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soranihimawari · 2 years ago

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Bring me Home

A story of love lost & found

Word count: 4.8+

Pairing: noble!osamu x maid!reader (link to fashion)

2nd pairing: platonicnoble!atsumu x maid!reader

Warnings: angst->fluff//making out//secret relationships

Rating: 🔞—MA themes involved & allusions to sex

Osamu & yn vibes on god fr fr^

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑝𝑜𝑛 𝑎 𝑗𝑒𝑤𝑒𝑙 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒． 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑚 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑛𝑜 𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠．

“And that concludes our history lesson your graces,” The tutor says, closing his book. Around the older gentleman sat two twin royals who were board out of their skull because their mother had to have their lessons earlier in the day. Typically afterwards, the three of them would stroll the market checking on their subjects and the like.

Raising the twins of this noble family did come with a price: they did like to test one’s patience as children often do. However, when the time came for merit formal education to begin at seven, the twins had finally showed their personalities through and through. There was the brash and abrasive Atsumu who wasn’t afraid in challenging the stray dogs to a fight and win (by bringing home a pup or three one afternoon); and his brother who instead of leaving their abode, chose to make rancid concoctions in the kitchen while listening to the housekeepers (and chefs) gossip often blackmailing them in order for them to keep their job.

More times than they can count, their care takers might have dumped them into the knight training grounds to get a moment of peace. Sword fighting and hand to hand combat under the tutelage of the Kitas and Ojiros had exceptional results: those that guard their boys with their lives were the ones most dedicated to attend war council meetings (luckily there has been no true signs of uprisings elsewhere in this part of the country).

This continues until the boys roughly reach age seventeen. By then, a majority of their formal education has been concluded—both knew how the serving class’ wealth added to their own (studies had shown happier homes equates to the boost of morale in those who did work at their estate); those who were charged to care for them s as children were now much older, so whenever someone was amicably relieved, the boys were now wise enough to not only apologize for their misdeeds, but often invited them back for special celebrations… like today.

Today you were running late. It was an accident as you thought you had placed every formal garb upon the back of your wooden chair. Unfortunately, you did not and now here you were with nothing but a chemise, tan boots, and rough textured hair sticking in all different directions.

Your reflection in the oval dresser mirror was a bit dirty due to the dust in the lowly room where you’ve lived since Ms. Arimoto had retired two years ago. An apprentice to the gardeners, you seemed to pick up the work right after she had showed you the ropes. Often you were also tasked with covering for any housekeeping staff as life tends to send certain ones curveballs (like when Ms. Arimoto’s brother had his first child; Ani-chan got married and moved to his in-laws territory; and chef hikaru had recently came back from burying her grandmother).

A knock disturbs your mad rush to fix yourself appropriately to answer the door. On the other side, a squire clears his throat. He calls out your name right as you unlock your door. The status of you being half dressed has the lad in a flustered state.

“Tell those graces of yours I’ll be there in five minutes,” You huff. Your skirt is almost fastened while the chemise still is half untucked.

“Hai,” he salutes you and saunters off.

Slamming your door shut, you do your best to tuck the rest of the chemise into place and with that done, you pull over your peasant top. The bustier, which thankfully is worn enough to your figure, ties in the front. You leave your room, not giving a damn about your hair until you round the corner slamming into a very stiff, but warm wall…

“Oi.”

Walls don’t talk, your brain thinks. Oh, oh no…

“Are ya gonna t’apologize or not?”

You take a step back, draw in a breath, and through a false smile, you bow.

“Whatever do you mean? I honestly thought you were a wall, your grace,” You raise your head as you straighten up. “Forgive me, I was in a bit of a rush sir.”

Honeyed eyes which flared with delight whenever you were around seemed to have softened. You don’t have many friends within the nobles, but being close in age with dukes and certain duchesses did help in situations like this. Atsumu’s befriending of you when you had first arrived was nothing short of a prank. A wager between him and his brother, Osamu, to win the favor of any person outside their ranks would win. How did Atsumu win? He had asked you specifically to serve him tea in the parlor as his brother was about to proclaim his victory—in five minutes you came with four sets of cups and saucers as the aromatic tea fills the room. The first two were poured by your hands and as you stood by, each of the boys bring out a paper. The scribbles and scratches, from what you can tell, had names on them.

“And you, yn,” atsumu’s voice was curious. “What do we call our acquaintanceship?”

Eyes of graying clouds study your figure. Light mustard yellow with burgundy trim was the fashion fabric for the season and somehow it complements you. Your sunkissed skin from working the flower fields in their mother’s garden was proof enough which class you’re in, but though the sun favored you, when your eyes meet and bounce between those of the brothers, you ponder a bit more prior to answering.

“No one has asked me that before your grace,” you bring a thoughtful curled finger to your chin. “But I suppose ‘master and apprentice’ might be more appropriate to describe what I am to either of you.”

Osamu’s first instinct is to laugh hysterically at his brother’s tie breaker, who not to discredit Atsumu’s being kinder to you lately, because with that answer the game continues. You are dismissed and as you leave, you hear Atsumu whine saying he had thought for sure you were going to agree and say perhaps you’d be friends from them on. Your ears also pick up Osamu’s insults at his brother by praising your intellect when giving your answer. For whatever reason, hearing that praise made your steps a little lighter that day.

Presently, you stand face to face with Atsumu who in turn after your apology, asks you where you’re off to in such a hurry.

“Kitchen,” You reply. “Madame is showing us the desserts she’d like to serve this afternoon for tea.”

Feeling your excitement as you are told to scurry off., Atsumu shakes his head chuckling. To his left, his friend who is visiting for the day, Suna, raised an eye brow.

“Yn certainly had grown into her figure,” Suna makes a figure in the air with his hands. “Does your brother still latch on to her whenever he sees her?”

Atsumu turns to his fox-eyed friend. “It’s been two years since that foolish bet. Yet ah am not opposed to having yn around. She is a good friend to him and me, so why should we add more to the rumors they are lovers?”

“Because it’s funny?”

“‘m going to pretend ya didn’t say that, eh Suna? Especially if they’re the blindest dorks on earth.”

Elsewhere, as you make it into the kitchen, you grab the last apron. The madame of the house and head pastry chef didn’t necessarily called you out for your tardiness, so the mini-baking lesson had begun. Honestly baking was fun, yet since you had a not so secret secret, you found you did best when following dictated orders versus reading a recipe.

To be fair, you didn’t know what a library or a book was until you started working in the estate. A lot of the noble women often would bully you just because you pronounced words awkwardly and when word finally reached one of the twins, Osamu was rumored to have stood up for you; Atsumu on the other hand, had defended you as well mentioning you might not have had any formal education, but “yn-san manages ‘er time wisely and doesn’t run ‘er mouth like ya girls do.” And though it might have caused the ladies to be quiet, at least one of them has declined invitations back. That did not sit well at all for the mother who birthed outspoken boys to begin with. Although, after she had called you into her study, you notice Osamu was within earshot of the scolding you received for not defending yourself better.

“Your boys did it for me, majesty,” you stood a bit straighter. “And for that, I have the utmost respect for them.”

Your hands stayed at your side, knuckles white as they gripped the sides of your skirt. You’re first audience in a long time with her excellency had your heart beating outside your chest. Looking to where Osamu stood, you knew he couldn’t say anything at the moment while his mother was still furious.

“You may have respect for them, but what of their reputation?”

This again? Your thoughts circle the word reputation. Isn’t it enough that whoever wanted to rip your clothes was told not to by Atsumu? Or when you claimed you fell on the stairs, Osamu offered you a hand to stand up as the girls who passed by called you clumsy even with the evidence so blatantly seen on their smug faces after asking Osamu to drop you “because why should we be nice to staff members?” At this, Osamu whispers to you to pay them no mind; you straighten yourself out, disappearing without so much as a thanks—it comes a week later in the form of a tea service your mentors had advised you perform for the twins who made it bearable to be around such snobby women.

Their mother sees a thorn in front of her; the dress you wear is a hand-me-down from her girlhood days. The fabric then was heavy and uncomfortable in the summer months, yet alas the tailor who was to throw it out decided to gift it to you. How quaint, her excellency thinks. The sleeves were hemmed and the excess trim were cut away, leaving nothing but a simple gown in need of either a bustier or pea coat in this autumn weather.

“Madame, if reputation is what all noble people care or gossip about, then what makes them any different than those below their status?”

You bow as gracefully as you could manage, then exit the study. Your meals were withheld for a week and replaced with table scraps for verifying a truth so long forgotten. Thankfully when Osamu speaks to his brother about what their mother did, you started receiving messages during their tea breaks when you served them via the teas they drank: green tea meant extra entree, Darjeeling was a spare dessert, citrus was snacks, etc. from then on, when you dined with them, you became friends. The wager didn’t matter anymore.

Back in the present, as the tarts bake in the oven, you lean against the window facing the eastern sea. Knights and swordsmen are conducting their training and you spot a certain twin joining the fray. Others don’t pretend to notice the difference in chemistry your trio brings, yet knowing who recently requests you more over the other has people in the estate gossiping like mad. Those that tend to the Madame are quite bitter none of their trainees had won favor as fast as you did. Perhaps it’s the way the boys look to you for praise, yet you humbly say what needs to be said with an air of honesty which, to be frank, can be too acidic for some.

“Poise and grace can only get you so far,” ms arimoto said on the eve of your seventeen birthday. “So be honest and accept critique with kindness and you’ll do just fine, yn.”

You nod and ever since then, your brain reminds you of that advice. Surely, that Indian summer as the sun rises steadily higher, things were about to change…

A few days later, you’re outside tending to the garden. The night of the celebration had concluded with the twins readily sneaking out to party with the knights and others in your class as well to enjoy a night off of official duties. You’ve rarely seen your peers drunk, but when Ms Morimoto returns for her official retirement party, everyone raises a glass to the sky in her honor. Music and dancing were always encouraged and though your plate was still full, you eventually manage to make your way to the dance floor. Nights and other staff alike watch as you raise your hands up to the sky and wind your body in ways no one thought possible. It was then Ms Arimoto calls you an affectionate term of those who lived in the desert: hōseki (gem).

Maybe fraternizing with you in particular had rubbed the twins’ mother the wrong way, so their lessons were longer and more egregious than before. You were often sought after such lessons for snacks and tea breaks for this last quarter of months.

Three months you had a disruptive sleep schedule because though your priorities included tending the garden, whenever either Osamu or Atsumu refused their butlers or house keepers, those people come banging on your door. Not that they were jealous of you tending to the boys, but they were afraid they’d lose their jobs if one or all of them didn’t send you to the twins’ adjoining rooms. The worse of it was when both Atsumu and Osamu were scheduled exams at six to eight hour intervals because what was sleep then? When that hellish week was over, the boys found you passed out on the floor, the ceramic tray with the sandwiches shattered to your left as you just knocked out from exhaustion. You did give them quite a scare, so imagine your surprise when you wake up on the ottoman with your head resting against a pillow on Osamu’s thighs and your legs curled like a kitten against Atsumu, both were reading novel’s at the times silently as to not disturb you. Those who did come into the room to drop off food claimed to have seen nothing of the ordinary—just two brothers fretting over their friend’s well being.

Eventually, Atsumu was called for an abroad trip to the south for a summit while Osamu stayed behind to run the estate. Their parent was blissfully away conducting and reporting merchant routes with her council. As for you? You used this time to tend to your specialities: making sure your duties were completed at sundown everyday…even if it includes literacy lessons with Osamu.

You don’t speak a word of how he reads novels aloud to you and he teaches you how to pronounce the words from the picture books when he and his brother were four years old. He doesn’t mind the awkward way your lips, teeth, and tongue roll over difficult words like, “exuberant” or “dreary,” because he gets to squish your cheeks together to at least let your mouth remember the movements of such sounds.

You see the frustration dissipating when you said “extraordinary” back to him one morning. His hands don’t squish your cheeks then, he’s too busy trying to control the flustered look his agape mouth makes. You tilt your head to one side when you ask him to define what it means. He blinks at your question before making a blind bold choice of words.

“You,” Osamu’s voice is barely a whisper. “You’re extraordinary.”

“I am?”

You lean in to study those swirling gray orbs of his, almost teasing him with how close you actually are.Osamu replies with his lips against yours, not shying away from whatever needs tried to suppress for however long ago you first served him and his brother tea.

It’s over in an instant, and your eyes remained closed a smidge longer than his.

“Yes,” his lips press against the corner of your mouth again. “You are.”

You take the compliment to the grave but it’s only when his hands keep you in a lover’s embrace, does your heart sway. You warn him, dressed in the blues and whites he comes to adore, of the consequences if either you or him were to pursue this.

“We just have to be careful,” Osamu’s heart is not one to be deterred, yet he knows you have so much more to lose. He can’t defend you well if his mother chooses to throw you out; hell Atsumu would try to sneak you back in, but would the guards follow a kill or capture on sight plan like Kita is trained to do? Osamu sees the apprehension as your breathing pattern changes slightly. Chewing on your bottom lip, you bump your forehead against his. He smirks at you.

“Teach me a little more,” is all you add to this conversation before the books remain scattered and you let yourselves be tied by the fates design.

His hands raise yours to hold him securely by the shoulder and like those books filled with young lovers, you do just that. Those same lips that read to you stories borne of the imaginations of authors now presses eloquently against yours, your heart leaves the worries of the mind behind. It’s more desperate in the ways you grip each other’s clothing, he sighs angrily and curses the way women dress in this era, nearly tearing your collar apart to have his lips reach your décolleté and your palms support the back of his head as you push him impossibly closer. Your breathing is ragged as you let this continue.

“S-sir?”

Your promptly picked up and affixed to sitting on the desk, the books pushed back by the act. Osamu looms over you, a pained expression on his features.

“Don’t call me that,” his fingers brush stray strands of your hair behind your ears. “No titles when you’re with me..”

Your eyes are wide with apparent shock at first, but your hands seize the nape of his neck and you find the courage to violently kiss him back. He hears how you hesitate to say his name, but by gods is it a glorious whimper when you do the second before you smash his lips with yours.

Hands accentuate the greed your type of love fulfills—the unfastening of fancier tunics on him and the unlacing of your bustier is as far as this lesson intends to reach. Your lover and teacher of such things supports your back with his hands as he guides you backwards a bit as your legs are compliant in making enough room for his body to fit between; you skirt rustles as it bunches higher and now Osamu’s almost as horizontal with you as you are with the desk.

Together, you taste the finesse of his rank, his hands feel the callouses you earned toiling the days away (making snacks, brewing teas, assisting in the gardens, etc), so he tends to them as lovers do. Your breathing together is ragged and though you relish in his touch as his fingers dance over the scars and little scrapes here and there. He presses short chaste kisses to the tips of your fingers, catching the way the sun glimmers in your eyes.

“Is this how we start?”

Such an innocent question to a compromising state of undress, Osamu thinks. He helps you rest comfortably on his arms, as he chuckles lightly.

“Yes,” he tilts your chin up, grazing your lips with his own. He feels you smile beneath him before he kisses you tastefully there. The room is a complete disarray, however, when he laces your bustier back and you assist in fastening his charcoal colored rank cloak on his shoulder, you realize after today, you both must tread lightly. Whether you are called in the dead of night to make a pot of tea or for him to explicitly relieve you of your duties and have your second take over your chores so you could enjoy the lake house with him, no one suspects the sudden blossoming kinship you form. Even if the noble ladies who try their luck at once again forming amicable bonds with Osamu, it is soon rumored they first have to pass your judgment. Typically you would have been compensated the honor of being his assistant, yet with such a trivial formality and practice forgotten, however when Osamu is forced to participate in these meetings, one notices how the aloof twin seems to be enamored by your presence.

Come nightfall on one such day, when the last guests leave, Osamu finds you in a hall by the armory and promptly pushes you into the nearest room. His lips greet you first, your hands are pinned above your head. It’s warm here and he’s impossibly burning his love everywhere you’re exposed skin can be reached. Your hands,when released, start their perfected rehearsed dance to rid him of his clothes—the stays are loose enough that when the bustier falls, it joins the cape and tunic from earlier.

Here, when you open your eyes, you’re stunned by how strong he is; muscles formed and conditioned to raise broadswords and shields now are used to lift and carry you. There is a cot and you find yourself in mere seconds straddling the thighs of the man who taught you words and their meanings; how eloquent your voice is when you quietly say his name. He says yours when he brings your knuckles to his lips. Languid kisses expresses his need to have you, all of you, if you’ll allow it. You fall into a steady rhythm as your hands explore his tensed back, accidentally scratching his shoulder blades and his hips buck up to warn you. Raising a brow, you ask him to do it again, and this time, as you let a chortle slip, your other hand cups his lightly stubbled cheek.

“Don’t be shy now,” you murmur.

The hand that hand snuck to rest against his shoulders now travels and wraps around where he holds the small of your back. Your skirt is bunched just above mid thigh here. Testing the waters, you lay his palm there. It’s as close to where you might need him later, but for now hearing him inhale and exhale a nervous laugh gets you to lazily smile at him.

“It’s going to be ok,” you lean down to ghost your own lips over his. “I trust you.”

Though Osamu believes every word you said, his body is pulsating in ways he didn’t think it could; rarely when he was off age did a person vex him so. His hand as your lips keep distracting seeks refuge s as it disappears almost completely under what little fabric is left. You whimper at the sensation, but when this a soft mewl falls from your mouth when you rest your head against his chest, he’s curious just how many more times he could hear you like this. Hands aside, Osamu asks with a tug of your under shirt, right before the lace of the chemise is exposed to him. You in your flustered state, create enough space for him to lift the thickest fabric (it was prospected to be cooler at night) he had felt on a commoner, up and over your head. You cross your arms over your chest the chemise doesn’t do much to stop the diver traveling up your spine, so what does your lover do? He takes his last layer of upper clothing off and drapes it over your shoulder. Osamu’s a little broader than Atsumu, and you realize this first hand. You uncross your arms, he gently smiles down when you carefully trace over the healed wounds of hood childhood. You’re asked if you’re afraid knowing how violent he could be, some of the scars looked severe; “why would I be when I’m with you?”

“Yer gonna be the death of me,” he deftly says. Osamu’s answer came attached with a confession sayings numerical value of how long he had wanted to have you like this. Holding you close and even closer still if you’d allow it. You recall having been educated as best you could by the doctors who frequent the estate on matters in the bedroom when you turned of age. Surely satisfying a prospective husband was loosely implied, but seeing as this may be the second time someone had you (the first happened when you found out the baker’s son was to marry the second daughter of a banker; he wanted to learn and unfortunately at the time, you were the only person his age. You don’t mind you gave into him so easily, because he did treat you with care and with his earnings, he even went to apothecary who was able to provide birth control potions for both of you.)

That was then, this time with Osamu, you’re changing the notion in your head of what constitutes as an act of love. You were foolish and naive to think whatever had transpired between the baker and you was an educative transaction. Yet in the way Osamu’s eyes are clouded with the thoughts of you above him, you see and feel his anguish push against your body where you sit. So, you gently push him on his back and undo the top of his trousers. His hands are at his side, but his eyes are enamored with lust blown pupils. Are you seriously going to undress him here? Not even in his own bed, but here? Your hands are deft and lightly tracing over the area he needs the most attention, yet as the crickets outside become louder, Osamu is frozen in place with the way you test an angle that has his head spinning. Your fingers loop around the button and with the drag of the zipper, the man’s breathing stutters. He groans at such a simple act, but for what it’s worth, you lean down you and against his Cupid’s bow breathe a command for him to sit still.

“I’ll go slow, so treat me kindly ‘samu,” were probably the last coherent words you say before the heat is too much. Waking up next to each other half a day later, with bruises from the day before starting to blossom across your bodies, you both jolt awake. He’s tossing you your clothes and vice versa; how could either of you forget your duties that morning? Truthfully, you’re just glad you received a light warning and even medium tempered punishment. Osamu, on the other hand, had to at the very least, invite and host more women much to his dismay. Why would he want to if he knew he wanted you, especially after how you made him fall even harder on that stiff cot in the armory. Although, the butler and his fellow man in arms, Gin, days later asked him why his master seems so fond of you. Osamu shrugs making a mention of how you’re preferred company over his brother sometimes. Gin laughs, uttering an encouraging word or two about how you’re rumored among the working servants to be object of Osamu’s current desire. (“Who knew it was the other way around,” was all he said after being dismissed. Sworn to secrecy that one was, Gin wouldn’t dream to be disloyal to either twin, so he thought should he see you, he’d tell you in case you didn’t already know).

Two months into this endeavor and although there have been many rumors as to who brought out a gentle side of the once aloof fox, the answer is never traced back to you. Surely if asked, you amicably say you’re friends, but that is all there is to it. There elderly keepers of the estate turn a blind eye to the ever rising collar of your formal clothing, alas they keep their mouths shut as best they can when their Madame summons them to act as spies to see if they heard the name of her son’s lover. You were questioned once, yet how you lied through your teeth was worthy of the highest acting award, hell even when Osamu was called, he tells his mother he’s been fond of the daughters who frequently fawn over Atsumu. The more these mixers and parties with the other noble families occur, the more cloud cover you and Osamu’s relationship will have.

No one catches on until Atsumu returns surprisingly early. He’s making his rounds searching for Osamu to gossip about who he met, what he did, etc over the time he was away only to open the doors of the library to see your back and his brother looming over you. Poetry, words even Atsumu wouldn’t dare dream of saying aloud just to any person lest he loved them dearly, were spilling forth from his brother’s lips and on to yours. Atsumu closes the door as quietly as he can, his mind goes still at the thought. Then, the golden boy truly smirks as he walks down the hall. He says nothing, at the very least, not until he summons his brother to his chambers in the middle of the day. Tea wasn’t necessarily served, but the truth of how he knows his twin lies in the smug look he gives. Osamu’s dress shirt is slightly askew no thanks in part to you, yet when he sits across his brother, the grayed toned boy braces himself.

“Is yer heart true?” Atsumu’s question is the only one needed to ask. “‘Samu, I’m only asking this once.”

Osamu gives pause to read his brothers face—the seriousness in time could have meant he caught him with you this morning, right? Instead of an answer, Atsumu reads the way his younger by minutes sibling’s head hanging down in utter defeat, a plea on the brink of slipping out. It’s enough for Atsumu to clear the air.

“The old hag wouldn’t find out, yer secret is safe,” he says, then leaned back in his chair. “Who else knows?”

“…no one,” osamu replied, sheepish canine teeth puncture through his bottom lip.

Atsumu breathes a sigh of relief before asking how long his brother had begun to feel this way toward you. Usually they’d fight over things like toys and lately as they had begun to carve their own path, women seemed to be a touchy subject because when it came to you, it’s like a switch flipped. They were vying for your attention in the most obtuse of ways: Atsumu came to you with a tear in his formal cape, then Osamu wanted your opinion on festival flower arrangements, after that Atsumu asked if he could have you accompany him into town (just to see which gifts he’d bestow upon you when your birthday came up), Osamu though asked if you could meet him in the library to study maps for a while…

“Don’t let yn go,” Atsumu warns his brother as Osamu was about to leave his room. “I think we both know where I’d stand if you do.”

The door closes with a decadent thud and by the time Osamu returns to where he had last seen you, you were already gone. The books from earlier remained scattered in a sort of perplexing disarray. On the one hand, as he begins to tidy the room a bit, he realizes something is amiss the second the change of shift house keepers come in asking him if he’s seen you.

“What do you mean you haven’t seen yn? She was with you an hour or so ago, was she not?” your friend who covers your nightly route asks. Their voice elevates in a calm manner as if to hint you’ve definitely been gone a little longer than the hour mentioned. Osamu hands the novels over, thanking your friend with a nod, as he exits into the hallway.

Kita was enjoying a cup of tea in the parlor closest to the resting quarters when both Atsumu and Osamu barge in. The captain stares blankly at them as the boys each describe you in great and not so great detail. As he sips his tea, his face is unchanged as he says you were summoned elsewhere at the request of their mother. Atsumu stares at his brother and though his callused hands punches Osamu’s chest, his eyes are glazed in an angry, “you said you were careful,” stare.

Osamu exhales sharply the moment Atsumu turns in his heels.

“My men followed their orders, we cannot disobey direct ones,” Kita informs the younger sibling. The tea cup clinks against the table. “I advise you inform your mother, your grace, before yn-san is lost to you both.”

Osamu catches his breath only to run to locate the yells echoing through the doors of his parents’ bedroom. Atsumu is having a tantrum over losing you as quickly as a child who misplaced their favorite golden toy. Bracing himself as he walks in, Atsumu huffs as his brother stands shoulder to shoulder with him.

“Mother,” Osamu tries kindness this time. “Where did you send her?”

“Away from you two, obviously,” their mother turns over the papers she has in her hand. It was a trade offer too good to pass up. Perhaps this was what her trip was for: arranging a match. Or several potential ones for her unruly boys. “It’s about time you two relearn your place… especially you, Osamu.”

“Yer wrong for this, you know that?” Atsumu seethes. “Who’s to say Osamu wasn’t the only one who loved them? Hmm?”

Their mother slams her fist on the end table.

“The bitch seduced both of you?” Their mother scoffs. “Of course she did.”

Atsumu observes his brother’s fight or flight response manifest in the way his pupils dilate. The storm blessed sibling stands taller as he bows to cushion the blow of turning on his heels as he begins his journey in finding you.

His mother calls out to him one final time, “You leave this place Miya Osamu no longer my son, but an orphan to these lands!” She turns to face her eldest, stopping him before he to follows his brother’s lead: “You follow him, you too are orphaned and the line ends here.”

Those who linger outside the room overhearing this family matter stand aside as Atsumu walks past them. He heads in the direction of the westernmost stables where he knew his brother would be. In the stables, the brothers share a final conversation.

“Take this,” Atsumu presses a medallion of sorts which grants the owner safe refuge. “Don’t let what the old hag says get to you; you bring yn back. Whether as mah sister in law or as yer lover, do not rest until she is found, d’ya hear me?”

Osamu’s angered hands shake as his horse whinnies brusquely. Atsumu notices the house keeper he had passed on the way to his mother’s room—the cousin of the one cleaning the library right now—they bow prior to being called forth.

“Yn is important to us too,” they sniffle. “She taught us how to mend clothes just yesterday. Please, if any one can bring her back I know it’s one of you… Time is of the essence. Last I heard, they were headed to the port of call with her.”

And by the time Osamu gallops towards the docks, he sees a flash of lightning race through the clouds and he sees the shadow of someone who was dressed like you; when you reach the starboard side of the vessel you were taken to, your ears pick up your name in the wind. You gasp when you see the outline of a familiar figure by a horse. You raise your hand above to wave and you force a smile as you watch him drift further away.

Rewind to when you part ways with Osamu that morning: you were invited to attend an estate dinner with Osamu only to find out that perhaps Atsumu might have returned early. You hear the compatriots of those who were chosen by the elder master of the house return talking with their peers about what they saw or rather what goods the other territories had to offer. Atsumu, as you excuse yourself to pass through to the next area where your chores list would take you, welcoming them all back as one does, only to be snatched in a hallway. You tried to force yourself out of the binds your captors had used, but alas when you hear the familiar voices of several guards, you stop resisting. The blindfold didn’t really help in way shape or form to identify the assailants, yet all you could decipher was who gave the order to have to boarded on the next ship wherever far their coins could take you. You knew following your heart would be difficult, yet was the price worth it? Was earning his love worth this divide?

“Absolutely,” you mutter to yourself as your homeland drifts further behind you.

So the years went by. Within that time, you had grown into your new role as the assistant owner of a bouquet florist. You had received word over the last three months a certain golden son was seeking an arrangement signifying his rise to power. Your manager was out on a delivery run when the chime at the door rings.

“Be right with ya!” you instruct another apprentice how to finish wrapping the last bouquet for a wedding order.

Wiping your hands on the apron you wear, you pop around the corner to see an old face. You recognize the stature of the man whom you used to make rose tea for. Whether you cry or not, you try to keep your emotions in check as you attempt to greet your prosperous client.

“Atsumu?...”

The man embraces you like he would an old friend, perhaps even a sibling. He releases you and cups your cheek.

“Finally found ya,” he says, his tone is one of relief. “‘Samu an’ ah have been looking for ya fer ages.”

You furrow your brows and you raise your hands to remove Atsumu’s hands away gently. He nods in understanding your eagerness to ask the question which he was unsure how to answer just yet.

“Where is he?”

Atsumu inhales a shakey breath. How can he answer that question knowing his brother has not returned any of the letters he had sent over the course of their time apart. It’s been roughly six? Maybe seven years at best since everyone had last seen each other. There were always these rumors about a knave who would wander into towns searching for a girl he had loved, but when there was no sign of such a lady, he’d drown his sorrows until he had his fill then move on.

“Nursing a broken heart,” Atsumu has a sour face. “No thanks to that woman.”

Their mother had since relinquished her title the moment Atsumu had signed over the appropriate documents for robbing her of her power; the people and even the merchant factions were all in favor of this choice. Those in authoritative service offices often updated the newer leader of where his brother might have been spotted and as you hear these stories in the mid-afternoon sun, you wring your hands together in apprehensiveness waiting for the thrilling conclusion of this tale.

“W-why would he–Atsumu, where is he? If you know, please,” your voice is chillingly calm. You don’t demand anything less and as Atsumu hands you a paper when he leaves, he pauses to turn to give you a hopeful stare.

“His only crime was loving you, so it’s your turn, yn. Bring him home. Both of you, come home when you find each other. I’ll be waiting.”

The shop closes when the bells from the temple begin their hourly night chime. You lock the door after bidding your apprentice goodnight along with your fellow manager; casually walking the streets, those who frequent the shop greet you as you make way to the local pub. Paying the price of a pint of pear cider, you empty it just as quickly as it was poured. The barkeep hums a familiar tune as you stare at your reflection at the bottom of the light froth remants.

Glancing up, your lips stretch into a thin smile.

“Your brother stopped by today,” you push the glass back toward the bar keep. “Said when I find you I ought to bring you home with me.”

Arching an eyebrow at you, the same eyes from your youth sparkles in amusement. He leans over to kiss your lips (the other patrons whoop in the background); you laugh as you raise your pint glass in the air. You admire the moonlight streaks in your lover’s hair as he shakes his head at the noise. The years have been kind and not all of what Atsumu had said was a lie; it was factual to a degree. Only reason why the letters when unanswered for so long was because his brother and you were too busy establishing yourself in the town under the guise of newlyweds seeking a more stable home. The locals here were the most constant and eager to see you both succeed, so whether or not the reach of the estate would follow only time would tell.

You wave at the nightly regulars before rounding the back of the stairs to your shared flat. Before you take your leave, you feel a strong set of hands grip your waist and pull you back into a tight hug. A voice strong and gentle like the day you met him formally in the halls of his estate tickles against your ear. You bite back a grin when his lips graze your temple. Your fingers lace over his as his words leave you with dreams of a sepia hued montage; the disgraced master runs to the docks that night and as his destiny leaves the shores, she waits in the same citadel until her former master crosses her path en route to a market; behind the closed doors of the inn do both let their hearts’ passions free.

Even now, when you wear his colors in the threads you dress yourself with and perhaps the reason why Atsumu chose to speak as if his brother is lost in a public area; the pattern of your apron from the shop was the same as the inside tone of his brother’s riding cloak. Atsumu knows his brother is alive just by that alone, your apprehensiveness earlier was out of concern Osamu would be imprisoned for being an exiled son, yet Atsumu reassures you he just wants to reinstate all the titles that was lost to him since their mother’s ego was tarnished. Atsumu sighs before he leaves saying that all he wants was his family to be happy and you didn’t refuse his invitation to come home. After all, with the slight slump in Atsumu’s shoulders you could tell he misses you both dearly, so you tell him you’ll talk to his brother. The note reinstating what title and land deed would be bestowed upon their return was laid out in full, however you were still learning how to read ledgers at the age of twenty-four, so you thought it best to leave it on the bedside table.

For now though, you lean back to glance up at the sky gray eyes you’ve often found refuge in. Your lips curve into a curious grin.

“Hmm? Wanted me to stay a little while longer?”

You feel your lover shake his head before formulating a proper answer to your question from earlier:

“Say the word wife and we’ll leave at dawn to see this brother of mine... I heard the peonies are in full bloom this time o’year.”

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora after hours #sora scribbles 2022 #nobility au #noble!osamu x maid!reader #platonic noble!atsumu x maid!reader

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angelyuji · 4 years ago

Note

I also love Yan!Spiderman, there will never be enough content for him ! Can I request a headcannon ? Or a blurb, whatever you prefer ? I love the amnesia trope, like the reader having long-term amnesia after an accident or whatever and yan!Spiderman swooping in, saying they have been dating for months... You may get suspicious of how flustered he gets but he knows so much about you, he can't be lying, right ? 😚

17+

cw// stalking, non-consensual picture taking, kind of kidnapping, familial neglect, car accident caused by superheroes, non-consensual kissing, non-consensual touching, forced hugs, lying, manipulation, “gatekeep, gaslight, girlboss” energy, implied murder, peter being a crybaby to guilt trip you, idk peter being gross and pervy and being a liar, toxic relationship (kind of because you’re kinda not aware of the fact that he sucks and he’s lying)

· OMGBESTIE sorry i just absolutely ADORE the amnesia trope in yandere fics GHJKJHGF

· it’s just so perfect *chef’s kiss*

· anyway

· you got into accident that totally not caused by peter…yeah, it was totally definitely the criminal’s fault …

· but i mean, why were you driving in the middle of a villain attack anyway? oh, you had to go to work?...so??? peter didn’t give you the ok?????

· right, so he’s tossing cars and trying to bring justice (or something like that) and he saw you coming, but alas, he's too late

· you see something hurtling towards your car as you stop at a red light. you squint your eyes, “oh. ha, that’s a car…wait”

· peter was only a couple feet away when he sees the truck he threw slam against the hood of your car, crumpling the hood like it’s made of aluminum foil. time moves in slow motion as peter tries to reach you. out of reflex, peter shoots his webs to move you from impact. he can feel himself move, but his mind shuts down. when he regains consciousness, you’re in his arms, passed out, but seemingly unscathed. he feels relief, then fury. peter barely noticed when the paramedics came to move you out of his arms. he turns to the villain, his whole body shaking, and launches himself at the man.

· you end up in the hospital for a brain injury that left you in a coma and peter literally never left your side. he came every day and stayed by your side until visiting hours were over, and came into your room at night as spiderman after patrol.

· the hospital staff saw him so much that they assumed you were both in a relationship, so when you woke up at night during his patrol hours, they called him first.

· they called your parents after…weird, i know

· “how do you feel?”

· “fine, i guess. tired, surprisingly” you chuckle dryly and the doctor smiles.

· “fine is good. what’s the last thing you remember?”

· “…um….i can’t… I don’t-”

· “hey, it’s okay. take your time.” the doctor tries to be reassuring, but you feel panic bubble. what’s going on, why can’t you remember what happened? what’s happening to you? your breathing turns rough and the air feels thicker as you seem to remember less and less of what you should know. all of a sudden, two arms wrap around you and pull you into them.

· “it’s gonna be okay” they mumble into your hair as you cry into their shirt.

· peter and the doctor eventually figured out that you were missing 4 years of your life. the 4 years that you’ve lived in queens, to be exact.

· peter realizes exactly what he has to do when the doctor pulls him and your family aside to explain the situation

· (they had asked him who tf he was and he, in a panic to not be kicked out, said y’all were dating)

· he offers your family a way out, a way to not take the stress of taking care of you, by letting him take care of you

· “i love them. i can’t lose them and i won’t lose them, so please, let me take care of them”

· honestly, your family was lowkey relieved that peter offered to take care of you, not even remembering that you have never mentioned this man in any conversation (who has amnesia now??)

· peter would go into your room and tell you that you’re going home with him

· “what? what about my family?”

· “they’re okay with it. they have a lot going on and, as your boyfriend-”

· “boyfriend? i’ve never seen you before in my life?”

· “no! no, we started dating when you moved to queens!" at your blank stare, he lowers his head slightly and you see tears fall, "i wish you would remember”

· peter will pull out his pictures of you saying stuff like “then how do i have these pictures?? hmm????” and fake crying to make it seem like he was your grieving boyfriend

· he’ll be constantly mentioning the fact that he’s your boyfriend to you and to others (at some point, ur confused on whether he’s trying to convince you or trying to convince himself) “as your boyfriend’ “your boyfriend” “i love being with you and going on dates haha yk since im your bf”

· he’ll make up different stories from places he’s seen you. if he stalked you while you were walking at the park, he’ll say you both went on walks often. if you went on picnics by yourself often, he’ll say you constantly had picnic dates. had a fun day at the arcade? more like, you had fun day at the arcade with peter!

· peter’s smart, he uses these events as a way of tricking your brain into thinking that each memory you recover of these moments are just moments that are missing him, and eventually, he’ll start appearing in memories

· peter would take you to his apartment and absolutely REFUSE to let you leave, he’ll have an excuse ready to make sure you can’t leave your new home

· “the doctor said you shouldn’t move too much”

· he’ll make you sleep in the same bed as him, go on dates with him, hug and kiss him like “you used to do” with the excuse of “the doctor said you should do things that you used to do before the accident to start remembering everything”

· …riiight

· “are you coming to bed?” you lay in his bed, waiting for peter.

· “i-i sorry, yes, I-” peter stumbles on his words as he stands by the bed.

· you sit up in annoyance, “peter, you said we slept together. what’s wrong?”

· peter turns bright red, “no! nothing’s wrong! it’s nothing, i-i’m coming to bed in a sec.” you lay back down and soon you feel him crawl into bed. you turn your back to him, but peter pulls you closer to him and start leaving kisses down your back.

· “what are you doing.” you whisper into the darkness. his small touches feel foreign on your skin and your body itches to move in disgust.

· “i’m helping you sleep. uh-before, i helped you fall sleep like this, maybe this’ll help you remember” peter pushes his head into the crook of your neck and holds you closer, his fingers grazing under your shirt and feeling your stomach.

· you try to move away without panicking, “maybe, we’re moving too fast? i kinda need some spa-” you feel peter freeze.

· “do-do you not love me anymore?” you feel peter’s tears before you hear his sniffles, “i didn’t want to push you, but i just missed you so much and i thought that you were starting to remember how much you love me.” his sniffles turn to sobs and you start feeling guilty. you push your discomfort away and let yourself get pulled into his warmth.

· “no, it's fine. just don’t, you know, cry please.” you press your lips into a thin line and sigh as peter stops sniffling and hums in content.

· he’ll guilt you into doing what he wants with tears and sobs about how he misses “the old you”

· funny, considering the fact that this mf basically made up his entire relationship with you because he’s literally psychotic

· your relationship would be seemingly normal too, except that all of the friends that talked about how they’ve never met peter before your accident went missing…huh, definitely no connection there…

· but by the time they inform you of their concern, it is already months after your accident and peter would have already made you believe that you were dating

· in peter’s mind, you’re everything and more than he imagined, even though you barely know him, he knows you so well that it’s easy for him to make you believe that you’re together.

· peter would tell he’s spiderman once you’ve stopped resisting him to make sure that you won’t search up your accident and see that spiderman was involved

· the only way for you to break from peter’s grip on your mind is for him to accidently confess that he’s lied to you

· and that’ll happen, peter may be good at lying, but during a fight, he might let it slip

· “I TOLD YOU NOT TO TALK TO THEM.”

· “they’re my friends, peter. you can’t stop me from seeing them.” you roll your eyes when peter’s face crumples. “ugh, peter, stop with the guilt-tripping. your fake tears don’t work on me anymore.”

· peter’s face turns cold, “your friends are liars and they’ve been trying to break us up since the accident. all they say when they see me are lies.”

· you keep a straight face, “well, i know it’s a lie, so you don’t have to act like this.”

· “but-but what if you start believing them? what if you realize that you can do better than me? what if you remember everything? what if they make you break up with me? wh-” peter turns to you and sees you frozen in place. he moves towards you and pulls you into a hug, but you stay stiff.

· “what do you mean “remember”?” you whisper and peter’s eyes go wide. silence fills the room as peter says still.

· “well, shit”

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forbidding-souda · 3 years ago

Note

How about some dating hc for Byakuya and/or Kirumi? ✨💙

Relationship headcanons with Byakuya Togami

i have a party tonight woot woot my friend might sleep at my place tonight because we both got a 8am class tomorrow.

currently listening: boohooze by grey bush

-Mod Souda

❤ After arguments, he's going to buy you stuff. He's a bit too stubborn for an apology so he'll resort to give giving. He'll get you designer clothes (some actually fit for your body) and sometimes stupid shit like a new blender.

❤ Sleeping in the same bed as him is rather interesting. He's not too in love with physical contact. At least, not for awhile into your relationship. He's fine with you sleeping next to him but if your body is too much pressed against him he's going to feel very uncomfortable.

❤ He's not very talkative in the morning either. He's focused on getting himself ready. He'll listen to you if you talk, but he most likely won't even respond.

❤ I can imagine he'll give you a small section of the room for you to put posters or pictures of your friends. If you're an artist, and you give him some of your work, he's going to pin it on 'his side' of the room.

❤ Whatever your favorite breakfast food is: he doesn't like it. You're going to have to try some of his rich people foods. Even if you want to have the chef cook something like chicken tenders, it's still gonna end up bougie for no reason.

❤ Playing your music on a speaker? No. Nice try. He's shutting that shit down real quick.

❤ Wait until he gets into your car and you got the aux. He's going to lose his shit, grumpy as all hell.

❤ Pull him into kisses by his tie. It will fluster him as all hell, but god does he find it attractive. If you do that, he won't hesitate to push you against a wall with his knee between your legs and his hands at your jaw.

❤ Rewinding the conversation, he's definitely going to wake you up in the mornings. If he's getting up, you have to now too. It's the rules.

❤ This is very niche but if you're into poetry (or specifically slam poetry) he'll actually be willing to hear it out and participate. Not writing his own shit but supporting other people.

❤ He takes awhile in the bathroom after showers. You should feel happy his house has five bathrooms. The one attached to ya'll's room is his, practically.

❤ He wants to meet your friends. Like, all of them. He wants to invite them over to the house and have dinner with all of them - he might be annoyed by them, but he finds a genuine interest in your personal life. Before the two of you even dated, he still found himself wanting to get to know you and your interests and the people you surrounded yourself with. This comes off as creepy at first.

❤ For one of your anniversaries he's going to be cheesy and gift you a very cute bear plushie with a ribbon around its neck and flowers. I can imagine him being very good at flower-gifting.

❤ If you're the type of person that have a hard time brushing your teeth or showering, he's going to do it with you. He'll force you, and this can be very embarrassing, as sometimes he'll bring the servants in to monitor you, but if you're willing then it's a cute moment.

❤ Apart of any clubs? Like a choir, band, environmental studies, or a coven? He'll hire a professional photographer to take photos of you and your community. He'll also print them, or make fliers, or even just photos to frame in his little 'you' collection.

❤ This is also niche but if you're a metalhead this bullet point is for you. He cannot stand nu metal. He hates it. I think he'd be chill with black metal or doom metal. Just not things with much tempo changes.

❤ For mitski fans, I don't think he'd mind much of mitski. Maybe some songs he'll just turn them off. But some, like the calmer ones, he might actually be moved by.

❤ Okay, last one, but this one is just funny to me. When you force him to get social media, the two of you will have matching profile pictures. (like grimes and elon musk JAKWNDJSBJSDKJHBSFKJHB)

#byakuya togami #byakuya togami x reader #danganronpa #thh #danganronpa thh

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tooweirdforyou · 4 years ago

Note

Hiii! I have returned HAHAH may I request prompt no. 10 from your holiday list for (of course, the one and only) Zoro? Hehe thank you so much 💖

Holiday Prompt #10 With Zoro

A/N : look at this gorgeous, sexy swordsman. I love him. 💚 thank you for requesting again!! :D I was wondering where you’ve been, haha.

note : suggestive themes ahead! bit of NSFW. also a bit cliché.

H.P. #10 : Hot Springs

Summary : exploring a new island, you and Zoro both agree to hit the hot springs first. However..

“God, Zoro..”

The soft pants was heard throughout the hot spring’s walls, Zoro’s grunts following after as he pulls your head towards his.

He then connected your lips together and captured them in a lustful and passionate kiss, effectively keeping you quiet.

“Shut up..” He growls out quietly, thrusting upwards into you even harder, the quiet sounds of splashing from the water in the hot springs being heard.

Wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your breasts against him, your hot breath hit his ear and soft whimpers of pleasures slipped from your throat.

Trying your best to keep quiet so the people outside the walls couldn’t hear, it was proving difficult with how hard Zoro was thrusting into you.

How did you even get to this point?

“You wanna join us, [Name]?”

Hearing Nami’s offer, you gave a gentle shake of your head. “You and Robin can shop together. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Yeah? What are you going to do then?” Usopp asks, getting his things together to explore the island with Chopper and Luffy.

You glance around and shrug a bit. “I might hit the hot springs first and stay there for a while. It’ll be pretty relaxing and a nice stress relief.”

Sanji and Brook can feel their noses leaking blood as Sanji swoons. “MY DEAR [NAME]-CHAN IN THE HOT SPRINGS?!”

You sweat drop a bit as Sanji seemed to be lost in a fantasy and clear your throat. “Right, so I’ll get going then..”

“Hot springs huh? I’ll join you with that.” Zoro grins a bit, seeming to enjoy the idea of relaxing in the steam.

Snapping out of his dream, Sanji scowls at Zoro. “You damn marimo, you better not try anything that will hurt and damage my [Name]-chan’s innocence, you hear me?!”

Zoro scoffs at the cook, rolling his eyes. “As if I’ll try anything, and not like I could anyways, you stupid cook. Hot springs are always separated!”

Luffy could only laugh at the two bickering as Nami just exhales and shakes her head, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Ignore them. We’ll come and join you in the hot springs if we finish early. And if you happen to be out before then, we’ll be at the mall.”

You return the navigator’s smile and nod, waving to them as they began to take off, Usopp dragging Sanji away with the help of Franky.

You turn to Zoro, who was still holding a scowl towards the blonde chef and you pat his arm. “Come on, just ignore him. Let’s get going.”

Zoro’s scowl slowly fades as he nods at you and began walking, heading in the opposite direction.

You giggle lightly and point in the correct direction and call out to him. “Hot springs’ this way.”

Quickly stopping in his tracks, Zoro clears his throat and began following after you, shutting his eye and avoided eye contact with you, turning his face to hide his flushed cheeks.

You playfully roll your eyes at him and continued to walk towards the hot springs.

Once you arrived at the building that led to the hot springs, feel a grin forming. “Time for relaxation!”

Noticing a sign, you walk up to it and read it aloud.

“An outdoor hot springs, wooden walls cover the area and genders are separated.. a door is placed between the wall that separates genders for safety reasons...”

“An outdoor hot springs, huh?” Zoro questions, listening to you read that. “..seems so.” You nod slowly, eyes still skimming the sign.

However, your mind was more focused on the door that led to the other gender’s bathhouse.

Looking away, you notice the two doors that separated genders and smile slightly.

“Looks like I’ll be parting ways with you.”

Zoro nods, a small curl of his lips could be seen as he began heading to the males’ bathroom. “Yeah. See you.”

You hum and made way to the females’ restroom, closing the door and look around. There were lockers and cubbies for personal items, and neatly stacked towels for use.

Stripping yourself of your clothes, you grab one of the larger towels and wrap it around your torso and began heading out, moving the glass door to exit.

Making your way over to the water, you subconsciously glance over towards the wall that divided you from Zoro and wondered how thin the walls were.

You then saw the door and deadpan at it. It wasn’t even by the end or the corner of the wall, it was directly in the center.

The height of the wall was pretty high though, so that was nice for some privacy.

Exhaling softly and trying to relieve any nerves or worries, you just pull off the towel slowly as you began lowering yourself down into the water.

The warmth enveloped your body and a satisfied sigh escaped your lips.

“Ah..”

Zoro leans back against the rock as he made himself comfortable in the water, a relaxed smile spreading across his face as his eyes shut closed.

Feeling content at the steam the water brought, Zoro was at peace and tranquility.

“Nothing can disturb my peace..” he mutters out calmly, feeling all weight and stress lift off his shoulders.

That is, until he heard something.

“Hm, hm, hm~”

Furrowing his brows, Zoro opens his eye and listens intently to the hum just now. “Hm~”

Glancing over in the direction of the hum, he noticed the wall and door before hearing an all too familiar voice singing.

“..is that [Name]?..” he tilts his head a bit, wondering why he was able to hear you but figuring out the wall must be the only thing separating the two of you.

He didn’t say anything and just closed his eye again, relaxing in the bath and just let himself enjoy your melodic voice.

Though, he didn’t expect to hear a scream from you in the middle of the singing.

Snapping up, Zoro quickly stands up, having the thought to grab a towel and wrap around himself before rushing through the door, slamming it open.

He looks into the female’s bathhouse and expected to see some pervert or enemy on the verge of attacking you..

But instead sees your naked form standing across the water, towards the wall and staring at the surface ground.

Where a spider was crawling.

“Z-Zoro!”

Zoro was just in shock, not expecting to see a mere spider to be the cause of your fear and much less to see your naked body, only thing covering you was your arms but even then it barely did much.

Immediately, the heat began rising to his cheeks and it wasn’t from the steam.

“I-I, I heard you scream and I thought it was..” He stuttered at first, flustered and unsure of what to say.

Warm cheeks washed over your own as you glanced down at him and notice he was just in a towel and blushed deeper, as the realization sinked in.

“Ah-!” Widening your eyes, you shriek and jump down into your water, crossing your arms tightly around your body and hugged yourself.

Zoro jumped at your scream again and his blush deepens as he takes a step back before turning away instantly. “S-Sorry! I-l”

He just shut his mouth before he said anything as you tried to hide yourself more, which didn’t help since the water was rather clear.

“I-It’s fine, but just, leave, please!” You utter out, turning away from him but only heard him grunt a bit and the sound of jiggling can be heard.

“Er..”

Slowing turning back to face the green-haired swordsman, you furrow your brows slightly. “What’s wrong?..”

“The door is stuck.”

“Huh? What do you mean the door is stuck?!”

Instinctively, you stood up and began running towards the door where he stood and began roughly handling the doorknob.

Zoro widens his eyes at your body as he sputters and coughs. “O-Oi, aren’t you going to cover up?!” He scowls a bit, ignoring the red blush of his cheeks.

“Damn it, how can it be stuck?” You mutter a scoff and a string of curses, ignoring Zoro’s words as Zoro exhales and rolls his eyes.

“Hey, calm down, it’s fine.” Zoro says, trying to get you to relax as he focused his eyes on your face more than anywhere else.

“I’ll just go out from the door that leads to the baths, so don’t get so worked up.” He sighs, bringing a hand to touch and place itself on your shoulder.

Still focusing on the door, your hand suddenly slipped from the handle and you knocked Zoro’s arm back, just enough to cause him to start falling backwards.

Shocked, you rushed to grab his arm to help him up, but Zoro’s strength only caused you to fall down with him, with you on top.

“Ouch..”

Zoro grunts at the newfound weight on his body, slowly lifting his head and opening his eye to see if you’re alright, just to get a face full of your bare breasts.

“Hnngh-!”

“Aish.. Zoro, are you alright?” Pressing your hands onto his chest, you lifted your upper body up a bit, groaning out slightly at the pain in your side and ankle.

Hearing no reply from him, you sat up and widen your eyes to see his red face and him doing his best to look anywhere but you.

“Zoro, are you okay?! Are you hurt?” You question franticallg, unnoticed of the situation that was occurring.

Straddling his hips, you try to pull his hands away from his face. “Oi, why aren’t you answering me?! Are you okay?!”

“..Damn it, j-just get off of me already! I’m fine!” Zoro shifted uncomfortably beneath you, and with his shifting, was it only then did you realize what was happening.

You were straddling Zoro.

And what you felt beneath you, wasn’t just his thighs. It was something a little bigger, and right under you bottom. You were sitting on the hot seat.

A bulge was forming below you, making you shift side to side a bit to get comfortable but Zoro was quick to stop you with his hands, placed at the sides of your arms.

“Stop that, before it gets worse.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you tried to get up, only to wince and fall back down, much fo his dismay.

“S-Sorry, I’m just a little sprained..” you mumble, trying to slide off but with the movements you made and the thin towel that kept your skin from touching each other,

You were causing some friction to rub against him, and Zoro was not comfortable.

“O-Oi, stop moving for a second.”

It didn’t take a genius to tell that you were basically grinding against his crotch but it wasn’t your fault. You were hurt and stuck on top of him.

“I’m sorry but-“

Biting your lip, you stayed still for him as Zoro took a moment to relax and just breathe and think this over.

It was going to be awkward as hell, considering that you two were crewmates and just happened to end up in such a situation like this. If the others found out.. Zoro didn’t even want to imagine it.

Zoro’s hands made their way to your waist as he grins it tightly and he pondered what to do.

He couldn’t lift you up directly because you could end up hurting yourself further if he wasn’t careful, and he could also slip off his own towel but if you closed your eyes, maybe it would be okay.

“Hey, would you-“

“Zoro..”

Interrupting him, you chewed on your lower lip as you leaned down to face the swordsman, breasts pressed against his chest and your ass positioned directly over his covered, semi-hardened member.

“Do.. do you mind if we..” you trailed off a bit, a bit too embarrassed to ask him yourself.

You had small feelings for the man, and with all that shifting from him and you, you couldn’t deny that your lower heat was starting to get wet, and it wasn’t from the water either.

“Just for today, if you don’t mind. Please? I need you, right now.” You whispered out, slowly moving your hips so you can form some sort of friction against him, eliciting a low groan from him as Zoro narrows his eyes.

He was quiet for a moment, staring directly at you for any sign of hesitation or lie. Deeming that you were genuine and serious, he clicks his tongue.

“Fuck it..”

And with that, he moves his hand up to cup your cheeks and pulls your face down so he can press your lips together with his into a kiss.

Which soon led to you and Zoro fucking right in the hot springs, going several rounds all over the place.

It wasn’t until you heard the crew’s voices outside the walls, that you two eventually stopped.

“..do you think they heard us?” You breathed out heavily, glancing at the walls before at Zoro.

Zoro was mid-thrust, still thrusting in and out of you, though it was slower but still just as deep and rough.

Zoro licked his lips lustfully, eyeing the walls carefully before leaning down to capture your lips in his once more.

“Who cares? Right now, all my attention is on you.”

a/n: hiii, I hope you guys liked this!! Thanks so much for requesting againnnn! 💚 I love Zoroooo.

Does it seemed rushed? I’m too worried about my writings being rushed now.

#tooweirdforyou #one piece #one piece x reader #op x reader #x reader #op #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #holiday prompt #one piece writing #ns.fw

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mistersourwolf · 4 years ago

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You were born into destiny, a child of surprise who was destined to no other than Geralt of Rivia. You remember when you first met him, after your parents died. He didn’t say much at first but the way he looked at you told that you were safe with him, that he would make sure of it.

Years later, you were all grown up. An adult left to venture the world but never too far from Geralt. Which was fine, you usually only went out to the pub anyways as that’s where a rather handsome bard came often to play his ballads. He wore the most complimenting patterns, which almost always brought out his eyes and though he was noticeably older, something which Geralt would frown upon, you felt a deep attraction to him. The bard avoided your eye contact though as if he knew what his fate might be had made any moves. That was certainly a downside of being Geralts daughter; no man dared to come near you in fear of the Witcher.

You walked into the small cabin you two lived in together. It wasn’t very spacious but it was enough to keep you both happy. Geralt had been out since early this morning but would he returning shortly so you began to prepare your dinner. He was not one to cook. Growing up, Geralt always took you into town for something to eat because in his words, “I’m a witcher, not a chef.” It made things easier on him so you didn’t mind it either. Once your dinner finished cooking over the fire, you brought it inside and began to sort out two plates. It smelled amazing but you never ate without Geralt so you sat in your chair, reading a novel as you waited.

It wasn’t a long wait and soon enough Geralt came through the door. Your eyes stayed glued to your novel as Geralt put down his things.

“It seems that nobody knows truly of a good performance,” a familiar voice followed him in the door, “I give them a ballad of the century—maybe not the century but nevertheless they throw me bread? Unbelievable.”

You glanced up from your novel, your eyes widening at who stood in front of you. It was him, the bard from the tavern and he looked handsome as always. You quickly sorted out your face, hoping Geralt didn’t notice your recognition. After all, he did always tease you saying if the boy at the tavern breaks your heart he’d have to break him. You never even mentioned him to Geralt, he just assumed there was someone and was in fact right though you never confirmed it.

“Y/n,” Geralt said, gesturing to you and then the bard, “this is Jaskier.”

You sat down your novel and gave a shy smile to the man who you now knew as Jaskier.

“I didn’t know you were bringing home a friend.” You stood from your chair, walking to the kitchen to make another plate.

“He’s an acquaintance and is simply here to pester, he won’t be staying.” Geralt grumbled, taking your seat.

“Geralt,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him, “don’t be rude, please do sit Jaskier.”

Jaskiers eyes lit up as he took a seat beside Geralt who huffed. That was just who Geralt was, unapologetically.

“I do thank you for having me, it smells absolutely delicious.” Jaskier cheered as you gladly brought the two their plates. You did your best not to pay attention as his fingers brushed against yours.

“How was your hunt, Geralt? You did find something I assume?” You asked, sitting across from them.

“A kikimora but the coin fell short.” Geralt muttered taking a bite of lamb. You sighed hearing this, they never did pay the witcher enough.

“Always a bunch of feeble men unable to pay their dues. To hell with them.” You sneered, cutting into your own meat.

“Yes to hell with them,” Jaskier spoke up, “but more interestingly, where did you learn to cook like this? Geralt has always been, well to put it kindly, a huge bore.”

“I’m glad you like it,” you chuckled, “I learned from the villagers as a girl. But you said ‘always been’? How long have you two known each other.”

Jaskier glanced at Geralt a fiddling smile, “It’s been years now hasn’t it?”

Geralt grunted, saying nothing as he continued to eat.

“Oh?” You didn’t understand how you never heard of him but then again Geralt never spoke of anyone.

“You look quite familiar,” Jaskier said leaning forward, causing your cheeks to warm. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere?”

You shrugged, afraid of Geralt finding out that Jaskier had been the boy at the tavern. “I’ve been told I have a familiar face.” You lied.

“That you do, dear.”

Dear. Butterflies arose in the pit of your stomach your face only got hotter. What was it about him that cause this reaction out of you? You searched for the answers but to no avail. Geralt must’ve seen how flustered you were because he then cleared his throat, his fork and knife clinking against his plate as he lowered them. He glared at you and then towards Jaskier.

“Well then, can I take your plates?” You offered standing from the table. They both allowed you to carry their dishes to the sink. Fuck. Had you known this whole time that the bard you watched in the tavern was a friend of Geralts you would have shut down your feelings immediately. But then again why should you have to? You were grown and able to do as you pleased with or without Geralts permission. You just yearned for his permission as he was the father figure in your life and so his blessing meant everything.

As you finished up the dishes, Jaskier was getting ready to go and Geralt was certainly rushing him. He had such poor hospitality skills.

“Good night Jaskier.” Geralt said closing the door and turning to face you.

“The bard usually annoys everyone in sight, but not you,” Geralt said, sitting back in his chair. “What are you not telling me y/n?”

You played coy, but not very well. Your hands were trembling as you faced Geralt but luckily he didn’t see that.

“I should ask you the same,” you tried shifting the conversation, “bringing strangers into the house, who are apparently only acquaintances?”

“I’ve known Jaskier for years, but this is about you lying to me.”

“I did not lie! If you must know then yes there is a man at the pub that I go see but that is it, nothing more I swear.” You said, of course lying right through your teeth.

“A familiar face,” Geralt drawled, “You know Jaskier has been playing that pub for quite some time. The bard is no good for you.”

“And yet I never said he was of my interest,” you scowled, getting irritated with your father. “But if he was?”

“No, without question. He is old enough to be your Dad.”

“But he’s not! You are! And I won’t do anything without your blessing, so please?” You said, clearly showing your truth now. Geralt closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“So you do lie?” He huffed, lifting his head to stare intensely at you.

“Yes.” You muttered under your breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Enough. Go to bed, we will speak about this tomorrow or possibly never, I will decide.”

You rolled your eyes, walking to your bedroom and slamming the door shut. You had never had a connection with any man, but Jaskier was different. He emitted a light of which you tried so desperately to reach. A complete opposite from Geralt without a doubt but that was your favorite attribute of the bard. You laid in bed that night restless, wondering what would come in the morning. After several hours of tossing and turning, your eyes finally closed for good and you drifted into a deep slumber.

A/N: this was actually longer than I expected it to be for a gif imagine but I’m mostly happy with it. Sorry if the end seems rushed a little bit but feedback is always welcome 🥰 love y’all

#imagines #send in requests #the witcher #the witcher imagine #jaskier x y/n #jaskier #Geralt x daughter!reader #jaskier x reader #joey batey #requested #netflix the witcher #gif imagine #my gif edit #finally made one

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z3llous · 4 years ago

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Writing advice I may not be qualified to give (Narration)

I might do more if anyone wants. Feel free to request something you’d like advice on. I love analyzing writing and writing styles.

So I noticed a lot of fic writers struggle with narration.

Here are some examples of narration from my own writing:

1. The poor flustered boy stomped toward the kitchen door, which quickly shut before he got there. Muffled laughter could be heard from the other room, which only made him grow a deeper shade of red.

He pried the door open and closed it behind him.

After some distant embarrassed yelling and a slam later, he came back with two full plates and sat down at the table where they had already made themself comfortable while waiting. (Good Boy ch 2)

2. Click . Click. Click. One foot after the other. Their shoes had hit the pavement in rapid succession. Around a corner, over a fence, up a building, and on the roof they went. His form trailed behind them in haste. (Lost in the City(On wattpad coming soon to tumblr))

3. Heart racing, padded feet hit in rapid succession, a quick sliding turn, and over the railing. Grass crushed under foot before carefully sprinting to avoid spilling Brook's tea.

Too much was at stake to get caught.

Up the stairs, around Franky, and back down. He was following close behind.Victory was within sight. Robin's poor book was not. (Socks, Flower Crowns, and Cake ch 1(also on wattpad and coming to tumblr))

Now to break apart and analyze them!

In example 1 the focus is on capturing the energy and emotions that the characters are feeling and giving off.

Sanji, Is embarrassed and a little angry at the other chefs.(obviously lol)

The chefs are being playful and meschievous.

and y/n is amused and relaxed.

To capture that I used words like flustered, stomped, red, pried, embarrassed, and slam for Sanji.

and for y/n I used comfortable and waiting.(Basically they got out the popcorn)

Now that may seem obvious, but it’s important to make the characters emotions flow into the narration.

Here’s what it would look like without that.

Example:

The boy walked toward the kitchen door, which quickly shut before he got there. Muffled laughter could be heard from the other room.

He pulled the door open and closed it behind him.

Yelling could be heard before he came back with two full plates and sat down at the table where they were ready.

Where’s the flavor? I can’t tell you how many fics I’ve read like this.

So if you struggle with this, remember to ask yourself what the characters are feeling and how you can add some of that emotion in there. Also it’s ok to write it like this the first time when you’re just getting the idea in word form. Go ahead and add the seasoning in later if you’d like, no shame in that.

In example 2:

Click . Click. Click. One foot after the other. Their shoes had hit the pavement in rapid succession. Around a corner, over a fence, up a building, and on the roof they went. His form trailed behind them in haste.

The focus is on building up the intensity.

I’ve found that keeping sentences short helps with this quite a bit. Breaking up the characters actions into only a few words and using commas to list them really brings that feeling of speed.

Your brain is like “Woah, many things are happening so fast!”

Also if you are going for a feeling of dread this can be this can be useful too, just break it up even more.

Extra example:

She felt sick. She grabbed Misa. They went upstairs. She hushed Misa. There they were. The parents stood outside the door. The door was closed. They were leaning on it. To hear? They went in. The two girls got closer. They looked in. A gun. Mr. Amane had a gun to his head. The burglar was distracted. They quietly hid behind the piano. The man's back had turned. Gun pointed at wall.

A fierce acidic gleam filled those amber eyes.

She charged.

Ren watched in fearful awe. Misa's hand gripped his head and arm. *THUD* Head and arm the hit wall sickeningly. His hand turned red. Her grip grew ever stronger. He refused to let go. *THUD* Hand met wall once again. Ren swore she heard a crack. The gun dropped. *BANG*

Glass shattered and fell unceremoniously to the floor.

Blood.

It trickled down.

Crimson decorated the marble below.

Her amber glare didn't waver. Not even for second.

A framed painting rest upon the cold marble behind her reveling in its own demise.

Stinging pain traveled up Misa's arm.

(A deathnote fic I don’t know if I’ll ever finish)

Example 3:

Heart racing, padded feet hit in rapid succession, a quick sliding turn, and over the railing. Grass crushed under foot before carefully sprinting to avoid spilling Brook's tea.

Too much was at stake to get caught.

Up the stairs, around Franky, and back down. He was following close behind. Victory was within sight. Robin's poor book was not.

Here I also use the tension method, but that’s not what I’m going to talk about.

This is where writing style comes in.

When you’re writing it’s good to put some of yourself into it. Make it you.

I’m a rather playful person, so I put little fun things in my writing.

Saying victory was in sigh and Robin’s book wasn’t has nothing to do with what’s happening. It’s just fun. I simply put it there because it’s something I would do.

Put a bit of yourself in your writing.

I hope this was helpful! Let me know if you’d like anything else.

#writing advice #fanfic #fanfics #writing #writing tips #writer #advice #w #help #writing help #y/n #x reader

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hobeemin · 4 years ago

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A Baker’s Dozen

🍓 Genre: Fluff and a bit of Romance

🍓 Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader

🍓 Rating: pg13

🍓 Warning(s): Light cursing, Reader is a horrible cook, crying, a mini nervous breakdown, e2l (?)

🍓 Word Count: 3.4k

🍓 Credits: To my lovely beta @yoongs-jeontae ily 💜💗 and the beautiful @namluve for creating this lovely banner and divider ilyt!!

🍓 A/N: to @randomkoalablog my gift to you. Happy birthday!!! I wish you happiness! I hope you enjoy your day!!🎈🎉🎊🎂🍰🧁

Jin didn’t even have to turn around once he heard the crash. Temple protruding, he pressed his chalk onto the board, writing out the instructions for the next in-class assignment. Hearing the murmurs behind him and chairs scraped across the vinyl floor, he clenched his teeth and carried on.

Crust

Graham crackers (crushed) - About 2 cups

Sugar… ⅓ cup

Butter (melted)… ⅓ cup

Filling

Unsweetened chocolate...4 ounces

Sugar… 1 ½ cup

Eggs (chilled)… 4

Salted butter (cold and softened)... 2 sticks

Vanilla extract… 1 teaspoon

Topping

Heavy cream…. 1 ½ cup

Powdered sugar… ¼ cup

Semi-sweet chocolate bar (for grating)

A yelp from behind him paused his actions as he finally twirled around. Brows knit, he didn’t even need to guess what happened. You were covered head to toe in cake flour.

“Y/N?” Jin sighed in defeat.

You squealed, trying to cower behind another student. “I-I...Sorry, Seokjin-nim. I–”

“Don’t even bother,” he interrupted, rubbing his temples. “Go clean up and come back to class.”

Your shoulder slumped, and without a word, you ran out of the classroom. He gave a dubious look to the remainder of the class. “C’mon, clean that up, and we’ll start when Y/N returns.”

Jin considered himself a decent instructor, heck he was one of the best culinary chef’s out there. But unfortunately, in the economy's state, he had to close his restaurant and settle on teaching basic cooking classes. That was all well and good, but the only job available had been at a small, unknown culinary school. So desperate for students, they’d admit anyone. And therein lies the problem: You.

You weren’t the best cook...okay, that was being polite. You were a horrendous cook, and it was a miracle your place hadn’t burned down from all the cooking accidents you managed to do. Still, you had a passion for cooking, and your dream of becoming one of the best pastry chefs in Seoul would someday come true.

Jin didn’t hold his breath. On the first day of class, you managed to break an oven, the mixing bowl, and burn the inside of a saute pan. A saute pan?! There wasn’t anything in it!

But Jin gave you the benefit of the doubt. It was your first day, and nerves were high.

Except it happened every single day after that: broken bowls and equipment, tripping over the shock mats, and burning yourself on the stove. It never failed. Jin would have just sucked it up to you being a klutz, but on top of it all, your cooking sucked. There wasn't a day that went by where he’d think about the creme brulee you destroyed. Again, how did you manage torching the surface, and it was raw?

You walked back into the classroom, freshly changed into a new chef’s jacket and pants, and stood at your station. You winced seeing Jin’s eyes bore into you, and you wanted nothing more for the floor to swallow you up.

“Now that the break is over, we can focus on the lesson at hand,” he began, pointing to the board. “Today we’ll be making French silk pie. A complex dish due to the fact it’s not baked and the eggs will be raw. Now, to start, we’ll make the crust.”

The students got to work getting the necessary ingredients and making the pie crusts. Only whispers were heard throughout the kitchen. Jin walked around, giving small tips of advice as he checked the students' progress.

“Make sure the graham crackers are crumbly, not too chunky or fine; the texture should be there. Perfect.”

He smiled at each student as he went about only stopping at you with a frown. Somehow you were having trouble with the food processor. “Y/N? Something wrong?”

You looked up in surprise, cheeks a bright red. “No, Seokjin-nim, just fixing it,” you laughed nervously.

He queried with a brow stepping closer. “Maybe I can help.” He began assessing the processor looking for any jams. “It looks alright. Nothing seems out of place–”

He spoke too soon.

You decided pressing the button without the top secured was the best idea. With a roar, graham crackers and butter flew out coating you and Jin. The class gasped. Jin let out a depressing noise and wiped the gunk from his face.

“Y/N, stay after class.”

After cleaning up yet another mess, you leaned against the station wanting to bite your nails. Class had ended not too long ago, and it was now empty. Jin instructed you to wait while he went to his office. Your leg shook as you tried to distract your thoughts.

It wasn’t that bad, right?

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Jin entered the classroom, folder under his arm. He looked like he aged a few years in the course of a few hours. With a groan, he set the folder down beside you. You started from the folder to him curiously.

“Know what that is?" he inquired.

You shook your head. Jin opened the folder revealing your picture with your name across the page. “It’s your progress report for the semester,” he explained, flipping through the pages. “They want me to fail you.”

Your heart sank as you looked at all the failed marks in each of your classes. Lip trembling, you stifled a whimper as he continued.

“However, I was able to get you one last chance,” he paused, staring at the look of surprise on your face. “As you know, we have a mock service at the end of the week. If you don’t impress the staff, they will fail you, and I can’t do anything about it if it comes to that decision.”

Jin slammed the folder shut, giving you a hard stare, though it softened after a moment. “You’re assigned to desserts. Create something edible, and they’ll pass you for the semester.”

You tugged at your apron, twisting it in your hands. “B-But, what should I do?”

He shrugged, picking the folder up and walked towards the door. “Try not to suck,” he teased before exiting.

You sat there dumbfounded as the news sank in. This mock service could be the end of your culinary career. You had two choices, cry and mope about the situation or put on your big girl pants and kick this assignment's ass. You needed to impress the staff and damn it; you weren’t going to fail.

“Fuck, what am I gonna make?” You sat back down, pondering over the types of desserts you could make. Grabbing the books on the shelf, you flipped through, studying each one.

“Red velvet...no...Lemon meringue...yuck no...Chocolate chip cookies….what am I five?”

Grunting in frustration, you poured over the books filled with millions of recipes until the early hours of the morning.

Jin found you the next day, drool pooling on one of the books. He walked over, smirking at your sleeping form, impressed to see you so determined to pass. He peeked at your notes curiously.

“Oh, Y/N,” he whispered, noticing your chef’s hat had fallen over your eyes, exposing your hair, the few tresses tumbling out to rest on your neck. His ears pinked as he brushed the hair aside, causing you to shift and mumble in your sleep.

Jin stepped back, afraid he’d wake you. He noticed a french cookbook open and grabbed a highlighter. With a grin, he circled one of the recipes and tiptoed back up to the front by the lights.

He cleared his throat, flipping on the switch. “Y/N? Wake up. Class is about to start.”

You yelped, jumping out your seat and looked around in bewilderment. “Oh my gosh! I-I stayed here all night!” You covered your face in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Seokjin-nim. I didn’t mean to.”

Jin hid his smile and put on a neutral expression. “It’s fine. Just be mindful next time.” He walked over, looking at your workspace. “What are you working on?”

You tried to clean up the mess hastily with a snort. “Ah, just something for the mock service, nothing more.”

“Oh? What do you plan on making?” He inquired.

“I–” You glanced down at the scribbles, papers laid askew. You hadn’t figured out what you were going to make! Jin tapped his foot impatiently.

“Well–”

There. Right on the page circled in yellow. “Macarons!” you blurted out.

Jin feigned surprise. “Macarons? Interesting. That’s gonna be a challenge. If done right, they’ll be delicious.”

You felt flustered by his smile, averting your gaze. “You think I can do it?”

Not a chance in hell. Jin's smile widened, giving you a small pat on the shoulder. “Put your mind to it and study hard. I’m positive you can do it.” He settled against the station tapping his chin. “The problem is you’re too hard on yourself. You need to gain some confidence. Cooking is, by the bare bones, a science; equal and opposite reactions, molecules fusing, you get the gist. However, passion makes it come alive.”

His eyes twinkled as he turned to stare at you. “You have it inside, just got to find a way to let it emerge.”

You bit down on your lip as you lifted your head to see him staring. Your gaze held until the distant sounds of culinary students grew louder. Jin laughed as he walked to the board. He started to write out the assignment pausing for just a moment. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Y/N. I’m rooting for you.”

Now it was your time to get embarrassed. You cleaned up your station, putting the books back on their respective shelves just as the classroom filled.

Class went by in a blur; your mind was elsewhere. You blurted out the first thing that came to your mind. Now you had to figure out how to make these macarons look and taste spectacular. Your grade depended on it.

After the last students filtered out, only you and Jin remained. He packed his bag, watching as you looked over the recipe, taking notes as you went along.

He smiled to himself, seeing how determined you were to pass. He walked over, slinging the strap over his shoulder.

“You know,” he began as you sat up from your book to give him your full attention, “a good tip is to separate the egg whites and let them get to room temperature in a ventilated bowl for a bit.” He winked with a shrug. “Just a thought. Good luck.”

You chewed your pen cap nodding. A smile formed as you felt your mood lighten. “Thank you, Seokjin-nim. That helps. Have a good night.”

“Good night, Y/N.” He waved, leaving you in class alone to think.

You set to work laying out all the ingredients. With a sigh, you glanced at them, ready for war. Rolling up your sleeves, you put on your war face.

“Alright, let’s kick some ass!”

You sobbed on the floor, cheeks covered in flour and sugar. It shouldn’t have been that hard. But after the explosion of flour and you dropped the batter on the floor, all seemed lost. You felt like you’d been defeated until Jin’s face crossed our mind. His smile and reassurance. He was rooting on you to pass. He didn’t want to have you fail out of school. Growling in frustration, you got up, clenching your fists and slamming them on the tabletop.

“Screw this. I’m gonna pass this class!”

The night of the mock service had arrived. The kitchen buzzed with excitement as the students prepared their dishes for the guests. Ingredients prepped, utensils laid out, it was now or never. You entered the kitchen, securing your apron around your waist and headed over to the pastry section. There was only one other person with you, assigned to the ice cream.

Giving a quick hello, you took your premade batter and scooped it into a piping bag. As you worked on piping small circles onto the baking sheets, you barely noticed Jin walking in to wish everyone well. He stopped by your counter with a nod.

“Hello, Y/N. Everything all set?”

You looked up briefly, still focused on your task. “Hi, Seokjin-nim. My filling is already made, just got to bake the cookies.”

Jin nodded in approval, the slight worry at the back of his mind calming as he saw your expression. You seemed so determined to prove everyone wrong. He cleared his throat with an abrupt appearance. “Ahem, yes. Well, good luck. I’ll be out there with other department heads. Just stay confident when you’re introducing your dish.”

He patted you on the arm and scurried out the kitchen. You had no time to consider what his words and actions meant, not when so much work had to be done. You placed the six baking sheets into the oven, still worrying about the amount you had to make. The plan was to make a few and to be set aside for the department heads and make the others as the rest of the guests ordered them.

The night rolled on as other students cooked their dishes, going out into the dining room once they presented their meal. They’d get a score and walk back in to continue service. Dinner service crept by slowly making you anxious, bouncing on the soles of your shoes. As dirty dishes cleared and dessert utensils staged, you watched as the plates of macarons were served to the main table. With a gulp, you walked out, wringing your apron between your fingers. You could have sworn you heard your heart beating over the soft melodies coming from the speakers.

It felt like an episode of Iron Chef.

Jin looked around at the dishes. “Y/L/N Y/N, please explain to us what you’ve created for dessert tonight.”

You gave a bow, stretching a small smile across your face. “G-Good evening. Tonight, I wanted to tie the themes of this evening's meals together with this dessert. With how rich the dishes were tonight, I thought it would be better to end with something light,” you explained as the jitters slowly disappeared. “I’ve made for you a vanilla bean macaron with strawberry cheesecake filling. You can taste the vanilla beans in the cookies to give you more of a woody, smoky flavor that plays well with the strawberries. I pureed the fruit but added a few chunkier pieces to give it texture.” You took a breath as no traces of nerves crossed your face. “The drizzle was made with powdered sugar to add just a dash of sweetness. I hope you enjoy it.”

Jin held back his smile as he observed you. “Thank Y/N. We’ll make sure to enjoy this.”

You bowed once more and walked back into the kitchen. As the doors swung close behind you, you let out a massive sigh making everyone laugh. You grinned, heading back over to the desserts. The night had yet to end.

It seemed like a successful mock service. Jin came in the back to congratulate them all as everyone cleaned up the kitchen. As he entered, everyone stopped to see what he would say.

“Your grades will be up on Monday,” he said over the loud groan. He held up his hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger. Again, we were very impressed with everyone. Great job tonight.” He watched over the crowd seeing you chatting with a few of the students, a smile on your face. Biting his lip, he wanted to walk over, but instead walked back into the dining room, still embarrassed.

Like always, you were the last to clean your area, but that was alright. The quietness of the kitchen always soothed your nerves. You hummed, wiping down the counters with the sanitizer, almost finished. Surprised, you noticed some extra filling in one of the bowls. Everyone, well, your colleagues, complimented you on how amazing it tasted. To be honest, you only had a small taste before putting the macarons together. You took your finger and swirled some filling on the digit, bringing it up to your lips. You licked it clean off with a soft moan.

“Damn, that is good.”

A noise from behind made you jump as you looked over to see Jin standing in the doorway. You blushed profusely, trying to cover your hands. “Ah, S-Seokjin-nim! I didn’t realize anyone was still here!”

Jin gulped softly, placing his hands in front of him on the counter, feeling himself heat up. He cursed, trying to think of anything, but what he saw: your lips wrapped around your finger divulging in the sweet filling, had him stopped in his tracks.

“I...ahem...came back to lock up,” he explained, the strain in his voice. His eyes bore into yours as you glanced away.

“Oh! I’m just about done. I’m sorry for making you wait.” You began wrapping the filling to put back in the cooler.

Jin chuckled, rubbing the back of his head, playing with the hair that tickled his neck. “Please don’t rush. Take your time.” He closed the distance, standing on the opposite side of the counter. “I wanted to talk to you about your dessert.”

You dropped the paper towel as you blinked up at him. “B-But I thought grades wouldn’t be up until Monday.”

He drummed his fingers on the counter and shrugged. “Aren’t you a little curious about what they said?”

You fiddled with the utensils biting your bottom lip. “I mean, yeah. I’m scared about failing. Even more worried, they hated it.” Your eyes met his with hope. “H-How did you like it?”

Jin leaned forwards beckoning you to come close with a curled finger. “You want to know?”

Your head bobbed eagerly. “Yes. Please Seokjin-nim, I wanna know.”

Being this close to him, you noticed the flicks of hazel in his eyes, the fullness of his lips—that chiseled face. Wait, why were you ogling your instructor?! You gulped softly as his eyes lingered on your lips, then back up to your eyes.

“I–”

Loved it.

“Hated it,” he replied.

You felt the air deflate from your lungs as your jaw dropped. Eyes bulging, someone could have knocked you over with a wooden spoon. He looked so relaxed at your expression, still staring. He hated it?! But why? How? It was the best thing you made, and it was edible?! Your lip trembled as the lump in your throat formed.

Jin burst into a fit of giggles, only making you even more confused and suddenly angry. He gasped through the tears, broad shoulder shaking.

“You should see your face, Y/N! I need a picture.”

You huffed balling your fists. “I’d love to know what the joke is, Seokjin-nim.”

He wiped the tears away, chuckling softly. Coughing, he finally was able to calm down. “That was rude. Forgive me. I couldn’t help it.” He smiled brightly. “I’m just not a fan of flavored strawberry foods.”

You whimpered, collapsing against the counter as a sob wrecked your form. You wailed as all the emotions and stressed pent up from the week came crashing down. Jin ran over to the other side, wrapping you in a hug. Another squeak passed your lips as warmth engulfed you. He rested his chin on the top of your head.

“Please don’t cry Y/N. I-I don’t want to be the cause of any tears you shed. Please.”

This was unexpected. Your tears stopped as you felt nervous in his arms, perplexed even. Why was he holding you? Still, it was nice to be carried like this, even if he was your instructor.

You wiggled in his arms, looking up at him. A scowl twisted on your face. “That wasn’t very nice, Seokjin-nim.”

He brought his thumb up to wipe the stray tears. “I’m an idiot. Can you forgive me?”

You gave him a teary smile and nodded. “I couldn’t stay mad at you if I tried.”

He grinned, still holding you. “Why is that?”

“I like you,” you blurted out, cheeks reddened. Crap, he wasn’t supposed to know that.

Now it was his turn to turn red. He grinned, bopping you on the nose gently. “That makes two of us. I like you too,” he said shyly.

Your mouth gaped open. “Seokjin-nim–”

“Call me Jin, Y/N,” he ordered, eyes glittered with mischief.

You blushed once more with a giggle. “Okay, Jin.”

He laughed, pulling you at arm’s length to hold your hand. “You’re gonna pass. And to celebrate, I’m taking you out tomorrow. Sounds good?”

You stood on your tiptoes and gave him a gentle peck on the cheek. “Sounds sweet.”

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the-salty-asian · 4 years ago

Text

The Spider and The Fly | The Spider Wasp

Series Masterlist

Warnings: language, protesting?, creepy guy harassment, mention of death, and fighting

Summary: Peter’s friends aren’t too fond of y/n.

Word Count: 3.1K

The crowded halls of Midtown High would always annoy y/n. Yet she praised them for hiding her as she eavesdropped on the argument Peter and his friends were having.

“There’s just something off about her, man.”

“Something off? Have you seen us!? There’s a little something off about us Ned!”

“You’ve barely known her for a week Peter!”

“But guys I’ve ne-

“Yea, yea you’ve never felt this way before.”

Peter’s face softened, “MJ, I’m sorry I didn’t feel-”

“It’s whatever Peter, it’s in the past. I just think she’s hiding something. We’re trying to look out for you.”

Peter sighed, “Maybe you guys are right, but she needs friends right now. She’s a newbie.”

Y/n frowned. Any sane person could see that Peter was heavily influenced by his friends when it came to making decisions. There was no possible way for her to get closer to Peter until his friends trusted her too.

She rounded the corner, “Hey Pete! Ned, MJ.”

MJ and Ned shared an annoyed glance behind Peter’s back while he stepped toward her.

“Y-y/n hey!”

“Only my friends call me MJ,”she shot her a dirty look before retreating down the hallway. She left the three staring at her back until she disappeared into the wall of students.

“Well isn’t she just a dark ray of sunshine today.”

Peter rubbed at the back of his neck, “I’m sorry about MJ, she’s not one to make friends easily.”

Ned shot his best friend a wary glance that didn’t go unnoticed by y/n’s eyes. Even if he wasn’t as open about his feelings towards her, y/n knew that there was some trust to be gained.

“So I’ve noticed.”

Y/n had found herself a permanent spot at the deemed “losers” table, much to Michelle and Ned’s disliking. By the third day, Peter had stopped gazing at Liz across the cafeteria. Even now she attempted to drill holes in the back of y/n’s head as she made him laugh.

“Hey guys I have something to show you.”

Her hands dipped into her bag and grasped for the box amongst the crumpled papers. It’s contents clinked together as she pulled it out and into the table. The second the boys laid eyes on its cover, their mouths fell agape.

“No waaayy!”

“I heard you guys were building a LEGO Death Star and I thought it’d be cool to add to your collection!”

“The Millennium Falcon!? That’s hella expensive, y/n!”

“I found a guy selling it online for cheap,”she lied.

The cheapest that the toy was going for was $50, even on the sketchiest of websites. Y/n had found it much easier to slip it in her bag and walk out the employee exit of the store.

Peter took the box from her hands and set it between him and Ned. Their eyes roamed the picture on the front while they grinned from ear to ear.

“I’ll need some help building it of course.”

Ned beamed at her,“We got you!”

“Yea totally!”Peter’s eyes lit up. “Hey do you wanna help us finish the Death Star first?”

The grin on Ned’s face fell and his eyes flickered to Michelle behind her book. Y/n felt the tension twist around her neck like a rope. She had to be careful to not kick the chair she balanced on.

“I’d love to Pete, if that's ok with you Ned?”

“Yea, I guess.”he looked like a kicked puppy. “Hey Pete, we gotta pick something up from the workshop before lunch is over.”

“No we don-”

“Yes.We.Do”

Ned’s fingers closed around Peter’s wrist, pulling his best friend up with him. Together they weaved their way out of the cafeteria, leaving y/n stranded with Michelle. She nervously eyed the book covering the girl’s face and hoped that it’d shield her for the rest of lunch.

“Winning us over with materialistic things, good play y/n.” She rested the book in her lap. “It won’t work with me though, sorry.”

The smile on y/n’s lips faltered but she quickly recovered. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Yea sure.”

With that, Michelle shoved her book into her bag and followed the direction that Peter and Ned had gone.

The rest of the week went by in a flash and soon enough y/n sat on the floor next to a nearly finished LEGO Death Star. It would’ve been complete the next day. However when y/n arrived at Peter’s door the next day, she found the two boys standing apologetically, a heap of LEGO pieces between them.

“Can you tell me why we have to rebuild it again?”

The two boys exchanged a nervous glance. Y/n could tell there was a secret linked between them, something she may already have known.

“Oh um Peter scared the living shit out of me and I kinda dropped it?” Ned blused.

Y/n’s lips turned up into a smirk, “Ah right.”

Over the past few afternoons of LEGOs and witty conversations, Ned had warmed up to her. They began to banter as if they had known each other their whole lives. As they laughed over her latest remark, y/n couldn’t help but notice Peter’s eyes on her.

“Here you do the last piece, y/n.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Ned’s face fall. LEGOs were a sacred thing the two boys had let her in on, much against his protests.

“Actually,”she grabbed Ned’s wrist and turned his palm towards the ceiling. “I think Ned should do it instead, Pete.”

A childish grin spread across Ned’s face as she pressed the plastic into his hand. His eyes whispered to her a silent thank you before he snapped the piece into place. High fives were passed around as they looked over their creation with pride. Their celebration was cut short by the smoke alarm and the slamming of an oven door. Smoke poured into Peter’s open doorway soon followed by May Parker. She leaned against the door frame leisurely waving the air with her oven mit.

“Hey, are you two joining us for dinner? I made my famous meatloaf!”

Y/n was quick to catch the warning glance that Peter gave his friend as Ned stumbled over his words. “I can’t Ms. Parker. I gotta head home.”

Her bottom lip jutted out, “Aww ok Ned, it was good to see you!”

“Yea you too Ms. Parker!”

Ned quickly shuffled past her and y/n contemplated following after him.

“How about you, y/n?”

Her stomach dropped, there was no getting out of this one. She had skirted by May’s dinner requests a couple of times, but she had run out of excuses.

Y/n looked nervously from Peter to his aunt, “Oh no, I don’t want to intrude.”

“Oh please sweetheart! I’ve been dying to meet the girl Peter doesn’t shut up about!”

Peter’s eyes widened, “MAY!”

A real laugh escaped y/n’s lips at how red he had turned.

“Y-you don’t have to if you want to. I’m sure-“

“Peter give her a break!”she laughed and took y/n’s hand in hers giving it a warm squeeze. “Will you join us?”

It took all that was in her not to flinch at May’s foreign, soft touch. She regained the smile on her face, “Yes, of course.”

“Great! Peter, will you set the table?”

To say the least, May Parker was no gourmet chef. With every swallow of meatloaf y/n had to choke down, she regretted her response to a dinner invitation. Every few seconds she’d glance at Peter who would flash her an apologetic smile. Meanwhile, his aunt was rapidly firing questions at her. She answered them with ease, all rehearsed parts of a script.

“What do your parents do?”

“Oh well my father-”how was she supposed to tell her that her father was set on killing the Avengers? “Is a traveling businessman.”

“And your mother?”

Her mother, the word was a knife to her bruised heart. She would tell the truth for this one, for her mother.

“S-she’s no longer with us.”

May reached for her hand across the table,“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry to hear that!”

Much to y/n’s relief, May stopped her questions shortly after that. Instead, she shared stories of baby Peter that made him cover his face with his hands in embarrassment. Some of them even coaxed a laugh to tumble from y/n’s lips.

“Will you stay for dessert?”

“As much as I’d love to! I should probably get home, it was very nice meeting you Ms. Parker!”

“Oh no please, call me May, y/n!”

“Have a goodnight!”

Peter held the door for her and quickly ushered her outside before May could break out the photo albums from the shelf. Only when he closed the door did he calm down a bit.

He raked a hand through his curls, “Thanks for coming I-i know May’s not the best cook but she-“

“It was fine Peter. Thanks for having me.”

She held his gaze all the while stepping closer to him until she almost had to crane her neck to look at him. Her arms wrapped around his middle and her face pressed into his strong chest. Peter hesitated before he enveloped her in his arms and his hands splayed on her back. They stayed like that for a moment making it a game of who would let go first. Y/n lost. She pulled away from Peter’s warmth and opened her apartment door.

“Oh um goodnight, y/n!”

“Goodnight Pete,”she giggled at the state her hug left him in.

She closed the wood with a click, leaving a flustered Peter standing in the hallway. Through the spyhole she watched as Peter cheered silently before dancing happily through his door.

Things were starting to run more smoothly, Ned would greet her at lunch and y/n had received multiple dinner invitations from May. The only one who seemed to still give her the cold shoulder was Michelle. Y/n had tried every way she had known to get Michelle to like her. From bringing her all of her favorite foods at lunch to conversations about her favorite novels, the bookworm wasn’t easily swayed. But she herself even told y/n, materials meant nothing to Michelle. Y/n had spent every minute in class finding ways to get the girl on her side.

In front of her a couple girls whispered in hushed tones. Their giggles weren’t hard to notice but what had caught her attention was “protest”. She leaned over and tapped the closest girl on the shoulder.

“Hey what protest?”

“Oh, the women’s rights protest in Kissena Park! I didn’t take you for the protesting type.”

A wry smile formed on her lips, “I’m gonna give it a go, yea.”

Up until the bell rang, y/n was itching to find Michelle before she disappeared in the hive of students. When the clock finally reached 2:45, she was the first one out the door and running down the hall to her locker. Heads turned to look at her curiously as she ran about Midtown High’s campus in search of Michelle Jones. She found her almost to the school’s front doors.

“Hey! MJ-Michelle wait!”

To her surprise, she stopped in her tracks and spun around to meet her. Y/n’s shoes squeaked against the linoleum floor in an attempt to stop herself from colliding with her. Michelle’s face was washed in annoyance, her eyes stared down at y/n’s bent over figure.

“Well?”

“I w-was wondering if you were going to the women’s rights protest. The one in Kissena Park?”

“Yea,” Michelle crossed her arms over her chest while her dark eyes worked over y/n. “What about it?”

“Can I maybe join you?”

She took the request into consideration, chewing it over in her brain. Y/n almost thought that Michelle would spit it back in her face.

“Yea I don’t care, why not?”

“Great! I’ll meet you there?”

Michelle was already walking away, “Whatever.”

The fictional smile on y/n’s face while her eyes remained on the girl’s back. What an afternoon it was going to be.

Two hours later, y/n found herself getting off the bus right outside Kissena Park. A large crowd of women were already gathering at the front gate, signs in tow. After some searching, y/n finally found Michelle amongst them wielding a “guns have more rights than my vagina” sign.

Y/n’s mind panicked, she didn’t have a sign to flaunt. Her eyes scanned the crowd for an easy sign to pick off someone. And there it was, her saving grace. A large pink sign was propped up against the iron fence that read, “A vagina brought you into this world, a vagina can vote you out.” She shrugged, it was good enough for her.

“Hey Michelle!”

She spun around to reveal a wild grin on her face. This was Michelle in her element, no walls and no guard up. Her eyes surveyed the sign in y/n’s eyes before letting out a laugh.

“I like your sign.”

“Thanks, I like yours too.”

“Well come on, women’s rights aren’t gonna win themselves!”

At first. y/n didn’t appreciate the crowd, it made her on edge. Nothing good came out of waiting in large numbers. But as she watched Michelle’s defenses unravel she too felt the knot on her worries loosen. Soon enough they were walking side by side yelling with the crowd.

The girls walked the remainder of the park after the protest had finished. Y/n had finally chipped away at Michelle’s wall as they giggled endlessly over books and the students of Midtown High.”

“Who am I now?”Michelle bent her knees slightly. “You guys wanna take a ride in my new whip that’s not actually mine! Oh hey there’s Penis Park-“

“What are some pretty ladies like you doin down here?”

They had been too busy laughing that they hadn’t noticed the man approaching them on the other side of the walkway. Michelle was quick to brush past him but not quite enough. The man grabbed her by the upper arm and shoved his face in hers.

“Hey I’m talking to you!”

Michelle’s eyes were bulging with fear and she wasn’t strong enough to pull away from the stranger’s grip.

“Hey asshole don’t touch her!”

Y/n’s hands grabbed at his jacket sleeve and she aimed her knee at his lower half. It’s first attempt connected with his stomach and the second his groin. The attacker crumpled to the cement clutching his asset. Y/n wasted no time in kneeling beside him and taking his face in one hand. Her mouth hovered over his ear and she made sure that Michelle couldn’t see her next action.

She slipped a twenty dollar bill into his jacket pocket, “Sorry about that Kev’ I gotta make it believable.”

With that she stood and kicked him once in the ribs for good measure before turning towards Michelle. Her jaw was as low as the floor and her eyes wide with awe.

“Wow that was badass!”

“Thanks,”she took a hold of her hand. “I think we should get out of here.”

Michelle led y/n to the bus station, reenacting the fight scene the whole way there. Y/n couldn’t help but laugh as she punched the air in front of her with a few added sound effects.

“Hey,”Michelle stopped them just before the bus stop. “you maybe wanna come to my house tonight?”

She cracked a smile, “I’d love to.”

They say a person’s room often reveals a lot about them. This much was true about Michelle’s. Every surface was adorned with stacks of books except a small designated area for academic trophies. Crammed in the small space left on her dresser were three framed photos. One was of her family all gathered around a Christmas tree, another a photo of Midtown’s Academic team. The last one caught y/n’s eye, Michelle was holding the camera while Peter had his arm wrapped around her shoulders. They both grinned up at y/n who had taken the photo in her hands.

“I’m sorry for the mess I don’t really have visitors.”

At the sound of Michelle’s voice, she thrust the photo back into its place. The bookworm emerged in the doorway with her arms overflowing with snacks.

Y/n pointed at the photo, “So you and Peter huh?”

“Oh um no,”her eyes focused on her sock clad feet. “We’re just friends.”

“I’m not sure what you’re into but I got some movies that aren’t Star Wars, if you wanna watch those?”she laughed.

“Yea that’d be great!”

After two movies and a ton of snacks, the two girls laid on their backs staring into the abyss before them and listening to the sounds of the city outside Michelle’s window. A soft silence settled in the darkness around the bed. Y/n could sense the slowing of the girl’s breaths and prayed that Michelle was a heavy sleeper. Yet it was quite the opposite. Minutes passed before y/n attempted to slide off the mattress, when she was met with Michelle’s sleepy voice.

“Can I confess something?”she mumbled into the darkness.

Internally she did a victory dance, confessions were good. Y/n hummed beside her and felt the shift in the mattress as Michelle rolled over to face her. She followed in suit, her eyes finding Michelle’s dark ones.

“I’ve never really had a girls’ night.”

She feigned a gasp, “Really?”

A pain settled in her chest, it was her first girls’ night as well, and she was spending it to get information to kill the girl’s best friend. This was all kinds of fucked up on y/n’s part.

“Yea I don’t really like the female population at Midtown, but you’re different. I don’t know how just yet but you are.”

Y/n’s stomach sank. She was different because she wasn’t meant to be a regular teenager. Her sole purpose was to serve her father. Even if that meant to kill Peter Parker.

“Thanks?”

“I’m still new with this compliment thing. Give me a break.”

“Goodnight Michelle.”y/n chuckled.

“MJ.”

“What?”

She rolled over to face y/n again. Her eyes shone in the moonlight filtering through her window and a rare toothy smile was plastered on her face.

“You can call me MJ.”

A/n: After this I kinda want to turn it into an MJ x reader fic lmao.

Taglist: @rebekamckenzie @blossomreed @pluckypete @moistpotatobear

10 notes · View notes

skiesofthesketchy · 5 years ago

Text

Blurred Lines

Stiles Stilinski x reader

Word count: 3,247

Warnings: alcohol, language, mentions of sex, flirty flirtyyyyyy

Summary: The reader gets a little too drunk and can’t help herself >:)

A.n.: Hey its me! I might have been a lil drunk while writing this lol. Yall still like teen wolf fanfic right? GOOD then you’re in the right place. Please lmk what you think I love feedback. enjoy! :)

This has been edited so that I like it better lol

The loud bass from the speakers in the colorful room sent vibrations through your body. Your vision was blurry due to your alcohol consumption that night, but you blamed it on the moving lights which were swirling around the room to the rhythm of the music, though they didn’t really help your drunken state either. Your eyes roamed the crowded room looking for one of your friends, perhaps one friend in particular that you could latch onto to steady your balance and ease your whirling thoughts.

Deciding to sway over to the kitchen to look for your friends there, some guy slammed right into you, spilling his sticky alcoholic drink down the front of your shirt. You stood there stunned, feeling the cold drink sinking into your top and down your arms. The dude just shouted an, “Oh shit!” laughing with two of his friends that stood next to him, all of them obviously even more drunk than you.

Groaning in annoyance, you started towards the stairs, hoping to find an unoccupied bathroom upstairs. Focusing on the taunting staircase ahead of you, you climbed the first few steps without a problem. The next one, however, had you stumbling backwards and reaching for the handrail before you could even register that you had misstepped. You yelped as you were fully expecting to tumble down the stairs unable to catch yourself, but a hard chest and strong arms caught you instead.

“Woah there, Y/N. You okay?” your rescuer asked.

“Stiles!” you cheered happily after turning your face to see one of your closest friends. “Oh my god, you saved me!” you smiled. Your back was still up against him while his hands held your waist firmly. “I was just looking for you.”

“Well you found me,” he chuckled, spinning you around so you two were facing each other. With him standing on the step below you, you were almost as tall as him and could see clearly into his whiskey colored eyes, concern crossing them. “For real though, are you okay? How much have you had to drink?”

“Um. A bit,” you giggled. It might have just been the vodka from earlier but you were very happy to be with Stiles now.

He helped you down the stairs, noticing how hard it was for you to actually hold yourself up, let alone walk down the steps. “From the looks of it, you’ve had more than a bit. And what happened to your shirt?” he asked with widening eyes, gesturing to the large splatters of amber on your white tank top.

“Some drunk idiots happened,” you grumbled, looking down to realize that the liquid made your shirt a little see through and it stuck to your skin underneath. “Shit.” You looped your arm through his and rested your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes for a brief moment, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “And yes, I’m drunk if that’s what you were getting at.”

Stiles laughed lightly, “A little too drunk is more like it.” You just hummed in response. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

“Huh? Are you taking me home?”

“I’ll take you back to mine. Your parents will definitely kill you if you come home this drunk,” he laughed. Stiles grabbed your hand and led you around the party so you both could say goodbye to your friends.

The farewells were brief and you were soon walking in the chilly October night, a drastic temperature drop from the heat of the party inside. With your hand still enclasped in Stiles’ larger one, he walked you over to his beloved Jeep. He came around the passenger side with you to help you in, which you were thankful for because even with his help, you were ungraceful in your endeavours to hoist yourself up into the vehicle. He shut the door but you could still hear him laugh as he walked around the car to the driver’s side.

“Here, drink some water,” he offered you a water bottle after getting in and buckling your seat belt for you. You took it from him willingly and he turned the ignition.

“Are you sober?”

Stiles scoffed. “Of course. I had a feeling I’d need to take care of you tonight,” he teased. You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny the fluttering that started in your belly. Good ol’ Stiles, always there when you need him.

You turned the volume dial up, engulfing the moving car in the music playing from one of Stiles’ playlists, and the two of you hummed along peacefully.

‘Shit’ you thought, feeling the wet material of your shirt still clinging to you. You swiftly pulled it over your head, thankful to be relieved of the sticky feeling, though your drunkenness had made you forget about it. You balled it up and used the dry parts of your shirt to dab your boobs that swelled above the lace of your bra.

“Hey, hey! What are you doing!?” Stiles shouted over the music, eyes flickering down to your chest, an incredulous look on his adorable face. He acted like you were doing something wrong and you were confused. “I’m trying to drive here!”

You quirked up an eyebrow. “And? You’re doing a great job, buddy.”

“How can you expect me to drive safely while you’re over there doing... whatever you’re doing... that!”

You giggled at the silly, panicked look on his handsome face. “What? Am I distracting you?” You leaned forward out of your seat and turned towards the boy to be more in his line of sight. You couldn’t help but smirk, loving how easy it was to tease him. You slowly continued to wipe the remainder of beer from your stomach and under the lining of your bra.

“Fuck, Y/N, are you trying to get us killed?” His fingers rubbed over his jaw before tightly gripping the steering wheel, his left leg bouncing as he stole another glance at you.

“I just didn’t wanna be soaked in beer anymore,” you shrugged innocently, scooting back in your seat, and he released an audible breath.

Teasing Stiles was always fun, but between platonic friends there’s always a line. As you and Stiles have grown closer, it’s gotten harder to distinguish where that line is exactly. Sometimes you even wished the line would blur or disappear completely, due to your stupid feelings for him. You usually ignored them, but with alcohol coursing through your system, your body buzzed with a desire for the attractive boy next to you.

The jeep stopped in Stiles’ driveway and you managed to hop out yourself this time. You followed close behind Stiles as he unlocked the door to the house. “Are you hungry at all, or did you just wanna pass out?” he asked, flicking on the kitchen lights.

“Hmm. I could eat.”

“Great--” Stiles swiveled around, eyebrows shooting up as his eyes landed on your still half naked figure, only clad in a bra and a short skirt. “But we should definitely get you a shirt first.” Was he blushing?

The gears in your brain started turning. “Nah, I’m okay. What’s on the menu, Chef?” You sat in one of the chairs by the counter, crossing your arms underneath your chest.

He let out a breathy laugh. “Uhm. Absolutely nothing unless you cover up.” Stiles almost looked serious, but the amusement in his eyes and the curve of his lips told you otherwise. You, however, were in a playful mood thanks to the liquor.

“Why are you being a baby? You’ve seen me in my bra before,” you casually inquired.

He huffed, all but glaring at you. It was either because of your little insult or because you were challenging him by not doing what he asked.

“Fine. I’ll just get myself something to eat.” You stood and strutted past Stiles towards the pantry as he held his stiff position. The warm brush of your arms did not go unnoticed by either of you.

Skipping back to the counter with a box of cereal, you stretched your arm up to get a bowl from the upper cabinet. Opting to lean on your toes, you almost fell back in surprise when Stiles’ strong hand caught your wrist. He held it there above you as you looked up at him, feeling his warm breath fan over your face.

“Like I said, sweetheart.” You froze, reading his stern body language. He was trying to intimidate you, but all you could think about right now was closing the small gap between you and kissing him. Sure you were intoxicated, but his proximity made you even more so. Intoxicated by him, that is. “Not until you put a shirt on.”

His grasp was still on your arm, but it was lowered between you now. Your body burned, only partially fighting off the urge to jump him right then. “Stiles...” you focused on his hard stare, the freckles littering his cheeks, his dark pink lips. “You don’t really want that.”

You heard him inhale a deep breath, “Y/N,” he warned. But you ignored him, finally diving forward, crashing your lips to his. Stiles froze, while you just wrapped your arms around his neck. It only took half a second for Stiles to kiss you back, growling into your lips. You pulled him close, pressing your body into his while his hands found the warm skin of your waist. Your entire form sizzled with the contact, loving the taste of him.

Only seconds had gone by before he firmly pushed you away by your hips. “Y/N. Y/N, stop.” You were confused, his quick rejection causing your chest to tighten. “We-- we can’t.”

“What Stiles? You don’t want me?” you retorted in disbelief, completely flustered.

“Babe, you’re drunk,” he tried to reason. You pushed away from his hold on your hips, a sour laugh escaping you.

“Sorry, Stilinski. I didn’t realize you’d be totally repulsed by me,” you flared. Many emotions swelled within you, but drunken anger took over all of them. Here you were, fully throwing yourself at your crush and he didn’t even want to kiss you.

“That’s not it,” the boy mumbled, sighing heavily. You just scoffed turning to get away from him. “God, I am not doing this again.”

You snapped your head back around at his comment. His palms rubbed over his jaw anxiously. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Let’s not get into in it.”

Your brows furrowed. “Spit it out, Stiles.”

“You don’t remember?” He seemed almost as upset as you were, the temperature of the room rising. “Jesus, you don’t even remember,” he shook his head, hands rubbing the back of his neck now after he noticed your bewildered features.

“Remember what?” You had no idea what the hell he was talking about. After a moment of strangled silence you growled, “For the love of god, just tell me!”

“This isn’t the first time this has happened, Y/N.”

“Huh--”

“It was hard enough to push you away the first time. I don’t think I could control myself enough to keep you away.” His fingers tugged on his messy hair, frustrated.

“What?” You were dumbfounded, unable to recollect anything about the scenario he was referring to. “Are you saying we’ve... kissed?”

He forced out a sharp laugh. “It was a little more than that.” Your face burned red. How could you not remember any of this?

You tried to organize your thoughts in your flustered state. “What- why didn’t you say anything?”

“You acted completely normal the next day. I thought you didn’t want to talk about it. I thought you regretted it...” he mumbled the last part.

You shook your head. “I don’t even remember. Shit did we... did we fuck?” Your eyes grew wide. Of course you’d forget sleeping with the one person you’ve liked since forever.

“No. No, of course not. You were drunk and I have way too much respect for you.” You calmed a little, but more questions popped into your mind. “Which is why I can’t kiss you right now even though it’s killing me not to,” he all but grumbled.

You blushed. The heat of the moment was still present but dispersing around you. His last phrase echoed through your mind.

“Y/N?” he asked cautiously after you hadn’t said anything.

“I...” you fumbled around in your brain trying to find something to say. “I’m sorry I’ve put you in this position. Twice now,” you forced a laugh, looking down at your exposed figure and picking nervously at the skin around your fingernails.

Stiles scrunched up his face at your suddenly saddened demeanor. “Don’t apologize,” he spoke softly. “It’s okay.”

Silence took over the room. Neither of you could bring yourselves to speak up.

“I like you, you know.” The words abruptly left your lips, shocking yourself even more than Stiles. “I know we’re friends. Really good friends. But I like you more than that.” You surprised yourself even more as you found your voice calm and confident.

Your gaze finally met his honey eyes which were boring into you. “I guess I only have the guts to do something about it when I’m intoxicated.” Your shoulders lifted in a shrug as you laughed sheepishly, trying to relieve some of the tension.

Stiles’ jaw hung open, but no words tumbled out. You were getting hot and uncomfortable again. You confessed your feelings and he still has nothing to say. “Stiles?”

“Are you sure that’s not just the alcohol talking?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure. I mean the alcohol definitely helped with the delivery, but my feelings are sober.” In fact, you were sobering up by the second.

You were annoyed now. The boy still stood there not saying anything.

“Damn. I’ll take the hint, okay?” you spat, spinning around to go upstairs. You dragged yourself up the steps to Stiles’ room hoping that he wouldn’t follow you. It was much too late to go running home at this hour but you couldn’t stand to look at his stupid, pretty face. You were humiliated, angry, but most of all, hurt.

Shutting the door behind you, you rummaged through the middle drawer of Stiles’ dresser, pulling out one of his t-shirts. Taking off your bra and pulling the black shirt over your head, you turned to face the mirror hanging on the wall. Oh god, you looked like a drunken disaster.

Your hair was in tangles and your dark eye makeup smudged at the corners of your eyes. Your face was flushed with eyes burning red, but those were just the tears threatening to spill over your cheeks. You refused to let them, though.

You huffed, moving over to the bathroom attached to the room. You used water to wash your face of the messy makeup and put some toothpaste on your finger to wash out the horrible liquor and strange words you had said downstairs from your mouth. Your finger swiped over your bottom lip as you remembered how Stiles’ lips felt against them.

You didn’t let yourself sink into those thoughts. You turned off the light as you left the bathroom, only to discover Stiles sitting on the end of his bed. You hadn’t heard him come in.

His eyes raked over you slowly, and you could see his throat bob in a gulp.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you offered, leaning on the doorframe of the bathroom. “I get it. We’re just friends. Sorry I’ve complicated everything...” You prepared to continue rambling, just wanting this night to be over already.

“You may have complicated things a little,” his lips quirked up, “but I haven’t thought about you as just a friend in a while.”

Your eyes blazed in confusion and shock as you just stared at him. “What does that mean?” You craved more information to be sure you were understanding correctly. Your words were almost a whisper.

“It means I like you,” the boy chuckled at your expression. “A lot.” Your heart hammered in your chest.

“But, downstairs...” you mumbled, not knowing how to finish.

He chuckled once more. “I’m sorry. What happened downstairs was a lot to take in.” You slowly started moving closer to your long time friend, hanging onto his every word. “I’m just... scared you won’t remember this in the morning,” he whispered.

“Stiles,” his name drew from your lips. You were now positioned in front of him, his nose turned up to look at you. You let your fingers move through his soft, dark hair. “I don’t think I could forget this even if I wanted to,” you hummed happily. “And trust me, I don’t want to.”

You put your knees up on the bed on either side of him, straddling him as your skirt rode up your thighs. Your hands were now placed on his jaw with his on your legs, your pretty eyes meeting his in an intense stare.

“You promise?” He looked worried but hopeful.

“I pinky promise.” You came closer, intending to lock lips with him for the second time that night, but his hands shot up to catch your wrists, pulling back slightly.

“Babe,” he grunted, unwillingly. “I don’t think we should. Not ‘til you’re sober.”

You pouted. After everything tonight has been, you at least wanted a fucking kiss. “Just one innocent kiss,” you pouted even more, hoping to convince him. His eyes darted down to your bottom lip sticking out, and he grunted again.

“Just one,” he choked out, unable to hold himself back any longer.

He pulled you in by the back of your neck and your needy lips finally connected in a hungry and passionate kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck trying to pull him as close to you as possible. His rough fingertips moved up your legs and rested strongly on your hips. It was pure magic, unlike the kiss of drunken madness from earlier. You smiled into his lips despite not being able to breathe. Both of you were enjoying each other too much to break away for air.

You pulled away first, resting your forehead against his. Your breaths seemed to match as you both calmed down from the heated moment. “We should get you into bed,” he spoke up first. “You better fucking remember all of this, Y/N.”

You laughed. “I pinky promised, didn’t I?” You watched as he stood and pulled back the covers of his bed for you to climb into it. You happily obliged before you noticed him start to walk away.

“You’re not actually thinking of sleeping on the couch, are you?”

“Well I can’t sleep here,” Stiles laughed. “I don’t trust you to not jump my bones and take advantage of me.” If he was still standing near you, you would’ve hit him.

“Just get into the bed, idiot,” you laughed. He removed his shoes before turning off the light.

“Fine. But no funny business,” he chuckled, laying down in the sheets next to you.

“Have it your way,” you mumbled, pressing a kiss to his cheek before rolling onto your side. You felt his strong arm wrap around your waist, spooning you. You laced your fingers through his and held them to your chest, perfectly content with your life right now.

“I cannot fucking wait ‘til you’re sober, Y/N,” he breathed into your hair. “Then I’ll be the one taking advantage of you.”

..................................................................................................

Masterlist

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smilexcaptainx · 5 years ago

Photo

Summary: In which a man who is looking for love crosses paths with a woman who despises it, or at least she tries to convince herself to.

Word Count: 1.1K

Tag list status: Open

Do you want to be on the Opening Up taglist? ASK HERE

Authors Note: Here is chapter three! I hope you enjoy!

Opening Up Masterlist

The rest of the breakfast wasn't as terrible as you expected. Chris was knowledgeable of your limits and knew what you wanted and didn't want to talk about. He knew that he wasn't close enough with you to ask you the questions he had bottled up inside. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable enough to bring up the topics. He was very considerate of your feelings and didn't want to drive you away.

At the moment, Chris was explaining the circumstance of the reasoning behind the entire random favor he asked of you to pursue. A ding rang from his phone out of the blue. He casually pulled it out, inhaling deeply as his eyes snaked across the message. You take one more bite out of your delicious sandwich while raising an eyebrow.

"What is it?" you ask, gently putting down your sandwich. "Please don't tell me that we're already on the celebrity news."

"Can you eat that sandwich on the way back to the set?" chris asked, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "We need to head back."

"But I thought you said—"

"Never mind what I said," chris interrupted, scooting outside of the booth. "we need to go."

You didn't question the man again and went with what he said. You and Chris take your drinks and food along with you, sincerely thanking the workers on the way out. They really helped out. As you walk out of the sandwich shop, Chris held his sandwich in his mouth and his drink in his arms while speedily texting back his friend. You stay silent on the way back to the car, hoping that you weren't recognized again. Shortly, you two made it to the car, completely unnoticed.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You crumple up the wrapped paper that was around the sandwich and climb out of the car, tossing it into the closest trash can. You use your tongue to feel around your top and bottom teeth, hoping that there wasn't any leftover pieces of food. You walk around the car and saw that Chris was dashing toward the set, acting as if he was late to something. You trail behind him and immediately notice the cast and crew wandering around the set, acting extremely flustered.

The director was snappy at everybody, surprising you the most. He never was this short-tempered with anyone. You watch Chris sharply turn the corner, keeping his head low like he was trying to avoid everyone. He sped off to his trailer, where he quickly entered and slammed the door shut.

"Where the hell are they?!" the director shouted loudly, throwing his hands in the air. He turned and suddenly became motionless as his eyes met with yours. His cold stare sent chills down your spine. "[Y/N]! THERE YOU ARE! WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!" he bellowed angrily. "WHERE IS CHRIS!"

"Um, he went back into his trailer," you informed, confusingly pointing toward that direction. "we went out to breakfast this morning. You know? Because—"

You pause your words as the sound of a pan clattering on the ground caught your attention. As the director impatiently awaited for your explanation, you slowly walk around the corner, your eyebrows raising at the scene of your favorite chef's cleaning up their equipment.

"Wait...they were here?"

"Where else would they be?" the director exclaimed, looking just as confused as you were. "Look [Y/N], I didn't know where you and Chris were this morning, nobody did, and that alarmed me. I apologize for snapping at you like that, I was just worried that some crazy fan kidnapped you two or something bad happened."

"I'm sorry sir," you apologize with a frown. "it won't happen again."

"Well, just make sure to let me know next time and I'll be a little more flexible," he compromised calmly. "I'll go get Chris and we can start off where we left off. I'm glad you two are safe."

The director patted you on the shoulder before walking past you and toward Chris's trailer. You cross your arms and stand there in contemplation. Why would Chris do that?

"Chris just wanted to take you on a date," a voice peeped out of the blue, as if he had read your mind. You turn around and saw that it was your other co-star, the one who played your other love interest in the movie. "I guess he lost track of time. I told him the specific time he needed to be back, but you two must have had a good time. You two were gone for two hours."

It certainly didn't feel like two hours, but apparently it was. Your friend chortled in amusement before walking off while sipping his coffee. He must have been the guy that Chris received the text from. You turn to face the trailer, wondering why the director has been in there longer than anticipated. You go off and head over to Chris's trailer. Once you arrive to his trailer, you walk up the stairs, but stop once you overhear Chris's loud voice through the door.

"I'm actually super excited, I just hope she'll say yes," chris declared hopefully. "I love her so much Mark. I truly do."

"Well, congratulations Chris, this is so exciting!" the director cheered. "I'll make sure to come to your wedding."

You had your ear pressed up against the door, and your heart was pounding rapidly. He was most definitely talking about you. Chris's voice gradually got louder, indicating that he was walking toward the door. You were quick on your feet and flew down the stairs and around the trailer, right before Chris came walking out with his director. You peek around the corner and wait until they departed before casually walking up to him.

"So we're actually doing this hm?" you ask, walking side by side with your friend. "Why make it public though?"

"Because if it's public, it'll be more likely to be believable," chris answered with a nonchalant shrug. "I'll do it tonight."

"Where are you going to take me to propose?"

"Only the most fanciest restaurant around," chris responded, lifting his phone screen up to your eyes. You fell completely white as the your eyes examined the title of the restaurant. "you can thank me later."

As Chris pulled his phone back to him, he instantly noticed your sudden paleness. He furrowed his eyebrows in worry.

"Whoa, are you okay [Y/N]?" chris fretted, positioning himself as if you were going to fall over. "I don't need to propose to you publicly if you don't want."

"No, it's fine," you reassure, shaking the agonizing thoughts out of your mind. "I um, I'm okay. Tonight, right?"

Chris stared at you in disbelief, and nodded hesitantly. "Yes, tonight [Y/N]."

🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠

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!! Tell me what you think about this chapter !!

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lu-undy · 5 years ago

Note

Teasing level 9000: no one knows why, but spy and sniper are angry at each other and to get revenge, they both tease the other in front of their teammates to make him feel embarrassed, ie: if spy is having a conversation with medic, sniper will pass by and kiss him loudly, and then walk away so everybody can see spys flustered face. Of course spy will seek his revenge. When sniper is talking with the teammates, spy will walk to him and slap his ass, and sniper will blush like crazy.

Alroight, hopefully this is okay ^^!

"Oh hey Snipes… Oh-uh, why the long face?"

Sniper had entered the kitchen and found Scout drinking some soda while Engie and Pyro were preparing dinner.

"Mmh…" The tall man grumbled.

"Got in a fight with fancypants? Oh, speak of the devil…"

"Gentlemen."

The Frenchman entered and went for his cupboard to retrieve a few things. He didn't forget to let his eyes rest on his Australian lover in the most disdainful way. Scout's eyes went to Sniper again and saw him frown intensely. The tall man pushed his chair back and stood up.

"What brings you here, darlin'?"

The mercenaries froze. It was a secret to no one that Sniper and Spy had a special relationship. But they were both very prude about it so hearing Sniper call Spy 'darling' was a shock to everyone.

Sniper knew that Spy was following him just to piss him off that much more but there was no way on Earth the Australian would let him do without resisting.

The man in the suit turned and, seemingly unfazed, he answered.

"My longing for you, mon amour."

Sniper's ears went hot and the blush on his face was intense. Engie, Pyro and Scout were paralysed with embarrassment.

"I will no doubt see you for dinner, pretty face." Spy added, overdoing the romance, before heading for the kitchen door again.

Sniper didn't want to let him have the last word so to top it up, he grabbed his lover by his waist as he walked past him and pulled him closer strongly. Spy was taken aback and tried to free himself but too late. The Australian had put his lips on his and parted with a loud lapping noise.

Scout's breath had cut, Engie's jaw dropped and Pyro giggled…

"Yeah, I'll see ya for dinner, darl'."

Spy frowned even more and left the kitchen as angry as a storm. When they heard the kitchen door shut again, the mercenaries' shoulders sank and silence fell in the room.

"You guys have a very weird way to fight…" Scout said and Sniper ignored him.

A bit later during dinner, the atmosphere was as joyful as ever. The team shared what Engie and Pyro had cooked with enthusiasm and complimented both Chefs for their efforts.

At the other end of the table though, Sniper and Spy were sat as usual, facing each other and when they would usually share tender gazes with their cheeks turning pink, this time, it was more of a furious staring contest…

When the food was eaten and appreciated came the time for washing the dishes.

"Whose turn is it today?" Medic asked.

"Snipe's!" Scout answered and the Australian collected everyone's plates and cutlery before putting them in the sink to deal with them. Everyone's, apart from Spy's of course as the last thing the Australian wanted was to make life easier for the man in the suit.

The mercenaries were still sat at the table, chatting amongst themselves when the Frenchman pushed his chair back and stood up. All the eyes in the room followed him, apart from Sniper who was busy with the dishes and giving his back to the table.

Spy walked to him with his plate, cutlery and glass. He put them on the counter next to the Australian and slapped him in a very intimate way. Sniper's eyes might have popped out of his head with the shock. All the mercenaries fell silent and Scout spat out his soda.

"I think you have forgotten something, mon chéri. I hope you will be less careless in bed tonight…"

[My darling]

"For Christ's sake..." Sniper whispered between his clenched teeth.

Spy smirked.

"I would have grabbed your irresistible derrière but the effect would have been less spectacular." He bluntly answered. "Or are you asking me to do it? Would would want that perhaps?"

Sniper dropped the dishes and exited the kitchen, heading for his van. He jumped in and slammed the door shut which made the whole thing shake.

Spy had gone too far. Doing what he did and saying what he said in front of his colleagues was way beyond any limits that the Australian had in his mind. He sat down, not having turned the lights on yet and pondered.

The worst thing wasn't to be called my love or my darling by Spy in public, no. It wasn't Spy hinting at their intimate life in front of everyone, no. It was the whole of it! And that slap…!

Sniper hid his face in his hands.

The whole show had simply broken his heart further. He dreamt of a world where he could behave with Spy as he would with a lady. He dreamt that he could walk around, holding Spy's hand, telling him sweet nothings here and there, in his ear, just to see the Frenchman's cheek turn pink and his irresistible smile…

Sniper bit his lip. He felt defeated. No, he would never be able to do that and now that he was sitting alone in the darkness of his narrow van, he missed the Frenchman. His presence, his voice, his touch, his warmth and oh Lord his lips…

The Australian remembered how he had grabbed his wait and kissed him. The truth was that he had really wanted to kiss him. It wasn't just to answer back to him. But that was the curse of falling in love. One forgives too easily and Sniper was no different. He craved his lover even while being angry at him.

Knock, knock.

"Get lost!" He answered.

"Non."

Sniper's eyes snapped wide and he went to open the door.

"What?" He asked. "What d'you want? Wanna take me back to the base and humiliate me more in front of the others, hm?"

Spy rolled his eyes and pushed his lover to enter the van. Sniper slammed the door shut.

"What will it be then? Gropin' me again in front of everyone? Callin' me darling and mon amour again, hm?"

Spy faced his lover, his arms crossed on his chest.

"May I speak now?"

"Yeah."

"I miss you."

Sniper frowned under the surprise.

"You what?"

"You heard me. I miss you. I do apologise for what I did. It was childish and I was only driven by blind rage. I shouldn't have done any of that. You don't deserve that I treat you that way."

Spy sighed. It was hard for his ego to apologise.

"It-it's alroight… I uh… I miss you too, bugger! I don't understand!"

"What?"

"I love you so much that you can't piss me off. I just end up here alone and thinkin' about you, about what we could be doin' if you were with me. All this time you're not here and it feels like…"

Spy closed the gap with his lover and splayed his hands on Sniper's chest, looking up in his eyes.

"It feels like time that you are wasting, time that you are burning away and that no one will give you back, time that you are losing."

Sniper bent his head down and pressed his forehead on his lover's.

"Yes… Exactly…"

His hands slid on Spy's back and gently slipped into the back pockets of the Frenchman's trousers. He closed his eyes and frowned, grabbing what his hands now held in their palms.

"I… I'm sorry, I just…"

"I feel the same way." Spy exhaled and rolled his eyes before closing them under the touch of his lover. "I can't be furious after you. I miss you and I love you, Mundy."

"So do I… And what you said… I mean…"

"Everything I said to you held an important part of truth. Oui, my longing for you made me follow you and your face is not just pretty, I look at it and it beguiles me, my knees are weak…"

Mundy gulped down his dry throat.

"And oui, I hope you will be less careless with me tonight."

Sniper could hardly resist anymore. His grasp on Spy's backside tightened and he pulled him in to kiss the lips that his had been burning for. As he did so, Spy moaned under it all and removed his gloves. He slid his hands on his lover's face and pushed himself against his lover.

"Shall we continue in my room?" He asked.

"I… I can't…" Sniper shamefully answered and wrapped his arms around himself.

"Why?"

The Australian looked down at the top of his trousers.

"Someone might see me…"

Spy's eyelids fell halfway through his eyes.

"Don't tell me you have been in this state since-?"

"Yeah, yeah I have. That's why I left the kitchen so fast…"

The Frenchman smirked.

"I didn't know you liked it."

"Well, neither did I. I think I was just missing you too much…"

Spy laughed evilly.

"Oh well, then I guess I shall do with this narrow van."

"S-sorry, I know you don't like it…"

Spy pushed his lover gently for him to sit on the couch and he straddled his thighs.

"Take it as a chance, an opportunity." The man in the mask answered. "Prove me wrong. Show me that we can get some good time in your van and I might change my mind, who knows?"

In the dim light of the night, Sniper saw Spy's eyes shimmer.

"Oh, no, I won't make you change yer mind."

"Ah?"

"I'll make you lose it."

Sniper took his lover by his lips and slid his hands back where they were but this time, they slipped on the Frenchman's bare skin.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

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fairie-gothmother · 5 years ago

Text

In The Shadow of Starlight, Part 4: Mental Bullet Wounds

Part 1: The Fall

Part 2: Negotiating With Gods

Part 3: The Nature of the Beast

"Ah. Fuck!" Octavia was getting frustrated. Of course, she had to get shot in the most awkward spot possible. No matter how she twisted, she just couldn't get a good view of the bullet wound in her shoulder. It didn't help that this medical room didn't have the proper equipment for self surgery. She hadn’t had the time to order supplies, so all she had to extract bullets was a knife and a tiny wall mounted mirror.

She pulled her shirt down further off the shoulder and tried yet another angle to get a better look. Seeing the reflection of her back, she was reminded why she kept herself covered at all times. Nothing but ridged, pink scar tissue covered her entire back and extended beneath the collar of the shirt down both arms. It was disgusting. She hated it. Hated the way it looked, the way it felt, and the memories it brought up.

She saw tears welling up in the eyes of her reflection. What a sorry sight. She looked up and blinked away the tears, refusing to let them fall.

"Oh," came a voice in the room.

Octavia's stomach felt like it dropped to her ankles. She quickly covered up and turned to see Troy Calypso standing just inside the medical room, holding his side. He said, "I was going to tell you to stitch this up for me, but it looks like you could use a hand yourself."

"No, I got it," she snapped. Of course this guy didn't have the courtesy to fucking knock.

"Hm. That's funny. 'Cause from here, it looks like you're just making it worse by blindly digging around with that knife."

As much as she hated to admit it, he was right, but her self consciousness held her back. She tried so hard to make sure no one ever knew about her deepest shame, she couldn't let her defenses down that easily.

"You don't understand," she said, looking anywhere but the other man in the room.

"You really don't think the one armed cyborg would understand? C'mon. Let me take out that bullet so you can get started on sewing me up."

His gaze had focused on her, expression mixed somewhere between impatience, concern, and something else she couldn't put her finger on. Pulling her shirt down once again off the shoulder, she turned slightly and gestured her head towards her back.

She tensed as Troy crossed the room towards her, feeling her face get redder with each step. She turned facing away from him to give him access to the wound.

"You can use the switchblade on the table. Just push the button to open it," Octavia said.

"I do know how knives work," Troy said wryly. Octavia was about to retort, but the words were forgotten when she felt his fingertips sweep across the bare skin of her back. She shivered involuntarily. She hoped he didn't notice how much his light touch and close proximity was affecting her. To be honest, she didn't even want to admit it herself. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on sitting still.

Octavia couldn't help but flinch when the cool metal blade touched her skin and plunged into the wound.

"Ow! Be careful," Octavia hissed.

She could tell Troy was actually trying to remove the bullet without hurting her, but it was deeper than expected. Her eyes squeezed shut as he dove the tip of the blade further into the hole.

"It would be easier to be careful if you didn't move so much. Hold on. I think I got it." He held her shoulder for stability so he didn't accidentally cut her. He managed to angle the blade behind the tip of the bullet, slowly easing it out. After several long moments passed, he took the knife out and removed the metal object with his hand. Octavia yelped when he yanked it out. She turned to glare at Troy who only grinned and waved the bloody bullet in his hand.

"There. See, I know what I'm doing. Feel better?"

"Yeah," Octavia said. She ignored the heat in her cheeks as she pulled her shirt up over the exposed skin.

When Octavia thought back to when she first met the Calypso, she remembered thinking he was nothing but a monster. Now, she felt almost guilty for feeling that way. She owed him a lot. Not only for removing the bullet embedded in her shoulder but also for saving her life during the raid. She wanted to thank him, but just couldn't find the words to do it.

“Alright, let’s do this.” Troy pulled his tank top off over his head and laid down on the examination table. He beckoned her to come closer. Octavia’s eyes went wide at the implication. Was this how he wanted her to thank him? He pointed to a cut on the side of his abdomen. “Don’t tell anybody I got tagged by a tink. Little shit came out of nowhere.”

Oh, right… What was wrong with her? She had to get a grip. Embarrassed from misinterpreting things, she wordlessly began cleaning his injury. She hadn’t felt this vulnerable in a long time. She hated needing help, but she hated her deformed body even more. That was a part of herself that she didn’t share with anyone. It was meant to stay hidden, locked away in the past where no one could reach it.

"So you wanna talk about it?" Troy asked. Octavia was becoming concerned with how well he was able to read her.

"Not really."

He slowly nodded, but didn’t look away from her. Her defenses were cracking under his steady gaze. She didn’t like how transparent he made her feel.

“Do you?” she asked, motioning towards his mechanical arm. It came out a little more aggressive than she meant it to.

Troy was still looking at her, but now as if he was trying to come to some sort of decision. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Touché, smart ass,” he teased.

Octavia was relieved he let that slide. She didn’t have the energy to deal with any more stress. Getting shot during a raid was enough for one day. She absentmindedly stitched up the wound, barely noticing the Calypso watching her as she worked.

“Good as new,” Octavia said, taping a gauze pad over the stitches.

Troy swung his long legs over the side of the examination table and stood. “Finally. I was getting bored. You really need some magazines or something in here,” he said, making his way across the room. You’re welcome, Octavia thought bitterly.

Her annoyance faded when she noticed the Calypso begin to stagger. All the color drained from his face, and his eyes glazed over. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked. Before he reached the door, Troy stumbled backwards into the counter with a loud crash. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he slumped to the floor unconscious.

~~~

Troy gradually regained awareness. He was still in the medical room, lying on an examination table. His skull felt like it would split in two. Involuntarily, he let out a groan.

“You’re awake.” Octavia’s voice came from somewhere behind him. She rushed to his side carrying a tray of herbs and stone tools.

“What… what happened?” Troy asked. He blinked at the lights overhead.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. You passed out,” she said.

Shit. He knew he was getting weaker. He checked the siren marks on his left arm, flexing and rotating his hand. Their usual glow had dimmed to the point where the marks looked like normal tattoos.

“Looks like the energy withdrawals are starting to hit pretty hard. Does anyone else know?”

“No, you’ve only been out for a few minutes. Take this.” Octavia said. She handed him a cup of thick, murky brown liquid that smelled like compost.

“What is it?”

“Chocolate milk. Just drink it.”

Troy turned his nose up at it before gulping it down. It was cold and viscous like slime that quite literally slid down his throat. It tasted like an entire spice rack stewed in swamp sludge. “Gah! C’mon, witch doctor. Why does everything you give me taste like you scooped it out of a toilet?”

After weeks of being teased and belittled for her profession, something in Octavia finally snapped. She coldly replied, “Well, excuse me, your highness. It’s medicine. It isn’t supposed to taste good. I’m an herbalist, not a witch doctor, and not one of your gourmet chefs.” She snatched the cup from Troy’s hands. “You could try showing a little fucking gratitude.” She stormed to the other side of the room slamming her tray on the counter.

A pang of guilt twinged in his gut. The silence lasted uncomfortably long. She had just given him medicine after he collapsed on her floor in a severely vulnerable state. He winced as he swallowed his pride.

“You’re right. Thank you, Vi.”

Octavia turned her head to look at Troy over her shoulder. Her face was flushed a light shade of pink, either still angry from his previous comment or flustered from this uncharacteristic response.

Troy continued, “Guess I owe you one. Thanks to you, Pandora is graced with my fine ass another day.”

“Pff, please. You don’t have an ass,” Octavia said as she eyed him up and down.

“Oh, really? Wanna see for yourself?” He rolled onto his side, put a thumb beneath his waistband, and tugged downward. Octavia yelped and squeezed her eyes closed.

“Don’t you dare!” she shouted.

Troy broke into a fit of laughter. Octavia tried to keep the stern look on her face by tightly pursing her lips together, but she failed and eventually cracked a smile. For the first time, the tension between them lifted. Troy realized that he liked seeing her smile.

The pleasantness of the moment didn’t last long as Troy was struck with another wave of vertigo. He leaned back onto the exam table. “Got any magic toilet water to keep me from keeling over again?”

“I’m not sure. We should talk to Professor Tannis. If there's anyone who knows about siren energy, it's her-”

Her voice faded as Troy’s head reeled again. He pressed his human palm to his temple to keep the room from spinning. He imagined how his followers would react to seeing their omnipotent leader faint. Did he even have followers anymore? Some god he was.

This was the worst his withdrawals have ever been. All his life, Tyreen was right by his side to feed him energy when he needed it, even if she did call him a parasite for asking. That bitch knew he couldn’t survive without her. Banishing him was equivalent to letting him starve to death.

Troy was pulled from his thoughts feeling fingertips graze across his forehead, brushing the hair from his face.

“Did you hit your head? Does it hurt?” Octavia asked. Her delicate fingers were soft and cool on his skin. Her large emerald eyes scanned his face for signs of injury. A few strands of chestnut colored hair fell from her ponytail and framed her heart-shaped face.

A spicy floral scent emitted from her as she leaned over him. Her face was close enough to his that with a simple raise of his chin, he would find out if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.

He caught himself and pushed the traitorous thoughts from his mind. He looked away and swatted her hands off him. “No, it’s fine. Just a little lightheaded.”

Don’t, he scolded himself. She treated all her patients like this, right? She only cared about the health of the God King. Everyone always cared for the God King. Not long ago, he would have crushed every bone in her hand for having the audacity to touch him. No one ever gave a shit before. This was no different.

Troy slipped back into his persona and flashed a cocky grin.

“Besides, look who you’re talking to. Just for the sake of my quality of life though, we should go ahead and get a hold of, uh… crazy scientist lady.”

“Her name is Tannis.”

“That’s the one.”

~~~

Sanctuary. What a spectacular name for such a shithole. Only a handful of people roamed the halls, and Troy swore he saw a claptrap unit chasing a ratch around. He wasn’t sure what he expected Sanctuary to be, but it sure wasn’t this.

Time dragged on while Tannis got situated in the lab. It was entertaining watching her scurry around at first, trying to make sense of the unusual songs she sang to herself. Now Troy was bored, and no one else in the room attempted to make conversation. Curiosity finally got the better of him. “So, Martha.”

“It’s Maya,” the sapphire siren chided.

“Right. I’ve never met another siren other than my sister. What are your powers like?”

The corners of Maya’s mouth turned up into a grin. Surprisingly, she chose to indulge him. “I’m able to phaselock targets and suspend them in another dimension.”

“Whoa, that sounds rad.” He stood back and held his arms out. “Here, do me.”

“I am not going to phaselock you.”

He dropped his arms and pouted. “Aw, come on!”

Tannis lightly whacked him on the arm with her clipboard. “As tempting as it is to start a siren fight club, I’m afraid there are more pressing matters at hand. If you could stand still for a moment-” Tannis poked and prodded at him, occasionally saying things like, “fascinating.” Troy was hyper aware of how close she was to his right side, turning to keep her to his left as much as possible. He jumped when he felt a pinch on his ass. “Interesting,” Tannis said.

Maya helped get things back on track. “Alright. So far we know that Troy can’t absorb the life force from living things like Tyreen can, and she could somehow channel energy to him through touch. Is there anything else we have to work with?”

Troy wished there was. “Other than that, it’s all I’ve got. That’s just one part to my curse. Aside from being a defective siren, I’ve also been cursed with irresistible good looks.”

“Tch. You wish.” A dark blue haired kid scoffed from the back of the lab. She leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. Troy hadn’t noticed her until now.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” he asked, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his tone.

“I’m going to be a siren. An actual siren, not whatever you are. I’d put an end to assholes like you. I don’t know why we’re trying to keep you alive, honestly.”

Maya interrupted, “You’ll have to excuse my apprentice. Ava, stop threatening people with powers you don’t have yet. I said you could watch as long you didn’t cause trouble.”

Ava’s tough girl act dropped. “I know. I’ll behave, promise. Please don’t kick me out.”

What a punk. “Okay, kid. You let me know if that siren thing ever works out for ya.” Troy clicked his tongue and winked at her. She shook with impotent rage, fists clenched at her sides like a child about to throw a tantrum.

Tannis was about to explode in anticipation, eager to start her experiments. “Well, cursed or otherwise, I find your physical attractiveness confusingly repulsive. That being said, I feel you have an important part to play in the coming days. So I’ve prepared several only mildly painful experiments. Now, where to start?”

Tannis was completely in her element, recording Echo logs and bouncing around Troy while he soaked in all the attention. His bask in the spotlight was short lived.

The tests began with the obvious catalyst for siren power, eridium. After trying different delivery methods, Troy got impatient and stupidly licked a chunk of raw eridium. Other than burning his tongue, it had no effect. Next, they attempted to transfer siren energy indirectly. Maya charged an Eridian artifact as a sort of battery for Troy to draw from. Again, no results.

After hours of trial and error, one failure after another, they’d concluded every test.

“I think we have to call it quits,” Maya admitted. She looked tired, wiping the sweat from her brow. “You gave it your best shot, Tannis.”

“How curious. It would seem Troy is a siren in tattoos only,” Tannis said, looking defeated.

Troy was exhausted. “This blows,” he said, sprawled out across the examination table, panting slightly from the exertion. “Don’t mind me, ladies. It’s not like my life depends on it or anything.” Troy caught Ava wearing a shit-eating grin and stuck his tongue out at her.

“I think we may be on the right track,” Tannis circled around the examination table, talking more to herself than to anyone else in the room. “Perhaps Troy’s cybernetics could be modified to include Eridian artifacts into the bio-integration components.”

Troy closed his eyes, grateful for a moment to rest. He had hoped Tannis would at least find a temporary solution to his dependency on Tyreen. He was running off of fumes. It was only a matter of time until his tank ran completely dry.

While he was busy worrying about his own mortality, Troy didn’t notice Tannis absentmindedly extending her hand until she touched his shoulder brace. He jolted from his lamenting. In an instinctual panic, he caught her bare wrist in his human hand.

A familiar flood of power surged through him. He threw his head back, caught in the sudden sensation. Red tendrils entwined his arm with Tannis’s, filling him with the strength his starving body so desperately craved. His siren marks blazed back to life in a brilliant flash of crimson.

Then, he was unable to move, frozen in place. Maya had activated her powers and suspended him in midair. So this was what being phaselocked felt like. His insides burned like the sting of frostbite. His breath caught in his throat, lungs refusing to function. Maya lifted him into the air and tossed him across the room away from Tannis. He yelled as he was sent careening into a counter full of lab equipment.

Maya helped Tannis up from the floor. A distinct blue glow peaked out from beneath one sleeve of her lab coat.

“I thought you could only take from Tyreen!” Maya said, her face drained of color.

Troy held up his left arm observing the intense light of his marks. “I guess it’s any siren.”

Ava pointed to the scientist’s glowing arm. “Tannis? You’re a…”

A siren.

#troy calypso #borderlands3 #redemption #fanfic #fanfiction #Troy #calypso #au #in the shadow of starlight

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writingglade · 5 years ago

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TMR Imagine #4

Title; Walls Could Talk

Pairing; Gally x Reader

Request; None

Warnings; Not purposefully offensive sexism, drinking.

Words; 1705

Summary; Something about Gally just didn’t seem right and you didn’t understand just what it was until your first time playing “glader spin-the-bottle”.

Requests are open | Masterlist

You’d heard about it in the early morning during breakfast, how Gally would be shutting down his small bonfire fighting ring for something special. To tell the truth, you’d been feeling rather apprehensive over the whole ordeal—or rather the fact that Gally was the one organizing whatever this something was. The moment you saw the bottle sitting in the middle of the small ring of gladers you’d realize just how stupid you’d been to worry. Of course, Gally wouldn’t do anything extravagant. He was Gally. Rough-and-Tumble, “I’m the best!” Gally.

“Are you guys seriously going to play spin the bottle?” You inquire, having the faintest memory of just what spin the bottle was in the first place. You snort, “I didn’t realize you guys were feeling that pent up.”

Minho is quick to roll his eyes in your direction. “It’s not like that Y/n. We do this occasionally to mix it up from Gally’s usual throw-downs.”

You hum, a soft laugh buzzing in your throat as you raise your eyebrows in amusement. “Alright then, count me in.”

You go to take a seat beside Winston, but Alby braces his hand against your shoulder. You turn to see him shake his head, causing you to laugh in slight nervousness.

“What? I can’t join?” Alby’s stony expression answers your question despite the lack of words. You let out a groan, throwing your head back in annoyance. “Come on! Why not? Is it because I’m a girl?”

Newt frowns from his spot on the ground, dusting his pants off as he stands. “Come on Y/n, I’ll sit out with you.”

Your eyebrows furrow together, sticking an accusing finger at Alby before directing it at Newt. “It is because I’m a girl!”

Newt goes to take a swig from his drink, but you quickly snatch it from his hands. You manage to hold back a gag at the scent, though you almost fail to hold down the burning liquid as it runs down your throat. Whatever the hell Gally’s secret recipe was, it sure didn’t taste great. Gally abruptly stands, ripping the jar from your hand just before you can gulp down what remains. Though it tastes like what you’d imagine a burnt dirty sock tastes like, you let out a satisfied hiss.

“There.” You spout triumphantly, “Now let me join. Half of these shanks would’ve never done what I just did.”

Gally sets Newt’s now almost empty drink down on a nearby crate, folding his arms across his chest as he scowls at you. You smirk at him, trying to mimic his smimey grin the best you could with the liquid courage that now coursed through your veins. He huffs, nostrils flaring slightly as he does so.

“You know what?” He looks between Alby and Newt, looking irritated more so than usual. “If the shank wants to play, let her play. If she gets the clunk beat out of her it’s none of our faults.”

You let out a triumphant laugh, taking your seat between Winston and Minho. Minho nudges your shoulder in a not-so-inconspicuous manner, giving you an unsure look that you shrug off with a laugh. Gally takes his place in the center of the circle, placing a foot over the bottle.

“You shanks know how this plays out, but since Y/n doesn’t, I’ll go through the trouble of explaining it.” Gally sends you a not-so-slick glare. “One of you shanks spins the bottle. Whoever it lands on, those two’ve gotta go back to the homestead and beat each other's clunk in. Whoever comes out first is the winner. You don’t win clunk aside from the fact that you get to keep your dignity. We’ll start with Jeff, moving left around the circle.”

He falls silent, his scowl once again meeting your smirk. You lean your head against Minho’s shoulder, feeling the alcohol begin to burn in your cheeks. Minho sighs, shaking his head silently before he and Gally exchange the same exasperated look—agreeing for what seemed to be the first time since you’d shown up in the box seven Greenies ago. Jeff stands from his spot, trudging over to the bottle and giving it a spin. It does a few complete spins before it begins to teeter, finally stopping at Newt.

Newt stands and the two make their way to the homestead, closing the door. Unsurprisingly, Newt emerges first, the scrawny med-jack following behind him. Apparently, Newt’s time as a track-hoe paid off. You extend an arm, outsticking your thumb to Newt as he sat back down. Newt gives you a sad, close-lipped grin.

The most recent round ends with Winston’s spin landing on Frypan. You immediately feel sorry for the slicer, watching as the bulky chef stretches his arms above his head. Winston seems tense about the match-up himself, already knowing the outcome. Not even two minutes pass before the outcome everyone had expected proves itself to be a reality, Frypan emerging from the homestead.

You stagger to your feet, ignoring the looks you earn from Gally, Minho, Alby, and Newt. You spin the bottle, your head seemingly spinning with it as you watch it in a drunken trance. You look up when it stops, meeting eyes with Gally. Dread immediately bubbles in your stomach and you quickly sober up. You freeze, the only words running through your mind on endless repeat being very distinct among any other thoughts you may have had previously. Oh shuck.

Gally grunts before he stands, meeting you in the circle and grabbing your wrist with a calloused hand. He’s close, closer than you’d ever wanted Gally to be. His lips near your ear, almost brushing against the shell as he speaks.

“You wanted this.”

Before you have a chance to process his words or even fluster at them or the way his voice seemed just a little sultry while saying them, he’s dragging you to the homestead. He opens the door, shoving you inside with his hand splayed against the middle of your back. He slams the door and you flinch.

“O—Okay Gally...” You swallow, nervously fidgeting with your fingers for a moment. “Maybe you were all right... Uhm... Please go easy on me?”

Gally looks up at you from the wall he’d been leaning against, “What d’you mean go easy on you?” He takes a step toward you and you immediately step back. He snorts slightly, reaching out a hand to squeeze your shoulder. “Ease up. I’m not going to do anything.” He messes up his hair with his hands before ruffling yours. “There, now let's just wait it out a bit.”

You find yourself flushing at the contact, a reaction you didn’t expect yourself to have with Gally of all people. “What?”

Gally turns his head over his shoulder, looking at you as a soft laugh escapes him. “What? You thought we were going to fight? I wouldn’t do that to you, princess.” He lets out a more guttural laugh at your expression. “What? Don’t look at me like that. You call me shuckface, I call you princess. It’s called fairness.”

“Gally—” You’re cut off when his body is lightly pressed against yours, pressing your back into the wall behind you.

Gally leans down to your ear once more, this time his lips gently brushing against your skin. He hums, the low sound enough to make you shiver against him.

“If these walls could talk... Do you think they’d say anything?” His voice is low, just above a husky whisper.

You gulp, Gally breathing out a laugh before his lips gently meet your neck and trail small kisses to the corner of your jaw. He pulls away, eyes meeting yours in the dimly lit room.

“Is this alright?” He’s close enough for your noses to touch, voice almost nervous.

Your noses brush together as you nod, swallowing. Gally’s lips crack into a soft smile before they linger centimetres before your own. You squirm slightly, pressing your chest flush against Gally’s as you tilt your head back. You’re close enough to feel Gally’s hot breaths against your lips before he slowly leans in. Your lips graze one another before one of Gally’s hands rests against your hip, the other cupping your cheek. Your hands trail up his chest, fingers absently tracing over the muscles he’d built up over the years before curling into his short hair.

He lets out a soft groan, pressing you tighter against the wall before he kisses you fully. At first, the kiss is awkward and clumsy—understandable as neither of you had ever kissed before or even known how to in the first place. Gally’s the first to pull away, though he quickly takes your lips to his not even two seconds later. Once again he pulls away, though your lips don’t even part completely before he’s pressing another kiss to your lips.

You find yourself starting to smile, Gally doing the same as he pulls away. He gently rubs your cheek with his thumb as your arms fall from his hair and loosely hang around his neck.

He presses his forehead against yours before speaking, eyes fluttering shut. “Hey, princess... What do you think about, you know, trying us for a bit?”

You hum, your lips nearing his again, “Only for a bit?”

“Longer if it goes well.” He lets out a soft laugh, quickly meeting your lips with his own.

You’re about to agree when the door flies open, “Gally don’t kil— O—oh... Oh. OH!”

Gally quickly pulls away from you, snapping his head to the door to see Minho looking beyond amused. Before Gally can do or say anything, the runner is taking off back to the group of gladers sitting in the field.

Gally looks back to you, “I’m into you princess—” He pauses for a moment, pressing another kiss to your lips. “—more than I should be.”

“Guys! Guys!” Minho’s hollering at the top of his lungs. Typical.

Gally groans, looking back at you for a second before running off after Minho. You let out a breath, watching Gally get further away through the crack in the slowly closing door. You hear a few hoots and hollers before you hear Galley among the rest.

“It wasn’t like that!” Wasn’t it though?

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danfanciesphil · 6 years ago

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too high (can’t come down) by @danfanciesphil

Suspending himself 7,000 feet above the rest of the world seems likely to be a sure-fire way for Dan to escape normality, and isolate himself for the foreseeable future. The Secret of the Alps, a small hotel tucked into the side of the Swiss mountains is too niche for most avid adventurers to have heard of, making it the perfect place for Dan to work as he sorts through his problems. Unfortunately, privacy is a coveted thing, and as Dan soon finds out, the hotel harbours one guest who values it more than most.

Rating: Explicit Tags: Enemies to lovers, snow, mountains, skiing, hostility, slow burn, secrecy, longing, repression, nobility, classism, cheating, eventual sex

Ao3 Link

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

Chapter Four

The night passes the same way - barely concealed crying, slightly ominous but mostly lovely music to drift him off to sleep - and then morning comes, stark and bright as usual. Dan gets dressed, begs Louise for coffee and sustenance - “did you find him?” “yes” “were you nice?” “I was a peach” “what did he say?” “he said he was sorry for yelling” “aw, told you he was a sweetie deep down” “mmhmm” - and is then rounded up by Mona for breakfast duty.

“I’ve already switched the heaters on and put out the tablecloths,” Mona tells him as he drains the last of his coffee. “Could you just go and put the mugs and cutlery out? I think we’ve only got two tables today.”

“Sure,” Dan says, giving Louise’s arm a small squeeze of gratitude for the breakfast and coffee; she waves a batter-y whisk at him in a shooing motion, but she’s smiling. .

Once he’s armed with a basket of silverware and crockery from the cupboard, Dan heads for the balcony and stops short, noticing that for the first time, someone is already sat out there. Stunned, Dan just stares through the glass at Mr Novokoric, who is transfixed on the blue-shadowed mountains in the distance. Reluctantly, Dan pushes through the doors, bracing himself for the cold, both from the frigid mountain air, and the attitude of his least favourite guest.

The door slams shut behind him, making Mr Novokoric turn. “Good morning,” he says, like an automatic greeting. For some reason - probably the cold and the pre-caffeine kick-in - Dan finds himself a little tongue-tied. He nods at the other man, struggling to hold onto the basket in his hands.

“Morning,” he manages, eyes sticking to the light wind-stung flush on Mr Novokoric’s high cheeks.

Mr Novokoric turns back to the view then, and Dan begins setting out the mugs, knives, forks, spoons and glasses on the tables. He assumes that Mr Novokoric must be one of the two tables having breakfast today, which makes sense, as the Stevens’ left yesterday evening. They’d hugged Dan tightly, promising to return before the year was out. It had, in a way, been rather sad to see them disappearing with Kaspar back down the mountain in the swinging cable car. Mostly Dan is glad that he no longer has to avert his eyes as they walk through the hotel with their omnipresent robes dangerously loose, but they were a parental sort of couple, and he thinks they might genuinely miss him too. Fumbling only slightly, Dan begins to place a setting out in front of Mr Novokoric. As he sets the mug down, Mr Novokoric reaches for it, and frowns as he tilts it towards him.

“Can I get some coffee?”

Dan pauses, flipping the question over in his mind. “Coffee?”

One of those jet black eyebrows springs upwards. “Yes. Is that permitted?”

Dan nods, blushing, and hating himself for it. He takes the mug and scampers off to the kitchen, managing to garble some request to Louise. For some reason his flustered state is amusing to her, and she pretends for a minute or two to have no clue what he’s asking - not helpful - but eventually he gets a mug of filter coffee out of her. He watches, curious, as she automatically adds soya milk and two heaped teaspoons of sugar.

“He’s lactose intolerant,” she says, by way of explanation. “And has a hell of a sweet tooth.”

“I didn’t say who it’s for,” Dan says, perplexed, as he takes the mug from her.

“Who else around here would have you blushing and stammering like a nun at a brothel?”

Dan chooses not to respond to this, mostly because he can’t summon anything except a mortified spluttering sound. He takes the mug of coffee back out to Mr Novokoric, cheeks still a warm pink. It’s just the wind flush though, at this point. Probably.

“Would you like anything else, Sir?” Dan asks politely. “The chef is still cooking breakfast, but I could perhaps get you some cereal or yoghurt-”

“No, thank you,” Mr Novokoric says sniffily, and Dan replays what Louise just said to him.

“Oh, sorry, you don’t have dairy,” Dan says, shaking his head. Mr Novokoric turns his head sharply back to Dan, frowning. “I could get you some fresh fruit? Or-”

“No,” Mr Novokoric says again, though his voice is less hostile now. “I’m, uh, not hungry.” He pauses, mouth twitching. “...Thanks.”

“No problem.” Dan dithers, uncomfortably aware he now has a wedge of time to kill before the other guests emerge, and no other place to be. “So... um, why are you out here?”

“Excuse me?”

Dan shuts his eyes, cursing silently. “Sorry, I just meant- you’re normally out on the mountain at this time.”

“Oh.” Mr Novokoric sips his drink, looking away.

“Did you not fancy braving the snow today?”

Dan has absolutely no idea why he’s suddenly so intent on keeping this hellish conversation going, given that Mr Novokoric looks like he’d rather pour the coffee over his own head than continue it. Somehow it would be worse to turn away from him though, to stand off to the side and wait for more guests to turn up, arms folded, pretending not to stare as that blank, unhappy glare washed away any animation on Mr Novokoric’s sharp, striking features. So, Dan forces himself to stay rooted to the spot, letting Mr Novokoric’s icy look of contemptuous horror at Dan’s insistence on smalltalk slice through him like he’s snow beneath Mr Novokoric’s boot.

“My ski broke,” he says, unexpectedly.

A flashback hits Dan as abruptly as the cherry-red skis hit the wall of the lobby the day before yesterday. “Oh,” Dan says. “Is there- it can’t be fixed?”

“I highly doubt I’m going to find someone proficient at winter sports equipment repair at the top of this fucking mountain, do you?”

The curse word is shocking, and it takes Dan a moment to let it go. Phil’s accent is slightly Northern, but his diction and use of language is impeccable, presumably due to all the hobnobbing and schmoozing he has to do, as a ‘Royal’. Hearing him swear is what he imagines it would be like hearing the Queen swear. In a sense, it’s rather titillating - another reason Dan should abandon this conversation for good. Luckily, at that moment, the balcony door opens, and Mona ushers the two Bryce sisters through, leading them to the other laid table.

Relieved to see the chattering, marginally irritating middle-aged women for once, Dan excuses himself from Mr Novokoric, who barely bats an eye, and goes to take their breakfast order.

In a moment of downtime, while the evening film screening is going on, Dan goes hunting for two cherry-red skis, which he finds near the hotel entrance, leant against the wall. He takes hold of the left one, and examines it closely. Just as Mr Novokoric said, it has a broken appendage - the strap which secures the boot to the ski has come loose. The straps are peculiar to Dan, having no backs to them, but Dan can see where the front part used to fix to the ski itself even so. By comparing it with the other ski, Dan thinks it’s mendable. All too aware that he’s got nothing better to do for the next few hours, Dan takes the ski over to the desk and lays it over his lap as he sits down to take a closer look.

It’s just because he’s bored, he tells himself as he hunts for tools in Mona’s office, and discovers a tiny screwdriver and screws in one of the cleaning cupboards, along with a pot of superglue. The film is a long one tonight - The Italian Job - so for a few hours Dan is able to work in complete solitude, listening to a faint Muse song through one headphone, and not stopping until the ski is fixed.

“I just don’t understand why you’re still holding a grudge against the poor man,” Louise says, scrubbing at a pot with a scourer. Dan, sat up on one of the kitchen counters sipping hot chocolate, rolls his eyes. “He apologised for being rude, didn’t he?”

“Some apology,” Dan counters. Since two days ago in the gym, Dan has convinced himself that Mr Novokoric’s words had been largely to smooth things over with the staff member he’d pissed off, considering that it would be pretty awkward seeing him around the place 24-7 if they were not on speaking terms. In no way, Dan has decided, did Mr Novokoric actually mean what he said. “Just because he’s eloquent doesn’t make him sincere.”

“Ooh-er,” Louise says, flicking washing up water at him. He squeaks, shielding his hot chocolate. “Sounds like he got under your skin.”

Dan’s next sip is too hot, and he burns his tongue.

“Anyway,” Louise says, tipping out the saucepan and laying it out to dry. She starts untying her apron, wearily. “There’s three hours until I’ve got to start on dinner, so I think I’ll have a little lie down. Can you hold the fort for a bit?”

“Uh…” Dan looks through the serving hatch into the empty mezzanine lounge. The Bryce sisters are the only guests staying here at the moment, though another couple are due to check in tonight. Right now, he’s pretty sure the Bryce sisters - an excitable, childlike pair of forty-something women on what they refer to as a ‘girls getaway’ - are in the jacuzzi. If they were anywhere indoors, Dan is certain he’d be able to hear their shrieks of laughter no matter which room they were in. “Sure, yeah. No worries.”

“If you need me, I’m in room three,” Louise says, already on her way to the kitchen door. “But Dan?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t need me,” she warns, and then exits the room.

About half an hour later, Dan is in the same position atop the kitchen counter, playing Crossy Road on his phone and polishing off a flapjack from the batch Louise made this morning. Suddenly, a noise like a throat clearing jolts him, and his animated emo goose is hit by a truck. He lowers the phone, head lifting, to see Mr Novokoric at the serving hatch, that cool assessing gaze chilling the temperature of the kitchen by at least two degrees. Dan swallows some flapjack the wrong way, and has to hide a mild choking fit.

In Mr Novokoric’s hand is a mug. “Is Louise here?” he asks.

Dan shakes his head, swallowing his own tonsils to cleat the flapjack from his airway. His eyes water, but he gets down from the counter one gangly leg at a time. “No, sorry,” he croaks. He wipes his hands of flapjack crumbs on a nearby tea-towel. “She’s napping. Can I help?”

Mr Novokoric appears troubled by this news, and takes a moment to reply, as if he’s mulling something over. Eventually, whatever wins out, and he asks, “any chance of some coffee?”

“Oh,” Dan says. “Have you run out of the instant packets in your room? I can find some in the stock cupboard-”

“No-o,” Mr Novokoric interrupts, as if he’s speaking with a half-wit. “I’m not looking for instant coffee. Louise usually makes me a macchiato, if I ask her.”

Dan’s blood runs cold, and he turns to eye the bulky coffee machine sat menacingly on the far counter. “Right,” Dan mutters. “Of course she does.”

Given his past failures to please Mr Novokoric thus far, he doesn’t feel he can say ‘oh, I’m not actually sure how to work this machine, maybe it would be best to wait for Louise to wake up’. So instead, Dan takes the mug, and steps warily over to the machine to attempt something called a ‘macchiato’.

“Caramel macchiato,” Mr Novokoric clarifies, at which Dan turns to blink at him, utterly bemused.

“Mhmm,” he says, for some wild reason. “No problem.”

As he surveys the contraption before him, Dan can feel eyes boring into the back of him - pure judgement coated in an intense, deep blue. He tries his best to ignore the prickle of skin this stare creates, and sets about mimicking what he can remember from watching Louise work the machine. He pours milk into one of the chrome jugs, shoves the spout into it and turns a dial. Droplets of milk immediately fly everywhere, and a monstrous hissing sound emerges from the beast. He quickly turns the dial back, abandoning that for now, and focuses on unfixing one of the espresso-filter-things from its lock. This takes a good two minutes of tugging and silently begging, during which time the milk in the jug seems to develop an appetising skin on top. At last, Dan pulls the thing free, dumps the used granules out and tamps some coffee into it, though he has no idea how much, and probably over-fills it. He does manage to fix it back in place, and over several agonising minutes the espresso drips through into the mug. When he can’t stand the waiting any longer, knowing damn well he’s being scrutinised, Dan takes the mug out, pours a dash of lukewarm milk into it from the jug, and takes it over to the hatch.

It looks.... pretty vile. But he has to hand Mr Novokoric something.

“Uh, here we go. One macchiato.”

He realises in the next moment that he forgot to add any caramel. Not that he’d have any idea where to procure it from in this kitchen. Mr Novokoric looks down at the coffee in Dan’s hand, sends him a look of something like pity, and makes no move to take it.

“Aaand suddenly I can think of nothing better than instant coffee,” he says, nose wrinkling.

He turns away, heading back towards the stairs, leaving Dan with an undrinkable mug of coffee, and a sudden urge to hurl himself off the side of the mountain.

“Dan, I need a word,” Mona says, beckoning him into the small office at the back of reception.

It’s early evening, and the neither the Bryce sisters nor the Lautrecs - a quiet French gay couple that arrived an hour or so ago - are interested in an evening film, so there’s fuck all to do. Instantly upon hearing Mona’s words, fear strikes Dan in the chest; he follows Mona into her office, heart in his throat.

She gestures for him to sit on one of the wicker chairs in front of her desk, so he does, knee jiggling with nerves. “I’m really sorry Mona,” Dan blurts before she’s even sat down. “The job description didn’t say anything about being barista trained. If you received a complaint-”

“I’m going to stop you there, Dan,” Mona says, loudly and shrilly. “I don’t know what you are apologising for, but it’s probably best if I never find out, hm?”

Gulping down the relief that surges forth, Dan nods emphatically, and relaxes back into the chair. Mona looks a little more polished than usual today, he notes. She has a high-collared white blouse on, which elongates her neck, and a pearl-encrusted scrunchie securing her usual bun. Dan has begun to notice that Mona dresses a bit smarter on the days the mail is delivered, or when new guests arrive, or leave. In other words, any time Kaspar is expected to be around. Kaspar dropped off the Lautrecs earlier, so today is no exception.

Right now she sits at the small desk, hands clasped, and clears her throat. Her cheeks are tinged with rosy pink, probably from Kaspar’s brief visit earlier. The idea of no-nonsense Mona having a teeny crush creates a warm glow in Dan’s chest, and he smiles. “I called you in here because I have some unfortunate news,” Mona says. Dan’s smile quickly vanishes. “I’ve been called away this weekend.”

“Oh,” Dan says, already confused. “Is everything-”

“It’s a personal matter,” Mona tells him, firmly ending his inquiry before it’s begun. “But the timing is poor, what with you having just started, and with it being Louise’s weekend off.”

For a few moments, the implications of this don’t quite settle in. Then, Dan stops being quite so dim. “Wait, do you mean I’d be here alone?”

Mona avoids his eye, neatening some papers on her desk. “I understand that it might seem rather daunting.”

“Mona, I’m nowhere near qualified to run this place on my own,” Dan says in a rush, blood starting to pound loudly in his ears.

Just the thought of such responsibility is crushing; what if he forgot to serve lunch? What if he overslept and nobody was available for the guests? He’s basically a glorified assistant here, he can’t be expected to handle real decisions.

“Dan, it’s just for a couple of days,” Mona says; there’s a pleading tone to her voice that Dan expects doesn’t rear its head very often. “Just until Louise returns on Sunday night. Kaspar can make it up here in a matter of hours if there’s an emergency. But you won’t need him. There’s only one couple booked in to stay, and I doubt they’ll be very high maintenance.”

One couple and a narcissistic rich twat-face whose snobbery extends right down to his coffee order, Dan thinks, but begrudgingly admits to himself that Mr Novokoric is unlikely to be very demanding either. The man seems to keep mostly to himself unless he truly can’t help it. Dan folds his arms across his chest, lip caught between his teeth. He can’t really refuse, particularly as he suspects that Mona is desperate enough to get down onto her stocking-covered knees and beg him. Perhaps he could manage to keep the place afloat without any major screw-ups. But the stress of it all might kill him, even so.

“I know this is completely unfair of me,” Mona tells him, and reaches up to tug the pearl scrunchie out of her bun. The hair spills out, revealing a shoulder-length bob; the sight is so shocking that Dan feels his fingers twitching at his sides, as if he wants to scoop up the loose locks and pull them back into position. Mona runs both hands through the mess of hair, eyes fluttering shut. “I wouldn’t ask unless it were really important. Normally I’d rather drop dead than leave this place in someone else’s hands, even for a day or so, especially without Louise to help. But I just can’t see another option. It’s… it’s my grandmother, you see. She’s ninety-four, and on her last legs-”

“It’s fine,” Dan says quickly. He can’t bear to see her like this; he doubts that even Louise, who’s worked here for four years, has seen Mona with her hair down. Dan’s never even seen Mona in plain clothes. She probably sleeps in her crisp skirt-suits. “I can handle things,” Dan assures her, hoping he has something akin to conviction in his tone, given that he’s speaking out of his ass. “Like you said, it’s just a weekend.”

“I’ll be a phone call away,” Mona promises, eyes reopening in order to look at Dan like he’s Christ arisen. “Thank you, Dan. I’ll remember this.”

The following morning, Mr Novokoric is sat at a table on the balcony again, just as Dan is about to set up for breakfast. He already has a coffee in front of him today, Dan notes, cheeks burning when he remembers yesterday’s fiasco. Luckily it’s windy again this morning, so he can blame the pink colour of his skin on that, if asked.

He mutters a “good morning” and starts setting Mr Novokoric’s table, asking him politely to lift his drink so that he can lay a tablecloth down. Dan can feel that hard, ultramarine stare as he sets out a knife and fork he knows will remain untouched - the man seems to live on coffee alone - and tries to resist the urge to spew some garbled apology for yesterday’s macchiato fiasco.

Before he can get it out however, Mr Novokoric speaks. “So, I asked Mona to order me a new phone, and some new skis.”

The last word makes Dan drop a spoon. He bends down to get it, but he’s not quick enough. Mr Novokoric hands it back to him, some curious sparkle hiding beneath his usual stern expression.

“More skis,” Dan echoes, trying not to let his expression droop. So, it seems he’s spent a good three hours of his life fixing a ski that will shortly be replaced. So much for being a good samaritan. “Right. Are you asking me if they’ve arrived? I can check, but I don’t think Kaspar has brought them up yet-”

“Strangest thing, though,” Mr Novokoric interrupts, as though Dan hadn’t been in the middle of a sentence. “I went to throw my old skis away, and there’s nothing wrong with them. The strap’s been mended.”

“Huh,” Dan says, turning back to his basket for a new spoon. He sets it carefully on the table, trying to remain composed. “Weird.”

“Did you fix it?”

Pinned in place by Mr Novokoric’s gaze, Dan feels his face turning from pink to red. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I had no idea you’d already ordered more-”

He breaks off, wary of the strange expression being aimed at him. Mr Novokoric’s eyes have softened, and there’s something close to a smile threatening to break forth. The idea of him actually smiling is enough to fluster Dan into taking a hasty step backwards. The man is uncomfortably pretty as it is, which is confusing enough considering he’s such an asshole. Dan doesn’t know if he could handle a dazzling grin on top of that.

“That was… unexpected,” Mr Novokoric says slowly. His smile still hasn’t quite broken through, but his face has lost the hardness Dan is used to seeing. Without the usual frown lines and turned down corners of his mouth, he could even be beautiful. “Thank you. Of course, your repair is unneeded now, but I appreciate the gesture.”

“Yeah, um, no worries,” Dan says, wondering how rude it would be to just run away. “I had a spare minute, so…”

“Not many people would have the initiative, let alone the intellect to do that,” he says, draining the last of his coffee. He hold the mug out for Dan to take. “I’m impressed.”

Feeling about three inches tall now, Dan just gives him a tight smile. “Thanks,” he says through gritted teeth, and takes the mug. “Another coffee?”

“Depends,” Mr Novokoric answers, arching an eyebrow. “Who’s making it?”

“L-Louise,” Dan says, cheeks hot again.

“Then yes, please,” he says, turning back to the view in front of him.

“Right away, Mr Novokoric,” Dan mutters, glad of the eventual opening to escape.

“Dan?”

Ugh, not so fast, it seems. “Yes?”

“Call me Phil, if you like.”

“Lou, I have an urgent problem,” Dan says, slamming into the kitchen.

She doesn’t look up from the eggs she’s scrambling. “It’s gonna take me a few hours to sort your hair out for you, Dan. I don’t have time right now, I’ve got to get breakfast out.”

“What? No, I need you to teach me how to work the coffee machine,” Dan says, smoothing his hair down self-consciously.

Louise looks up sharply, a smirk spreading over her mouth. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “I’m going to be here on my own all weekend. I need to know how to make fancy coffees for… guests.”

“Caramel macchiatos?”

“All the different kinds!”

Louise laughs in her long, pretty trill, and nods. “After breakfast,” she says. “Meet me here, I’ll give you a lesson.”

Dan grins at her, then plucks a raspberry from a bowl nearby. “Oh, and Phil wants another cup when you have a sec.”

“Sure,” Louise mutters, going back to the eggs. “I’ll get that for Phil.”

Dan pretends not to hear the knowing smile hidden in her voice as he exits the kitchen. He jogs back outside then, just in time to usher the Lautrecs to their table.

As it turns out, the coffee machine is going to take more than one lesson to master. Not because it’s especially complicated - more because Dan is utterly inept.

“Watch it!” Louise shrieks as Dan turns the wrong knob, and spurts actual boiling steam from the nozzle. Luckily, they both somehow manage to avoid getting scalded. “My God, Daniel, have you never watched the barista as they make your latte before?”

“I’m not really very attentive,” Dan says, sheepishly.

He looks over the herd of coffees he’s made over the last hour, all huddled together on the counter. The argument could probably be made that his most recent is better than the initial attempts, but that would hardly be a compliment. He imagines each of the milky, sludge-coloured concoctions is silently whispering ‘kill me, please’.

“Okay, let’s try a macchiato again.” He’s nothing if not determined.

“You seem to be under the impression that I have nothing better to do than dodge you covering me in coffee granules,” Louise says, wiping the nozzle clean. “I’ve got to get lunch going, so maybe we can pick this up tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Friday,” Dan protests. “That’s the day you leave.”

“Not ‘til the evening,” Louise says. “There’s enough time to squeeze in another lesson before that, God help me.”

“Just one more,” Dan begs, giving her his most puppy-dog expression. “Just show me the macchiato again. Please.”

She sighs dramatically, sort of groaning. “Alright, alright. Get the caramel syrup then.”

It’s not until Dan has the syrup in his hands that he realises Louise is insinuating that these macchiatos are for Phil. She aims a knowing smile at him, and Dan just ignores her, cheeks pink as he pours caramel into the mug. He’s frothing milk, Louise shrieking instructions in his ear - “tilt the jug!”, “you’re spraying it everywhere, push the nozzle down more!”, “not that far, Christ!” - when he senses someone watching him. Mortified at the idea his foibles might be witnessed, Dan drops the jug and hot, not-so-frothy milk gushes everywhere, soaking his and Louise’s shoes, and a lot of the kitchen floor.

“Dan, I’m about to write you off as a lost cause!” Louise shouts, tearing her hat off her head and storming to the sink to find a cloth. “If these shoes are ruined you’re buying me more.”

Dan barely hears her; he’s too busy meeting the curious stare aimed at him. Phil Novokoric is sat at one of the indoor tables in the mezzanine, chin in his hand, watching Dan through the serving hatch. For some reason, Dan lifts his hand in a semblance of a wave; this seems to amuse Phil greatly, though he doesn’t wave back. Instead, a small, barely-there smile graces his lips, presumably for himself, and then he gets up, and walks towards the stairs to the lobby.

“Right,” Louise says, chucking a damp cloth at Dan. “Clean this up, then get the hell out of my kitchen. Coffee class resumes tomorrow.”

(Chapter Five coming next Friday!)

#phan #phanfic #too high #enemies to lovers au #btw this is on ao3 too

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