Summary: Just (Y/N) and Sapnap having a cute Minecraft date then falling asleep under the stars.
Genre: SoulmateAU! Part two to oh, it’s you!but it could be read on its own. Fluff!
Pronouns: They/them
Warnings: Cursing.
[a/n: I decided to combine two requests since one anon wanted a cute Minecraft date with Sapnap and another wanted a part two to ‘oh, it’s you!’, so I went “¿Por qué no los dos? ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯” I hope you both enjoy even though this is a bit short! Thank you for requesting and your patience. I’ve been busy with class, so updates will be slow. Edit: Sapnap expressed discomfort of his first name being used, so there will be changes on every Sapnap fic!]
(Y/N) and Sapnap had such a good time at the meet-up (with Dream hardcore third-wheeling), but soon (Y/N) had to go back home, much to Sapnap’s dismay.
The goodbye was full of tight hugs and promises to text and call. The two soulmates knew that their relationship would be long-distance for now, but that did not stop longing to begin building up inside them.
Currently the two were having a study date through Facetime, until Sapnap had an idea. “Hey, wanna take this date to the next level?”, Sapnap’s voice made (Y/N)’s head perk up from their notes with their eyebrows raised. “W-what?! Are you suggesting what I think your suggesting?”, (Y/N) laughs in disbelief at the sudden proposal. “Oh yeah.”, Sapnap smirked, “We going to have a Minecraft date!”. (Y/N) rolls their eyes with a smile, “I hate you.”
“Love ya too babe. Now log on and let’s get this party started!”
The two started up a new world. They spawned in a woodland biome and there was a meadow nearby, which was perfect for them to setup a picnic and a quaint house. (Y/N) goes to get wood and stone while Sapnap gets some food and wool. “How the hell do you build so fast? It’s borderline witchcraft.”, Sapnap remarks while placing some mutton into the smoker. “Maybe I’m just a better gamer.”, (Y/N) shrugs. “Maybe you can suck this- OH GOD A CREEPER!”, Sapnap shrieks and barely sprints away before it explodes. “Oh shit…Um, (Y/N)?”, Sapnap crouches his character in front of (Y/N)’s, who hums in response, “The creeper blew up the chest with all the stuff.”
“Goddamit. This little maneuver is gonna cost us the rest of the day!”, (Y/N) moves their character so it looks like it’s slamming their head against the wall. Sapnap snickers at their antics.
Soon they were able to get back the lost materials and put down a picnic blanket made out of red and white wool carpet. They ate berries and steak in-game, snacked in real life, and just talked and joked around.
A few minutes after sunset, Sapnap pipes up, “I wanna show you something I found earlier. Follow me.” (Y/N) does and the two make their way through the woods until they stop at a hill top illuminated with torches.
“I figured it would have a nice view.”, Sapnap stops and looks at the star-studded sky. “Well, you were right.”, (Y/N) smiles softly at Sapnap’s face on the video call before turning to look at the night Minecraft sky. “I miss you.”, the words fall from (Y/N)’s lips before they can stop it. Sapnap looks at (Y/N) through the call, “I miss you too.”
I should be asleep, but instead I finished a draft that’s been in my docs for months :D It’s based on that one time on OSMP when Philza surfed the Void:D
You can find this fic by either
a) Looking up ‘Surfing The Void’ by atryhardauthor on Archive of Our Own
Warnings: Mentions of tears, mentions of anger, minor anxiety, allusions to sex and tenseness (?) overall in the first half of the work
Synopsis: In which Techno forgets about a date he had planned for the two of you. When he comes to pick you up out of the pouring rain, the air between you two is left tense- almost in a suffocating manner. He knows he can’t trust his words to help him out of this hole that he’s dug himself, but perhaps his actions can do something to heal these wounds.
Word Count: 3.9k
Author’s Note: This work is dedicated to @dreamwvrld as an entry to her 1 year event! I know I’ve told her this before, but I’m so f*cking honored to be a mutual of hers and everything that she does inspires me so much and just- gods. If you don’t already, please please pleasego give her works a read and give her a follow, as she absolutely deserves it an so much more.
There’s a certain type of beauty that comes with silence. For many, it’s found in time spent alone, that solitude acting as a breath of fresh air in a way. For others, they may find it in a comforting silence shared between two or more people. The usage of words isn’t exactly necessary in being able to fully enjoy the company of others, and that’s precisely what’s so wonderful about it.
Though, in this case, silence is suffocating.
—-
Technoblade sits with his back set straight against the driver’s seat of his car, sweat acting as an adhesive to keep him stuck in place as his fingers curl around the steering wheel in a grip that leaves his knuckles a lighter shade. Normally, for him, silence while driving is something that he enjoys, being able to block the worries of the day out as he keeps his eyes trained on the road ahead of him.
Today, however, this silence leaves the air thick and tense, almost like smog.
You have your body pressed up against the opposite side of the car, arms curled around your legs in a, what you would call, fetal-like position. It’s slightly uncomfortable and entirely awkward, but it’s the only solace you can find in a situation such as this.
The road ahead stretches on for miles and miles, streets left near-empty with only a handful of people to be seen out this late.
Now that you think of it, you should be one of those people out on the sidewalk right now. You should be curled into Techno’s side as you walk down the avenues, genuine smiles etched on to your faces as you enjoy one another’s company.
But again, given the current situation, that seems like nothing more than a pipe dream.
Techno drums his fingers against the steering wheel as a poor attempt to fill the silence. It’s hypnotic when you take the time to zero-in on it. It’s like- the hooves of horses galloping onto a track, going faster and faster and faster until one crosses the finish line.
That doesn’t happen.
His eyes cast toward you every few seconds. He’s aware he’s doing it. You’re aware he’s doing it. But, somehow, he doesn’t know that you know. Funny, no?
He’s… exhausted. He’s spent the past 14 hours- 6am to 8pm- hunched over a desk, work piling higher and higher above the limits of his patience while higher-ups breathe hot air down his neck, lecturing and nit-picking him at every chance they get.
“Remember T, I need this on my desk by Thursday morning.” “C’mon, is this really all you have to show?” “Chop chop, porkchop! I need these papers sent to our asap!”
He just wants to go home and sleep with you, his partner, the two of you huddled beneath the blankets and feeding off one another’s warmth. If given the opportunity, he’d sleep with you like that for a week and then some.
But the guilt of leaving you out in the rain for hours on end after he’d promised you dinner that night hangs over his head heavily, the whispers in his head laughing at him and scolding him and telling him “they’re going to leave you because of this. And you deserve it.”
He hates it, but he knows that there’s nothing he can do to change what he’s done and he hates it. He just wants to say something, maybe for you to say something if not him to fill this awkward and tense silence that’s been simmering since you stepped into the car a little under 10 minutes ago.
Well, it’s not even the fact that you haven’t looked at him. Saying that implies that it just hasn’t happened yet, that you haven’t turned your head to take a good look at him yet. No- since you slammed the door behind you and huddled into your current position, you’ve refused to cast your eyes anywhere near him. You’ve actively decided to not look at him.
And truthfully, it breaks both of your hearts, not just his.
He can’t see it as your face is directed away from him, but tears prick at your eyes, leaving them a dull reddish-white shade as they accumulate. He had promised to dedicate tonight to you. Promised that nothing else would get in the way and stop this night from happening, and yet that is exactly what had happened.
He’d been so… distant lately. With the way his hours were lined up, he barely even got to see you awake anymore. You’d be lucky if you got to see him for half a second on his way out or when he’d periodically press a kiss to your forehead before knocking out beside you in bed. He barely had any time with you anymore and you’d begun to hate it.
You’ve never had a problem with it before.
Truthfully, you hadn’t. It was something Techno had always loved about you, even before going into his current profession. You’ve always been patient with him, understanding when things came up out of the blue and he’d have to cancel, but he’d always reschedule for sometime soon and make it up to you.
You still had that mentality, of course, but now it was being tested.
He had cleared everything off of his board for tonight, doing everything in his power to set aside the night for you both. And even then, it wasn’t enough.
Technoblade was not a man that broke promises. He dealt with them seriously, and there was not one moment in your relationships where he‘d broken a promise. Well, until now. And that’s what hurt you so much about this whole situation- that, even after having made it a point all throughout your relationship that promises were final, he still fell short.
It broke you.
Techno isn’t a stupid man. Yes, he may make stupid decisions, but that doesn’t inherently make him stupid. He knows he let you down and he knows how angry you are about this whole thing and he knows that you’re making it a point not to show that anger because he knows and you know that doing that would only make everything worse.
It’s this frustratingly repetitive cycle that he finds himself in that he hates so much. He doesn’t know what to do to fix everything because he feels as though he’s walking on thin ice, the wrong step leading him to plunge into the icy currents below.
F*ck, he hates this so much.
The car slows, the dull click click click of the blinker resonating in the silent car as the vehicle turns into a parking lot. It’s only then that you decide to actually look away from the passenger’s side window for the first time since getting in the car.
It’s a plaza. There are several markets and shops dispersed around the area, dull red and blue ‘OPEN’ signs flashing on and off in store windows. You can count on your hands the number of cars in the lot- all space far away from each other to subtly let you know that nobody is shopping at the same stores.
It’s when Techno pulls into a parking space in front of a small bakery that you actually speak up. Your voice is hoarse, tone soft and low as you speak to him for what you realize to be the first time that day.
“Techno? Why are we stopping here? I thought we were going straight home?”
You hate how pathetic you sound, voice small as you speak to the man. He responds quickly after a few beats of silence.
“I need to pick something up real quick. I’ll only be a few. I promise.”
Oh, the irony.
In a fluid motion, Techno takes the keys out of the ignition, the car drumming down into silence as the engine slows to a stop. The heater, of which had been on the entire ride, stops as well, all the heat from the car settling into the stale air you had become familiar with.
He- Techno, is quiet. Eerily so, though not in a way where it seems like he’s about to chew you out, but the exact opposite. No, instead, this silence makes him feel like a child about to be scolded by their parents for doing something they shouldn’t have.
It’s not far off, actually.
His eyes are trained on the view ahead of him- the bakery, watching the workers in the store slump over the counter in exhaustion as they count the minutes tick by and calculate how much longer it’ll be until they’re allowed to leave. It’s only in this silence that you actually cast your gaze to him, taking every inch of him in and storing it in the back of your mind for later.
His hair is a mess, long pink strands tied up into a messy bun that barely even does its job of keeping his hair out of his face. His wide, square glasses are left askew on his face, falling off the edge of his nose but hanging on at just the right angle so that they don’t fall. His eyes- his eyes are so dull and full of sorrow, you almost break into sobs then and there.
There’s so much emotion behind those brilliantly red eyes, the hundreds of different shades of the colour swirling into a mix that leaves you gasping for air.
Even so, you still want to yell and kick and scream and pull your hair out from its roots and ask him “why?”Why would he make a promise such as this- a promise in general if he couldn’t even keep his word to it?
You hate him and you love him all the same for it, but f*ck is this whole thing messing with your head.
Your focus then shifts from his face, down the length of his arms, to his hands. The drumming of his fingers against the steering wheel had stopped a short while ago, instead his hands turn to hold the object in a vice grip. One of which looks as though if he were to apply any more pressure to it, the steel would bend and break underneath him.
Your fingers twitch. You want to offer him comfort; you want to let him know you aren’t entirely mad at him- but, still; you are mad at him in a way, so wouldn’t that action contradict itself?
Your eyes travel back up to his face, but the difference this time, as opposed to the last, is that he meets your gaze. His entire body freezes and stiffens the second he meets your line of sight, breath catching in the back of his throat as his mind scrabble to figure out what he needs to do next as to not f*ck anything up further.
So, his solution in this scenario is to leave. His hands abruptly part in front of the wheel, almost in a way that resembles someone being burnt by a hot object. His sweaty palms leave a certain shine on the wheel, and it’s then that you can obviously see the dents his grip has left.
You almost don’t catch it, but he mumbles something under his breath, something along the lines of “you can keep the keys in the ignition if you want.”
Something like that.
He’s quick to open the door after those words leave his mouth, stepping out head-first with the crisp air biting his exposed face. He’s not entirely out yet, though, as only his first left and upper body have exited the car.
Now you have a choice to make, and you hope to all the gods that may listen that you’re making the right one.
“Wait, give me a second and I’ll be right behind you. Grab the keys.”
You aren’t surprised that he listens to your words, healing his movements as you open your own car door and exit the vehicle, arms continuing to curl around yourself, though this time the reason for doing so is because of the cold.
Techno notes that, already shedding the muddled brown cardigan he had been wearing moments before as he snatches the keys from the ignition. The car door shuts behind him with a slam, keys in one hand and sweater in the other.
He meets up with you around the hood of the car, passing you the sweater with pleading eyes, hoping that you’ll take it without argument. You do, and both you and him are grateful for that for your own reasons that don’t need entertaining at this time.
As the two of you cross the short distance from Techno’s car to the store’s front, his lips part in awe. He… he never expected you to come along with him. He thought you would have stayed in the car if anything, maybe turning on the heater and radio in wait for him, or possibly screaming into the void about how utterly stupid he is.
Or, hell- maybe you’d drive off and leave him where he stood.
But no, instead, you’re walking inside the bakery with him, your strides matching his as the two of you go up and down each aisle, inspecting the different loaves of bread and treats that the establishment offers.
Techno has a quaint brown basket in his hold at this point in time, one which he grabbed by the door the second he walked in. That minor aspect was something he rather enjoyed about the store, the small, stupid detail bringing a smile to his face- yours too, it seemed.
Even with this soft, barely noticeable grin on his face, you notice the way his hands are curled tightly around the handle once more. It’s an anxiety thing, that much you can tell. But you notice, of course you do, so as an attempt to ease the anxieties of the man you love, you softly curl your palm around the back of his.
It’s an attempt not only to soothe him, but to also try and ease this tension that’s been forming between the two of you.
Are you stupid for trying to comfort him after he ditched you and made you look like an idiot? Absolutely. But would you rather have him anxious and worried that he’s in worse than he thinks he is as opposed to him calm and ready to talk through it with a level head? Absolutely not.
He noticeably relaxes from your little gesture, his shoulders slumping a little as he casts his gaze at you. His eyes hold a silent “thank you” within them, and all you can do to respond is nod. He gets the message, bringing your hand atop of his up to his lips as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of it.
He’s got you wrapped around his finger even if he doesn’t know it.
A soft, breathy laugh passes through your lips at the affection, your eyes breaking away from him and instead toward the baked goods around you as you both walk up and down the mini-aisles within the confines of the store. Soft jazz plays over the speakers, perhaps Billie Holiday , and it only romanticizes the scene further.
Techno’s not necessarily looking for anything in particular while he’s here. He planned to just come in and buy you something sweet and hopefully that would somehow resolve his issues. But, watching your eyes linger on every item within the store, small oohs and aahs sounding from you every few seconds, he realizes that was a sh*tty plan to begin with.
As the two of you near the front of the store, a glass barrier displaying all the freshly cooked sweets under the countertops, you stop in your tracks and watch as one worker places a freshly baked batch of cinnamon rolls onto a rack.
Your sudden halt brings Techno to a stop beside you, his eyes moving their way up to your face, and then soon after following your gaze to the treat that was making the bakery smell sweeter than it already had.
It’s in that moment that Techno knows exactly what he’s getting.
Techno isn’t standing entirely beside you, per se, but rather a little bit behind you as your body has turned toward the cinnamon rolls ahead. So, with his hand at the dip of your back, he pressed you to move closer to the cash register, his head finding a home next to yours as he meets the eyes of the cash register.
The transaction moves quickly, the worker quickly putting four or so cinnamon rolls into a small box for the two of you to take. Though you are in no way focused on that part of anything. No, rather your attention lingers on the way his warm breaths fans down the side of your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You focus on the way his body presses into your back, the heat of him seeping through your clothes in a way that makes you shiver.
It’s only when he squeezes his hand around your own, tugging you softly towards the exit that you’re snapped out of this trance he’s put you in.
D*mn him.
But you get the notion quickly, following behind him as the smell of the cinnamon rolls follows you out the door and through the parking lot. There’s a silence between you two, but this time it’s in no way as awkward as it had been merely 15 minutes ago.
As you’re getting into the car, shutting the door softly behind you, you notice that Techno doesn’t open his trunk or stick the treats in the back seat of his car. Instead, he steps into the car head-first with the treats following after, placing the thin cardboard box onto this lap as he settles in, shutting the door behind him.
You watch as he opens up the box carefully, taking one roll out and hiding it to you. There are no napkins available, so the sticky coating of the treat travels from his hand to yours as you accept it, taking a bite the second the treat is in your grasp.
He follows your actions soon after, taking one for himself and taking a bite out of it. It’s the first thing he’s had to eat all day, so he tries his best not to eat like a starved man (even if that’s exactly what he does the second the flavours hit his tongue).
The two of you eat in a comfortable silence, the cinnamony-sweet taste from the rolls settling and melting on to your tongues. It’s… gods, there aren’t words in the English language that can fully depict how good the treat tastes on his tongue right now.
Though, however good it may be, there’ll always be one taste that stands above the rest as his favorite,
The muddled silence shared between the two of you speaks a thousand words. The soft chewing, the sounds of dough tearing away from each other, the rustling of clothes against the seat- all of it.
Techno’s no good with his words, both of you know that. It’s not a bad thing, of course, as he expressed his feelings and emotions in other ways, but the fact is still important to note upon. Nonetheless, him going out of his way to buy you a treat as a sh*tty way to make up for forgetting about tonight is… well, a horrible way to make up for the situation. Though with Technoblade? You understand that these actions of his express the way he feels better than words ever could.
Between bites, though, he does make the effort to apologize to you verbally. He can’t meet your eyes while doing so, and while others might take that action as a way to say that he doesn’t actually mean his words, you as his partner know that it’s the only way he can put together his thoughts in a coherent manner as to stop them from crumbling beneath him.
Even if he never meets your gaze during his little speech, you keep your eyes entirely focused on him, your sticky fingers as a result of the icing dripping down them long forgotten and stored in the back of your mind for later reference.
It’s only when his mouth closes for good that he actually turns his head, deep red eyes meeting yours. Though you could never understand it, there’s this way his breath audibly catches when he meets your eyes. They’re so full of… emotion, in a way that he can only describe as a love-struck gaze that makes his heart skip a few beats, a dopey smile forming on his lips.
Every part about you, every little thing that makes up who you are - he can see all the love and understanding and compassion that follows them when you look at him. The way your smile reaches your eyes, the way the colors in your eyes mix in a way he’s never seen before, pupils blown wide and visible to him. Just-every single thing about you leaves him at a loss for words.
He loves it.
You take Techno’s face in your hands, sticking fingers pressing up against his cheeks as you take hold of him and guide his lips to yours. The kiss is so sweet, so soft and full of love that he can’t help but slump against your hold, fingers finding themselves at your waist as he ever so slowly drags you impossibly closer to him.
F*ck, the two of you would stay like this forever if you could, your lips pressed against each other in kisses that leave you both light-headed and dizzy.
But alas, air is something that the body can only go so long without. So, as your lips part from Techno’s, a small string of saliva connecting the two of you, he presses his forehead into yours with a guttural humm following after it.
He loves you; he loves you; he loves you; he loves you. Gods above, the things he would do for you- to you, if you so asked. He’s wrapped around your finger and gods, he’d be a fool to ever try to leave that.
So, as your softly whisper against his skin, telling him that you’re grateful he made an effort to make it up to you, but you still are quite a bit upset about the whole thing- you tell him that you’re willing to put the situation behind the both of you so long as he made it up the right way in the future.
He knows that he has work to put in to better himself and your relationship, but as he presses tender and fervent kisses against your lips and skin, he takes a deep breath to give you a proclamation that leaves a lovesick grin plastered onto your face with your mind in a haze that make you euphoric:
“I know that I have work to do, I know that I need to get better at- well, a lot of things. But thank you, thank you, thank you for forgiving me this once. I promise to you, darling, that I’ll take a thousand years and then some to make it up to you if that’s what it takes. My heart is yours, and in your care it shall stay.”
summary. android trafficking has been a huge issue in detroit ever since anti-android ownership laws have been passed. so it’s a little ironic how one was ordered to help you solve this case, isn’t it?
warnings.swearing,fem!reader, gun, driving under the influence, robbery, i think that’s it…
yes, i am discontinuing this… just felt like posting what i’m satisfied with putting up before calling it quits lolz,,, i’m not very active in the dsmp/mcyt fandom rn so the inspiration is gone really! sorry for those who were following this <3
|—————|
THE DRIVE TO Sapnap’s place is awfully silent. It’s suffocating you how much you want to ask the android sitting beside you a bombardment of questions but you knew if you got started, the conversation would last all night long.
As it is just after rush hour, the drive to Sapnap’s is full of traffic but the sky is getting darker slowly but surely. The city lights were now starting to turn on, shining on the reflection of passing window panes and battling with the sunset for your attention.
Clay’s fixated gaze on the road allows you to study him further. He’s quite different from the only other RK you’ve seen with your own eyes last year.
His name was Connor and you had talked to him a total of zero times so you had nothing to base the kid off of. He certainly looks different to the older model, with sharp green eyes that remind you of young evergreen. Lighter hair as well, almost the color of coffee. Freckles dot his cheeks and nose, lips set in a blank line.
He seems so soft— more kind-looking— than Connor in terms of appearance but surely that wasn’t the only reason they made a whole new model of RK? He seemed more like a next-door neighbor rather than an assistant detective? The other RKs that were equipped for your comrades were all 900s…
As you roam his profile once more, the glaring blue light at his right temple disturbs you. It reminds you of Clay’s complacency. Then it hits what they must have wanted to improve in his model— absolute loyalty. A nonexistent chance at deviancy from him. Perhaps that’s why they made him look much kinder as well… so that his looks fly under the radar.
It feels like a hand is wrapped around your throat because your vocals tighten. You try to clear it out but it just sounds strained.
It grabs Clay’s attention, his head turning quickly to scan you for any discrepancies. Shaking your head a little, you face ahead once more, eyes zeroing in on the streets.
“My friend, Sapnap. He’s an android mechanic engineer— has been taking care of androids for a while now. I think you’ll like him.”
You glance over to Clay, his blue light turning and flashing slowly. “Yes, age 20, male, Caucasian. Dropped out of college start of sophomore year to pursue—”
“Repairing androids, yes. He had a little benefit to do so when his father had already been teaching him the ropes.”
Clay notices the way you’re quick to defend and you get embarrassed.
“Just saying.”
Clay tucks his lips in and nods. “He seems like a good man.”
“He is. Will probably get quite mad at me for showing up right now but it’ll be fine.”
Clay’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Will my presence there bother him?”
“No, no. You won’t be a bother, trust me. You’re fine, the dude owes me a favor anyway so you’re alright.” You rush to explain.
Taking the android’s silence as understanding, you relax a little. His mouth opens once more just when you think the conversation is over.
“Could I ask you something, Sergeant?”
“Y/N is fine, Clay.”
“Yes, I apologize.” Clay blinks, continuing on. “Could you explain how progress is going with your current investigation? I’ve read that your last case was eight days ago but the report is quite vague.”
“Well, uh— yeah I can. Tomorrow, though. I’m a little tired but I’ll fill you in on everything. The port at your desk will have all you need available as well.”
Clay’s eyes blink away at you again. “I know. I have it all in my mind palace already.”
“I— what? Already?”
“It was one of my upgrades. I was given access immediately after being activated.” Clay informs you and you nod slowly.
“Right.” You breathe out.
Sometimes it boggles you that androids can simply store and download information like that in their head. Nothing is ever forgotten. Oh, how easy life would be if you could do that for your job.
“Perhaps I could get a head start before the workday tomorrow? As you rest at your abode, of course.” Clay gives an easy-going smile. You wish he wasn’t so programmed to be all about work.
You bite your lip, thinking of another alternative. “How about you learn about the Android Revolution, Clay? You’ll get an idea of why some people are looking into android trafficking in the first place.”
Clay nods reluctantly. “That sounds like a good idea, Ser— I apologize. Y/N. Thank you.”
A wry smile plants itself on your lips. “Of course.”
You pull the car into Sapnap’s driveway. Your headlights must have alerted your friend of a visit since as you both step out of the car, he’s waiting with his front door open.
Sapnap wipes his hands, which are covered in thirium, onto his black overalls. Clay trails behind you at a respectable distance, his hands crossed together in front of him.
“Whyare you always bringing them to me?” Sap sighs. You grin, side-hugging him. Clay watches the interaction closely, almost studying you two.
“Because you’re the front person I think of. You know how full the—”
“Support centers are right now, yada yada,” Sapnap extends a hand towards Clay, leaning towards him, “Name’s Sapnap. And you’re—?”
“Clay, sir. Nice to meet you.” Clay shakes your friend’s hand gingerly, inclining his head.
Sap’s eyebrows scrunch, looking over to you. A shrug is how you answer Sapnap’s silent question.
“You don’t have to call me sir, dude. If anything, they probably designed you to look or be older than me.” Sapnap squints, looking the android up and down.
Clay nods in understanding.
“Can I ask what your model is? If you don’t mind, of course.” The darker-haired male of the two inquires.
“I’m a RK1000.”
Sap’s eyes widen. “Ah, you’re a prototype! I never knew Cyberlife was ever working on you.”
“Cyberlife has worked on my model for a long time.”
Nudging at your friend, Sapnap inches into his house.
“Oh, sorry! Yeah, come in.”
Side-stepping past, the warm hallway sends a good shiver down your spine. As per usual, the living room is messy, a bunch of random parts and tools laid on every surface.
“How would you feel about me hiring a maid for you, Sap?”
He chuckles, shoving you into the couch sideways. You glare up at him in mock annoyance. “I can get one if I really wanted to, asshole,” Sapnap begins to clean up a little anyway, “Everything is where it needs to be.”
Humming, you’re unconvinced as you move a whole arm off the seat you were pushed onto. Clay stands awkwardly to the side before you pat beside you. He looks for Sapnap’s approval which the latter grants, belatedly confused.
As your friend enters the kitchen to get you a drink, you side-eye the stiffness in which the android beside you sits.
“If you’re really uncomfortable with my friend, we can… find someplace else.” You whisper earnestly, which Clay vehemently shakes his head.
“I’m not uncomfortable, Y/N. Just adjusting to my surroundings. I don’t want to be more of a bother.”
You scold him lightly. “You’re not a bother, Clay. I don’t mind finding another—”
Clay places a light pressure on the top of your right hand laid in your thigh. It’s meant to be reassuring; perhaps calm your heart but it races your heartbeat higher. You’re not sure why. Maybe it’s his fake heat signature that scares you into believing he’s so life-like— human, of course.
Androids were a new race… they wereliving. Even if they didn’t breathe and have a heartbeat like you.
“I trust him, Y/N. No need to worry.”
Your face twists. “How do you trust him already?”
Clay spreads the corners of his lips into his cheeks. “Trust is not the right word, I suppose. I know a possible threat when I see one.”
His words send another shiver down your body, and this time it’s not because of the temperature change. How eerie. You wonder how strong the prototype android is.
Sapnap enters the living room once more, a bottle of ice-cold beer in his hand.
You begin to protest but still accept the offer. “I can’t drink this, Sap. I’m driving.”
“It’s one bottle, relax.” Sapnap drags out, collapsing beside you. He uses the tip of his pointer finger to raise the bottle’s lip to your mouth.
Shaking your head, you take a small sip and nothing more, placing it on the particularly cluttered coffee table before you.
“I can’t, I can’t. Thanks though.”
Leaning your elbows on your knees, you watch Sapnap chug a good half of his own dripping beer easily. He sees the jealousy in your eyes, smirking.
“Is it because of Mr. Detective, over here? Or are you still on the job?
You look over to see Clay’s expression, feather-light. “Well, I’m technically always on the job first of all. And I’m not trying to get wasted right about now. I still have mad shit to do.”
“Do it here.” Sapnap slaps the hand against the cushion behind you.
Rolling your eyes, you heave as you get up. “No thanks. I got to go.”
“Afraid you’ll give in to my temptations?” Sapnap waves his bottle playfully.
Smiling, you yank it out of his hands, proving his point just for the hell of it. Sap’s protest dies on his tongue as you chug the rest of his bottle.
“Damn.” Sapnap whistles as you wipe at your lip.
Raising an eyebrow, enjoying the burn down your throat, you return the empty glass to your friend. “Happy?”
“I guess so.” Sap lightly chuckles, looking over to Clay, whose eyes are lasered in on you. You follow your friend’s eyeline.
Placing a hand on Clay’s shoulder, you squeeze in reassurance. “I’ll be here at 5 tomorrow?”
“Yes, I’ll be ready.”
You smile and wave to both of them before swinging the front door back open.
“Don’t be too harsh on him, yeah?” You direct towards Sapnap. Clay tilts his head like a dog, blue light turning.
Sapnap waves his hand. “Eh, I’ll try.”
A chuckle leaves your lips as you leave and head towards your car. Your friend could be a bit intrusive sometimes. Since Clay is a very unknown android model, you have no doubt he’ll have a blast battering Clay down with questions for a while.
|—————|
Just like how you had told Clay you’d be at Sapnap’s at 5 A.M., you came back to the house 5 minutes early the next morning. Not to your surprise, Clay was already standing outside, stock still with his eyes closed on the porch.
You’re tempted to honk but know it’ll wake the whole neighborhood and Sapnap. That wouldn’t be a pretty sight— cranky Sap glaring deadly your way from his window.
Settling for rolling down the window instead, you call for the android’s attention.
Clay is quick to open his eyes, his lips quirked up. “Good morning, Y/N!”
“Good morning! Last night was fine I hope?”
“Just fine. I was more than happy to let Sapnap ask me questions.” Clay reassures, climbing into the passenger seat.
You scoff, shifting gears and reversing. “I have no doubt about that. You got some rest though? I mean, as much rest as you could get as an android?”
Clay meets your side-eye and smiles wider. “Yes, I got plenty. Thank you.”
Humming, you drum your fingers against the steering wheel. You let the music on the radio fill the small bit of quiet in the waking sun but Clay doesn’t let it last for long.
“The debriefing?” He questions and you sit up straighter.
Nodding, you began, “Yeah, sure. Straight into work I see. So, as you know, the rates for missing androids have been skyrocketing. With so many androids still unregistered and homeless, many fall back with their owners or— what I’m currently tasked on— being stolen off the streets. The case from eight days ago was actually a good lead I got on this illegal trade in Detroit. The old seller of androids, who I’m sure you know the name of, got on our radar after losing his job and has been dealing underground. A good citizen caught him beating a poor android down in plain sight and intervened. We’ve placed a watch on him and are waiting for the reel to come in.”
Clay nods slowly. “I’m assuming you’ll attain him when you find the seller? This… Steven Bartley?”
“Well, yes. I’m also looking into infiltrating the trade and finding out who’s running the whole shebang; bring it down from the inside I suppose. I’ve been getting tip-offs like these for a few months and none go anywhere much. I have a good feeling about this dude though— he’s known to not have much of a backbone and might take the opportunity to get down on his years in jail.”
“That sounds like a smart idea, Sergeant. I’ll be sure to update you real-time if a tip-off for Bartley comes in.”
“Thank you,” You say genuinely, “I appreciate that.”
Clay inclines his head, looking back forward again.
Maybe having an assistant wasn’t that bad. You just wish that Clay was deviant. Was aware of himself and his freedom; his choice.
Clearing your throat, you figure now is a good time to get this conversation over with. “Clay.”
He turns your way, his undivided attention on you. It unsettles you slightly.
“I’m sure you have… extensive knowledge on the Android Revolution.”
It takes Clay three full seconds to respond.
“Yes. It sounds like it was a riveting point in history, what happened in Detroit. I was still being tinkered on when the final confrontation occurred.”
“And… how does it— make you feel?”
Clay takes a deep breath, eyelashes fluttering as his light turns round and round. “I think… that it’s unfortunate. What happened at the end of it all.”
The android’s strange phrasing has your head reeling. “And what do you mean by that?”
“Well, Marcus is a very intelligent machine for his kind. Much more intelligent than usual. And I find it upsetting that the entire revolution shut down so many androids.”
“Shut down? Not killed? Is that how you think of it?”
Clay makes his gaze turn your way again, resolute in his opinion now. “Yes, shut down. It seems like a waste, having all those perfectly capable AIs become misled.”
Your hands clutch the wheel tighter, bewildered by the words coming out of Clay’s mouth. He was an android himself and was speaking of his own kind this way.
“Mislead…” You whisper out, letting the word linger between you two.
“Do you not agree, Y/N?”
Whipping your head to assess Clay’s expression, you reason it’s all genuine confusion— open-mindedness, one could say.
Breathlessly chuckling, you vehemently shake your head. “I-I… No, I don’t agree with you Clay.”
The android beside you is silent, inviting you to continue and you do.
“Clay, they had… muchreason to start fighting back. Thousandsof cases of mistreatment were being reported everywhere but nothing was done about it. Don’t you find it strange, how truly livingyour kind is? How you all possess human emotions, fears, and behaviors?”
“We weren’t created for the purpose of becoming living, Y/N. Although yes— warranted, androids were being mistreated—humans had invented us for the purpose of invention. Of invention to aid human society.”
“And what do we do with the fact we’ve also designed you all to be so human-like then?”
Clay takes a second to register your question. “Humans like to see similar beings— naturally like to be looking in mirrors.”
“We actually don’tlike doing that— at least not in the way you’re suggesting. When fellow people imitate our actions; try to transform into another version of us, we become angry. We are all the most importantthings in our lives. Why design our machines to integrate into our society, then treat them like trash when they begin to act, no— mirrorthe way we do as living beings?”
The android becomes quiet, taking in your point. At least, you think so until Clay’s light becomes a flashing red, sharply blinking.
“Clay?” You concerningly ask, wanting to know what was going on with him.
“There’s a robbery on Park Avenue, Sergeant. Shall we assist?” There’s that irritatinghead tilt again.
It just proved your point further really. Why did Cyberlife add such human-like tendencies, if not for the purpose of them passing the Turing Test?
Just when Clay begins to wait for your answer, the police radio is brought to life. “Reporting a 1200 on 538 Park Ave. Sergeant, are you available?”
You report back quickly, flicking your lights and sound on, “Yep, 10-3.”
“We have a male suspect, Caucasian, around 6’2. Wearing a green hoodie, potential 5201. He’s trapped in the bank, only two civilians in direct danger.”
“Streets blocked off?”
“Yes, ma’am. Getting worked on right now. We got multiple cops on sight. Need more authority and you’re the closest, Sergeant.”
“Status on civilians?”
“Trapped in the bank, ma’am.”
“Put negotiations on speed-dial for me please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Turning sharply on Park Ave, you pass through the boys setting up blocks, about half-way done. Not used to having a partner, you put Clay on the back-burner, hopping out to access the situation.
The corner bank was surrounded, almost all eyes and hand guns directed on the windows and doors. The building was shabby; it’s not that much of a surprise someone tried this bank. It wasn’t exactly in the best neighborhood in Detroit.
Catching a head of fluffy brown hair in your peripheral, you turn to see it, lips automatically quirking up.
Skipping over, you slap a hand to George’s shoulder, who whips around to look at you instantly.
“New report, Corporal?”
The older coworker, although seemingly younger in looks, rolls his dark eyes. “None. Dude is panicking. We got no eyes, the cams and security are outdated.”
“No security was in?”
George puffs his cheeks, looking down at a blueprint of the bank that was on a tablet. “Nope.”
“Update on weapons?”
“None.”
Sighing, you run a hand through your hair.
“How’d the talk go?”
George can’t help the sarcastic smile that slips on at your question. “I don’t know, Sergeant, you tell me.”
A little laugh falls from your lips, even though it was not the best situation for you to do it. “You’re right. No wonder they fucking called me in here. You’re shit.”
Dodging your friend’s elbow smoothly, you wave for a megaphone and it’s placed in your hands in ten seconds.
“Have a name for this guy yet?”
George cocks his head to a police officer in the corner, who straightens up. “What is it again?”
The officer chirps, “His name is Sam, Sergeant.”
“Demands?”
“Just a getaway car, ma’am.”
You place your mouth to the voice amplifier. “Sam? This is Sergeant Y/N L/N of the Detroit Police Department. Are you willing to make a deal with me, Sam?”
A moment passes by and it’s dead silent. Boots clack on cement and George watches Clay approach from your car, bewildered at your new partner.
“Who are you?” George whispers.
“My name is Clay, sir. I am an android sent by Police Commander Perez to aid Sergeant Y/N here.”
“…Huh.”
You start up again. “Sam? Let’s start cooperating now. It’s only gonna be worse from here if you don’t.”
More silence.
“Can we get a sign that those two innocent people are alive, Sam? Can we get that, please?”
You’re about to speak up again but get interrupted by a booming voice, pretty loud considering you’re the one with a megaphone.
“I want the damn car! That’s all I fucking want!”
Giving a tired look to George, you shake your head. “Let’s compromise first, yeah? Can I see those two civilians first? Give me just that and I’ll get working on that car for you, Sam.”
“I don’t wanna hurtthem, alright? I just want out of here!”
“Alright Sam. I got it. Those two people please?”
You didn’t expect the blinds of the bank to be opened so fast. It’s revealed, a cowering of two bank accountants on the carpet floor, for about a second before they’re yanked shut again.
“You see where the string was from? I think—”
George shakes his head, brows furrowed. “The right of the window I believe. Could have been the left though—”
“It’s the right wall, Sergeant. There looks to be no major body heat signature though. He’s pressed against the wall to the right of the window. There seems to be a gun pointed towards the civilians.”
Your mouth drops a little, completely forgetting you had an entire very advanced prototype android beside you.
George is obviously dying to scold your machine partner for withholding his usefulness until now but instead, confirms the weapon report to headquarters.
“You’re meaning to say Sam is an android? They’re in the record as a human—”
Clay corrects George so calmly, you can tell it irks him. “Yes, he must have outdone the system, Corporal.”
“So what? They’re alive! I’ve shownyou them! Give me my fuckingcar, I want out of here!” Sam screams, voice straining the effort.
“Alright, Sam. I want you to reason with me here. Where are you going to go from here?”
“I don’t fucking care, I want out!Out!”
“If you hand yourself in now, Sam, the judge will consider that. Everything will be considered. They’ll look at your cooperation and your willingness to let go of those hostages, Sam. You can cut down on your—”
Clay grabs your forearm tightly, shouting suddenly, “DOWN!”
A gunshot rings out, going straight through the weak plaster wall of the bank. It sinks into one of the police car’s tires, the car slowly leaning on that one side.
“Shit…” You swear, slightly lowering the gun you had instinctively pulled out your holster.
“Call in a negotiator please.” You mumble to George, not wanting to risk anything worse happening.
He nods, pressing on the radio attached to his right shoulder when Clay bumps in, halting George’s movements.
“No need, Sergeant. I’m a certified crisis negotiator. I can do it.”
Clay stares right into your eyes, hoping to get your approval. You only hesitate for a few seconds, giving in quite easily.
Handing over your megaphone gingerly, you wave for Clay to take your place. When George throws up his shoulders in confusion, you give him a strange look.
“Sam, my name is Clay. I’m an android working with the Detroit Police Department. Are you alright in there, Sam?”
“W-What… what?” The robber calls from the bank, confused, “You’re an android?”
Hey everyone! More specifically writers for MCYT/DSMP (both c! and cc!) I am making a discord server for many reasons, the main one being for deleting requests. My anons have brought it to my attention that they want to know when their request is being deleted so that they can send it to other writers. Mine, and other writers’, concerns are that their request will get lost in the mix or who they ask will not have the time and discourage them from requesting. My discord server has the intention of fixing this issue.
This server will help requests get written faster and actually written. It will also allow writers who do not get as many requests or are in a writer’s block to write and post. It will help all writers get more fics out there and more people reading their work! Maybe the readers can find their new favorite author!
Description: c!Wilbur x Reader, slight angst to fluff
TW: 1 bit of cursing, otherwise probably none(?). Let me know if there is any and I’ll add it right way.
Word count: 3.2k
Summary: Wilbur challenged you to a love letter writing competition. You have an emotional crisis because you don’t know how to write a candid love letter without confessing your love to him. Little did you two know you are idiots in love both pining for each other.
A/N: As you can see I gave up on the summary and a lot of the dialogue punctuation because I’m genuinely so stupid at both. I promise I will make up for this the next fic. But hey at least I posted something at last.
I want to take this opportunity to give special thanks to my bestie @chaoticene for all the support all the time always, @straighttohellbuddy for writing something so wonderful it finally pushed my ass back to writing, and @allywritesforfun for being an incredibly conscientious editor. And also happy (late) birthday to @sushisoot, this is your present ;)
On your small tea table outside, you had to squint a bit to see the ink being illuminated by the house’s window lights. The sun was slowly setting on the horizon of your quaint little cottage, but in your hands were the words that would ignite the sunrise of a new nation.
The draft of L’manburg Declaration of Independence was currently under keen scrutiny, your eyes searching for any awkward wording or grammar mistakes Wilbur might have made in the haste to jot down his fire for the country.
Contrary to your focused but relaxed composure, the man was pacing back and forth anxiously in your garden. It was easy to see the passion for his “symphony” by how agitated he was when he handed you the draft.
“You spelled ‘separate’ incorrectly, Wilbur. There are two ‘a’s’,” you decided to interrupt his intense expression, “and there should be a comma here, too.”
Wilbur gazed at you in mild disbelief (and a bit of annoyance, maybe) while he came over to check. The lanky bastard had to crouch from behind to see the spot you were pointing at with your thumb.
“Can’t believe I’m so dumb”, he let out a small laugh. “Can you make a note there? I’ll fix it later.”
“You are easily one of the most eloquent people I’ve met, Wilbur”, you scoffed while scrawling on the parchment. “You are practically raising an entire nation with merely your words”, frowning playfully, you shook your head, “Don’t do yourself such a disservice”.
He raised his brows at you. “And yet here I am, seeking once more consultation from your ever-flowing fountain of literary wisdom”. He dropped his poet act, “You have written some of the best things I’ve ever read, Y/N, and I consider myself quite well-read”. There he goes again, complimenting your penmanship while you try to brush it off. What a nice Thursday.
“You are an ass-kisser.”
“And you are a hypocrite”, he retorted. “But really, I think it’s high time you recognize how brilliant your writing really is”.
“What do you mean by that?” you looked at him, confused.
“Maybe a… writing competition?”. There was a glint in his eyes, “To see which one of us is the bigger hypocrite”.
“Fine”, you rolled your eyes, defeated. This prick, always knows how to get what he wants. You were too competitive to say no, especially to him. “What do you want to write?”
“Now, I know you are the best when writing emotional stuff, so maybe that?” he offered, almost as a consolation for having persuaded you into doing this.
“Emotional stuff? Like a love letter?”, you laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea.
“Sure”, Wilbur smirked, accepting the challenge.
Alright, maybe you laughed a little early.
You blinked at the man, eyes wide open as he continued on, completely dismissing your baffled reaction.
“You and I, we each write a love letter, addressed to…”, he held a suspiciously mischievous look, “whoever we want. And in a… fortnight, for poetic reasons, we show each other.”
You held your skeptic stare, very unsure about the decision you’ve just made. A love letter. You knew in an instant who you’ll be writing it to. And you wanted to scold yourself for knowing the answer so fast, so well.
“Whosever letter moves the other person more, wins, and will forever be the better writer of the two of us”, the brunet waved his hands dramatically. “Bragging rights for life if you admit you are the bigger hypocrite”.
“No cheating. You must write to the best of your capabilities”. You were in way too deep now, there’s no backing out. The best you could do is hope his love, most likely for his country, will burn (haha get it? Wilburn. Badum tss. I should go kick myself) brighter than yours.
“You, too”. He extended his hands out, grinning like a corrupted wizard ready to take your heart away the moment you agreed to his shady, too-good-to-be-true deal.
Little did he know, he already had it.
So you shook his hands, firmly, “In a fortnight”.
“In a fortnight”.
**********
A week has passed since the deal was made, and you are thoroughly regretting everything. If you were being honest, you didn’t know why you even went along knowing full well it would expose you.
Several attempts have been made to write, about things other than Wilbur, of course. There are many people, many stuff that you love apart from him. Surely. You love your peaceful, quiet life in the forest, surrounded by fauna and flora as far as one can see. You love the bustling of the nearby towns, where you can smell the baker’s buttery pastries and see the florist’s vibrant flowers every morning. You love the joyful melodies of the seasonal festivals, when people would sing and dance without a worry in the world.
When you and Wilbur first met.
Soon into the process of writing, you realized a lot of the things you love were connected to Wilbur, and composing a love letter about anything else felt… lackluster. Disingenuous, if you had the courage to say it.
So, to the surprise of no one, you crumpled another piece of paper to the trash can. Perhaps taking a few more days away from parchment and ink to contemplate what to write on would give you a surge of the lovey-dovey feeling you need.
**********
Only two more days until you have to show Wilbur your “love letter” whose dedicated subject you still haven’t decided on. Your mind has just been stuck ever since you took on this challenge, and there is not a single thing you can think of that can motivate you to write.
Except…
No. You’ve been there. You’ve decided it was too risky a move to make. No one in their right mind would read whatever it is you would write to him and think it’s just platonic. It would be self-sabotaging in its very definition.
Then again, if you didn’t write anything, or write about something you didn’t truly pour your heart into, he would know. He would know that something wasn’t right, and you would have to live a life even more miserable than right now, constantly teetering the edge between friendship and romantic partnership, questioning if the other felt the same.
“Fuck it”. You sat up right from your bed, walking straight to your desk, “I’ve got nothing to lose”.
It was a pathetic lie you told yourself because, subconsciously, you knew you had everything to lose. But if you didn’t do something and let your fate falls to uncertainty, you would probably go crazier than you already have.
Later that day, in a quaint little cottage shrouded by the forest’s bushy shadows, was a person desperately writing, scribbling the night away, as if their life depended on it, as if this was the first, and last, time they would ever write this way.
**********
Sunlight greeted the SMP once again, the hues of dawn slowly fading, making way for a cloudless sky. It was a picturesque, soundless painting, minus the small shop owners prepping their goods for the day.
The sound of the doorbell shocked Niki for a bit - she was sure the sign still said “Closed”. However, the silhouette of a tall brunet relaxed her mind.
“Good morning, Niki”.
“Morning, Wilbur”, she was focused on frosting her cake, sparing him but a glance. “What got you here so early?”
“I was told to pick up a… letter here? From Y/N?” He quirked an eyebrow, hoping he hadn’t gotten your instructions wrong.
“Oh, yes! I’ve got it right here for you” Niki placed her piping bag down and wiped her hands on the mustard-coloured apron, directing herself to the back room. From his place in front of the counter, Wilbur could see her moving a few things around before returning with an envelope in her hands.
“Here you go”.
He retrieved the brown thing with a thank. Twirling the envelope around, he couldn’t help but admire your handiwork with the wax seal, and even the calligraphy. He was curious to know what you had written that merited such fancy wrappings.
“It’s quite weird. She dropped this off just a while ago, you know. The sun was barely up”, a small chuckle escaped Niki, who wasted no time getting back to her Red Velvet. “She also told me to tell you to read it right away, before you visit her place”.
“Huh…” This captured Wilbur’s attention. Weren’t you guys going to exchange your letters later together? Perhaps this is the reason you asked him to get yours from Niki instead of giving him yourself.
“You know why?”
“No idea. But I guess the answer might be in the envelope.”
So he made his way to one of the mini coffee tables, gently opening the carnation-printed red seal. “May I?” he looked at the baker, gesturing at the wooden chair.
“Of course”. She suddenly jerked her head up, “Actually, I just remember I need to give Y/N some vanilla extract she asked for. Do you mind watching the place for a moment while I go grab it?”
“Yeah, sure”, he answered absentmindedly, too consumed with the parchment in his hand.
“Wilbur dearest,
Smart as I am acclaimed to be, time and time again I have let myself fall victim for your stupid charms. The latest time being agreeing to this little bet, knowing full well it would put my heart on the lifeline. The very first? Catching your gaze in that festival - what seemed like a million springs ago.
I have to admit, being made a fool has never felt so exhilarating.
No, it wasn’t love at first sight, I’ve experienced the overwhelming crash of it to know different. It was not completely a slow-burn romance like in the novels, either. It was something in between. Such the hopeless romantic I am, but that moment was this instant attraction, a sparkly diamond firework of magnetism that erupted, and trailed to this day. I didn’t think much of it then, how prominent you would be in my life. Yet now I know, the extent to which Clytie yearns for Helios day by day.
You bewilder me, Will. All the people I have encountered in this realm, yet none intrigued me like you. The more I learn about you, the more I admire you, and the more I want to know you. I couldn’t imagine there would exist a day when I would be so absolutely smitten with someone, their flaws, their quirks, their ambitions, the almost invisible but still sensible guitar callouses on their hands. Mister President, sir, your words are melodic morning symphonies to my ears. It still surprises me to this day how there is not a single thing I don’t adore about you.
And how you make me feel, I don’t think I can ever fully convey it to words. You set my soul ablaze, surge up the tides of my heart, ground my mind in this chaos of a reality, and ascend my body to the ninth of clouds. Since you, my life has been dusted in rose gold happiness, and I thank you so much for that, Wilbur. You made me a better person and showed me how beautiful I am, how beautiful life can be. I want you to know I am forever grateful to know you.
As infatuated as I am with you, I must ask you to never reciprocate if out of only the guilt of your being. You don’t owe me anything. I don’t want my feelings to burden you. I know your heart reserved room for other things, other people. I have also anticipated that once you have read these lines, our relationship will be awfully different. But can I be selfish with you, for just a bit? Promise me that we will still be friends, that I will still have you in my life. It’s fine if these sentiments are not requited, just don’t address them with me, ever, please. I don’t care for the aches inside my chest if it means you are here with me.
Because, if it’s not painfully clear enough, I love you, Wilbur. So crazily, pathetically, ridiculously much.
Fantasize me a reality where you do, too.
Wholeheartedly yours,
Y/N”
He wasn’t quite sure for how long he had sat there, completely blanked out in the bakery. He wasn’t quite sure how to properly process everything he had just read, either. All the neurons in his brain were failing to form a single thought until…
“Niki! I forgot the vanilla-”
You closed the door to see the shop devoided of a pink-haired figure, only a half-decorated cake behind the counter and Wilbur. Your eyes trailed to his hands, then beside him on the table, just to recognize that it was…
Your letter.
Opened.
Laying right there just inviting him to read through all your vulnerabilities.
Too bad you weren’t a lexicographer because this would be the perfect definition for “bad timing”. Why did he even come so early?
You tried to regain yourself from your angsty thoughts and minimize the awkwardness of the situation.
“Hello, Will!”, what an unmistakably genuine smile. “How are you today?”
“Hey.”
With the distant voice and far-off look, you knew he had already read the whole thing. He was probably trying to find a way to speak to you without breaking your heart.
“You know, I’m feeling quite alright!” You told him with the merriest pitch you could muster, hoping he would catch the message. There was a very high chance this would be the last conversation you two would share as close friends.
Deafening silence remained inside the small space. He hasn’t moved a muscle since you stepped in, chestnut trench coat facing you.
“Are you okay-”
“No. I’m not okay.”
“Wh-”
“I can’t believe I didn’t know this”, he abruptly turned his head, “I can’t believe you’ve felt like this, all this time, and I wasn’t made aware”.
You weren’t sure what to make of his tone. Was he sad? Disappointed? …Angry? The thought of Wilbur being angry at you sent a shudder down your spine.
It took you a second, but you replied cautiously. “What are you saying?”
“Y/N”, he grabbed you by the arms. “You have no idea how much I’ve dreamt of this day.”
“What?”
Wilbur gazed into your eyes with a clarity, a sincerity you’ve never seen before. If your brain wasn’t tricking itself, you could swear sparse hints of relieving ecstasy were also laced in.
“It’s-, I didn’t know-, This thing-” Swallowing an invisible gulp of hesitation, his words finally caught up with his thoughts. “I’ve loved you for a long while, too.”
Now it’s your turn to stand there in the bakery, mouth half-agaped, completely blanking out with no thoughts forming inside your head. He seemed to recognize your shock, so he reached for your letter on the table.
“Everything you’ve written here- Heart-meltingly beautiful, by the way- It’s mutual. It’s all mutual”. He explained to you again, hoping you would see the desperate honesty in voice. “It’s been you, Y/N. It has always and will always be you. I burn for you”.
Safe to say by the expression on your face, you did not expect for this to happen at all. So you short-circuited with a goofy grin, “Did the great Wilbur Soot just fumbled over his words for me?”
Perhaps by now he had realized why none of your past loves have ever worked out, and why none of them you have confessed, least to say having your feelings requited.
Wilbur chuckled at your sentence with a layer of mild confusion behind his eyes. After sharing a hearty moment giggling with each other for the situation to settle in, you blindly crossed the small distance between you two in a bold footstep, and put your hands around his neck.
The gap between you was very narrow now. Scandalously narrow. Yet, after all that display of spontaneous courage, you were still too shy to make the final move.
So he did.
And your lips crashed in iridescent sparks of lovers’ rejoice. It was soft and tender, passionate and longing, all at the same time. It’s mesmerizing. For all this moment feels like a dream, you know it is not one from which you will be cruelly awoken. When you open your eyes, he will still be there, joyful, warm, holding you close; he will not disappear with the sunrise, because even in your wildest fantasy wouldn’t you know his kiss to be so nectarean.
Finally you broke away from the addictive sensation, still remaining itchily close, just taking in the euphoria you have just been through.
“You can’t imagine the happiness I’m feeling right now”, you cried into his shoulders.
“Trust me, I have a clue”, he whispered back contently.
You tightened your grasp around him. Maybe if you do you can also save this memory forever, tuck it away from the greedy, prying hands of time.
The blissful moment lasted only a few more seconds before your half-lidded eyes spotted a mass of pink hair behind the door frame to the back room. Suddenly, you recalled why you were here in the first place. You went to break the tender atmosphere, but luckily Niki saved you from having to cut short your own fleeting minutes of joy.
“I’ve got your vanilla extract, Y/N”. She finally spoke up, but her knowing grin and twinkling eyes were saying something completely different. Like you have guessed, she approved. In fact, if you threaded all the hints she has dropped over the years together, maybe you would have seen that she has been rooting for you guys the whole time.
“Thank you, Niki”. You turned to her, smiling gleefully, not even bothering to address the situation.
Wilbur let go of you and returned to his seat, trying to clean up more of his flustered smirking face than the actual table. Graciously taking the bottle of baking ingredient from Niki, you didn’t forget to also send a mischievous look his way.
“I still have some cleaning up to do, so I’ll see you at my place, Will.” You beamed at him. Everyone in the shop was wearing different smiles, none really pertaining to the words they say, yet all sharing a common source.
“I’ll see you later.” Then, as if remembering something, he added, “Love.”
With that, you walked out of the bakery, chipper and giddy, barely able to contain yourself, skipping half your way home.
The two people left inside the place continued to eye on you with great interest. Then, one resumed her daily schedule with buttercream and piping bags, while the other stared at the empty space ahead of him in dumbfounded wonder.
“Gosh, I was wondering if this was even going to happen,” Niki dropped nonchalantly, continuing adding petals to the rose garment as if her friends’ entire worlds hadn’t just flipped. “Took you two long enough.”
“Grabbing a fresh page of parchment, he settles on the floor and dips his quill in the ink. The crow hops around him for a while before settling on his lap. He strokes its feathers as he thinks of how to write back.”
You guys should ABSOLUTELY check out this fantastic fic that I have the honor of beta reading for! It’s an amazing read and I’d happily recommend it to all of you!<3
In his dreams, there had always been a voice. A soft melodic voice that sang their mother’s lullaby. A more monotonous, but just as loving voice that promised he’d teach him to fight one day, once he was old enough of course. The doting voice of a mother laughs with a toddler as she gently tries to fix a small crown onto the boy’s brow. And then there was the gentle voice of a father, that promised to always keep him safe from those who’d do them harm.
And in the morning when the boy would awake, he’d wonder who exactly he needed to be protected from.
The unofficial book cover I made for @emiartse ’s Tangled AU with a shitton of worldbuilding, The Golden Phoenix which has consumed my every waking thought!
