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15-dogs · 3 years

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resident healer |n.s.|

pairing: newt scamander x healer!artist!reader

summary: newt’s brother theseus hires you as his resident healer without newt’s knowledge. however, newt has little use for you so you put your other skills to the test as you spend each day falling a little harder for the man who won’t even speak to you. (super super fluffy! mutual pining, enemies(ish/mild dislike LMAO) to lovers, miscommunication, flustered newt!!)

warnings: extremely minimal swearing, injury, mention of blood

guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/L/N) = your last name

word count: 3.6K

a/n: it’s official y’all i’m in love with newt asjdhsj sorry sorry

Newt gasped in pain, jerking his hand away from the Occamy that bit harshly at his finger. He squatted down to meet its eyes, frowning as he scolded, “Don’t be rude.”

The Occamy simply squawked back. Newt tutted, snatching a snack for the small thing beside its nest and tossing them up in the air. The Occamies in the nest all hopped up, hurrying to retrieve the treats before the others did. Newt shook his head with a chuckle as he moved away from the creatures and onto the next.

“Mr. Scamander,” Bunty called from the top of the stairs which led to his apartment, “Miss (Y/L/N) is here.”

Newt dried his hands off on his pants, brows furrowed in confusion. He’d never heard that name before and he knew he wasn’t expecting a guest, so who was at his door? Newt shrugged his vest back on as he made his way up the stairs, his eyes trained on the buttons he was doing up. He was so focused on the task at hand that he forgot he was in the landing of his apartment, his leg lifted in preparation to take another step which led him to tumble into the wall ahead.

“Mr. Scamander!” Bunty gasped. She ran to his side instantly, checking to see if he was injured. She held his face in her hands, staring into his eyes as he tried to pull away. “You really hit your head, didn’t you?”

Newt blinked in shock, finally wiggling free of her grasp and walking backwards into his den. “No, I’m fine, Bunty, thank you.”

In his efforts to move away from her, Newt bumped into another figure, nearly tipping him over. He steadied himself before turning around, his cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Scamander,” you said, warmly. You extended your hand for him to shake, which he did so hesitantly.

“Right, yes.” His eyes scoured the room as he gathered his words. “And you are?”

You looked over him with an involuntary cock of your head, your brows knit together. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Not really, no.”

You laughed humorlessly. “And I suppose you don’t know why I’m here, either.”

Newt cleared his throat and stood a little taller, still fiddling with his wand. “I’m sorry, should I?”

You knew he wasn’t trying to be rude, but you couldn’t help but be a little offended at his words. You were there for him. It was quite literally your job. You gave him a slight frown before straightening out your clothing to keep yourself busy.

“I am (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I’m your new resident Healer.”

Newt began to smile as if you had said something quite funny. He looked up at Bunty, nodding his head towards the door to his basement. She scrambled down as he continued to converse with you.

“My resident Healer?” he repeated.

You nodded. “Yes, I was hired.”

Those words were like a bucket of ice on Newt’s content mood. His smile had dropped from his face and he stopped fiddling with his wand. His eyes slowly drifted up to yours, asking the silent question of who? Who would’ve hired such a thing for him?

You could tell from the irritation swimming in his eyes that he knew exactly who had hired you. From the second you saw Newt, you knew he wasn’t a scary person, but now you weren’t so sure.

“Theseus, your brother, did.”

Newt swallowed hard, tapping his foot against the hardwood floor as he thought. It seemed like forever that you sat in tense silence, hoping you hadn’t done something wrong by telling him. Finally, Newt shook his head, his hair flopping back and forth as he paced around the room, ending at the door and opening it.

“I don’t need a Healer. I’ve been fine on my own thus far.”

You took a step towards him, his eyes still focused on the cold street outside. “Mr. Scamander, I don’t think you understand. I’m a private Healer. I work for no affiliation. I have been hired here and I intend to keep this job.”

“My apologies, Miss (Y/L/N), but I feel your talents would be of better use elsewhere.”

Newt rested a hand on your upper back, pushing you closer towards the door until you were halfway out of it. He refused to meet your eyes as you protested, simply shutting the door in your face. His hand hovered over the doorknob for one minute more as he heard your sighs of exasperation from the other side, a sick feeling settling into his stomach.

When silence finally dawned on the apartment, Newt began to walk away only to hear the distinct sound of ripped paper from outside. He paused and turned just in time to see a note slipped under the door, the sound of your shoes clicking down the stone steps as background noise. Newt squatted to pick up the note, scoffing at your indignant message.

I’ll be here tomorrow at 8 AM, Mr. Scamander.

Best,

(Y/N)

•••

You sat on Newt’s perfectly done up couch, picking at the quilt that sat beside you on the arm of it. Your leg was bouncing and your eyes scoured the room, begging it to give you something to do other than just wait around.

Newt popped out of his bedroom, running a hand through his hair as he ran up and down between his basement and the main floor. You would glance at him out of the corner of your eye every time he did so, wishing he would give you anything to do.

After the fifth time he arrived upstairs, he paused to look at you. You sat at attention, awaiting his useful instructions.

With a limp point towards the room across from him, he stated, “There’s food in the pantry. Help yourself.”

Your hands gripped onto the quilt, balling it up in your fists to contain your anger. You sent a vicious smile Newt’s way and he sent a wary one back before running downstairs.

You had considered yourself to be a person of immense patience, but Merlin was that man testing you. Every day after that you sat on his couch, examining the apartment, hoping that he would come up from his workshop and beg you to help him.

At some point in your weeks of sitting, you stopped dressing the part of Healer. You stopped caring. He clearly didn’t need you but you clearly couldn’t leave, so you took the necessary steps to make that hellish limbo a bit more comfortable. You brought novels and notebooks, blankets and pillows, all so you could sit on Newt Scamander’s couch and pretend you were his star Healer.

Feeling entirely useless one day, you decided to pull out your notebook and sketch a few items around the apartment. If you couldn’t practice one talent, why not practice the other? You ended up drawing a plethora of strange items from where you sat; all of which you assumed to be objects used in his care for his creatures.

You were snapped out of your thoughts as the soft clang of a dinner plate was placed in front of you. You looked up and spotted Newt across the room at his kitchen table as he took a bite of his dinner with one hand and tucked his wand away with the other. You searched the room for a moment, wondering if that was some kind of trap— Newt had never eaten with you before, let alone make you dinner. You picked up the dish with severe caution, carefully taking a bite and smiling softly at how wonderful it tasted.

Your silent dinners became a regular occurrence. You didn’t bother talking to him and he didn’t bother talking to you. You would finish your meal and then pick up whatever you were doing prior until 8:00 when you left.

As you sat on his couch, curled up under a blanket with your sketchbook, you looked over the room to see if there was anything different to draw when your eyes landed on Newt, himself. He was reading a book, splaying the pages open as he chewed on the thumb of his opposite hand. Something about the way he sat was so poetic, and the next thing you knew you were drawing his portrait.

You began to draw his portrait every dinner, a sudden infatuation with the way he looked blossoming within you. After dinner one day, Newt came up to you to collect your plate rather than just charming it to fly to the sink.

“Do you draw?” he asked.

You, so alarmed by his presence, shouted, “No!” and slammed your sketchbook shut, praying to Merlin that he didn’t see his pictures.

“I just thought you were because…” Newt trailed off as he referenced the ink stains on your hands and shapes of objects that must’ve rubbed off on you.

You flushed, finally nodding with a quiet, “Yes, I draw. Not very well, but I quite like it.”

He sunk into the spot next to you, his leg bouncing up and down as he spoke. “I’m sure that you’re a wonderful artist. If you’d ever care to show me some time, I’m sure my opinion will be justified.”

Your cheeks turned pink and you ducked your head to avoid his stare. “Yes, maybe at some point.”

Newt let out a gratified sigh before stalking over to the kitchen, butterflies occupying your stomach. You knew then that you didn’t like drawing him because he was fun to draw. No, you realized that you were quite infatuated with the man who barely spoke a word to you but you had the feeling that you were going to change that.

•••

“Mr. Scamander-”

“Please,” he began, looking at you over his shoulder, “it’s Newt.”

“Right, yes, Newt.” You stood up from his couch with his book in hand, trailing after him as he paced around his apartment. “I’ve been reading your book. It’s quite fascinating, I have to say.”

His steps slowed to a stop and his eyes lit up. “You like it?”

You only looked up from his book when you rammed straight into him. You teetered backwards but his strong arms caught you, holding you flush against his chest. “I-I do.” You wiggled out of his grasp, fearing the increase in your heart rate. “I just, er, find it fascinating that you keep all those creatures in your basement, not more than a few meters below us.”

He shrugged, continuing his pacing until he stopped by the basement door. “Not all of them, but a great deal.” Newt averted his eyes towards the ground, a shy smile spreading across his lips. “I could show you if you like? You could take your sketchbook down and draw some up for me.”

“Are you sure that’s okay?”

“Bunty has the day off and I could use your company-” Newt cut himself off, his eyes wide and blush creeping up his cheeks. “The company, is what I meant. Just some company, is all. Well, that’s not to say I don’t like your company— I’m partial to it, actually— but-”

You chuckled, snatching your sketchbook from your bag on the couch. You passed by the man, stopping to look him once over. “I enjoy your company, too, Newt.”

You spent the rest of the day in the basement with Newt as he explained each creature to you with the glee of a child. You smiled, wondering if he’d ever smile at you the way he smiled at his beasts, but quickly dismissed the thought.

You ended up drawing some of his creatures, particularly focused on the Murtlap that scurried around its cage. After you had finished a rough sketch of the creature, you had turned to show Newt when you were stopped in your tracks by the sight before you; Newt had a Bowtruckle perched on his finger, speaking to it like a friend, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a plethora of scars on his collarbone. Your mouth went dry and you knew then and there that you had to draw him.

You focused on every crinkle of his smile, the sharpness of his jaw, the pure adoration behind his eyes. Newt was encapsulating. Everything about him drove you wild. It was almost embarrassing how he made you feel so mad but you couldn’t help it— you were at the point past no return.

As the day came to a close, Newt cleaned up around his basement as his eyes flickered in between you and the broom he held. You had propped his book up on your leg so that you could draw in some more specific details about the creatures you had sketched, wanting it to look perfect if Newt was going to see. He let out a soft exhale in amusement at your contorted position, alerting you to his presence.

“May I see?” His eyes drifted towards your notebook, just grazing over your body.

You nodded and moved over for him to sit next to you. Fortunately, you had been practicing some charms and learned how to hide some of your drawings— specifically the ones of Newt.

To your surprise (and delight), Newt slid up next to you, your shoulders brushing against one another. You let out a shaky breath and met his eyes with a weak smile as you shoved the sketchbook into his arms. His eyes fell downwards towards the drawings, a pit forming in your stomach as he scanned over them.

Every time he would flip the page, he would mutter a compliment to you. It was always something specific, something targeted, as if to make you aware that he was truly fascinated by your drawings.

“You captured Molly’s tuft of white fur perfectly,” he murmured, running a rough finger across the drawing of the Niffler you did. He flipped to the next page, chuckling to himself. “And the Glow Bugs are just...lovely. That’s Poppy right there, I can tell.”

You beamed at him, unable to control how he made you feel. Newt carefully set the journal down behind him as he scanned your face.

“You’re quite...you have this...well, you…” he stammered as he fiddled with his fingers.

“What is it?” you prodded, your voice no more than a whisper.

“You’re...beautiful.”

You sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes involuntarily flickered down towards his lips. Your hand crept its way over his, tracing the scars on the back of it with your thumb as you leaned in closer towards him.

“Mr. Scamander!” a familiar voice called from the top of the stairs, causing the two of you to jump apart. You both looked up to find Bunty padding down the stairs, a wide smile on her face. “Mr. Scamander! I know you said I had the day off but I wasn’t doing much today and thought I could be of some use here!”

Newt glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not a problem, Bunty, you can head home.”

“But I’m really not doing anything!”

“Well, I suppose you could help me do final bed checks and whatnot.”

Bunty nodded, scurrying around to do her tasks with an eager grin. Newt flashed you a shy smile as he stood up, his fingers still tangled in yours before he pulled away.

•••

Newt appeared out of his bedroom in the same fashion he did every morning: hurried. However, that time, he shrugged on a coat and walked towards the door of his apartment.

“Going somewhere?” you questioned.

“Yes, I’m off to the Ministry for the day. Bunty’s here if you need anything.”

And with that, Newt left.

Things had been strange since you had almost kissed no more than three days ago. Newt kept all your interactions strictly professional, meaning you were back to barely speaking again. It was frustrating, to say the least, and it made you question whether Newt really didn’t feel the same towards you, that you were coming on to him.

You had been stuck in that void of thinking for days. You would find yourself flipping through your sketchbook and landing on one of the many sketches you did of Newt, frowning as your mind began to spin expert lies to break your heart.

“(Y/N)!”

You could practically hear him calling your name.

“(Y/N)! Please!”

That was real. And it wasn’t Newt, either. It was Bunty.

You hopped off the couch, swapping your sketchbook for your Healer’s bag. You knew the voice of an injured person when you heard it and you weren’t about to take any chances that your instincts were wrong.

You made your way downstairs, finding Bunty by the Occamy nest holding her forearm, some blood seeping through her fingers. You ran up to her, wand drawn as you enchanted the necessary items to fly from your bag.

“Keep your breathing steady and your eyes on me, Bunty,” you said firmly. Bunty nodded, looking down at you with tears crowding her eyes. “Did the Occamy get you?”

“Y-yes. He got out of his nest and into another cage and grew quite a bit larger. I tried to take him back but he bit me.”

“Merlin, Bunty, that’s awful. But I can assure you that you’ll be perfectly fine. You don’t have any serious injuries that I can see.”

You poured a few droplets of an amber liquid from your bag, the skin stretching across her arm to heal the wound. She squealed in pain and you slipped your hand into hers, allowing her to squeeze it to deal with the pain.

“It’s almost over, I promise. We’ll get you to St. Mungo’s after just in case, too. You’re doing fantastic, Bunty. This potion, well, excuse my language but it hurts like a bitch.”

Bunty let out a strangled laugh, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. You patted her hand, flashing your signature Healer smile at her as you got to your feet. Your bag magically packed itself as you helped Bunty up beside you, wrapping an arm around her and apparating off to the hospital.

You had settled things with the Assistant Healer at St. Mungo’s and Bunty assured you that she didn’t need you there with her for her tests no matter how many times you protested. She simply thanked you, explained that she felt fine already, and squeezed your hand before shooing you off to apparate back to Newt’s apartment.

You arrived back in the basement, snatching your medical bag and making your way upstairs. Your footsteps slowed as you heard quiet murmurs of appraisal coming from the den, the flipping of used parchment scraping against itself.

Your sketchbook.

You darted out into the den, finding Newt back early from his trip to the Ministry with your sketchbook in hand, marveling at the pictures you drew of him. Your heart thundered inside your chest and you went light headed at the sight, your face overheating instantly.

“Did you draw these?” he asked. In an impossible sense, Newt’s tone was entirely neutral as was his expression. Nothing. You couldn’t read anything off of him.

“Give that back.” You dropped your bag and swung your wand out in an attempt to retrieve the book, only to have Newt throw a countercurse at you. You sucked in a sharp breath before trying again only for the same result to be repeated.

“You drew these,” he stated. He met your anxious eyes with furrowed brows, which only worsened the black hole growing inside you.

“There’s no point in denying it, Newt.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing your hands up and down as your own personal security blanket.

“I think that your drawings are lovely.” Your eyes snapped up to his and he cowered at his statement. “Not because it’s me, that’s not why they’re lovely. It’s because it’s you— obviously not you, it’s me— but you drew them and I’d love for you-”

Feeling rather emboldened by his rambling, you cut Newt off with a defiant statement.

“I like you.”

Newt was silent.

You continued.

“A lot, actually.” You ran a hand through your hair with a wry laugh. “A stupid amount, really. I can’t get you out of my head in a maddening sort of way. And I know that you’re saying you like the drawings but I understand if you’re lying. I think I’d be rather perturbed if I found a journal full of my face, too.”

“Don’t say that,” he muttered with a dismal shake of his head.

“It’s true! It’s odd!”

“No, please don’t say that. It’s not.” With every declaration, Newt’s voice got a little louder

“Why-”

“Because I fancy you!” he shouted, leaving you in a stunned silence. “Sorry.”

You blinked in confusion. Newt fancied you. Newt fancied you. You repeated it over and over again in your head, trying to make sense of his foreign words. You met his worried gaze and whispered to confirm your suspicions, “You fancy me?”

“I-I do.” He laughed to himself, scuffing his foot against the floor. “You’re beautiful and...and witty, and intelligent, and you have this intense gaze like a crow, and it’s just all beautiful. You’re beautiful.” His words tumbled from his mouth like he didn’t have enough time in the world to tell you how he truly felt.

If Newt was going to act like there was no time left, then you were, too. Your wand fell from your loosened grasp as you ran up to him, falling into a deep kiss. His hands hovered in the air for a moment before he embraced you, holding you as tight to his body as he could so his lips could still be connected to yours.

You pulled away, gasping for air as he rested his forehead against yours. He reached a calloused thumb up to rub over your bottom lip before venturing up to your cheekbone.

Seems as if he did need a Healer after all.

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general taglist: @pandaxnienke @lunalovecroft @for-bebbanburg

#newt scamander #newt scamander x you #newt scamander x y/n #newt scamander x reader #newt scamander fanfiction #bunty #theseus scamander #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts: the crimes of grindelwald #newton artemis fido scamander #newt scamander oneshot #newt scamander imagine #newt scamander fluff #healer!reader #artist!reader #self insert #fbawtft #fb:tcog

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ultramarcypan · 4 years

Text

tradition

Arlo x Female Builder

It’s just a short little drabble I did for a friend, but I figured I could share! I’ve played like 5 mines of My Time at Portia so I did have to do some research for this; warning that it may be OOC lmao.

It's been a strange year. Good, all things considered she thinks, especially since she'd sailed to Portia on a whim to take over the decrepit workshop Pa had left her. And workshop was also a generous term for the plot of land and shack she'd found upon her arrival; it had taken weeks of hacking and sawing at twigs and trees to save up enough lumber to patch the MANY holes in the house and slap together rudimentary machines for building anything more complex than a simple fishing pole. She distinctly remembers how for the first month or so, every night she'd stumbled to bed with aching limbs and blistered, raw hands, and had to fight not to cry over the pain and the unfamiliarity of it all. In her weakest moments, she'd even considered leaving. Barnarock was only one boat ride away, and there was still a life waiting for her there. She owed nothing to the sleepy little town of Portia, really.

But the townspeople had helped. They were a colorful bunch, the lot of them. Barnarock was so different; people there minded their business and it was a miracle to get more than a curt nod from someone when you passed them in the street. There was no mayor who had a good heart even if his business sense was questionable. There wasn't just one restaurant, where people would call out to you as you passed by, invite you to chat and sit, buy you lunch because you looked tired, and then walk back with you to your house just because they could. No one popped by unannounced at your house with a home-cooked meal because they'd made too much and were wondering if maybe she'd like some? There were no rivals that---well, no, that wasn't being fair, Higgins was a unique person all the way around she figured, but it didn't make him any less crucial to the town all his.....eccentricities aside. And there certainly wasn't any Civil Corp in Barnarock. The people there scoffed at the notion of danger, living protected in high walls and isolated from the rest of the world. The notion of animals and monsters roaming just in fields a stones throw from the town would've rocked them to their very core. The thought crosses her mind that her old friends would be shocked and possibly repulsed if she told them that she spent a good chunk of her time now spelunking in nearby caverns and sewers for precious ore and materials to support the town and the people that have become her new home and family. She's paid richly for her services, though she keeps insisting it's entirely too much. It's not much different to how every shares their food, their clothes, their yarn, their tools with her---she has crafting materials to spare and the machines to turn them into things, so why shouldn't she give back to those who helped her start? Arlo had laughed when she told him as much. "Well," he'd said around a grin. "I imagine what you build has a lot more impact than just a homemade pie, no matter how nice it may be." To emphasize his point, he'd gestured at his hip, where the gleaming sword she'd forged for him the month prior was strapped. Arlo was another thing that Barnarock didn't have. That was the difference she was most acutely aware of. She remembers the first time she'd met him. It had been two weeks, maybe, into her residency at Portia. The fields around her home were relatively safe but also barren of any lumber, long since stripped bear due to her efforts to fix the place up. And the colorful llamas that grazed just beyond had seemed so tame from far away. Turns out, the rainbow colors were the only nice things about them. She'd been on the ground, out of breath and bleeding from a nasty scrape on her forehead, dealing with the fact that a rainbow llama may actually be her cause of death when there had been a terrible shout from behind her. Startled, the llama had reared and she closed her eyes waiting for pain that never came. When she finally dared to open them, the animal was on the ground motionless, and someone, a stranger, was standing over her, leaning down. To her shame, she'd passed out then. She woke up in a building that she was able to identify as the Civil Corp headquarters in town, a place she'd passed by a few times but never actually bothered to go near. She'd met them all that day, cheerful Sam who'd been the one to explain to her just what had happened, Remington who'd offered her a cup of team and a friendly pat on the shoulder while he'd looked over her cut once more, and Arlo, who'd lingered by the door watching her with sharp eyes and the hint of a frown. Without the threat of dying to distract her, she'd been able to properly take in how broad his shoulders were, how sturdy his stance was, how comforting his very presence was. He'd shown up on her doorstep a week after she'd slunk out of their headquarters, apologizing profusely for her foolishness and thanking them over and over for their kindness. She'd had all of 30 seconds to stammer out a hello and one more thank you for good measure before a wooden training sword was tossed at her. When she'd expressed confusion, Arlo had shifted his weight just a bit, looking her up and down. "Training," he offered as explanation, and she'd blinked. He had heaved a sigh, shoving his hands into his pockets. "If you're going to be hard headed enough to wander straight into a herd of monsters," he'd said (which was a little RUDE, even if it was true) "Then I'm at the very least going to make sure you know how to defend yourself. You can't count on me to protect you every time." "Can't I?" She'd mouthed off before she could stop herself, and then clamped a hand over her mouth. There was silence for a moment where she was gearing herself up to apologizing once again to him when he'd laughed---a deep belly laugh, loud and proud and actually pretty nice to hear. "Flattered as I am that you think I'm that talented, let's err on the side of caution." He'd spun around to walk over to an empty spot on her land and it hadn't even occurred to her not to follow. So yeah, it's been a strange year. Learning how to sword fight, how to build, how to be part of such a tight knit community hadn't exactly been on her agenda, but she's not upset at how it's turned out at all. And now, the year is almost over. Celebrations in Portia are just one more difference between it and Barnarock. The town goes all out on holidays, and New Year's Eve isn't an exception to this rule. She's never seen the plaza look so full of life, so bright. The amount of candles lit all over is so high she's pretty sure it could count as a fire hazard, and there are streamers and ribbons and balloons of every color no matter where she looks. The tables from The Round Table have all been dragged outside and not a single towns-person is missing, all crammed around them, sitting and mingling together and watching the clock tower tick down as a new year approaches them. She's huddled against the wall of Town Hall, preferring to leave the seats to some of the older folks who need them or to some of the kids who are struggling to stay up, slumped over onto the table with their heads pillowed on their arms. There's movement out of the corner of her eye and she tenses for just a moment before she sees a flash of bright red. "Hey Arlo." "Well, fancy seeing you here." He drawls. She rolls her eyes--where else would she be on the night of a festival? "Mind if I join you?" "Not at all." He slides closer, pressing against the wall with her, letting their shoulders brush against each other. "Kinda shocked to see you here," she tells him casually, ignoring the way her heart is beating against her ribcage. "Figured you'd be out in the wilds playing hero or something equally as noble." He huffs a quiet laugh, bumping against her lightly. "Not tonight," he says. "Even heroes have to rest now and again." There's a lot of ways she could answer that. She could tease him for his constant need to serve and protect---one of his more admirable qualities, even if it worried her and the rest of the Civil Corp to no end. She could accept it for the simple statement of truth it is, grunt and let the comfortable silence that is so common between them take over. Or she could be more daring. More forward. More honest with the feelings that the two of them have been dancing around for an eternity now. Say something like 'Well, who am I to turn away a hero in need?' as she leaned more heavily into him, let her hand brush against his, let her thumb stroke over the calluses on his palm that she knows are there from years of training and hard work. She doesn't have to choose any of those options though, because a sudden shout goes up from the plaza and both of them turn, startled. Gale has both of his hands in the air, and a RIDICULOUS party hat on his head, pointing up at the clock tower. "10 seconds left!" The people of Portia cheer loudly, and she doesn't even bother to fight the fond smile that finds its way onto her face. They count as one, loud and happy even in the cold night. "10! 9!" "Hey." It's the urgency in Arlo's voice that has her turning towards him. It's rare for him to sound so serious without any immediate danger present. He's fiddling with the hilt of his sword, a nervous habit he doesn't seem to be aware he has. "Yeah?" "8! 7! 6!" Arlo takes a deep breath in and it would be FUNNY that he looks so nervous because it is so wildly out of character, but instead it just makes her anxious as well. "I'm gonna do something that may be stupid." "What?" "5! 4! 3!" He takes a step towards her and then another, and even if she wanted to back up, the brick wall of Town Center is behind her, stopping any possible retreat. "It's tradition?" It's half a question, half a justification she hears from him. "So I'm really sorry in advance if you get mad at me, but I've also really wanted to do this for months now." "Do WHAT Arlo?" She's blinking rapidly up at him, at how close he is, praying that he can't hear the drumbeat of her heart over the shouts of the crowd. "2! 1!" Instead of a verbal answer, he swoops down on her and she has maybe a millisecond to process the sound of party poppers from the crowd as the countdown ends, the smell of his earthy cologne that's right there, the feel of his hands on her shoulder, before his lips are on hers and he's kissing her, right there in the plaza like it's the most natural thing in the world. "HAPPY NEW YEARS!" Her arms flail at her side and a distant part of her mind is shocked that she's made it as long as she has fighting monsters and mining if she's taken out by something as simple as a kiss. That tiny voice gets shoved far to the side as she realizes that Arlo is pulling away, most likely because she's doing a wonderful impression of a stone statue right now. Panic overwhelms all her higher functions and she latches onto his shoulders, tugging him closer again and finally, FINALLY getting the sense to respond to the kiss properly. It's nothing special. It's barely more than the brush of lips against each other, chaste and shy and shorty really. She pulls away after a few seconds and the first thing she manages to process is that Arlo is blushing, which is funny because the red of his face clashes horribly with the orange of his hair. She giggles, overwhelmed by the whole situation, and burrows her face into the crook of his neck shoulders shaking slightly. "Well that's not very nice." He sounds just as shaky as she feels, which is nice. "A man kisses you on New Year's Eve and you laugh at him? Don't know how things work where you're from, but a kiss on New Year's Eve is pretty traditional." One of his hands has wandered to the small of her back and is hovering just above it, like he's afraid to touch her fully. "Didn't take you for the bullying sort." "You misunderstand." She mumbles into his neck, lips brushing against the soft flesh there. She leans back just enough to grin at him, all teeth and promise. "I'm just a stickler for tradition." And she pulls him down for another kiss.

#my time at portia #arlo #arlo x female builder

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rattlung · 5 years

Text

sorry this took so long! it kinda got away from me after a bit (it’s like 6k words so i’m rlly hoping this read more works on mobile lmao) and turned into a lot of introspection, as my stuff often does when it comes to mirage for some reason. hope you enjoy :^) and ty for sending smth in

(yeah ik mystik keeping in contact through fuckin fan mail is a bit of a stretch especially since crypto mentions burning letters, implying communication through paper, but it was the only thing i could come up with and i didn’t want this to take longer than necessary. just kinda shrug it off because at this point - eh yknow??? the letter mirage comes across is based off the one crypto sends to mystik in the loading screen with him and gibby

also, i looked up a ton of different sites and even checked the wiki but i’m still nervous about crypto’s name and how to write it properly. if i’m still doing it wrong, please please PLEASE let me know. i will literally rewrite this entire thing lmao)

established relationship kinda idk and also set in a kinda canon divergent au where the games hold seasons that last a few months with set teams

----=----

Despite popular belief, Elliott was a smart guy. He lived and studied under his mother, an amazing engineer in her own right, and even had a huge part in the development of some of the tech he used in the arena. It’s just that, sometimes, even he forgot about his own intelligence. Standing next to his fellow legends, it was like any confidence he had left in one fell swoop. He would stutter under their gazes and second guess himself on anything he said the second he said it. It’s something he’d always berate himself on later when he’s alone in his dorm where no one could see him.

Because he was smart. He’d tell himself that when he looked at his own smiling face, as surrounded as he was by it. Apex merch, some fanart, some cutouts they had stood up in stores he’d been sent. Elliott would stare at it all and remind himself that Mirage in the media was who he was. He’d gotten to legend status on his own, and that wasn’t something to write off. He was as intelligent as the rest of them, he just needed to remember that.

Though, admittedly, it did take Elliott a good minute to realize that the message he’d been sent wasn’t for him.

But, in his defense, this wasn’t an issue that had ever come up before. After their breach that forced them to move planets, the Apex Team had taken extra precautions when it came to legends getting fan mail. Elliott hadn’t blamed them, but he still couldn’t help but raise a brow at the extent they went to. In his opinion, it was just, like, two steps above sending it in on paper the old fashioned way. Honestly, that would go faster, since that didn’t need to be scoured by security software. Sometimes the dates lagged by so much that Elliott would get things months after a someone sent it.

So, yes, it did require a few read through’s for him to parse what was going on in the small paragraph. To be fair, it had his name in it. Don’t act so pretentious, TJ, everyone knows who Mirage is. The rest of the message was written in the same way: to someone who wasn’t actually Elliott and from someone who’s seemingly exchanged letters with this “TJ” before.

Maybe the program was on the fritz, picked out Elliott’s alias and sent it over to his inbox. It was something worth mentioning to the higher ups, because that absolutely had to be a liability in their new safety protocols. But more importantly - and definitely the thing he was going to address first - who was this letter for? Who was TJ?

There were only a few options, as most of the legends had opted to come forth with their real names when signing up for the Games. Elliott knew Bloodhound still operated under a veil of mystery, but he doubted they could be TJ. From what he remembered when he walked passed their dorm - which was usually something he tried to do quickly, since the bird Hound kept in there with them seemed to like Elliott only a little more than it liked Pathfinder - they didn’t even have a computer set up. No contact to the outside world unless it was through interviews.

Wraith just recently came across her name, Elliott remembered. She’d mentioned it in passing before disappearing for a few weeks in an abrupt request for time off. Wraith never really talked to anyone, so it kind of made sense. Everyone needed someone to vent to, even if it was about Elliott. What could TJ stand for? Taylor Jenkins? Tanya Jones?

Tilly Junior.

But then again, it really could have been any of them. Elliott wouldn’t put it passed Caustic to be using a fake name. Any of them could be using a fake name, and he doubted going around and asking would get him anywhere.

Elliott let the holopad slip onto the cushion of the couch he’d been lounging on, his head falling back to thump against the wall. Crypto would be able to help with the new mystery, that was at least something he was sure of. The amount of badgering and begging needed to actually get the hacker to relent and do any helping? Now that was unknown as well.

In the months that the season encompassed, he and Crypto ended up getting closer than probably either of them would have liked - at least in the beginning. Elliott couldn’t imagine what he would have thought then if he was told that most of his nights out of the arena would be spent at the other’s side, in his dorm, Crypto fiddling with some of the tech Elliott had lying around as Elliott himself talked his ear off.

Crypto was a good listener, he found. It was something in the quiet he maintained around him, a whole lot different than, say, Bloodhound’s. Not that Bloodhound was cold and off-putting; it was more so like what Elliott imagined stepping into an ancient library would be like. Something about Bloodhound made anything above a whisper seem too loud, and out of respect for said library, Elliott left them alone.

And then there was that time Crypto had caught Elliott staring at him when he blasted Caustic with a Charge Rifle from about 300 meters away. The only thing he’d done was give Elliott that knowing smirk then followed it up with an honest to god wink. Elliott was gone after that.

Things had changed in a steady progression. Instead of Elliott being the one to find him, Crypto would seek him out rather than hide away in his own dorm. When Elliott would invite him to his dorm, mostly joking, Crypto would surprise him by accepting. There wasn’t any verbal confirmation in the shift, though, and sometimes Elliott would worry about it, wonder if he was reading too much into things. Not that it was a big deal. He never cared much about labels, except when he really, really did.

But then Crypto would sometimes push Elliott against a wall in the downtime during the games while they were looting, or even when they were just hanging out. He’d silence ramblings by covering Elliott’s mouth with his own, and who was Elliott to tell him no?

They were close, now, yes, but for as good as Crypto listened, he didn’t talk much. It was something Elliott attempted to change. He tried to get him to open up in various ways, but the longest he’s ever gotten Crypto to talk was when he asked about the Holo Gear Mirage used on the field. Even then, Elliott did most of the talking. He’d gushed about his mom, how she did a lot of the work and he handled more of the fine tuning, reminisced about their workshop, the long days they used to spent together. Elliott remembered picking up something different from Crypto, then, something almost sad. Like maybe he’d been missing something, too.

Elliott never got to ask about it. Crypto had retreated to his own quarters pretty fast after that. He was too confused to wonder what he’d done wrong, and the worry was put to rest before he ever actually got to worry about it at all when Crpyto sidled up next to him the next day right before the drop. The situation just reaffirmed that there was a lot that Elliott didn’t know, like what kept Crypto so quiet, who he thought about when Elliott talked about working with his mother, what he always seemed to be working on when he was alone.

Or his name, Elliott realized.

After a pause, he scrambled back into a sitting position and grabbed the holopad again. There was public information on every legend that signed up for the Games, but the last he’d checked there had been something wrong with the page dedicated to Crypto. It showed multiple different error codes that were random upon opening the page and sometimes it would even crash a browser entirely. Forums still existed, though, and Elliott would use that to his advantage.

Quietly, in the back of his mind, he felt guilty, felt like he was doing something he shouldn’t.

A lot of the threads were just talking about the recent games and Crypto’s happenings in them. They talked about his marksmanship, which was pretty impressive, Elliott had to say. It wasn’t until a few minutes of scrolling - spent looking through GIFs and videos of highlights, that he won’t admit to - brought him to a specific thread. The person who posted was wondering about the drone Crypto had in his possession, asking about its name, speculating on the model. The top comment on it claimed to have spent time behind the scenes on the Apex Games Production team and declared that the drone Crypto used had a lot of similarities to the ones they use to film the Games.

The next comment didn’t exactly discredit the correlation, but they did say it was likely that the drone’s blueprint was leaked and got sold to another company, not Crypto having the clearance to use Apex equipment.

I doubt they’d let him have one of the official ones, with all the controversy surrounding them, the commenter said.

Elliott bit the inside of his cheek and narrowed his eyes in thought. It was a stretch, but it didn’t stop him from backing out of the forum and searching “apex filming drones”.

The first result wasn’t a link to the Apex Game’s website. It was another website with comment threads, its title “look what i found???”.

So, Elliott did.

i was doing some VERY LEGAL digging around, because i was wondering where the new guy came from and all that, but there’s literally NOTHING that isn’t hidden behind encrypted messes that would take like ten years to get through but when i tried, i got something on some dude named hyeon kim but when i went around looking for more i found this

??????

Below the post was a screenshot of an article from a news site called Outlands’ Journal. Elliott read it over, but the only thing he processed was “Disgraced computer technician, Tae Joon Park” and “Mystik, Joon’s former caretaker”.

And then, a little more down, was the comment, “Isn’t that the dude who’s wanted for murdering his sister or something?”

----=----

Despite popular belief, Elliott was a smart guy. In that moment, though, it really didn’t seem like a good thing.

----=----

The decision was one he made almost subconsciously: Elliott was not going to tell anyone what he’d found.

How would anyone even believe it? Elliott was hardly sure he even believed it. Spoken out loud, it would seem like such a tin-foil-hat conspiracy, and it’s not like he could use the thread he’d found the information in to back the claim up. He’d checked it again when he woke the next day, wanting to make sure he hadn’t had some fever dream, but the entire thread had disappeared. Even the account it was posted from was wiped from the site. On a whim, he checked his history and went to the link directly, but that only got him an error page.

The code was something he remembered from Crypto’s buggy Legend profile.

Elliott had almost been late getting ready for the games, he sat there for so long and stared at it. Luckily, the turbulence that signified they were getting close to the closed off arena literally jolted him as a physical reminder. Elliott shook his head and stood, making his way over to the collapsible, garage-like door in order to pull it down.

Isn’t that the dude who’s wanted for murdering his sister?

He was almost regretful that he wanted to go looking for more information. What if Crypto was somehow able to track the searches that were relevant to the article? That could be how the thread was taken down so fast, how the account disappeared. Was that what he was doing all the time, bent over his computer? Working to hide what he’d done?

Why even join the Apex Games, a program that was widely broadcasted across planets? Wouldn’t he want to keep a low profile? How did he even get the clearance to sign up? The producers had run background check after background check when Elliott had been brought in for an interview. So his public intoxication got put under the microscope, but the murderer they let in for free?

And yet, that didn’t sound right, even when he thought it. Sure, yeah, they all technically participated in a blood sport - but the technically was heavily implied. No one actually ever died; sometimes bones were broken and people had to retire after a serious injury, but that was just about it. Everyone who signed up was capable of killing.

But capability of killing was different than cold blooded murder. At least in Elliott’s opinion.

He was just pulling on the last of his Holo Gear when the door rattled in its frame. “Pull y’self outta bed, we got a game to win!”

“Door is closed for privacy,” Mirage berated.

Lifeline only cackled shortly before replying with, “I ain’t lookin’ at you, am I?”

Mirage pulled the door up so she could see his put-off pouting, which didn’t do much of anything besides getting her to laugh again. He followed her into the loading bay, passing Bloodhound and Wraith. They each gave him a respectful nod, always frighteningly eager to board their dropping platform. Still, Mirage responded with a courteous wink and two solid finger guns.

As the automated commentator announced the approaching drop zone, Mirage was suddenly very aware of the empty space beside him being taken up by another person. At first, neither of them said anything, but that was weird for him, so he had to say something, didn’t he?

“Fashionably late, as always,” he greeted, going for something half-joking, half-flirty. Honestly, he would proudly say he hit the mark, but Crypto didn’t say anything back. “Long night?”

Then, a too long second of silence fell between them as the dropping platforms began to hiss. Freezing air blasted, chilling his face, blowing his hair around, but it wasn’t the reason why his blood went cold in his veins. A voice went off in his head almost like an alarm. He knows, it said. He knows you found out. He knows.

“Always,” Mirage heard, just barely above the wind whipping between them.

And it was stuff like that that made him felt immediately guilty for the fear he held just moments before. There was that haunted, pained tone that took hold of Crypto’s voice that Mirage always seemed to catch when he knew he wasn’t supposed to. Just like how he caught something like longing when Mirage had spoken of his mother. How Crypto’s empathy felt different than others when Mirage mentioned his brothers.

He didn’t talk often, sure, but Crypto couldn’t stop himself from expressing in some ways. Not around Mirage, not anymore.

Obviously, there was the possibility that Crypto had done something - that very specific something - but Mirage just couldn’t see it. He had that gut feeling, and following those types of feelings got him to where he was right then. Standing among Legends.

Legends, and Tae Joon Park.

----=----

It’s about a month of doing his best of forgetting what he’d uncovered when he realized a problem he’d overlooked. Elliott had already come to the conclusion that Tae Joon and Mystik were close, close enough to risk each other’s safety by maintaining their pen pal status. They kept in contact that way, so the fluke Elliott had gotten in his inbox was not the first letter that had ever been sent between them.

Which meant that Crypto was going to be expecting a letter from his former caretaker that Elliott didn’t know how to give him without starting a shit show.

Just another thing to add to the reasons he wasn’t getting sleep at night, because “doing his best to forget” was awfully hard. Tae Joon’s silences were just periods of dreadful anticipation to him now. Every time they were together and the tapping on Crypto’s keyboard would pause, Elliott would expect to look up to see Crypto already staring at him, glaring, asking him how long Elliott had known -

But Tae Joon’s eyes would be on the monitor when Elliott would brave looking up, watching text wrap around the screen at all kinds of speeds. Sometimes it would freeze all at once, certain words blinking, and a corner of Tae Joon’s mouth would pull in an annoyed grimace - meaning he’d done something wrong, and the typing would start back up with a new kind of spiteful energy to it. Elliott would go back to what he was doing, wishing he could let out the breath he felt he’d been constantly holding, because sooner or later the typing would stop again.

Elliott was stressed out of his mind and it was starting to affect his performance on the field, but a horrible, evil little part of himself relished in knowing something others didn’t. That stupid, childish thrill of secret keeping. He wanted to hold it close to where no one else could see it, because he really, really wanted to. If not telling anyone meant protecting Tae Joon, then he wouldn’t tell a soul - even if that included Tae Joon himself.

But that was kind of backwards, wasn’t it? He was literally harboring a criminal, wasn’t he? Regardless of what Elliott’s stupid gut told him. Crypto was wanted for murder - but what was he supposed to do? Tell the authorities and get a potentially innocent man potentially killed? Or tell Tae Joon himself and be proven wrong, find out the very dead way that people Elliott found attractive really are out to get him.

Knowing what he did and not doing anything about it was dangerous either way. Hence the trouble sleeping.

People were starting to notice, too. Tae Joon noticed - and it was stuff like that that was going to get Elliot into trouble. He found himself switching the names around in his head. Tae Joon Park and Crypto were now interchangeable; the only way he avoided not messing up out loud and inadvertently revealing himself and what he knew was just by... not talking.

Which was hard to do.

It was easier than trying to condition himself to stop using the name, though. Because Elliott liked knowing it. There was a certain level of intimacy to it; it felt different now whenever Crypto would corner him or when he’d let Elliott turn him away from his computer. It felt like he was holding someone more, in a way. Not a mystery, but a person. He was holding someone. He was holding Tae Joon, kissing Tae Joon in secret, making a mess of Tae Joon’s bed. It was so much, and in those moments the secret was something he almost couldn’t bear. He’d just barely hold himself back from breathing the name, he’d bite his tongue to stop it.

And then the guilt would flood into his head, because he was lying. It felt so wrong to know this when Tae Joon wasn’t the one to tell him. So, Elliott withdrew. He was polite in the games, communicated as much as necessary, still bantered with Lifeline. Slowly he weaned himself off of flirting with their other teammate and reverted back to the beginning of the season. Except, not quite, really. Even in the beginning Elliott couldn’t help himself when it came to Crypto, but back then it was petty arguments that he didn’t know he craved. Now, it wasn’t much of anything besides civility.

The worst part of it might have been that Tae Joon never asked why. He allowed the regression to happen nonchalantly, but that was on purpose. Every so often, Elliott would still get pushed against a wall, when no one else was around. Tae Joon wouldn’t ask why Elliott didn’t talk to him, didn’t visit him, didn’t invite him to his dorm anymore. He would just kiss him, hard, desperate. It was almost like it wasn’t surprising to him. Like maybe Tae Joon had been waiting for it to end the entire time.

Shame would tear Elliott up after he’d pull away without a word. It would tear him up even worse when the next time Elliott saw him, Tae Joon would act as if nothing happened. Business as usual.

----=----

It had to end in some way, so Elliott really shouldn’t have been shocked when it actually happened - or that it was his fault that it went down the way it did.

----=----

He never had liked fighting Wraith. Mirage had been on her squad a few seasons ago and they’d spent a lot of their time in the arena watching the other work. So Mirage knew her tricks, but worst of all, Wraith knew his. Besides his good looks, charm, and being a crack shot with the Wingman, tricks were just about all Mirage had.

She had followed the sounds of his footsteps when he’d cloaked earlier in the gunfight to heal, weaving through the decoys he’d dropped without skipping a beat. It was a mess of bursts from SMGs, Wraith phasing away to duck behind cover. Another few bursts and MIrage would get sprayed down, only to disintegrate into lights and have him reappear around another corner.

Mirage strained to hear over the firing outside for her footsteps, placing her somewhere downstairs. He continued up, for once being grateful for the Skyhook buildings and the buffer they provided with their multiple levels. It gave him time to repair the damage done to his shields as Wraith presumably did the same before she began her chase again. They were bound to run out of supplies and floors at some point, but all Mirage needed to do was buy time for his teammates to secure their kills so they could come and take her off his hands.

It was a good plan up until it stopped working. Thing was, Wraith was fast, and Mirage was learning that if you’re not in her squad as often as you used to be, you forget just how fast she could be.

He heard the cocking of a Peacekeeper after he was a few paces onto the roof, which is also when he remembered seeing a fucking zipline in the building on his way toward the stairs. He hadn’t thought about it, immediately stored it under the dumb idea section; zipping straight up to the top floor just for Wraith to light him up and have him fall straight back down like a ton of bricks? No thank you, he’d take the stairs.

“Fuck,” Mirage said quickly, just as a shotgun blast exploded in front of him. Most of the spread was dodged by running around one of the pallets stacked with construction materials, but it still cracked through what was left of his shields.

He was dead, Mirage was absolutely dead. There was no way his Wingman was going to win against a Peacekeeper, not unless he hit every shot and Wraith missed all of hers - which she didn’t, she never missed.

A kick was placed neatly between his shoulders and Mirage flailed wildly, gripped at the metal framing of an empty wall and used the momentum to swing around -

- directly into another shotgun blast, one of which he took right into the stomach. That sent him sprawling. He landed hard on his back and the air was knocked out of him, leaving him gasping for it as he skidded a few paces forward.

Calmly, Wraith sauntered over to stand above him, reloading the few shots she’d used in her Peacekeeper. Mirage wanted to say something to maybe lessen the blow his pride and his body just took, but the only thing he could get out was a wet cough.

She grinned at him and knelt, shotgun going to one side so she could show Mirage the blade she held before pressing it to his throat. “Don’t worry,” she whispered, leaning in close. “I would have gotten you either way. Zigged or zagged.”

Mirage would’ve rolled his eyes had it not been for the kunai at his jugular, so all he did was swallow and wait for the push. But it never came. In the very next moment, Wraith was sent flying to the ground next to Mirage, her side smoking from a fresh Mastiff shot, the sudden sound of it nearly deafening him.

She pushed up unsteadily in an attempt to get to her feet, but Crypto beat her by grabbing at the scarf at her neck. “It seems like you zigged,” he started, mocking her previous low tone with his own smug lilt. Mirage watched as he raised his hand and his drone seemingly appeared in his grip while he finished with, “When you should have just quit and gone home.”

The drone came down against Wraith’s head hard, and in the time it took Mirage to blink, she was replaced with a golden case.

Crypto turned to face him, then, showing off the small smirk he’d been wearing. “Fashionably late,” he announced with a shrug.

Mirage couldn’t help the relieved grin that spread across his own face. “As always. Love that about you, kid.”

Crypto knelt at his side, taking the place Wraith had left behind, and fished around in the pack around his waist for the syringes he kept there. Once it was plunged into his chest, all of Elliott’s muscles seemed to twitch, but he felt his heart rate lower down to something manageable. He lost a lot of blood, though. He was going to have to huddle in a corner and lick his wounds for at least another five minutes before he’d be anywhere close to mobile.

“Thank you,” Mirage said in between a few deep breaths. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Match isn’t done yet,” Crypto chided lowly. He stood up straight and held out his hand for Mirage to take.

Which he did, but he only got halfway up before he hit the ground again. The cracking snap of a Kraber shot echoed in the empty air above the buildings and Mirage stared up at the blue sky, wondering why he wasn’t feeling any pain. Then, he heard the sound of himself hitting the floor for a third time and thought, that’s weird, I thought I already did that.

After that, he thought, I lost a lot of blood.

Tae Joon, is the next thing that came to his mind in the form of a horrible realization, one that he ended up voicing out loud in fear, in panic. He sat up from the adrenaline that panic gave him, hysterically hoping that maybe that the other hadn’t heard him, but mostly to satisfy the need of having to see if Tae Joon was okay.

And he wasn’t, not really. He was on his back, too, propped up on one elbow, one hand clutching at his shoulder that was spilling red between his fingers. But worst of all, he was staring at Mirage like the pain was second to the shock.

Mirage didn’t like the look he was getting, and it was especially devastating that it was Tae Joon who was the one giving it to him. Underneath the cloud from the medicine coursing through his system, he knew he had to explain, had to make it so Tae Joon could understand that Mirage knowing his secret wasn’t a big deal, that’d he’d known for a long time and nothing bad had happened.

So, he began with “Tae - “ and then, for some reason, finished with, “Tae - tuh - tuh - uh - totally thought you were going to die from that.”

Finally, he thought, Nice save, and collapsed.

----=----

They didn’t win, but that was the least of their worries. Well, maybe not Lifeline’s, but that was beside the point.

Elliott left the medbay as soon as he could, which still took a good amount of time. The nurse had mentioned something about the side effects of the Revival Syringe along with blood loss and not using anymore meds to stabilize after he was injected. They spent extra time checking his vitals and Elliott didn’t have to be a doctor to tell them that those were going to be skewed.

His heart was still racing when he made his way back into the dorms. It was a little relieving to find that it was empty; after the games, everyone typically accumulated in the mess hall to celebrate the winners. But the at the same time, it was disappointing. He almost wanted to see Tae Joon standing around every corner Elliott rounded waiting to confront him, because getting this over with meant getting back to normal, and Elliott couldn’t wait for that.

So, he risked a glance over at the other’s dorm across the sitting area as if getting a look at it would help him decide on whether or not he should knock, initiate it himself. The door was pulled up, though, left open. Elliott blinked at it once before wandering closer.

The room had always seemed bare, but the emptiness was emphasized now. He noticed that the blanket that was supposed to be folded and draped across the back of the couch to show off the South Korean flag was missing. The box Tae Joon had shoved under there and filled with parts and drives was pulled out, tipped over and empty. Even more, the drone’s docking station was gone.

Elliott rushed over to the desk and tapped the first key he could reach. Only one of the monitors flashed on, glowing blue and asking to proceed with setup.

“Oh, no,” Elliott muttered. He hurried back out to the seating area and looked up to the screens displaying that day’s match stats. Scrolling across the top was the ETA for the ship’s landing. Ten minutes. “Oh no, no, no you fucking don’t,” he continued to say, practically running to the hall for Boarding.

It Tae Joon got into the city before Elliott could catch him on the ship, it was likely that he’d never see the man again. He couldn’t let that happen.

But Boarding was empty, too, bar the few bots that managed the floor. Elliott practically skidded to a stop in front of one of them, startling the unit’s arms up and out.

“Hey, buddy, you wouldn’t have happened to see a guy, this tall - “ He holds up his hand, palm down, level with the top of his own head. “ - might have looked pissed off, which would be my fault, so I’m trying to find him. Have you seen him?”

The bot’s screen on it’s chest flashed red in the negative, then blue in an apologetic sad face.

Elliott grunted in disappointment. “Nah, don’t sweat it,” he assured the bot, even thought he was absolutely going to.

He was biting his lip when he exited, nervous. The ship held at least sixty people on it at once. It was a decent size and if someone like Crypto was hiding on it, someone like Elliott wasn’t going to find him.

Elliott swore, once in frustration, twice in shock when he was thrown roughly against the hard, metal wall of an empty hallway. Someone held him there with a fist against his shoulder and the threat of a pistol pressing into his abdomen. He was blinded before he could gather his bearings by a sudden flash of green light, leaving him blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

“Where did you get a gun?” Elliott chose to ask, deliriously, for some reason. “They don’t let weapons on the ship - “

“Who are you?” Tae Joon questioned. The aggression in his voice was something Elliott hadn’t heard since the first few weeks, around the same time Tae Joon was just as likely to twist his arm as he was to snap at him.

“What? Babe, you know who I am - “

“Elliott Witt is too clean, everything on him was too easy to find - they wouldn’t send an Elliott Witt to hunt me down.” His expression was neutral, but there was so much going on in his eyes that Elliot couldn’t look away, even when the gun reminded him of its presence with little jabs. “So who are you?”

And maybe there were a few things Elliott should have been offended by. Like how he wasn’t prestigious enough to warrant a protected record, or Tae Joon’s implication that he wasn’t capable of something he had already done - mostly on accident.

But what he ended up asking was, “You think I made everything up? You think I lied about my entire life for, what? Getting into bed with you?”

Tae Joon didn’t seem taken aback by the hurt that was evident in Elliott’s voice, but it did leave enough room for one second of hesitation. “Then they got to you,” he whispered, somehow sounding equal parts flat and devastated.

Elliott shook his head in confusion. Who was they? “No one fucking got to me, I actually don’t know who or what you’re talking about,” he tried to explain.

“Then how?” Tae Joon asked - angry. Elliott was finally able to identify one of the things burning in Tae Joon’s glare. Anger, and maybe confusion as well. Fear.

How did this happen, they both seemed to be thinking. How did I let it get to this?

“How did you find out?” Tae Joon snapped when Elliott spent too long watching him. “Who told you?”

“Mystik,” Elliott blurted, shocking the other enough to pull back just a little bit. “Kind of,” he went on in a hurry. “She sent you something, and I - I think the new software they implemented for security read my name enough times in it so it got forwarded to me - I don’t know exactly! I didn’t do it on purpose, it must be mald- malfuk - bugging out! So, I went to check, and I’d show you the forum post I found, but it’s gone already, I swear.”

Tae Joon took a step back, then another. “What did you find?”

Elliott let out a breath, wet his lips in a nervous tic. He shrugged. “Just - just an article.”

Disgraced computer technician -

Wanted for murdering his sister -

Tae Joon looked away suddenly and down the hall, like he was planning on running again. His frown was so intense a crease began to form between his brow.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Elliott said firmly. “I promise. But - what happened?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Tae Joon told him quickly. “If you don’t know, I can’t tell you.”

“Okay,” Elliott replied, despite how much he wanted to push.

Tae Joon seemed to sense that, gave him a troubled look. “I didn’t do it.”

“I know,” Elliott told him. “I believe you.”

It it was so easy to say, but they both knew it was more than the words spoken out loud. The admission meant Tae Joon’s shoulders could drop from their high strung, protected hunch. It meant they could both breathe. It meant Elliott could push off from the wall, get close - slowly - and gently retrieve the gun Tae Joon held to find that the safety was on. Because if he didn’t have to, Tae Joon wasn’t going to hurt him. He‘d never wanted to hurt anyone.

He put his fingers on the cool metal lining Tae Joon’s jaw to get him to look at Elliott.

“I believe you,” Elliott repeated, and Tae Joon kissed him for it. He put an open hand on the back of Elliott’s head and threaded his fingers through the curls that were there, pulling him in roughly. Elliott made a surprised noise but recovered fast enough. He pushed an arm underneath Tae Joon’s open coat to wind it around man’s waist and pressed his front to the other’s, hoping that somehow he’d get Tae Joon to feel the honesty in his words through an embrace. Thinking that he could show off the part of Elliott that was dedicated purely to him by just holding him against his chest.

Anything to get Tae Joon to stop kissing him in that same, desperate way as before, like he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Elliott said when they broke apart. He didn’t let the other go, though, and rested his forehead against his. “So you can’t either.”

Tae Joon’s features darken in a very particular way. “Don’t say that.” When Elliott lifted his head a little to show him a confused expression, he goes on to explain. “They take everything.”

Who’s they? I’ll kick they’s ass.

“They can’t take Mirage,” he said, smiling. “According to you, he’s too hard to carry.”

Instead of laughing, or giving that smarmy little smirk, or even rolling his eyes, Tae Joon raised a brow and asked, “What about Elliott?”

“Elliott’s yours,” he told him without thinking. “No one’s taking that.”

Tae Joon Park moved back in to kiss Elliott again.

=====

thanks for the prompt :^)

#apex legends #crypto #mirage #elliott witt #cryptage #cryage #those are the tags i know i'm sorry #kon's a writer #tae joon park

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shima-draws · 5 years

Note

Oh my gosh okay-I hope this doesn't sound weird but would you be willing to write a BNHA drabble about your college AU? Maybe something with Todoroki and Deku and All Might together? I love your AU and would love to see you write more about it!!

[[Send me a fandom/ship/prompt and I’ll write a drabble for it!]]

!!! I WAS SO HAPPY TO GET THIS ASK OH MY GOD?? I love doing stuff for my College AU…thank you for sending this in!

Anyway I got carried away (no surprise there, lmao) so this ended up being. Over 2k words. NOT MY INTENTION BUT I HAD FUN SO THAT’S ALL THAT MATTERS ANYWAY RIGHT

For anyone reading who doesn’t know anything about my College AU, I provided lots of background info in the fic anyway just in case? So it should work as a standalone oneshot without any prior context? But if you want the majority of the AUs details, you can check that out here c:

Anyway. Toshi and Izuku literally act like they’ve been father and son all their lives, Shouto thirsts, and there’s brief mentions of plane engines involved. Fun stuff.

ENJOY FAM!!

——————————————————–

“I’m not sure about this, Midoriya.”

They stand outside of the hangar entrance, the afternoon sun beating down on them. Summer hasn’t entirely left yet, the air still thick with heat. Shouto puffs out a breath and wipes the sweat off his forehead—from being hot or being nervous, he isn’t sure.

“Oh, come on,” Midoriya, gorgeous, perfect, endlessly kind Midoriya, nudges him in his side. “I’ve been wanting you to come here for a while and now you finally got the chance to since your afternoon class got cancelled! And I have clearance. So it’ll be fine!”

Shouto doesn’t really know of any other military hangars that sit on the edge of a college campus like this one does, so he knows it’s a pretty unique setup. A lot of people take classes here despite the intimidating black gate around the building and the numerous warning signs plastered to the structure. The students into aeronautics really do have it lucky. And so does Midoriya—currently an aerospace engineering major. He has access to the building, and has been pestering Shouto for weeks to come see the kinds of things he gets up to. Especially since he’s also a teacher assistant for one of the professors. And this particular professor is extremely well-known both within his field and outside of it.

Upon hearing Shouto’s quiet admittance of admiration for said professor, Midoriya immediately decided it would be a good idea to introduce them. In person.

Shouto’s really tempted to turn back around and head back to his dorm, even though he knows Bakugou is probably there right now doing unspeakable things to Kirishima—having to sit through that more than awkward situation sounds better than possibly passing out from meeting someone so unbelievably famous.

But Midoriya, with his lovely smile and bright green eyes and perfect everything, grabs Shouto’s hand and ushers him along, which promptly shuts up every bad thought he’s having. He is more than okay with this. Totally not about to trip over his own feet or anything. Are his hands sweaty? God, they probably are, it’s already sweltering outside, and Midoriya’s hand is strong and callused, most likely from all the engineering work he does, and Shouto’s hand is probably all gross from constantly plucking on guitar strings and gracelessly hitting piano keys and tapping away on his laptop while he fiddles with his composing programs, and—

Midoriya scans his student ID and the automatic doors open with a soft hiss, cutting off all train of thought. Shouto idly notices the green-haired boy still hasn’t let go of his hand, and refuses to comment on it. Let him enjoy this.

They travel down a series of twisting and turning hallways. All the people that pass through raise their hands in greeting to Midoriya, who energetically says hello every time. They all seem to know him, and seem genuinely happy to see him—like he’s someone important, someone worth going out of their way to say hi to. Shouto’s secretly glad that Midoriya gets such good attention from these people. He definitely deserves it.

They finally reach a very plain-looking and unassuming door. Midoriya releases Shouto’s hand (much to his disappointment—and he’s almost tempted to try holding it again) to unlock the door with his card.

When they stroll in, Shouto takes a second to look around. They seem to be in a workroom of sorts—blueprints and papers are scattered all about, as well as several complicated looking mechanical parts, tools, and larger machinery. Midoriya hums, a thoughtful frown crossing his features.

“That’s weird. I’m sure he’s on break right now…maybe he’s in the workshop?”

A resounding clang echoing from the doorway at the far side of the room is their answer.

Midoriya brightens like the sun, and Shouto thinks his smile is almost blinding in its intensity.

“Toshi!” He cries out, happily, and scampers into the next room. Shouto follows him at a slower pace, apprehension sinking into his nerves. He’s mere steps away from meeting Toshinori Yagi, All Might—one of the most famous war heroes in their country’s history, not to mention the man his father has a personal vendetta against—and Midoriya is on a first name basis with him. A nickname basis with him. That’s—that’s fine. It’s fine.

The last thing Shouto expects to see when he steps into the workshop is a tall, spindly looking man who is all bones and no muscle halfway buried under a plane engine. Huh.

Midoriya bounces on his heels. His grin is contagious, because Shouto feels his own lips quirking up at the corners. He looks like an oversized puppy.

Hearing them come in, the man underneath the engine propels himself out on a small rolling platform. He’s covered in dirt and grime, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the creases of his elbows. He looks gaunt—cheekbones sunken in, eyes dull and skin alabaster pale. Upon seeing Midoriya, though, his whole entire face lights up—and it’s like the green-haired boy’s presence is breathing life into his very frame, because he suddenly looks more vigorous than ever.

“Izuku, my boy!” He says with a wide grin, practically beaming. The pure delight at seeing Midoriya seems to radiate off of him. Shouto blinks in shock.

This is All Might?

Shouto had seen tons of pictures and online articles about him after the plane crash that had destroyed his body and therefore ruined his career, but witnessing him in person is definitely different. He’d gone from being an almost superpowered pilot to a sad, miserable shell of himself—but despite all that, he’s still working with planes and engines as he used to, just no longer out in the field. The fact that he’d gone from being a well-respected and admired military hero to a, well, still well-respected and admired professor of all things is a bit of a shock. (Then again, Midoriya had mentioned offhandedly that All Might always had a soft spot for mentoring and training others. It sort of makes sense that this is the direction he’d go with his career after being forbidden from being put back on active duty ever again.)

“Hey, Toshi!” Midoriya greets like it’s the most normal thing in the world to walk in on a legendary icon casually fixing a piece of complicated mechanic equipment. Shouto thinks his head is going to explode.

“Help me up, would you, my boy?” All Might asks, and Midoriya is at his side within seconds, easily pulling him to his feet. (Shouto pretends he isn’t openly watching the muscles in his arms flex with the movement.)

Once they’re all straightened out, All Might gratefully ruffles Midoriya’s hair, who giggles in delight. Shouto is in absolute disbelief when the blonde man loops an arm around Midoriya’s shoulder and pulls him into a side hug, which the boy melts into easily, naturally, like this is a common occurrence. They’re the picture of absolute camaraderie and Shouto feels like he’s going to drown under the mountain of questions he has about this predicament. Midoriya’s told him plenty of stories about how All Might had plucked him out of a sea of endless eager faces desperate to please and had given him the means to chase his dreams—but he hadn’t mentioned much about why they’re so close, or how they moved past the mentor-protégé stage and into the realm of actual friendship. Or…family, it seems now, because with the way they’re playfully nudging each other it really looks like they could be father and son.

After the two of them finally settle down, All Might’s gaze travels over to land on Shouto—and a shocked look makes the very vibrant blue of his eyes stand out even more.

“Oh! Um,” Midoriya dances on his feet for a second before rushing over to Shouto and gently guiding him forward, fingers grasping the crook of his elbow.

“This is Todoroki-kun! The, uh, the friend that I told you about before!”

Understanding dawns on All Might’s face, along with a strange knowing look that twinkles in his eyes.

“Oh, yes,” he chuckles, putting his hands on his hips. Despite looking somewhat like a walking talking skeleton, the way he holds himself is confident, yet friendly. Shouto’s starting to see how he ended up in a professor position. “I’ve heard plenty of good things about you from Izuku, young Todoroki.”

Shouto’s mouth drops open in surprise, and he feels his cheeks become warm. Midoriya’s talked about him? To All Might? And—and he’d told him good things?

“Toshi!” Midoriya squeaks, his arms flailing about. It’s a nervous habit Shouto’s picked up on throughout the course of their friendship.

All Might leans back and laughs, a full, deep-sounding one from his belly. And even though he’s not even close to looking like he once did in his prime, Shouto can practically feel the raw power emanating from that laugh.

Midoriya is pouting, but it’s half-hearted at best. If Shouto had more guts he’d start to consider taking that lower lip between his and kissing the boy silly, but again, he’s nowhere near ballsy enough. Bakugou wouldn’t hesitate at all but Shouto has standards, thank you very much.

His attention is drawn back to All Might when the man steps forward and offers a hand.

“I’m glad to officially meet the boy my favorite student talks about so much,” All Might says with a wide grin. Midoriya sputters but Shouto smiles, feeling a bit warm on the inside.

He definitely had his doubts before, but now he’s absolutely certain. Whatever relationship All Might and Midoriya have, it’s special, important, and he can tell just by looking at the older man that he absolutely treasures Midoriya, just like Shouto does. Good. All Might has very good taste. Not that he’s entirely surprised. Midoriya is a literal ray of sunshine and anyone who thinks otherwise is either completely blind or a massive idiot. (I’m looking at you, Bakugou.)

“It’s an honor to meet you, All Might,” Shouto says, honestly, taking the blonde’s outstretched hand.

All Might startled at that, blinking a few times. Then, he chuckles, shaking Shouto’s hand vigorously.

“Please, please, no need for formalities! Besides, I haven’t gone by that codename in years. Call me Toshinori, okay?” He says, smiling kindly.

Shouto exhales when All M—Toshinori releases his hand. (God, thats gonna take getting used to.) “Oh…sure.”

Midoriya bounces back over to his side, his posture eager in its tension. “Toshi, did you see the blueprints I left for you yesterday? I wanted to double check and make sure I did all my calculations correctly…”

Toshinori hums thoughtfully for a moment, and then he nods in recollection. “Oh, yes, yes! That’s right. You did wonderfully on them, my dear boy. I think this next assignment is going to be the perfect amount of challenging for my class.”

Midoriya lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree, and Shouto’s having a very hard time not laughing at how thoroughly pleased he looks. He didn’t realize how much Midoriya appreciates Toshinori’s praise, but he guesses it’s a bit obvious why.

“If we apply what you drew out to the most current version of the engine…ah, let me see…where did I put those blueprints…?”

“You two are pretty close,” Shouto comments, watching as Toshinori putters about in the shop.

Midoriya blinks at that. “We are?”

Shouto looks at him incredulously. “You’re on a first name basis, you’re more relaxed with him than I’ve ever seen you with anyone else, you hang off of each other like you’ve been friends for years and he calls you “my dear boy”. And you call him “Toshi”. So yeah. That’s the very definition of being close, Midoriya.”

Instead of getting embarrassed like Shouto thinks he will, Midoriya looks down at the floor thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” he says, quietly, after a long stretch of comfortable silence. He glances up at Shouto, beaming. “I guess we are.”

His gaze travels back over to Toshinori, who is now digging through a pile of blueprints.

“He means a lot to me,” Midoriya admits, softly, fondly. “He’s done a lot for me. He’s…one of the most important people in my life.”

Shouto closes his eyes and smiles. He’s glad Midoriya has someone on his side like this, an adult figure who’s willing to be there for him through thick and thin. He knows this goes both ways, too—Midoriya is clearly giving Toshinori all the credit, but what he doesn’t realize is that Shouto’s sure Toshinori believes Midoriya to be irreplaceable as well.

He opens his eyes to see Midoriya gazing at him affectionately, and his heart leaps. Maybe one day he can become this important to Midoriya, too.

——————————————————–

BUT LITTLE DOES SHOUTO KNOW, HE ALREADY IS. IZUKU’S JUST BAD AT SHOWING IT LMAO

At this point in the AU they’re already crushing hard on each other and Izuku has already fallen into a routine with Toshi where he invades his apartment at 3 AM to ramble on about how gay he is for Shouto. So Toshi is VERY well aware of his attachment to him hence his subtle teasing when they’re finally introduced in person lmao

Anyway I hope you enjoyed–I had so much fun writing this!! I love my kids :’D

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