Summary: Tommy is angry at others, so he comes to a hidden spot to avoid them, only to be found by reader, and he's glad to be found.
A/N: I know i implied i mayyy not write for now since if ykyk, but i couldn't resist myself from finishing it. And hey, i'm home from the hospital now, and i feel motivated lmao
The bench is splintering. Tommy notices first that the grass is too tall, that the surroundings are too quiet today, that he has been sitting there long enough for the sun to dip low and start painting everything gold... no. The bench is splintering, and he is picking at it like it personally offended him.
And it probably did.
He is angry, not sure if it's a tired angry or a loud angry. He's just... angry. Everyone keeps talking over him lately. Telling him what to do, what not to do, who to trust, who not to trust, etc. He is always wrong, apparently. Somehow to everyone, he's too loud, too reckless, and too much.
He had said it earlier without really thinking. "I just wish everyone would stop. Just leave me alone, okay?!"
And now he is alone, all because of his saying and fault.
He is at the little clearing by the ravine, the one tucked behind the half grown oak trees where the dirt dips and the air always smells like stone and moss, and nostaglic. The only spot nobody really knows about.
Nobody except you.
He hears the leaves crunch before he sees who it was.
He does not look up at first. "If that’s you, Tubbo, I swear...” he mutters, still picking at the bench, "I will actually explode."
You do not say anything. You just step into the clearing and sit down beside him like you have done a hundred times before.
"Not Tubbo," you say softly.
"Oh." Tommy says, as if he just realized.
"You're not here to tell me I'm being a knob, right?" Says tommy after a long pause.
"Nope."
"Or that I should apologise."
"Nope."
"Or that I started it." Tommy tries again.
You bump your shoulder lightly into his, "Even if you did."
That gets the smallest huff of laughter out of him, for the first time today.
He finally looks at you. His eyes are red around the edges, but not crying. He would hate it if you pointed that out, so you do not.
"You're the only one who knows about this spot." He says, quieter now. "I didn't tell anyone else. Not even Tubbo."
"I know."
"I didn't want anyone else here."
You nod again, "I know."
He stares at you like he is trying to figure something out. Like he is waiting for you to pull out a lecture or a disappointed sigh or some grand speech about responsibility and leadership and growing up, or he wants to ask you desperately what you were doing here when he wanted to see no one, but he doesn't. And that is what he doesn't like most about himself.
You just sit there, and that concerns Tommy, somehow.
The wind moves through the trees. Somewhere far off, someone sets off fireworks. Probably Quackity, or Wilbur.
Tommy's shoulders drop a little.
"They just keep looking at me like I’m going to mess it up again," He says finally, "Like I always do."
You pick at the bench too, right next to where he has been tearing at it. "You mess things up because you are still growing up."
"That's not how that works."
"It kind of is."
He frowns, "You're supposed to agree with me. That's how this works. I complain, and you say 'yeah, everyone else sucks,' and then we go blow something up."
You grin. "We can still blow something up."
That earns you a real laugh this time. It cracks out of him, surprised and bright and so painfully Tommy that it makes your chest ache with happiness.
Then it fades again. (ooc: bitchy/j)
"I just wanted it to be quiet," he admits.
"Just for a bit. No one needs something from me. No one is blaming me for something. Just quietness. And i being a kid again."
You look around the clearing. The trees. The ravine. The way the sun is setting down.
"It is quiet," you say, not really commenting on the last comment. Because you can't, you don't have any words for that, and you wish you knew what to say or do.
He swallows.
"Well, yeah. Yeah, it is."
Another pause.
Then, softer, almost embarrassed, "You don’t annoy me, by the way."
"Oh, wow. Highest honour." You reply sarcastically.
"I’m serious." He nudges your knee with his, "You don’t look at me like I’m about to ruin everything."
You just shrug. "That’s because you’re not."
"You don’t know that."
"I do."
He studies your face like he is searching for doubt, for hesitation, for that flicker of uncertainty he has gotten so used to seeing in everyone else.
He does not find it, and that relives him.
"You're so stupidly loyal," He says, but it does not sound like an insult.
You reply easily, "Only to you."
"Well, you shouldn’t be." He says, a bit frustrated.
"Too bad." You shrug.
The sun dips lower. The sorrounding grows cooler.
After a minute, he lets his head tilt sideways until it rests against your shoulder.
He lets out a slow breath.
"They can all be mad," he murmurs. "I don’t care. Not anymore."
You hum, "Sure you don’t."
"Shut up."
But there is no bite to it. Just tiredness, and relief.
In this little hidden patch, with the world temporarily held at arm's length, he does not have to be the loudest person in the room for now. He does not have to prove anything at all. And last but not least, he does not have to fight for a place for himself.
*cracks knuckles* Aight, ive for my first request!!!! Hopefully this is an actually good one lol, it just popped into my head while I was tryna wake up lolz.
Uhh basically reader goes away on a trip for whatever reason, and surprised C!Quackity when they return??? Uhh idk all in all fluffy stuff... Thank you!!!!!!^^
₊‧°𐐪 C!Quackity x GN!Reader 𐑂°‧₊.
"And I promise that one day l'll
feel alright
And I'll make a cup of coffee
With the right amount of sugar
How you like it"
Summary: After being away for a week, you finally return to Las Nevadas and are greeted by a very relieved Quackity, who practically tackles you into a hug after missing you the entire painful week. To make things better, you surprise him with a box of souvenirs from your trip to the neighbouring country, including a little duck trinket that immediately makes him overjoyed.
A/N: OMG I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, ANON. THIS IDEA WAS SO CUTE UIFNFJVNEJOF. Lwk my heart can't overload this much cuteness. The whole time I was cooing, giggling, and being delulu while writing, I had so much fun writing this. Also, shout out to my friend for suggesting the duck trinket thingy! Had been on it since this morning, and rn it's 10:54 pm. So if we do the math right, 9 hours. DAMN. I'm giggling. Anyway, hope you enjoy it, and it's what you hopefully were looking for! Also i left it to the readers whether they wanna view this fic as platonic or romantic.
Seven days. One week.
A hundred and sixty-eight hours.
Not that Quackity was counting, he absolutely was.
The first day had been manageable, to say the least. He had rolled his eyes and, of course, thrown a childish tantrum over it when you'd announced that you were leaving Las Nevadas for a little while. For what? Dream XD forbids; no living being can be sure. This is how unpredictably chaotic you were to him.
"A week?" He had repeated it, almost sounding offended.
"Just a week."
"A week is seven days." Quackity deadpanned, and to his annoyance, you dared to grin at him as if he had just won a one-thousand-dollar lottery.
"Congratulations! You know your days." You patted him on his shoulder.
"I know how many days are in a week, dumbass." He hissed, swatting at your hand.
"Then why are you acting like it's the end of the world?"
Well, first of all to begin with... Because it felt like it. And maybe it was. But he never said that out loud. Hell, he'd eat dirt but admit it out loud.
Instead, he bratily crossed his arms and complained for another ten minutes while you laughed at him.
You had left anyway. Traitor. Quackity just huffed and said to himself who cares, it's only just a week.
Yeah, well, he underestimated that, unfortunately.
Quackity had spent the following week trying very hard not to think about it. About the emptiness you left behind. How he missed your nosy questions. The way you laughed a bit too loudly each time he'd crack a dry joke. And whatever else related to you.
Which was difficult.
Because suddenly everything reminded him of you.
Even the silence felt wrong. It's not even the tranquil silence you expect after a rough day. But a heavy one. Like something is missing; in this case, it's you.
Las Nevadas was never exactly quiet, but your absence left behind a noticeable gap. A space only you seemed capable of filling. And Quackity isn't a big fan of it at all. Call him dramatic, but he'd rather have you eat his brain off with your talkativeness than endure painful silence.
By day three, Quackity was convinced you had somehow gotten yourself into trouble. Like 'getting captured by aliens' or 'being shot to death out of nowhere' type trouble.
By day four, he was debating whether or not sending a search party would make him seem overly attached. Or maybe he'd be the better choice to go and drag your clumsy ass back home.
By day five, he had already planned three different rescue missions. Three of them were equally horribly planned. But who cares? It's the thought that counts, roght?
'Just in case... yep.' That's what he told himself while halfway through a dramatic panic attack.
Not that he'd ever admit it. He's taking this information with him to his grave.
By day six, he was pacing around his office so much that even Sam had started looking concerned. DO YOU EVEN HEAR THAT?!
Then your letter arrived, much to his relief. Quackity had nearly ripped it in half trying to open it. And there it was inside, your messy, familiar, yet weirdly comforting handwriting.
You'd be back in two days. That's what you wrote: short and simple.
Two. Days.
Two more freaking days.
For the first time all week, Quackity actually smiled. A real smile, one that showed his dimples and where the skin at the corners of his eyes wrinkling from the flood of relief and pure happiness.
The kind that softened his features and made him look younger than he usually allowed himself to appear.
"Finally," He muttered excitedly, almost vibrating. Too excited for his liking, but at the moment, he was lost to the news.
The wait somehow became worse because now he knew exactly when you'd be arriving. And every hour dragged on. Every minute felt twice as long.
When the day finally came, Quackity had been pretending to work, keyword: pretending.
The paperwork in front of him hadn't been touched in nearly forty minutes. Then one of his workers mentioned seeing a familiar figure approaching Las Nevadas. And that was all he needed to know.
The chair nearly tipped over behind him. He was already halfway out the door before anyone could finish their sentence.
You had barely crossed into the main area before you spotted him, marching toward you with enough determination to start a war or maybe a conversation that would last forever, judging by his expression, you couldn't tell honestly.
You opened your mouth, about to either greet or question him, "Qua—", that was as far as you got before his arms wrapped around you so quickly that your feet nearly left the ground. The impact knocked the breath right out of you.
"QUACKITY!!"
"Oh my God," he muttered immediately, but it came out muffled, buried somewhere against your shoulder like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.
His arms were tight around you, almost too tight, like he was trying to make up for every second you weren't there just by holding you closer. You could feel the way he was breathing, a little uneven, eyes delighted, like he had been holding it in for too long and only now remembered how to let it out.
"You were gone forever," He said, and even though it was dramatic, there was something real underneath it that made your chest feel weird in a soft way.
You let out a breathless laugh, still half stuck in the shock of it all.
"I was gone only for a week," You reminded him, though it came out weaker than you meant it to.
"A week is forever," He shot back immediately, like it was the most obvious fact in the world.
"It literally isn't," You remarked back, but there was no real bite to it, not when he was still holding you like you might disappear again if he blinked wrong. At the moment, you almost felt guilty for leaving. Almost.
"You abandoned me," He added, pulling back just enough to look at you, though his hands didn’t leave your shoulders.
"I sent a letter," You argued, trying not to smile too much at how serious he looked.
"You sent only to let me know when you'd be coming back," He replied with a frown, like that was a crime.
"That's enough to let you know I'm coming back, and not abandoning you," You insisted, scoffing softly at his antics.
"No, it isn't," He replied instantly, completely convinced.
That finally broke you. You laughed this time, the kind that made your shoulders shake a little as you leaned into him without even thinking about it.
The sound made him squeeze you tighter, way too tight, like he was trying to make up for a whole week in one hug. You wheezed out his name a couple times, "Quackity… Quackity, I need my ribs," and that finally got a snort out of him. He loosened his grip just a little, but not enough to convince you he was done being dramatic.
When he finally pulled back, his hands stayed on your shoulders like he was double-checking you were real. His eyes immediately started scanning you up and down, serious in that overprotective way he gets when he’s trying not to panic. "You okay?" He asked fast.
"Yes."
"You sure?" He asked again, sceptical.
"Yes, i promise."
"Nothing happened?"
"Nothing happened." You confirmed softly.
"No one attacked you?"
"Not at all."
"You didn’t fall off a cliff, did you?"
"No!" You replied instantly, huffing as if the mere question of falling like some rookie sounded ridiculous to you.
"You didn't get kidnapped?"
"No."
"Start a revolution?"
Now that seemed to make you hesitate for half a second, "...No."
His eyes narrowed instantly, "Why did you hesitate?"
"I didn't!"
"You definitely did!"
You laughed again, and he went quiet for a second like he forgot what he was mad about. Then he cleared his throat, trying to act normal again, but his hands didn't leave your shoulders.
That's when he finally noticed the box. Wrinkled, too-colourful paper, crooked ribbon, very clearly 'I tried my best' energy radiating from it. "What's that?" He asked, suddenly curious.
You lit up immediately, remembering its existence finally. "Oh, right! I brought you something."
"A gift?" He repeated, suspicious already.
"Mayyybeee."
"That's concerning..."
"It'll make sense if you open it."
He took it like it might bite him, shooting you a look like he fully expected it to explode or contain something illegal—Ironic, given who's speaking, "You look scared," You teased.
"I'm being cautious," He protested immediately, "You once put a chicken in my office."
"It was funny."
"It nested on my desk and laid eggs."
You were still laughing—almost wheezing due to the number of times you'd laughed so far—when he finally opened it, and for a second he looked ready for a prank. But then he actually saw what was inside.
Souvenirs.
Little things from your trip. Carefully packed, like you actually thought about him the whole time you were gone. His teasing just… stopped. Gone.
And then he found the duck.
A tiny, bright yellow trinket. Probably clay made and hand painted.
"Oh my God," He gasped, or well, squeaking at the sight of it.
"I knew you'd like that one," You said proudly, placing your hands on your hips with that smug look of yours.
"It's a duck!"
"Thanks, i knew—"
"It's literally me."
"Pretty much."
He turned it over in his hands, and then he laughed in disbelief and admiration, the kind he doesn’t do in front of everyone. For a second, everything around Las Nevadas just faded out.
"You didn't have to do all this," He spoke, a little quieter now.
"I wanted to, though," You shrugged, like it was no big deal. Because it really wasn't.
That did something to him. You could see it in the way he looked at the box filled with souvenirs and the duck trinket again, then at you, like he was trying not to feel too much at once.
"A week," He muttered, mostly to himself.
"What about it?" You asked, eyebrows furrowed together, as you stared at him, confused.
"You're not doing that again. Period. No talk."
You groaned, "Here we go."
"I'm serious," he argued, but there was no real bite in it. Just worry pretending to be attitude. "I was worried."
That made you pause, but you quickly masked the reaction by bumping his shoulder playfully, "Hey, I'm back."
And that was enough for him to breathe peacefully, knowing you're still here. Still standing.
His expression softened, and before you could even tease him about it, he pulled you back into his side, arm around your shoulders like it belonged there. "Good," He said simply.
You giggled at his response, "There he is!"
"Shut up."
"Nuh uh."
"Fine," he grumbled, tightening his hold just a little more than he meant to, "But you're staying where I can see you. Got it?"
You rolled your eyes, but you didn't move away.
Because honestly?
You missed him just as much as he missed you.
And the duck stayed in his hand the whole way back into Las Nevadas, like he wasn't planning on letting go of it or you anytime soon. And you don't blame him at all for it.
