Faltering Fantasies (Wally Darling x Reader)

3. Prophetic Revelations

"Alright." The two of you made it back Home and you took the items from Wally. It wasn't a very long walk, but he insisted that he'd hold your basket.

"Do you need some help?" Why was he so gentlemanly?

"Nope, get out of here. This is a surprise, remember? Go paint or something," it broke your heart that you had to push him aside, but this was for the greater good.

"Alright, alright!" After he left, you immediately began with the crust. He'd often check on you, but you were quick to get him off your tail. Luckily, he wasn't too insistent on figuring out what you were making. He was quite patient, actually.

Thanking god that Poppy ran out of space for pie pans and left some at Home, you lined the tin. This next bit was going to be hard, you knew.

As always, what did peak Wally's interest, was when you had to make the filling. He kept a bowl of apples in the living room for easy access when he got up for a midnight snack. You knew he did this every night because you slept right next to him. And while you did try to protest by sleeping on the couch, the loneliness of being in the living room of a sentient house in pitch darkness frightened you enough to swallow your ego. Wally loved his apples as much as he would a child, and you couldn't do anything about it.

As soon as you left the kitchen, Wally beamed at you from across the living room. "Need help, darling?" He was sitting on the couch—paintbrush in hand—adjacent to an easel. Seems like he took your advice.

"No." He eyed you as you wandered nonchalantly towards the apples. Hopefully, not acting too suspicious. "Here," you threw him an apple and he swiftly caught it before it could land in his paints.

"What's this for?"

"In case of relapse!" You snatched the bowl and high-tailed your way out of there.

"Y/n?!"

~•~

The kitchen smelt wonderfully. Apple and cinnamon sugar wafted through your senses. Sure, Poppy usually did all the baking, but the taste of your sweets couldn't be topped.

You gingerly sprinkled sugar atop the pie crust after clamping the edges. The oven felt welcoming rather than abrasive. Nice and toasty for this delightful treat.

You didn't feel ecstatic, just happy and comforted. You wanted this moment to last forever. The feeling of bliss that overwhelmed you as you waited for the baked good was immeasurable. And knowing it would get even better as you tasted the fruits of your—just slight—labor made you feel happier than you ever could've been.

The oven gave a satisfying 'ding' as you reached for the blue mitts. He made sure to get blue ones, it was his favorite color after all. The color was starting to grow on you too.

"Mm," you grinned, placing the dish on some cloth you kept atop the counter.

"Done yet?" You heard the familiar voice.

"No, unless you'd like to burn your fingers off," you answered, chuckling.

"Oh darling, you know your treats are worth it," he would never stop calling you that, would he?

"Worth what? The wait or the burns?"

"I think a bit of both,"

"Showing some restraint, huh. Usually you'd be ready to claw into the poor thing," you teased. You made him an apple pie once—back when he was just a puppet—after work. While the explanation of where the apples went wasn't simple, he enjoyed it nonetheless.

"It's a pie, not a 'poor thing' I'm sure you know you're meant to eat it."

"Yes, you eat it. I'm talking about you devouring it."

"You can't expect someone to not react that way in front of their favorite treat," you just giggled at that.

"Actually, I think it's ready now," you said, touching the now much cooler, dish.

"Wonderful! Shall we 'devour' it now?"

"Devour we shall," you said, giggling once again.

~•~

You lay on your back next to a sleeping Wally. It was only now that you realized how familiar that situation was. It was almost as if the moment was scripted. As if you'd lived it before, but you couldn't recall it if your life depended on it. That feeling of nostalgic confusion wouldn't leave your head. Did your dream predict the future?

What even was time in the neighborhood? Was-

"Y/n..." the half-asleep puppet mumbled your name and wrapped his arms around your waist. You nudged him off out of habit and retreated to your side of the bed. You'd really have to start bugging him about getting you a permanent place to rest.

Hopefully you'd be able to leave before it did become permanent though.

~•~

800 words

"Wow, it's strange seeing my past writing right next to my current. The past section is on chapter 3. Living in Dreamland of "I'm Home" if you want to reread it. I think the only difference is that my writing and dialogue seems more natural. What do you think? For those of you who've been here since the beginning, comment your thoughts, and I'll see you next chapter!"

- Coffee