, I have full, complete control over you!"

"You seem trustworthy! I'd trust you with my name," he grinned.

She shook her head again, "that's only because of my magic - of course it's going to make you THINK I'm trustworthy, we have that magic to trick and lure people in!"

Natsu scoffed. "Well you did a real good job of tricking and luring me, stopping me from telling you my name like you did before!"

"I refuse to steal control over a person like that. I don't want anyone to be chained to my will," she admitted, ears drooping.

Natsu smiled. "See, that's why I trust you! If you were really trying to control me, you'd have stolen my name and never thought twice about it." He watched her ears twitch with nerves again. "Besides, you would need my true name, wouldn't you?" The woman nodded a confirmation. "Dragons never go by our 'true' name, specifically so that fae won't learn them!"

The faerie looked thoughtful. "I suppose that makes sense..."

"Call me Natsu, then!" The woman held her breath, eyes widening with fear. "It's not my true name, I promise," he reassured, her body relaxing as she realized he was not, in fact, under her magic's control. "Now come on, let's be friends!"

She smiled as she let out a sigh of relief. "You're persistent, aren't you?"

He laughed. "Some might say it's my best quality!"

"Alright Natsu... I'll be your friend. You seem truly wonderful, and I'd love to spend more time with you," she admitted.

"Yay!" he shouted, leaping out of the water in excitement. Landing on the shore near his new friend, he took her hand and grinned. "This'll be so much fun!" He cocked his head as he noticed her gaze avert and her cheeks burn. "Ah!" he realized with a start. "Still naked, aren't I."

#nalu #nalu fanfiction #fanfiction #fairy tail #call me by my name #aka simply: fae #I've been working on this for a little while :)#haven't written about my blorbos in so long; it's nice to be back #more to come

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palestporn · 6 months

Text

Gamzee: Blow this joint

You spare a thought for a second or two how the rest of the conciliatrium would look at you if you came back this time of morning to get nasty with a guy they definitely didn't train you to get nasty with, and say "Yeah, yours, how about?" faster than maybe you meant to. It's not wrong to help out the Second Coming if he figured he needed it, but to your knowing he never has, and the quadrant consortium is his ancestor's, not his.

And anyhow it makes Karkat go "Oh," again and reach out to take your frond again. He looks all shy at you a second, and then remembers motherfuckers are looking at him and puts 'grumpy and grim' back on. "Well, good. I mean, fine. Let's get moving."

"Romantic," says Sollux, and slaps the Second Coming of the Alternian Empire on the ass, then floats up off the ground out of the way when tries to punch back. "Yeah, it's past bedtime for whiny pupas, better get to the 'coon already. Weak shit."

"You're going to crash for twenty hours as soon as I find wherever you're stashing energy drinks this time," Karkat says, and swipes at him again. "And I'll fucking laugh at you. Get back here!"

"Nah," says Sollux, and opens the door in sparks and goes sailing off toward it, laid down on his back in the air. "Sounds like your new sidepiece is tired of sitting on the bench, KK, better give him the grubball and aim him down the field."

If I required more proof of my ultimate damnation, says your ancestor in tone of flat despair at you, while Karkat curses and growls after his buddy, this would be a gracious motherfucking sufficiency indeed.

"So don't watch, motherfucker," you hiss at him, and give up on waiting for Karkat to make with the moving--settle your grip on his frond and start out of the block, taking pains so you're not looking at the emperor. "If you can keep your flap still when I'm on the load gaper you can keep your horns out my motherfucking way."

That must be argument enough, because the whispers fade in grumbling and then are gone and don't show back up again. Karkat glances around uneasy, and then growls and heads off, fast and sure and taking the lead of you, pulling you behind.

His hivesuite's not like the conciliatrium; everything there is soft and near and lit low and gold like sunset, and his entry block's a great, dark place with clothes and armor and uniforms and weapons on racks and a big war-table. Karkat marches out into it, and then stops there, and you can see clear in the way his fronds work and how he looks around his block, he doesn't know what the fuck to do now.

He looks real small, with all this big and fancy shit set out around him. Puts to mind of how the empire's resting on him, how you've heard he's taken to the task of war his ancestor hates so bad. Good at it a motherfucker might be, and maybe he doesn't mind it, but damn if those shadows under his eyes and the way his shoulders sit tense and high and tight don't speak otherwise.

You're about to step up behind him and get your hands on him some more--maybe see about his back and his neck and if the rumors are real, how easy it is to just about drop somebody when their horns are all root like that--except then he turns back around to you and cranes up to get a hand at your jaw, about the highest he can reach.

"This has been the weirdest day full of bullshit I've ever had the excruciating pleasure of living through," he says. "And I'm not the guy who--" he waves frond at you, you guess just to sum up your whole shit. "What do you...like? I mean, you know what I mean. What do you need?"

Gamzee: Uhh

==> 🫂 ==> 😭 ==> 👀💦

[START OVER]

#CYOA: Imperial Favor #Gamzee: oh hell yeah I've trained for this part I will finally have any motherfucking idea at all what's going on #Karkat: so what do I do for you. What things do you like. since you ofc know all the things trolls can do and which ones you like #Gamzee freezing like a possum in front of a combine harvester: what do I. What.

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stingraywipe · 4 days

Text

Hey! Here's a little thing I wrote for @sincerely-sofie 's The Present is a Gift AU with her characters Twig and Kip. I wanted to get it out sooner, but alas life happened and I was unable to work on it as much as a wanted to. This is also the first time I've done any sort of creative writing in years, so hopefully it isn't too bad. Anyways, here it is! I hope you like it :)

The Sunrise

It was dawn when Kip woke up. It was rather early and he was still tired, but he rolled out of bed to go check on Twig. He knew she probably wanted her space, but he couldn’t help worrying about her more than usual after the previous few days’ events. He yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, then quietly cracked open the door of Twig’s room. His heart skipped a beat when he saw that she wasn’t there. He rubbed his eyes again to make sure he was seeing right. Yup. Twig wasn’t there. Feeling panic begin to set in, Kip took a moment to breath and recollect himself.

“Calm down, there’s NO need to be freaking out about this,” he thought. “Twig likes going on walks when she needs to clear her head, or if she wants to be alone to think on something. She’s probably just doing that. She’s been through a ton the past few days, so it makes sense that she would want to do that. She’ll probably be back here soon.”

Despite knowing that, Kip decided to make a quick check outside anyway. He was already pretty awake after the initial shock of Twig’s absence, and taking a look couldn’t hurt. Maybe he could watch the sunrise while he was out there. He hadn’t done that in a while, and it would be a good way to unwind for a bit after the stress of the past week.

Apparently Twig had the same idea, because she was already sitting near the edge of the cliff looking off into the distance. She was visibly ok, and even seemed less tense than she had been recently. Despite this, Kip felt the need to make sure she was actually fine. He knew too well how Twig feels the need to hide anything that ails her from everyone no matter how serious it is, so it was going to take more than just visual evidence to convince him.

“How’ve you been holding up?” Kip asked as he approached. Twig jumped a little and spun her head around, relaxing again once she realized it was just him.

“Jeez dude, you scared me! Did you have to sneak up on me like that?”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean to startle you!” Kip responded. He hurried over to where Twig was and sat down next to her. “I just wanted to check up on how you were doing. I saw you weren’t in you room and I-”

Twig cut him off. “Relax man, I’m just giving you a hard time.” She gave him a playful punch to the arm. “And, umm. I’ve definitely been better. I think I’ve cried more than enough for an entire lifetime over the past few days. Maybe even two lifetimes. I didn’t even know fire types were capable of producing that much water.”

Kip chuckled at that. “Yeah, but it needed to happen, you know. That’s what you get for being silly and stupid and somehow convincing yourself that none of us like you.”

Twig sighed. “I know, I know, you’re right. It doesn’t mean I have to like it though. It’s physically AND mentally exhausting.”

“I feel you there. I feel worn out, and I haven’t cried anywhere near as much as you!”

“Yup. I totally have you beat.”

Kip gave her a baffled look. “Are you seriously bragging about how you’ve cried more than me?”

“I sure am. I gotta take my wins when I can get ‘em.”

He burst out laughing at that. “Well, if your jokes are anything to go off of, I’d say you’re holding up pretty well. Seems to me like the funny Twig I know and love is finally starting to come back. I guess I was worried about nothing.”

Twig shrugged. “I guess.”

Neither one of them said anything else for a while. They sat in silence and watched the sun slowly climb higher on the horizon. It was one of the sunrises with lots of pink mixed in with the oranges and yellows; the kind that Twig loved the most. The sea below them glistened like gemstones, with rolling waves that shimmered in the bright light. Kip had almost forgotten how beautiful the sunrise was at Sharpedo Bluff. Sure, he could watch the sunrise when he was away on his expedition, but they just weren’t the same there as they were here. Besides, he was with Twig now, which made it even better.

Kip smiled. “I missed this,” he murmured.

“Missed what?” Twig asked.

“This. Watching the sunrise with you. Going on walks. Just talking. You know, enjoying the little things in life with you.”

“Dude, you know you can still do those things without me right?”

“I guess, but they wouldn’t be the same. You’re what makes them special.”

They were both quiet for a bit. Twig was first to speak again. “Dang, I really messed up a lot of stuff with my dumb thoughts then. Sorry about that.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop apologizing for that!?” Kip responded. “None of us blame you for any of that stuff. If anything, it’s MY fault for not doing anything sooner despite seeing through all of your terrible lies. Besides, it’s in the past now. All we can do is focus on what we can do now, in the present.”

“I guess you’re right.” she said. “You know dude, if you really wanted to hang out with me THAT badly, you could’ve just asked.”

“Ok, noted. You’d better be prepared for lots of requests then if that’s what it’s gonna take.” Kip glanced over at Twig. Her expression was a bit troubled, as if she was contemplating something he had said. Seeing that, he nudged her and spoke again.

“You know I meant it right? What I said before.”

Twig turned her head to look at him. “What? The part about how me being there somehow makes things better?”

“Yeah, that one. I want to make sure that sticks with you, because you seem to be quick to forget it. You’re an amazing person. I know it’s hard for you to see it right now, but we all really do care for you more than you could imagine. And it doesn’t matter how long it takes you to convince yourself of all that, because all of us are happy to remind you as many times as it takes. Nothing you think or say or do will ever change that.”

Twig’s eyes started watering at that. “Seriously dude,” she croaked. “I was just complaining about how I was tired of crying. Did you really have to go and make me-”

Kip pulled her into a hug, cutting her off. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me Twig. You always will be. Please don’t ever forget that.”

They stayed like that for a while. Kip held Twig there for as long as she needed to cry. After a bit, Twig slowly pulled away and took a moment to wipe the tears out of her eyes and regain her composure.

“You good now?” Kip asked her.

“Yeah, I think so. I think I actually feel a bit better than before, funny enough.” She shifted her gaze back to the horizon, where the sun had climbed a bit higher over the ocean. They sat there quietly, simply enjoying each other’s presence. For the first time in a while, it seemed as if everything was truly at peace.

Twig eventually broke the silence. “You know what? I missed this a lot too. This is nice.”

“Yeah,” Kip said, nodding in agreement. “This is nice.”

#the present is a gift au #pmd #pmd2 #pmd eos #pmd explorers #pokemon mystery dungeon #fanfic #thanks for reading

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birdwonder · 1 year

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christmas spirit | hanzo shimada

【 ✿】 ⸻ hanzo hasn’t felt the christmas spirit in a long time but y/n sure does.

“ What are your plans for Christmas this year, Hanzo ? ” Your question was innocent and while Hanzo didn’t usually like his quiet time being disrupted by noise, he could let it slide seeing as he did like the sound of his name when you said it. However, he did tense up after he heard the query. Currently sat with his legs crossed, he had been meditating and still had yet to open his eyes, responding without shifting. “ None. I do not celebrate Christmas. ”

“ Oh ! I knew you weren’t Christian but I just thought it was still a big thing in Japan. I know Genji and Kiriko are doing something so I thought-- ” You were lying on your side, a magazine in front of you, when you were cut off. “ You misunderstand, ” Hanzo explained, eyes still shut and fingers still pinched together as one does when meditating, “ I used to celebrate it when I was younger but now I see no use for it. ” Frowning, you pushed your hands against the matted floor to lift yourself up before crawling over to the man. You sat on your knees facing him. “ How about spending time with family ? Friends ? There’s a Christmas party being hosted, we could go to that ! ” Hanzo sighed. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t understand. His shoulders slacked but he remained the same, something about not seeing you made it easier to speak. “ I don’t like parties. ” His tone wasn’t incredibly harsh but it was straightforward. “ Not even Christmas ones ? It’d be fun ! Everyone will be there ! ” “ Especially not Christmas ones. ” The two of you remained in silence for a few moments, neither say anything as you thought of what you could possibly say to convince him to go. But that was the thing, you didn’t want to force Hanzo to go anywhere, not when you cherished him so much as a friend and liked him so much more than that. You were hoping to use the Christmas party as a chance to tell him how you feel, but that’s out of the window. It especially sucked because you loved Christmas. The traditions, the atmosphere, the food, everything ! And now you couldn’t spend it with your favourite person. If you couldn’t convince him to go, the only right thing to do was find out why he was so oppossed to the idea. May as well understand him a bit better. “ Ok, so you don’t want to go, ” you sighed disheartenedly. “ Could you at least tell me why ? I know you’re the serious type but even this is a bit much. ” Hanzo’s heart sunk. He had been hoping you wouldn’t press any further but it was clear you were curious, and he supposed he could offer some sort of an explanation. It must be hurtful to have your invitation rejected. His eyes finally opened and now his hands covered his knees, but he failed to make any eye contact as he spoke. “ I just do not feel right spending a time meant for family and cherising loved ones when I have done such cruel things in the past. I hadn’t celebrated a single Christmas since Genji-- ” Nothing more needed to be said. You understood. With a sympathetic look, you shifted to sit closer to Hanzo. Your head tilted to rest on his shoulder, just in case a hug was too forward. “ I get it now. I’m sorry, Hanzo. ” Of course he would feel this way. You couldn’t possibly blame him for it either. Still, it was in the past and Genji and him had both been working on their relationship and making steps to forgive and forget. You guessed it wasn’t enough just yet. After a minute of silence, you thought of something. It was probably going to be faced with rejection but why not try ? “ Well . . . If you can’t really bring yourself for a party or anything. Maybe you could at least spend Christmas day with me ? ” You proposed, your tone hopeful. Much like Hanzo, you avoided any eye contact and just kept your head rested on him. “ I mean- We don’t have to do anything big at all. Maybe just wake up, have hot chocolate, share gifts. ‘Cause, y’know. I already bought you something. ” Hanzo turned his head to look down at you, which made you pull away. “ You did ? ” He asked, surprised. “ Of course ! ” A finger tapped your nose and you gave him a wink. “ But I ain’t telling ya what it is ! You’ll just have to wait. ” The man still seemed fairly solemn. He felt touched by the fact you would avoid going to a party just to spend time with him alone, it even confused him. Even so, there was a small guilt nipping his heart for even considering having fun on such a day. He was close to saying no until he saw your eyes. How they looked up at him, hopeful and wide. He may not want to celebrate Christmas but you wanted to be with him on a special day, and he’d be a fool to reject you. “ I . . . I accept your offer. ” He finally spoke. In a matter of seconds you let out a cheer before jumping to your feet and rushing to retrieve a backpacket that was left hanging beside a wall. You returned by his side and opened the bag to reveal some Christmas deocrations you had bought earlier that you were going to hang once you were home. “ I’m so glad ! You can come over Christmas Eve to my place and sleep over. We’ll do something simple n’ fun in the evening then and on Christmas it’ll be a full day of just us hanging out ! ” Your hand dug through the bag, pulling out a Santa hat. “ We can wear hats ! ” Hanzo wasn’t sure about that. “ I even have some fun decorations, a bag of marshmallows for our hot chocolate and even, ” a small plant was pinched between your fingers, “ mistletoooe. ” You were only kidding but your suggestive look and grin only flustered Hanzo and he turned his head to cough into a balled fist. “ I think . . . I think I would like that. ” Those words made your heart jump. You didn’t want to say anything now but you did lift the mistletoe above your heads and lean in to plant a small kiss on his cheek. His head snapped round with a flustered expression and you laughed gently at how adorable a grown man could be. “ That was just a taster. I can’t wait for Christmas. ” Getting up, you packed the things away again and started to walk out the room, giving Hanzo a wave goodbye. “ See you later, Hanzo ~! ”

“ Goodbye . . . ” He waved back and once you were out of sight, a hand placed itself where you had kissed his cheek. Maybe he could enjoy Christmas again after all.

#hanzo shimada #hanzo x reader #overwatch #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you #kinda tempted to put this on AO3 and add to it a little #hanzo shimada x reader

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sixosix · 1 month

Note

Finally have a chance to throw my thoughts together! And boy do I have them!!

Just ahshshs- lyney you’re so smart and cunning but also pretty dense my guy. I’m so glad you have moral standards but the fact your first thought when thawed!reader wants to kiss you is that ‘oh she is just drunk, :(‘ as opposed to ‘Ah! I may actually have a slight chance’ says something. I know you’re basing your thoughts on imperfect information and past experiences but please- I’m begging you- I know you have a big brain please use it-

But honestly, my heart goes out to him. In his half of the pov his pinning is so clear to see. I’m willing to bet money that Lyney would just happily accept the fact that he can interact with t!reader on some sort of positive level again, no matter if he is just a friend forever because she’s back! She’s real again, not just rose-tinted memories and this silent secret between the twins and Freminet. He is going through these extra and at times inconvenient steps just to keep her safe, even going against his own desires (letting Childe keep an eye on her while he goes to father) and even against his own loyalties to an extent ( i mean, the sensible loyal fauti thing to do would be to immediately report that the previously awol/MIA solider was found, wouldn’t it? )

ALSO THE ‘MON LAPIN’ NICKNAME!?! So many thoughts AND feelings on that!! *insert the cork board meme*

It fits so well!! I looked up some rabbit information just to see and rabbits are so skittish! I checked it out and so many things can set them off- bad experiences, new lotion smell, smelling like a different animal like a cat!! Like they not recommended to be children pets cause you gotta be gentle. But they’re so active! Not to mention herbivores!! Lyney may not know the truth but I’m sure he knows where his gift was delivered too! Thawed reader is a rabbit confirmed.

Looking outside of lyney and t!reader’s interactions though, it’s always so interesting to see t!reader’s other interactions. The obvious joy she has when she realizes Lynette showed up, and Lynette’s instant care in asking if t!reader has anywhere safe to go to. The tense somewhat friendship forming between aether and her, where a slight misstep could mean destruction of her life but there’s enough going on for minor banter and to try and help recover from a hangover (the water, and my current guess is that is the reason why her drink is different at the end) and now the beginnings of co-conspirators between Childe and her; the former laughing and seems to be almost excited while the latter is even more tense and nervous because it’s about to get a whole lot more complicated

ALSO CHILDE! SMART MAN, SO GLAD YOU’RE IN THE KNOW! Welcome to the peanut gallery of lyney and t!reader’s relationship! Hope you enjoy the show! But now that childe is officially an active player in the story, it’s making me think about the current time line and how different it’s gonna go from the canon game. As of right now, the only confirmed event from the Fontaine archon/various other quests is Lyney and Lynette’s trial since Childe has yet to be accused of anything (so we can assume that the missing people case is still ongoing) and aether is specifically doing this to see if he can trust the twins (something you can argue about him realizing via/during Lyney’s story quest). Especially know with the knaves early arrival to push things along

I should stop myself at this point so imma just leave off with the fact Lyney is starting to feel something as wrong when faced with Childe at the party AND the fact that t!reader remembering a fair bit of what happened, but the key point being that’s it’s very blurry has me kicking and freaking out. It’s gonna get much more messy real soon.

-deadman aether anon

HI DEADMAN AETHER ANON!!! its so wonderful to have you back AND ITS SO WONDERFUL TO ME TO SEE THIS ASK I AAS LIKE WHOAAA HELL YEA

i didnt really think too much about the bunny nickname even i was so shocked by that info!! i just heard from my friend that its one of the common french nicknames—and i thought it fit because of lyneys whole magician thing,,, like magicians and rabbits…. BUT THATS SO COOL!!!! makes the nickname so deeper than whatbi initially thought 🙏🙏

AND YEAAHHH its definitely overwhelming for our mc to be exposed so suddenly to so many people who seem to be willing to be friends w her! its been rosalie and its only been Father before 😢

the canon game event is gonna be veeeerrryyy detached from the game bc im going to be ignoring it for the sake of not copying it and just inserting MC in. if i did that, THAWED woukd just be a longer version of my other fic, Sleight of Hand HAHAHA. either way, since im writing this before arlecchino’s official release, i think i might end up mischaracterizing her…..so im a bit nervous about that. i think in THAWED shes definitely going to be a bit more evil than what she might be in-game

#THANKS FOR SHARING YOUR THOUGHTS ONCE AGAIN #im glad that youre sendingg longer ones too it genuinely makes me happy #i hope u have a good day!!!#this made my day brighter by a 100x #606:inbox #606: deadmanaether anon

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annaraebananawriter · 1 year

Note

"We just can't seem to get it right, huh?" With Dream and Nightmare? Maybe after some kind of truce and they had a fight?

Oooh, how I love writing Dream and Nightmare having a fight and then making up afterward. Even though my skills for writing dialogue in arguments are still rusty and generally not the greatest, in my opinion.

This got a little long, and that's my bad. But I had lots of fun writing it, and I hope you have lots of fun reading it!

Small warning for smoking and some implied self-hate.

That said, happy reading! Prompt is italicized.

~oOo~

Dream sat on the curb of a random street in a generally negative AU. The despondence in the air weakened him just enough that he didn't have the power to summon his own portal. He was definitely late for dinner.

Sighing, he took a drag of his cigarette and stared into the concrete at his feet.

Usually, he stayed clear of negative AUs. He didn't want to risk being stranded there until Ink realized where he was and took him home or his brother's gang found him and thought he was intruding. Fighting was a necessity, not a want. Even now, after the truce, he still tended to stick to his regular AUs, helping the people there until he couldn't anymore. Then, he would sleep, if he felt like it, for a few hours and repeat it all in the morning.

It was his way of spreading positivity, the way he was used to. Nightmare, upon learning this, had frowned and seemed frustrated at something, but otherwise left it alone.

Until earlier.

He had just been hanging out with Nightmare. Part of the truce was an agreement they made to try and understand each other's jobs, and the way they did their duty. Dream tagged along on some of Nightmare's routines, and vice versa. Sure, the negativity or positive made their magic weaker, relying on the other for transportation, but physically they were fine.

Today was a Nightmare day--or night. His brother tended to work at night, drawn to those having bad dreams or bad thoughts or things similar. He heightened the emotions closest to the surface and kept an eye on things.

Dream usually hung back and watched silently. Not today.

They had been by a kid's house, whose dream was just on the edge of turning into a nightmare. He watched from the window as Nightmare expanded the drop of fear into something more, watched the kid start to turn and whimper. His brother appeared beside him not long after and they both stood there for a moment.

Fidgeting with his fingers, Dream found himself talking before he really knew what he was going to say. "Are you sure you need to do it this way?"

Almost immediately, he inwardly cringed, tensing up for the coming response.

Nightmare's gaze turned to him. "Do what this way?"

Dream had shifted in place, uncomfortable. "Well, you know...spread negativity, I guess. Do you have to do it this way? It just seems..."

Nightmare still stared at him, almost daring him to complete his sentence.

"...cruel?" Dream's voice lowered, bordering on a whisper. It almost feels like saying something taboo, he thought.

"Why would it be cruel?" His brother's voice was clipped.

"I just mean--"

"I know what you mean," his brother had said, icy, turning to walk away. Dream hurried to follow. "I had thought we were past this, Dream."

"We are. I honestly didn't mean it that way. I just--"

"What other way is there? For kids, nightmares are a sure way they learn what to fear. At the same time, it creates a memory for them with their parents or guardians or siblings, good or bad. It helps them."

"Yes, I know."

"Do you?" Nightmare stopped at the end of the block. "Do you? I think you still have a bias about what is good and what is bad. You agreed to not let this bias control your actions."

"I am not."

"Aren't you?"

Dream floundered for something to say, understanding he upset his brother and wanting to make things right. "I...I do not think so, no. I had simply meant that I don't see the need for scaring a child into submission." He remembered something one of the villagers used to say, repeating it absently. "Negativity is not something to be pushed or heeded, simply something to be controlled and rid of."

A beat of silence passed.

Nightmare straightened, smiling bitterly. "Funny. That sounds exactly like something the villagers that beat me used to say." He ignored Dream's flinch away, turning. "You claim to be learning and go and say things like that."

Dream stood frozen for a moment. "Night, I--"

Nightmare held up his hand. "If you want to be rid of me, you just had to ask." Then, Nightmare slipped into the shadows and vanished from the AU. Dream stood there alone, hand half-outstretched.

The position reminded him of someplace else. He hastily shoved his hand into his pocket.

In the present, he took another drag of his cigarette.

He can see that he said all of the wrong things. That's easy to understand. It's also easy to understand why Nightmare got so defensive over what he did. He is not angry over that. He is mostly angry at himself and his stupid beliefs that he can't seem to shake. Why must he always see things through a black-and-white lens? Even Ink and Blue are far better at being open-minded than he is. Is there just something wrong with him?

A guardian should be mindful and respect their opposites, he reminded himself. And yet, when had he done that? He's failed at the simplest thing of being a guardian.

(Just like everything else in his life.)

It was probably for the best that Nightmare left him here before things escalated even more.

And yet, just as he finished the thought, someone sat beside him. Nightmare gazed out across the street, stoic. Dream watched him anxiously, an apology running circles in his mind. Just as he managed to get it down to his mouth, Nightmare spoke.

"We just can't seem to get it right, huh?" he said, holding his hand out as he turned to him. Dream stared for a moment, not getting it.

Nightmare sighed, plucking the smoke out of his fingers to take a drag himself.

"What do you mean?" Dream asked, tugging his knees to his chest.

"We seem to always argue, even when we don't mean to." Nightmare said, taking another drag. "I apologize for leaving you here. I just had to cool down for a moment. And I already know you're sorry, the guilt is practically dripping off you, so shut your mouth."

Dream sighed, ignoring him. "I'm sorry for what I said."

Nightmare groaned. "Did you not hear me? I said to shut your mouth. I already forgive you." He fell silent.

Dream looked away. "I..." He struggled for the right words. "I think...I think I've been taught that negativity is akin to a sin, something to atone for should you indulge in it. I am truly trying to understand that that is wrong, but..."

"You haven't had five hundred years to unlearn everything," Nightmare finished, saying what he was hesitant to. "I know. And it might be overdue, but I'm sorry for that." He seemed genuinely sad as he said it.

"It's not your fault."

"Isn't it?"

Dream frowned, turning bitter. "No. If anything, the villagers should be to blame." Something in his soul instantly tried to protest, still clinging to the belief that they were once friends. He shook it away.

Nightmare hummed. And Dream must really be getting sleep-deprived because he could've sworn he felt a prick of pride from his brother for saying such words. "I suppose you're right, brother." Taking one more drag, he held it out for Dream to take. "They were really shitty people, weren't they?"

With a heavy soul that felt ten times lighter from the simple act of Nightmare calling him his brother, Dream let himself smile. "They were. They really were." He took the cigarette and took the last drag, stamping it out with his foot.

They watched the stars together for the rest of the night.

#my writing #ask #ask prompt #fanfic #drabble #prompt #utmv #dreamtale #dream sans #nightmare sans #undertale #tw smoking #tw self-hate

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dickmedowndc · 2 years

Text

Good Old Days - Bart Allen x Reader

Word Count: 1,079

Summary: When you wake up in the early morning - too tired but knowing your partner is missing from the bed beside you, it is time to set out to find where he has hidden in the house. Finding him lost in thought, he admits what is keeping him awake. Luckily, you know what to say to help him feel at ease again.

Notes: Inspired by the current Dark Crisis run with Bart being done with all of it and everyone treating him differently. However, this work is not set in any specific universe.

…★…

The bed is cold when you wake up – half asleep and eyesight too bleary to make out the world around you. You may not know much, not until you can talk yourself up and into moving. But you know Bart is missing from beside you. With no indent in the mattress, you suspect he must have been gone for a while now. The thought alone is enough to cox you out from under the sheets, blanket pulled tight around your shoulders as you pad from the bed to the doorway, taking note of the house around you and how quiet everything is during the early morning hours.

You find yourself in the living room next, scanning for the outline of a note in the dark. If it was a mission that he had left for then there should be a note. But there is no paper waiting for you. The thought that something is wrong, mixed with the chilled touch of 4am air, is enough to finally wake you up properly. Immediately you are scouring through hallways and empty rooms – covering the house in record time, but still no sign of your speedster.

Instead, somewhere to the right you see the flicker of a light outside, one you were sure had been off when you turned in for the night. With nowhere else to look you poke your head outside, the door creaking as you push it open. There, on the top step, is Bart, with his back turned to you and his head in his hands. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Your voice seems to snap him out of his thoughts because he turns up to look at you in an instant, the surprise written clear as day on his face. He seems to hesitate for a second before attempting to deflect your question.

“What are you doing up?”

You know him well enough to know what he is trying to do – and you can see the pull of a frown just past his faked smile. “Well, I was asleep and then I found out my heater had left, so I came looking to see what was wrong.” You keep an eye on him as you sit, blanket extended out in an invitation to cuddle. One you hope he takes.

To his credit, he does, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you to sit between his legs, shuffling the blanket around to cover his body – effectively cocooning you along with him. With his head tucked into the crook of your neck you can feel him now, tense, and certainly tired.

“What’s on your mind?”

“It was just something someone said earlier today.”

The night is quiet for a moment before you crane your neck to look at him, waiting for an explanation.

“It’s just – we were all joking about the ‘good ole days’ and at first it was kind of funny but then they started talking and bringing stuff up that I had forgotten about and just.” He stops, hand in his hair and the other arm still tight around your waist as he looks for his words. “When I started thinking about it, really thinking about it, I don’t remember it being as great as they do, I guess. I mean, was I really that bad?”

There is another groan that follows his rant before he reburies his face into your shoulder, a huff leaving him. “Bart, I have, like, little to no context for some of that,” you remind. You can feel the chuckle when it happens, and consider it a win that you got a smile then. “But, from what I do understand, do you want to know what I think?”

You can hear the hum in response and take it as your sign to keep going. “I think you had a rough time when you were younger, of course, but I don’t think you were as bad as you remember.”

“Still, I was pretty rough around the edges.”

“What teenager isn’t?” you shoot back. “You were raised in VR, you came back to the past, stayed here, kind of just dropped in and then had to figure out how to navigate a new world. VR can help with a lot, but there was so much you still had to learn.”

“I got on Wally’s nerves,” he points out, as though some sort of ‘gotcha’ in the moment and you refrain from rolling your eyes.

“You guys had disagreements, you both had different ways of handling things and you still do. But look at you now– would you trade any of this away?”

His answer comes less than a heartbeat later, “never.”

“My point is, you had to go through the past to get to where we are now. Besides, I think you remember yourself as a lot more cringy then everyone else does. I think a lot of people do. They just remember the more embarrassing things about themselves that everyone else forgets.”

There is a laugh wreaking havoc on his system with whatever you have reminded him of, but he manages to speak all the same. “Who says I have ever done something embarrassing,” he teases.

The amusement in his voice is enough to get you laughing alongside him, but you feel the need to poke at him. Just a bit. “Literally our first date, Bart.” Your reminder is enough to send him rolling into a new fit of laughter and you enjoy the sound.

“Will you ever let me live that down?” His brow is raised as he looks at you, cheeks red from the night air and the humored high he is coming down from.

“Not in a hundred years, love,” you assure. “But really, isn’t it a good thing you’re embarrassed by your younger self? It means that you’ve grown.”

Bart seems to think on your words for a moment. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” you huff, though your smile betrays you.

Bart only rolls his eyes – not that you need to see him to know that much – before shuffling to his feet and dragging you up with him. “Come on, let’s see if we can get anymore sleep before the alarm goes off,” he prompts, ushering you inside. If the two of you stayed up much longer it was more likely you would be calling out and faking some sort of sickness for the day.

“As long as you stay next to me this time,” you hum.

“I promise.”

#bart allen #bart allen x reader #impulse x reader #dc x reader #dc x y/n #impulse x y/n #impulse x you #dc x you #bart allen x you #bart allen x y/n #Nicole Writes

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fourgods-nobrakes · 2 months

Text

Darkest Dungeon ficlet: Second Watch

Just a soft little thing I've been noodling around on because Bigby is exactly my type, the poor thing. Short, worksafe, Bigby & William at the campfire in the middle of the night.

Also on AO3.

William has the second watch, so it should be just him awake—well, him and Fergus, as she's a faithful hound who won't sleep when her master's on guard—but on the other side of the campfire, the boy's sitting up, hunched in on himself and staring into the dark. "Boy," hah, he's probably been alive longer than William has, but he still carries himself like someone too young to be here, forever flinching in anticipation of the lash... until the change takes him, anyway.

William clears his throat. "All right there, lad? Should be sleeping if you can."

"I get nightmares," Bigby says. He tugs that thin shroud tighter around his shoulders, shrugging uncomfortably. "I guess everyone here has them. Nothing special."

"Everyone bleeds, too," William says. "Doesn't mean you can't ask for a bandage."

Bigby smiles in that wincing, awkward way he has. "I suppose not." He's looking away from the fire, toward the carved stone of the ruins that the light barely reaches. "We passed through that torture chamber earlier, and... It brought up bad memories."

"That was a nasty piece of work, and no mistake." It makes William's skin crawl when he thinks on it for too long—those devices, and the withered remains still strapped to them. What kind of man was it who unleashed the horrors of this place? Their employer talks as though it was a terrible accident, but the state of those tormented bodies makes William not so sure.

Fergus whines, bumping her snout against his knee. "There, girl, it's all right," William tells her, giving her a good scratch behind one ear. "You can come closer, you know, she won't bite."

Bigby flinches. "I wouldn't blame her if she did. The other is...." He doesn't seem to know how to finish that sentence.

"A little alarming when he first turns up," William allows. "She gets nervous in the moment like we all do. But neither of you do the rest of us harm. The fear doesn't last."

"I'm glad," Bigby says. His shoulders slump, chains clinking. "I'm scared the whole time. Afraid the other will lash out at one of you, or that I'll lose my self into its mind, or... Worse." He shudders, and what seems at first like a response to horror turns into a persistent, teeth-chattering shiver.

"Come on, now," William says, beckoning. "Get yourself closer to the fire."

Bigby hesitates for another second before he scoots over, settling closer in a careful crouch as if he's a heartbeat away from bolting. William pats Fergus' flank and she gets up, padding over to lie down on Bigby's feet. He looks startled, but then pats her head tentatively with his free hand and gets licked for his trouble.

William unwinds the shawl from around his shoulders and drapes it over Bigby's. "Here. Let's see if we can take the chill from your bones."

For a second it looks like Bigby is about to cry, blinking fast and tense under William's arm. "Thank you," he says hoarsely.

William clears his throat and looks past the fire. "It's no great thing," he says. "This place is hellish enough. We've all got to help each other where we can."

"We do." That's the most conviction William has heard in Bigby's voice since this expedition started. "Unity is the catalyst for victory," he says, sounding like he's quoting the Verses, though it's no scripture William has ever heard.

Still, the sentiment's good. "That it is," William says. Fergus huffs quietly. "Think you could get some rest with us right here, keeping a close eye out for trouble?"

Bigby scrubs a hand over his face and the thick ropy scar stretching up onto his scalp. "I think so. I can try." He moves to return William's shawl; William waves him off and earns another watery little smile as Bigby pulls the warm wool around his shoulders and lies down beside him. Fergus gets up and rearranges herself so she's sitting between them, touching them both, like the good-hearted hound she is.

William strokes her ears, watching as Bigby's hunched shoulders slowly relax and his breathing even out. The fire pops, and he sets another undersized log on the coals.

As best William has been able to tell from talking to the others, they're all here seeking redemption in one way or another. Not much else would make a man keep marching back into the depths of the manor and facing its horrors. He doesn't know Bigby's history beyond the trouble written on his skin, couldn't say what specific acts put his feet on this path. But as William keeps watch against the dark and his companions get some much-needed rest, he hopes that Bigby can find what he's looking for.

#darkest dungeon #dd abomination #dd houndmaster #dd bigby #dd william

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genuine-wrestleboy · 7 months

Text

the attraction (2/4)

words: 3,9011

((here on ao3))

You stare at your reflection in the dingy bathroom mirror as you scrub the blood from under your nails. Whatever it’s made of, it clings like the real thing; you’re pretty sure poor Mike’s sweatshirt is a lost cause, and you’re really trying not to think about how much of it might still be inside you. Water gutters miserably from the tap, tepid and not-quite-clear. Exhaustion drags at your shoulders like sodden clothes.

When you're done with your hands, you take a clump of wet paper towel to your face, moving carefully downwards. Under the blood, your neck is vivid, angry red, a sunrise of a bruise crowned by scabby pinpricks and tender to the touch. You prod the edges of it gingerly and wince. That's going to be nasty later. You can already make out the discernible shapes of individual fingers, his perfect handprint the only thing left behind when Springtrap up and vanished like a ghost. A lurid reminder. A gift.

You try to match your hand to its shape, but you don't even cover enough to hide what it is. Your thumb grazes a scratch under your chin, stinging and new, and heat pools between your legs.

You wonder if Mike would have been so generous with you if he knew the full truth of what you'd been getting up to in that room. Fingering a customer on the clock is definitely the sort of thing a person gets fired for—even if said customer was really, really into it—but you can’t imagine things would have fared all that much better for you as the one on the receiving end. Not that it matters one way or the other, you certainly don’t have any intention of ever telling him. If you’re being honest, the consideration is mostly an excuse to keep thinking about it.

Maybe Mike can pass your number along in a way that doesn’t make you seem too desperate. Maybe you can even manage to be sort of subtle about the request. You card your fingers through your hair and shake out some of the dregs of remaining adrenaline. It’s worth a shot.

Mike seems antsy when you exit the bathroom, flicking his flashlight back along the corridor the way you’d come, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He looks up at you, and though it’s pretty obvious that he’s scanning you for obvious harm, you can’t guess at anything else about his expression.

“Better?” he asks finally.

“Loads,” you confirm. “Thank you.”

He nods. “Not a problem. We, uh, really should get you out of here now, though.”

“Right,” you say. “My friends.” You don’t even want to think about how long you’ve kept them waiting. You’re sure they’ll let you know.

Mike sheathes his light in a loop on his belt, makes a sort of spiraling motion with his hands. “For what it’s worth, you seem alright,” he tells you, and though it sounds like he wants to say something else, he pauses a bit too long for comfort.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you ask warily.

He pauses a beat longer, then shrugs. “It means that your friends are assholes.”

You have no idea how to respond to that. It’s probably telling though, you think, that you don’t make any attempt to deny it.

You follow Mike out into the parking lot, and though it can’t be much more than an hour past opening, it’s almost deserted. The only people you see are actively getting into their cars and leaving, and they all seem to be varying degrees of pissed off.

“We’re closing early tonight,” Mike says by way of explanation. “Short notice.”

That explains why he went through all the trouble to come find you. “How come?”

He glances back at the building. “There were some, uh, unforeseen circumstances. You see your friends?”

“I—” You look out across the lot, scanning the thinning crowds for a familiar car. Concern and then panic, and then shame floods through you, angry and sad and humiliated. “No, I don’t.”

They left you here. Nobody even bothered to text you. Horribly, you’re not even that surprised.

You expect an I told you so, but all Mike offers is a tense exhale. “Assholes.”

Yeah, you think, but well. None of them had the night you've had, so maybe it balances out. What you say is, “You know, I think maybe they’re not my friends anymore.”

Mike barks a laugh at that. “Fair enough.”

You sigh, remembering how long the trip here took. “How much d’you think I’ll have to pay to get a lyft out here?”

“Like a taxi?” asks Mike.

“I was just gonna use the app," you tell him. You’re not that far out of the city, there must be a demand in the area.

Mike makes a noncommittal noise. He glances back at the building. “Tell you what, if you can give me five, I can give you a ride home.”

“Dollars?” you ask.

“Minutes,” says Mike like he can't tell if you're being serious.

“Oh,” you say, “yeah, that makes more sense. Wait, you don’t even know where I live.”

The little crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes again. “Where do you live?”

You tell him the town, and he tips his hat back, thinking. “That’s what, an hour away? Hour and a half? Not too bad.” When you hesitate, he adds, "Listen, I’ve got something I have to take care of real quick, you can give me an answer when I get back, okay?"

"Sure," you say, and Mike nods and glances out once more over the lot before disappearing back into the building.

A thin trickle of people wanders out in his wake, joining the sparse milling crowd. You try to catch a few eyes, but nobody gives you so much as a second look. Not that you'd know who you were even looking for, but if Springtrap’s actor is in the crowd, he's clearly not interested in finding you. Then again, maybe not all of the employees leave when Mike does. Maybe he's still in there.

You sigh and wag a mental finger at yourself. It's ridiculous, you going all goopy and moon-eyed over some stranger like this at your big age. Even if he was a sexy mysterious stranger who'd made you come within an inch of your life. You can be normal about this. You can.

The pressing question right now is whether you’re about to get into a car with stranger number two. He seems like a good guy, but you suppose they usually do, right up until the second they don’t.

As if summoned by the thought, the door opens behind you, and Mike slips out.

“Did you finish your thing?” you ask.

He slides a key from a crowded ring on his belt and locks the door. “I hope so. You want that ride?”

You let yourself get a good look at him. He’s still wearing the surgical mask, but you can tell that his face is long and thin behind it—he’s thin all over, really, sharp, stooped shoulders and knobby wrists in a boxy uniform that makes him look like a wire hanger. You’re pretty sure a stiff enough breeze could reduce this guy to a fine mist.

“You can say no,” he assures you. “I won’t take it personally.”

Man, you’re going to be so bummed if he ends up killing you.

“I would love a ride,” you tell him. Later, you remember to add, “Thank you,” but MIke waves off the gratitude, watching the rearview mirror as the two of you pull out of the lot. You do the same, curious, but all you can make out is the squat dark shape of Fazbear’s Fright getting smaller and smaller.

It isn't until Mike turns out onto the main road that you see the first of the flames. They seem to come from nowhere, roaring up in the long front windows as the glass explodes outwards. Light spills its flickering reflections onto the pavement, a mirror box of red and gold. Thick, dark smoke belches out behind it, quickly obscuring the facade from view, and you spin around in your seat, fingers gripping the headrest until your knuckles go white.

"Mike," you say urgently.

"I know." He's staring straight ahead now, his voice perfectly calm.

"You know? Shouldn't we do something?"

His fingers tighten on the steering wheel. "The best thing we can do is let it burn."

What the fuck? "What if someone's still in there?"

“What were you doing in there?”

“What?” Panic sinks its icy teeth into your veins. “Just, in general?”

“The room I found you in.” Gone is his gentle, genial tone, but he doesn’t sound angry, not exactly. It’s…careful. Defensive. “Why were you there?”

“I was–I thought it was the way out,” you tell him truthfully.

"It was employees only. There was a sign on the door."

You gesture vaguely, embarrassed. “I thought it was, you know, part of the thing. The door was already open, there were spooky sounds playing.”

He glances at you sidelong. “What kind of spooky sounds?”

You try to remember the specifics. “I don’t know, like footsteps, maybe? Uh, some kind of–maybe a scream?”

“A scream,” says Mike hollowly. You wish he would take the mask off, you’d give anything to know his expression right now. All you can see are his eyes, and even those are still hidden by his contacts, wide and glassy and black.

Something is happening here that you don’t understand, and you feel hopelessly set adrift by it, barely keeping your face above water while some great shadow grows in the deep beneath you.

You tread carefully. “Yeah, why? Is that not on the tape?"

"There’s no tape,” replies Mike.

Realization starts to rise like bile in your throat, alongside the bile rising in your throat. "Who did I hear screaming?"

Mike pulls in a breath and holds it, glancing over at you again like he’s trying to make up his mind about something. Finally, he says, "The other night guard.”

“What?”

Mike clears his throat. “He was a cool guy,.”

“No,” you say, because that can’t be true. “No, I—”

If that’s true then you—in the same room as a dead body, you—

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” you announce.

“You were back there,” presses Mike, “safe as houses, covered in his blood.”

Covered in his blood. Pain pounds in your temples, your thoughts spinning madly around the inside of your skull until you're dizzy just sitting there. Breathe, you think, in and out, but your lungs seize as you fight to fill them, shallow and tight.

“You think I did it?”

“No,” says Mike, voice gentling, “but I think you saw the person who did.”

You rub your palms down the length of your thighs, then wrench them away when you feel the stiff drying patches that still stain your jeans.

The shadow in the deep, rising, rising; the dark, surging water; the hungry, sucking waves. Cold fingers around your ankles, the ghost of an emotion that feels horribly like grief.

“You’re talking about Springtrap.”

Mike touches his throat, bandaged from collar to chin. Then he gestures in your direction. “That was him, wasn’t it?”

You put your hand over the fresh red bruise. The memory still kindles the shadow of desire in you, and it curdles in your stomach. This can’t be happening. “I don’t—”

“It’s okay,” Mike assures you. “Did he say anything to you?”

He said a lot of things to you, but you’re certainly not going to repeat any of them now. “N-no, no, he left when he heard you come in.”

“Did you see where he went?”

You shake your head. “It was too dark. He was there, and then he just wasn’t.”

Most of that is true. You don't know where Springtrap is now, and you have no idea where he might go, but would you even tell Mike if you did? You only have his word that any of these horrible things are real, and you really don't want them to be real, you want—

You want to see Springtrap again.

“I’m sorry that I can’t be more helpful,” you say, and Mike shakes his head.

"If I were you," he says, "I would forget that this night ever happened."

"Yeah," you say. You probably should.

You won't, of course. How could you?

The road stretches on in the windshield, a long, sleek streak of black under the waxing moon, flat and uninterrupted until it meets the harsh line of the horizon. Belying its events, the night is beautiful, all plums and silver, the sparse, coarse roadside flora gilt and still. You reach down the door and literally crank your window open, just a crack, just enough to let the cool air reach you.

You and Mike drive on in a silence that feels shared—tense, but not uncomfortable, the both of you simply lost in thoughts neither of you choose to voice.

Then, up ahead, a light cuts across the asphalt. It’s the blinding, blueish cone of those annoying LED headlights, glaring up from a ditch on the opposite side of the road. As you approach, you can make out the shape of a car, nose-up on the embankment, the tires still spinning. Thank god there’s no smoke, you’ve had enough smoke tonight to last you a lifetime.

“Shit.” Mike slows and pulls the car into the shoulder by the wreck. You stumble out after him and shield your eyes against the headlights as he climbs over the ruptured guardrail and calls out.

“Can anyone hear me? Is anyone hurt?”

You hear a low murmur of voices, and a scuffle of movement from behind the car—"No you go check.”—and you recognize the voice and the car in the moment right before your friend’s face pops into view. They squint in your direction, and you watch their eyes go wide as they see you. Then they disappear again. You hear your name, and the voices of your other friends.

“—with the creepy security guard! Well, how am I supposed to know? You ask, it’s your turn! Ugh, fine.”

Your friend reappears, hoisting themself off the ground with apparent difficulty as they come a little ways up the embankment towards you and Mike. They lean heavily on the car, clutching an arm to their side.

You call their name, and they at least have the decency to look a little sheepish.

“Are you guys alright? What happened?”

“We’re fine,” they say, not quite a snap. “Something ran out into the road, we had to swerve to avoid hitting it.”

“It wasn’t something.” Another friend, the driver, climbs up in your direction, bleeding from a gash near their hairline. “It was the Springtrap!”

Mike goes very still beside you just as your heart leaps into your throat.

“Dude, it wasn’t the Springtrap, you have a concussion. It was a deer or something.”

“Fuck you, a deer ripped the door off the car? What do you even know, you were in the back seat! I’m telling you, it was him.” They turn, jabbing a shaky finger in your direction. “He was looking for you.”

A messy, heady wave of emotions rolls over you, stunned panic and disbelief and giggly, giddy joy. Relief like the hush of seafoam left behind, and suddenly you’re blinking back tears.

You barely know him, and if what Mike said about him is true—but you can’t help it, can’t stop the bright feeling that fills your chest at the news. Something has thrust its roots down into you, and you can’t tear them out, don't even particularly care to try.

He’s looking for you. He’s looking for you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Mike throw a glance in your direction. “We can talk about this later. Right now I’m bringing you to a hospital." There’s a firmness to his voice that forbids argument. “Wasn’t there another one of you?”

“Over here.” An arm waves from behind the car. “I, uh, don’t think I can stand?”

Your third friend, presumably riding shotgun, has fared the worst. There's a burn on their face from the airbag, and one of their legs is at an angle that no leg is meant to be. You crouch to get their arm around your shoulders and heave them to their feet—well, foot.

"One, two, three! Alright, up we go. You can put your weight on me," you tell them, and they let out a hiccoughy sob.

"I'm sorry we ditched you."

You don't want to get into that right now. "What happened?"

Shotgun wipes their nose noisily on a sleeve. "It really was the Springtrap. He came out of nowhere, I don't know, I—I thought we were gonna, like, actually die," they confide, voice hoarse.

"No one's gonna die," you insist, and they let out another sad little sound and focus on guiding themself along using you as a very patient crutch.

You watch your friends in the rearview mirror on the drive to the hospital, driver and backseat jostled shoulder to shoulder with gritted teeth. From their pinched expressions it's clear that it's taking everything within them not to complain. Shotgun has both legs laid out carefully across their laps, roughly the color of spoiled milk and grimacing in pain.

Springtrap hadn't known your name, they say, but he knew that you'd been with them, knew your face. Your pretty friend, he'd called you, and you try not to take too much satisfaction in that. Mike fires off a few more questions, but it’s quickly clear that none of them know any more than they’ve already said.

Shotgun meets your eyes in the mirror, gives you a wobbly thumbs-up. You offer the best smile you can muster and return it.

The hospital is mercifully quiet when you arrive. A series of crisp, friendly nurses descend on your friends, hurrying them back into examination rooms while you and Mike hover awkwardly in the background. A final nurse, a brisk older woman in pink scrubs, approaches you with a clipboard and a concerned expression.

“Alright, my love, let’s have a look at you, too,” she says, waving you over.

“Oh,” you say, “Oh, no, I don’t—I wasn’t there, I’m fine. Thank you though.”

A deep line of concern appears on her forehead. She looks at your neck, and then between you and Mike, brows raised.

“It was a costume party,” you tell her, and she nods, obviously unconvinced.

“Okay, honey. If you have a question about your friends, you go over to the nurse’s station and ask for Laurie, alright? You and I can have a good chat somewhere.” She gives Mike another long appraising look and adds, “Back in my day, we didn’t have all this sort of stuff, you know. We were cats and witches, we didn’t need to be gruesome to have fun. That awful new place up the road—I remember when it used to be a lovely little family place. Probably before your time, all anybody seems to talk about now are all those awful rumors. It’s a real shame. My baby brother wanted to be Foxy for Halloween every year until it shut down.”

“Me too,” offers Mike, voice tight.

Nurse Laurie frowns. “Well, you’re welcome to wait here. We’ll let you know as soon as the doctors have something to say about your friends.”

“Thank you,” you say.

Next to you, Mike lets out a snorting, dismissive laugh. Discomfort radiates from him like heat, and you hover a touch uncertainly just above his sleeve.

“Are you alright?”

“Gruesome,” he says, like it’s a joke that you should understand. “Listen, I’ll, uh, be back in a sec, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, feeling lost.

Mike shies further away from your hand, tugs his hat low over his eyes, and strides out of the room.

You squirm in your hard plastic seat and try not to think about how badly you do not want to be alone right now. Quick, a distraction: what do you want to think about? A nap, a shower—hot water and your nice lavender soap and the most abrasive washcloth you can find. Scrubbing until you’re down to the next layer of clean new skin. Maybe a bath, long and languid and drowsy, feeling your muscles melt like thawing ice into the water, heat inside and out, a trailing hand between your legs—

It is truly a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit, you think miserably, that despite everything else that has happened tonight, you still manage to be horny.

You drop your face into your hands and just focus on breathing, for now. It’s how Nurse Laurie and, later, Mike find you, seeing how many times you can count backwards from a hundred before you start to lose your grip on reality.

“Here.” Mike holds out a cup of gritty vending machine coffee, and you take it with bleary thanks. He drops into the seat next to you, bringing the smell of cigarette smoke with him. “Holding up?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’m golden, remember?”

Mike laughs. “How could I forget?”

You take a sip of coffee, recoiling at the scalding temperature and bitter taste. Then you take another. “The doctors say everyone is gonna be fine. They were all lucky, the broken leg is the worst of it. They’ll be good to leave in the morning.”

Mike makes a thoughtful noise. “Are you—did you want to stick around until then?”

“Do you think I should?” You’ve been considering it; it seems like the Good Friend move.

“I think,” says Mike carefully. “I’m gonna leave, and I think you should come with me.”

You've considered that, too. "No offense, but I don't know you. How do I know I can trust you?"

"Have I given you a reason not to?"

He hasn't, is the thing. In fact, he's gone way above and beyond what you could've expected of a stranger for you tonight, to the point where it almost loops back around to suspicious, again. Almost.

Mike knits his long bandaged fingers together and takes a breath, like he's bracing himself for bad news. It twinges in your chest, and you feel the decision make itself. Fuck it, you like this guy. You can afford him a little honesty.

"You've told me a lot of horrible stuff that I don't really want to believe," you admit.

He makes a breathy sound that isn't quite a laugh. "Fair enough. But something horrible is going on whether you want to believe it or not. You know it, don't you? Deep down."

"Is this about Springtrap again?" There it is, a flash of irritation. "What makes you so sure he's done anything wrong? He's just an actor in a suit. For all you know, he could've just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he's probably out there hurt and, and scared, and—"

"He's my father," says Mike flatly.

A high, buzzing whine fills your ears. "What?"

"The man in the Springtrap suit," says Mike. "Whatever's left of him. He's my father. And I'll tell you one thing: he's a very good actor. But he's not acting now."

#springtrap #michael afton #springtrap x reader #my fic #sorry about upping the chapter count #i am incapable of shutting up about michael afton #there will be more springtrap next chapter i promise

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