domestic hell drabble: cross your heart (ao3 link)
[G] - 948 words
Well.
Here you are.
Life didn't go exactly as planned. Now you have a dual personality animatronic as a roommate. Living a totally inconspicious life with a haywire robot that you may or may not have "borrowed" (permanently) from the wreckage of the Pizzaplex.
Good luck.
A collection of drabbles from a "take them home with you" AU for Just Keep Playing Along.
Well.
This is weird.
Not bad weird. But like. More vulnerable than you anticipated, weird?
When Sun had sheepishly requested that the two of you sit down for a ‘serious’ talk, you weren’t sure what to expect. The semi-shattered robot’s thought patterns were often cryptic and difficult to follow, but you’ve figured out how to roll with the punches, more or less.
“Do we have to hold hands for this?” You pipe up at last. The two of you are sitting across from each other, criss-cross-apple sauce. Knees brushing together. Both of your hands are interlaced with his top set. Spindly fingers easily dwarf your palms, but the claws have long since been meticulously filed down to harmless peaks, much to Moon’s dismay.
The sunshine bot tilts its head. “N-no. But it’s fun, isn’t-isn’t it?”
You digress. Readjust your hold, absentmindedly tapping fingertips against the back of their mechanical hands. One, two, three. Four.
“And you wanted to talk about…?” You look back at them, continuing to pry the reasoning from the extra fidgety animatronic.
“W-well, us, of course! We – have very important matters to d-d-discuss!” The sunshine bot theatrically huffs, and you can’t help the amused quirk to your smile.
“Such as…?” You egg the robot on, leaning closer to peer up at him with your left eye extra wide, inquisitively. A feeling of what is going on flutters in your stomach. You are stupid, sure, but not that stupid. But playing oblivious is your strong suit.
“I think – that we – well, we are –” Sun sputters, servers overworking in a puff of steam. His faceplate juts to the side. Then a digit shoves right against the tip of your nose, startling you back. “We are in a re - la - tion - ship!”
You blink at them owlishly. “Yes?”
“A ro - man - tic one!”
You are fighting for your life to not burst out laughing at the aggressive assertions. Instead you bite the inside of your lip and hurry to nod your head.
Sun nods in turn, like all the puzzle pieces are slotting together at long last. Then, he pauses in a brief eclipse of silence. Like he is expecting you to fill in the rest of the gaps. Holding hands. Inches apart. What else is missing?
No. No. You want to hear his explanation. It’s kind of beautiful to be on the receiving end of such convoluted bullshittery, masquerading and tip-toeing around serious topics.
“So what do you want to talk about?”
Steam immediately exults from his vents in a burst of childish fury.
You uphold your poker face. Perhaps the real actor here is you. Award nominee.
“Well – obviously – hm.” You can witness the loading bar in real time as the animatronic stalls, digging through files to pull out the best explanation his processor can offer. “When two people – or – robots! Two robots and one people – person. When they –”
Poker face wobbling.
“When they – love – each other very much, sometimes, they ex - express affection through gestures such as h– holding handshandshands–”
It’s over. You are cracking up. Sun’s hits a pause on his rant to listen to, and analyze, your laughter.
“No, no! Go on, tell me, what else!” You raise up your wrist enough to use your sleeve to wipe a joyous tear from your eyes. The sunshine bot’s rays click in, making him look extraordinarily pathetic. Endearing. But he won’t give up. He finishes off the last of the flop rant.
“Or kissing!” The robot forces the two words out of his voice box with a sharp, squealing crackle that reminds you of a voice crack.
The remainders of your giggles peter out as you realize how genuine the worked-up contraption is. The hands that aren’t interlaced with yours keep picking at each other, struggling to keep still.
“That’s all?” You say.
“Yes!” The robot’s gears grind out.
“Okay, well.. Do you want me to…?” You try to gesture, but your hands are currently busy being held hostage.
“Oh! Oh! Right! Go a-ahead.” Their faceplate lowers, dropping suddenly from the sway of their neck hinge. Claws slip away from interlacing with your digits. He recalibrates them, one by one, ghosting above your flesh as if unsure where to touch down, to apply any pressure at all. Uncomfortable and awkward.
"Like this," you say with a smile, gently guiding their topmost set of arms to wrap loosely around your neck, rest overtop your shoulders. Like a pair of picturesque lovers. With the space remaining, you raise your hands up to carefully cup the sides of his face. Pads of your fingers digging into faded silicone.
Fans whir and steam puffs in anticipation. Biting down a giggle, you rock forward on your knees, going in for the kill. Smooshing your lips to plastic teeth, the pressure heavy. It hurts your nose, the peak of their crescent mask digging in. Its lower sets of arms spring out to claw harmlessly at your waist, tugging at the fabric as if needing you closer, as if you aren't already in the animatronic's lap.
You pull back, barely an inch away. Your nose hurts. You left a mark of saliva on their faceplate.
An awful, imperfect, wonderful kiss. Your heart feels gooey, warm and fuzzy.
Both of you laugh as you use part of your sleeve to wipe his grin clean.
You rest your forehead in the ruffles around their neck, inhaling the scent of lemons and laundry detergent. A hand firmly presses into the plane of your back, not wanting to let go. The sunshine bot keeps tittering, unable to cease its near constant output of happy, little, giggles.
Ive firmly convinced myself of transfem ralsei and either lancer will take the role of the prince from the dark, or it'll just be a perfect way of rejecting the prophecy
I will be taking no detractors, by engaging with this post you agree.
