#Self-locking counter display trays | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

korebringerofded · 5 months

Text

A Spoonful of Sugar-Suguru Geto X F!Reader

A/N- Yes, this is very self-indulgent. This takes place-season 2 episode 5, before Geto's defection Description- Suguru falls in love with a cute baker (you) while on his way back from a mission, he quickly becomes obsessed with more than just the sweets you make. Words-1600 Warnings-Depression, hopelessness, smut at the end, oral sex, semi-public sex, one use of y/n, sad desperate geto

A/N- I ask that you read my rules before going any further. Reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated and keep me going. All requests are open and you can find my entire masterlist here.

The rain was pouring down over the barren street, Suguru had just finished another mission and was making his way to the train station, his tongue coated in a disgusting film of greasy curse residue that traveled down his throat and into the pit of his stomach. The taste would linger for hours, sometimes days.

It was starting to become unbearable.

Not just the taste of curses, his whole life was becoming unbearable, hazy, like he was in a waking dream.

The never ending missions, the continuously growing pile of his comrades corpses, the loneliness.

Exorcize, absorb, exorcize, absorb.

The same thing day in day out, week after week, month after month, year after year.

Exorcize, absorb, exorcize, absorb.

“Don't waver, fulfill your duty as a strong jujutsu sorcerer.”

Exorcize, absorb, exorcize, absorb.

Suguru wasn’t even sure how he even ended up here, he had meant to go to the train station but he had somehow found himself at a colorful entryway to a small bakery.

It was nothing special, not really anyways, bright colors and a neon sign that almost hurt to look at. Despite all that, the whole place had a sweet and inviting smell that seemed to cut through the damp smell of the rain outside.

He wouldn’t have categorized himself as an individual who enjoyed sweets, he preferred his coffee black and given the choice he would have a savory snack over a sugary one. He never really cared much for bakeries unless Satoru was dragging him to one…and something about that sweet and thick scent made the rotten taste in his mouth less noticeable.

He pushed open the door, the warm air brushing over his cheeks as he looked around. It was clean, bright pinks and blue, the thick smell of coffee and sweets. He was almost surprised when he looked up to see you coming out from the back, a tray of perfectly frosted cupcakes in your hands.

Suguru couldn’t help it, the curve of your lip, the flutter of your lashes. You were a breath of fresh air, beautiful and warm…all he could do was stare at you, his tired eyes locked on your face like he was trying to put it to memory.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” You asked with a smile and a tilted head.

Suguru didn’t miss the way your eyes lingered on him, looking him up and down the same way he did to you. He watched the way you dusted your hands off on your apron, a small cloud of flour left behind as you did.

“Hm.” Suguru looked over the display case at the endless variety of cakes and pastries with a tired sigh.

“Just two of whatever is most popular, I suppose.” Suguru said with a shrug, his back hunched as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Welll.” You thought about it for a moment, tapping your chin and chewing on your bottom lip for a moment.

“Our coffee is famous in the neighborhood and I like to say my carrot-cake would be world famous if given the chance.” You said with a toothy grin.

“Ha, really now?” Suguru chuckled, taking a seat at the counter, his eyes taking in the curve of your hips, the crinkle of your eyes when you smiled.

Suguru crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair. “Well…alright, a coffee for now, and I will take two slices of your ‘world famous’ carrot cake to-go.” Suguru teased.

You giggled softly as you nodded, moving to pour him a fresh cup of coffee, the wonderful scent filling the room as the steam billowed in clouds over the cup.

You smiled, reaching to hand him the cream and sugar before to your absolute horror, this very handsome man sipped from his coffee completely black, no cream, no sugar, nothing. It was appalling to you, you had only thought those monsters were a myth.

“I absolutely cannot allow you to drink your coffee that way!” You huffed, a puff of your cheeks and your hands on your hips as you stared at Suguru with horror written all over your face.

“Oh, really?” Geto asked, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned forward, his elbow resting on the counter as his chin rested in the palm of his hand. “And what about the old ‘the customer is always right’ saying, hm?”

“Nope, I’m not hearing it. It would pain me to let you ruin my perfect coffee by drinking it like that.” You were having none of it, and you waved him off as you already got to work pouring sugar and cream into his coffee.

All Suguru could do was watch with widened eyes and a smile tugging at his lips, he was quite amused with this but at the same time watching the way you pouted, the way you scolded him for his cofee. It made his heart ache.

“Just like…Satoru used to do.” Suguru thought to himself solemnly.

“So, are you going to tell me your name before you harass me for my tastes some more?” Suguru teased, his eyes following you as he sipped on the now sweetened coffee with amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Hmmm, perhaps.” You teased, a soft blush spreading over your cheeks as he stared down at you. His soft and comforting voice had a strange affect on you and it sent goosebumps dancing down your spine.

“Y/N.” You said softly.

“Suguru Geto.”

After that first time, that very first hello, not a single thing on earth could have kept Suguru Geto away from you.

You, who had a toothy smile and bright eyes so full of life, you, who didn’t falter in showing Suguru such a new and sweet brand of stress relief he never thought possible. Everything about you, that place, it all made his problems seem significantly further away.

And so, week after week, despite the bakery being a train and ten-minute bus ride away, Suguru made the trip as often as he could. If he had a particularly difficult mission, he always found himself at your doorstep, craving a dose of your infectious sweetness to wash away the taste of shit that the rest of the world often left behind.

You didn’t take away all the misery or erase anything that had happened, it didn’t change the failures or fix the world, you just made it all more tolerable.

You grew accustomed to his visits, his soft and calm voice, his tired eyes, the way his hands would linger over yours when you two would occasionally brush hands. You couldn’t help but to think about him, his handsome face and his dark eyes filled with a past he had yet to talk about.

That was, until one particular late night. You were working late, prepping inventory and such for the week, the store was closed so to say it was strange to hear a rapid knock at the front door would be an understatement.

What was even more strange was what you found as you approached the door, Suguru was leaned against the doorway in the pouring rain, his eyes puffy and his body soaked down to the bone, his hair damp and dangling in front of his face.

From just that one look at him, you just…knew something was wrong. Instead of his normal black uniform, pressed and clean, he wore a white t-shirt that looked two sizes too large for him and baggy black pants.

“I’m…sorry.” He whispered, looking up at you with desperation in his eyes. “I just…I need you.”

And that was how you ended up in the back room of the shop, legs draped over Suguru’s shoulders as he licked and sucked your puffy clit like it was the only thing he could do.

Your jeans and panties long forgotten somewhere, your shirt and bra pushed up over your tits so Suguru could squeeze and pinch your pretty pink nipples every time his tongue lapped up the slick from your pretty, perfect cunt.

“Ah- fuck, Suguru.” You gasped, back arching off of the table.

Suguru’s fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you closer, his eyes fluttering as his own moans sent low and deep vibrations running through your already soaked pussy as his tongue fucked deep into you, his nose brushing past your clit as Suguru groaned even louder, your taste was something he wanted to commit to memory.

Suguru was fully clothed, his dick painfully hard in his pants, a small wet patch from where he had already come, though he didn’t really care. He relished in your taste, the way your clit twitched and puffed as he dragged his tongue over it. You were the best fucking thing he had ever tasted.

He was probably (definitely) enjoying this even more than you did.

You had already come countless times, your voice was strained and your chest rose and fell so rapidly you were sure that your heart would burst at any moment. Your thighs trembled and your slick dripped down Suguru’s chin and onto the table he had you pinned down on.

He was like a wild animal, no longer the polite and charming man you first met, his eyes were wild, huge pupils the size of the moon as his tongue lapped over your clit until your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open as an intense heat washed over you yet again, your slick creamy and thick on Suguru’s tongue and he gulped and swallowed down every drop like your taste was the damned elixir of life itself.

“So fucking good…I am nowhere near done with you, sweetness. I need more.” Suguru grumbled, his eyes dark as he looked up at you from between your thighs.

And who were you to deny a starved man?

Please do not copy, use my work, or put it through AI without my permission or I'll be really sad about it!

355 notes · View notes

soranihimawari · 1 year

Text

Between Sweets & Coffee

Osamu learns how to help a rival next door.

Pairing: chef!osamu x cafe owner! reader

Warning: meet cutes//supposed rivals->lovers

Rating: MOF (miya osamu fluff)

“Maybe going door to door is a bad idea,” you’re on the phone with a benefactor for a new pastry shop. The grand opening is set for later this month with Valentine's Day around the corner. Considering you’re back home in Osaka and after months of trying to work with banks and investors for backing a pastry business in an already diverse culinary community was a bit tiresome, the fliers in your hands are proof that hard work does pay off.

Your co-owner is on the other line so you balance your phone on your shoulder and hear summer last minute pep-talk from them. The words of ‘your desserts are the best! don’t get too self-absorbed because I know your little bakery will do just fine.’

“Not if I’m competing with that hot chef across the street,” you sigh as your stuff fliers in the mailboxes at your apartment complex’s basement level. “Who has a line out the door for his Onigiri h o u r s before they’re open.”

Your friend reassures you you have nothing to worry about. After all, you think it might be time to give the chef across the street a good run for his money. Your friend laughs gently as you exasperatedly say you’re done with the stack. Bidding each other good night and heading home to relax before the grand opening tomorrow was all that remains. Hopefully the turn out will be great. Hopefully.

Granted, the official opening went as smooth as anyone who runs a business goes. Well, sort of smooth, a few bumps here and there because of the coffee machine not working properly, everyone in the small (six people deep queue) had enough time to drink some homemade drip coffee. Thankfully, these were the neighbors who seemed to have adored your charm and ambitious goals, who also were your first taste testers for those delightful checkerboard cookies that were on a special at the register. Surely there were some stragglers who chose to come in for a fresh cut baguette and fruit jam sandwich with some sinisterly righteous cup of chai tea later that mid-morning, but around two in the afternoon, as you bring out some other pistachio creme dessert, you see an odd sign on the onigiri restaurant across from you. The sign had been flipped to ‘closed’ and you didn’t know if it was just for lunch or why.

Apparently, the answer was right in front of you when you rose from the glass of your dessert display–he was tall, taller than you by like a foot or so, gray silvered hair peppered in with dark roots stare right at you. He has an onigiri embroidered shirt with the kanji of his name underneath it and he folded his arms over his chest. Your cashier just laughs nervously before waving for you to switch tasks at the moment. You lock eyes with the young lady as she scampers off with an empty baking tray to the back of the prep kitchen.

You’re behind the register, noticing the long line now forming behind said ‘hot chef’ from your phone call last night. The menu is next to the register and as you nervously intake a breath, you hear him chuckle a bit. He leans over the small counter space to whisper an, “Easy there dollface,” to you and you try not to lose your cool when you greet him with the spiel you perfected earlier that day.

“Welcome to Winter’s Cafe,” you smile at your first afternoon customer. “Now, what can I get brewing for you?”

The order he makes is a small, modest one: ham and cheese sandwich with a large coffee. He pays and takes his little number card to a table as the rest of the people he brought with him (his entire line cooks and cashiers) begin their orders. The cafe was decked out in a soft orange marble swirl, a paint job you helped design with an interior designer—your shop felt like a soda fountain from a classic Archie Comic he and his brother used to read. Along the walls where accolades would hang, one in particular stands out to Osamu: it’s framed in a shadow box and upon further inspection he notices there’s a whisk inside and next to that? A series of glass knives and cleavers pique his curiosity. He is amused and enthused at how you’re balancing all the hats of an entrepreneur too.

How did Miya Osamu, the ‘hot chef’ get here? Inside your restaurant?

… for that answer let’s go back to this morning when Miya Osamu is preparing his morning notes to give out to his staff. His coffee machine had finally breathed its last, so his cooks prayed their owner and restaurant head chef had some form of caffeine before the doors would open. Regardless, they did not get their wish though Osamu had gotten more than halfway through his notes as a reminder for the FIFO labels then he mentioned he’s closing the store earlier than normal today. It was not inspection time nor was it inventory night, as pointed out by his second lead cooks.

“There is a new cafe openin’ right ‘cross from us,” Osamu rubs his temples with a slight frown. He feigns doing just fine when he drinks his water from the glass he used earlier after prep was done. “We might lose some customers, so I figure we close early an’ see what these competitors be makin’.”

“Hai.”

The collective agreement caused your little cafe tables inside to be occupied a few hours later. As quickly as those orders came in, the first few batches of orders came out. You’re busy handing over the reigns of the register to your cashier as you read the first couple of orders aloud more so to yourself as you prepare the sandwiches amidst the sweet rolls being warmed and plated.

It is painfully obvious for a young entrepreneur to stand where you once stood as you flutter by dropping off orders left right and center. You’re efficient as all hell and when Osamu, your self-thought rival across the way, takes a bite into his sandwich, he’s immediately reminded of how his mother used to make these sometimes when he was four. The food is good, nostalgic even, as he sees his other employees unabashedly enjoy the plates you made, from the savory to the sublimely sweet. You’re only stopped a few times for his cooks to rave about your pistachio and chocolate-hazelnut croissants or your chai lattes. You bow saying how next time you’re thinking of making them into European dragons. The way his cooks’ eyes light up as if they’d order a whole half dozen has Osamu smiling into his cup. He might have to ask you to sneak some for him.

A steadier flow of customers come an hour or so later and though there are no bussers yet hired, Osamu on blind faith and a great cup of coffee now in his system, starts collecting all the dishes he and his employees had used. He doesn’t seem to be stopped by you, who now with an upturned smirk, tells him where the dish pit was in the back of the kitchen. His second and third cooks start cleaning the rest of the tables they had previously sat in as a silent, ‘thank you for the meal’ to you and your scrumptious food. Pretty soon, it was time to close your doors as well as you sit with your cashier at the booth at the end of the dessert case. You’re tallying up the first day’s riches around six in the afternoon before giving her a four percent cut of the total gross sales. It’s enough yen for her to finish paying off her culinary school semester.

“I’m going to need a really strong pastry intern this year, what do you say?” you offer as the cashier hugs you profusely thanking you for the opportunity. She goes and turns in her little time card to you for filing purposes; she exits with her bag slung over her shoulder whistling a happier tune when you catch a glimpse of her cousin waiting for her at the street corner by the combini store.

Considering how quiet the restaurant had become, Osamu comes out of the kitchen swinging doors, drying his hands and you, not realizing he was still there, you scream at his presence.

“Ack!! You’re still here!?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles as he sees you try to breathe normally. “Seemed like you needed a dishwasher tonight.”

He apologizes for giving you a fright, but you shake your head offering him a seat next to you.

“Well, it was the grand opening and I only had one cashier show up… did you put away everything where I can reach?”

Cloud gray eyes stare curiously at you as he ponders, he tells you to hold that thought as you hear some equipment making it to the prep table in the back. You laugh to yourself amused when he comes back out to talk for a little while. You’re going over the numbers of the day and it’s then that you deflate a bit after you sign and date the restaurant book.

“And what about the other cooks?” he sees ‘hire sous’ on your to-do list. “Don’t ya have any?”

“Believe it or not, it’s just me,” you smile. “These are family recipes I perfected before trying to commercialize them, so no. No other cooks until I can afford them. I’m practically broke even after this grand opening business.”

You half smile at the taller guy to your right, thanking him for telling his friends to come over to give you that afternoon boost. You curl a hand under your chin and look at the shadow box whisk.

“Want to hear how I got that whisk?”

And so you ramble off on a story of how your first culinary teacher was your elementary school’s lunch lady. When the lady retired when you were nineteen about to go off into the university of your choice, you were handed the whisk with the advice of, “even whipping cream needs a little time to breathe.” You confide in your unofficial dishwasher that for the life of you now you can’t tell if the lady was really sage or old age made her say some funky stuff.

It’s then when Osamu begins to take notice at how you look: you’ve got some dark circles forming under your eyes, your jeans looked well loved, but almost tattered, your best looking shirt is covered in ganache from this morning, and the dirt under your nails came from using the citrus zester for the lemon meringue cookies from two hours ago. You’re exhausted, probably by now, considering how creased your shoes are and for someone who just moved to Osaka, you looked..proud. Proud, according to his mother, is what she was of both of her children. Osamu is proud to be a chef just as much as his twin is proud of continuing to play volleyball.

“I know ya might think this is a bit too forward o’ me, but,” Osamu straightens up and turns a quarter of the way to shake your hand. “The name’s Miya Osamu.”

Taking his hand with a curt scoff before a more natural smile takes over your gorgeous face, “YLN,YN.”

He’s still holding your hand after you have shaken it, an idea bursts in his head. “Hey, YN, I know ya just got off yer shift, but would ya like to come over to my place for dinner? I heard there’s this onigiri guy across the street that makes some of the best in the city.”

You glance over his shoulder, read the neon lights of the name of the restaurant, then glance back at the eyes of the young man in front of you. You seemed to be the same age, yet you can’t for the life of you help what the masters of the red string of fate had pulled to get you and Osamu together like this. You’re smiling a bit though before you cheekily inquire if he’s asking as, “Miya Osamu,” or if he’s asking you as “Onigiri owner and head chef, Miya Osamu.” Both of which, you clarify, you do not mind, stating that for now, you’re only interested in simply Miya Osamu.

So, if you ever find yourself in the city of Osaka late in the afternoon, be sure you stop by Miya Onigiri if you’re looking for the best onigiri in town or take a break right across the street at Winter’s Cafe, where the cakes this season are literally a love story waiting to begin.

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora after hours #miya.o & reader #friends > lovers: miya osamu x yn #meet cute ideas with osamu

8 notes · View notes

livingfreezers · 2 years

Text

ABS catering freezer comes with an insulation thickness

When it comes to opening up a new business in the food service industry, no doubt it takes a lot of consideration and planning. It’s a fact that refrigeration units or freezers are vital in the food business so that you can keep food fresh and as per the food, health, and sanitation board standards. Here, in this article we’ll compare ABS and KoolMax catering freezersby discussing the detailed product designs and specs so you can make a better buying decision ever. ABS Catering Freezers These are fully automatic commercial grade featured base catering freezers with solid doors. These freezers are perfect to store drinks and beverages. ABS catering freezers features include; it comes with varying dimensions and you need to choose as Car refrigerators per your business requirements.It contains hinged, self closing doors with stay open feature for ease of loading. It has a stainless steel interior & exterior with LED digital temperature display, electronic controller and rear castors formaneuverability.

ABS catering freezer comes with an insulation thickness of 60mm and has a temperature of-10 to -25 Degree C. Catering freezer enables you to stock your products in optimum conditions, maintain quality and freshness for longer periods of time in an attractive and stylish way. Additional feature includes; ergonomic design, recessed door handles, pointed door edges, round interior corners. Catering freezer offers maximum and convenient storage space and capacity to the retailers and shop owners to display your products. KoolMax Group’s Catering Freezers KoolMax Group is a renowned brand name, specialized in manufacturing of finest quality products worldwide. KoolMax Group offers a wide range of commercial catering freezers including; Single door catering freezers Double door catering freezers Triple door catering freezers Under counter freezer Gastronorm freezers KoolMax Group’s catering freezers are perfect for retailers wanting more space and have an inner temperature range of-18ºC to -24ºC with thick energy efficient insulation.

These catering freezers features static cooling, replaceable door gasket, high temp warning light, fixed shelves, adjustable castors with fitted lock and a pair of keys to prevent the any theft and to ensure a safe storage of chilled beverages. These freezers contain a painted aluminum interior that allows perfect cleaning and also keeps your beverages at premium temperatures. KoolMax Group’s catering freezers features both hinged and self closing door options (depending on your preferences), and has illuminated interior, LED temperature display and easy to use controls. Moreover, these freezers work with ventilated cooling type and use Power (W)245. Other features include digital thermostat, LED illumination for each layer. These catering freezers also include a self-evaporation water tray that offers an ultimate convenience for end users and a front hot air blowing in order to prevent condensation. These freezers are excellent for display with a digital temperature display controller, which allows you to maintain the internal refrigerator temperature as per customer preferences.

#mini car refrigerators

0 notes

cardbardboxes · 3 years

Link

Self-locking counter display trays are a stunning way to market any brand's products. That's why we pay close attention to their production. We strive to provide our customers with highly customizable trays that maximise presentation.

#Self-locking counter display trays #Custom Self-locking counter display trays

0 notes

bruno-madrigal-writings · 2 years

Text

The Seer and the Baker Pt. 1

Summary: Bruno Madrigal, Seer of nothing but bad futures, pays the baker a visit. At least she's nice about it.

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Pt. 8 Pt. 9 Pt. 10 Pt. 11 Pt. 12 Pt. 13 Pt. 14 Pt. 15 Pt. 16 Pt. 17 Epilogue

Read it on AO3!

Word Count: 1.6k

Encanto woke up with the sunrise, slowly becoming more active as the sunlight slipped into the little valley. It was time for people to start their days, to go about their work to keep the village running as it should.

Bruno hated this part of the day.

He adjusted his hood, pulling it lower over his face. A few of the townspeople had requested his service today, to see into their futures, and he knew it was going to be rough. They were never happy with him afterwards. It didn’t even matter what the news was anymore, unless it was absolutely, completely positive all the way around, they would find something to be upset about. It was almost a self fulfilling prophecy at this point.

But today was going to be even worse. Before his requested visits, he had a rather dour errand to run.

Even with the town only just starting to wake, there were enough people in the streets for him to hear their whispers as he passed, their tone always harsh or conspiratorial. He didn’t have to make out the words to know they were talking about him. Again.

It was fine, though. He had gotten pretty good at ignoring them.

He stopped at the town bakery, the smell of fresh baked goods warm on the morning air. He took a deep breath, enjoying the peace it brought for a moment before he would surely ruin another innocent soul’s day. He sighed, but opened the door regardless of his misgivings. The smell was even stronger inside, lovely and warm. He wished he could enjoy it properly.

Luckily, there was only one other person in the shop, the woman working behind the counter. Laila, he believed. He had never really talked to her before. It wasn’t like the Madrigal’s had any reason to visit the bakery with Julieta’s cooking, especially him. He didn’t go into town anymore when he didn’t have to, and she had never asked him for a vision or anything of the sort. She had thick black hair tied back into a tight bun on her head and was wearing a simple dress and apron.

It took her a moment before she noticed his presence, busying herself by placing some pastries on display. She paused when she did notice him, recognition igniting in her eyes as they widened slightly in fear when he slid his hood off. That was to be expected, so he tried not to let it get under his skin.

“Bruno Madrigal.” She said as way of greeting. “... Do you have something to tell me?”

He nodded, debating with himself if he should stand closer to the counter or stay where he was. It hardly mattered as the woman put down her tray and walked out from behind the counter to stand in front of him.

“Go on then.”

Right. He had to actually tell her, not just stand around like an idiot.

“I had a vision early this morning and you were in it. You were at your mother’s bedside and … “ He paused, debating how best to put this, but he didn’t have to. She seemed to know what he was going to say before he said it, like he was just confirming what she already knew.

“Do you know when?”

“Tonight.”

She nodded and he could see her deep brown eyes start to go glassy with unshed tears just before she rushed off, back to the counter, and started putting the pastries back on their tray.

“I’ll have to close up for the day, then.” She said, forcing a cheerful tone that landed hollow. She worked quick, having all the baked goods put away in only moments and the ovens shut off. She ushered him out the door, locking it behind her, and running off into the streets, vanishing from sight quickly.

There were already far more people out than there had been when he had first started his journey to the bakery, and all their eyes were on him. He winced, pulling his hood back up to cover his face. Even as he left to continue on with his visits, he felt the eyes on him and he knew what they were saying now without having to hear them. Poor Laila, she got a visit from that Bruno! Surely her poor ill Mamí won’t make the night now, and come the morning they will be proven right and it will be all bad luck, evil Bruno’s fault!

He forced himself to just get through the morning. He did his visits, met with the usual disappointment when his predictions weren’t good enough for them. Luckily, it wasn’t anything too bad and he could continue on his way from each visit without any further trouble.

It was a relief when he finally got home. He could run off to his tower and forget about all of this until the next morning.

It was just as Bruno said. That night, María Moreno passed away in her bed with her daughter by her side. The funeral was held a few days later, a properly somber affair. María had been rather popular in the small town, revered as the best baker they ever had, and all the town was in attendance. They all wished to properly say goodbye.

All of the Madrigal’s attended, of course. It was practically their duty as carers for the town and its people.

Even if some of them didn’t want to be anywhere near the ceremony.

Bruno could feel the crowd's eyes on him, their stares weighing down on his shoulders. He pulled his hood over his head, trying desperately to block out some of the gazes he saw at the corners of his eyes. He took a deep breath to calm himself, searching for something else to focus on. He ended up focusing on the only person there that wasn’t throwing him glances when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Laila Moreno stood at the front of the line of well wishers, slowly making her way through them with quite a few nods and murmured thank you’s. She looked exhausted, eyes red from crying, but despite everything she had managed to keep herself together for the whole ceremony. He did not want to force her to see him, not after he had given her such terrible news. She probably blamed him, too. But there really was no avoiding it. When Alma stepped up to offer her own condolences, he stood by her side with his sisters, doing his best to avoid eye contact.

“Laila, I’m so sorry for your loss. Your mother will be missed by everyone.”

Another automatic nod and thank you. Julieta and Pepa took turns giving the other woman a hug and murmured words of comfort.

“Bruno?” He jumped, blinking at Laila and meeting her eyes. She was smiling at him, small and sad but grateful, and the look in her eyes was warm. “Thank you for telling me. Otherwise I would have been at the shop when she passed. It means a lot that I could be there.”

He felt his face heat up, staring at her with wide eyes.

No one had thanked him before, not in a long time. It has been even longer since anyone had meant it. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, settling on picking at the edge of his ruana.

“Of course. That’s what I try to do.”

“And you don’t get enough credit for it.”

He couldn’t meet her eyes anymore, looking down at his hands as they picked, picked, picked.

“Gracias.” He mumbled. He cursed himself silently. He was a full grown man, well into his twenties, and here he was acting like some child faced with a compliment they didn’t know how to handle.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to stick around. With a nod from Alma, the family left, returning to their own home. He could hear his sisters whispering and giggling on the walk back but he tried to ignore them. He was sure they were planning something or were going to tease him. Sure enough, once they were home they were on him.

“Well, what do you know? Our little brother has an admirer.” Pepa had said with a giggle, forcing herself at Bruno’s side. He frowned at her, about to retort, but then Julieta was on his other side with a warm smile.

“It has to be nice to be appreciated by someone. She was so nice!”

“Did you see his face? He got so red.”

“Said the woman who can’t even talk to Félix!” Bruno shot back playfully, managing to remove himself from between the women. Julieta giggled and Pepa looked offended.

“At least I can admit I like him!”

“Dios mío, I’ve only talked to her twice! And they weren’t exactly the best circumstances. What makes you think I like her?”

“People bond over tragedy all the time.” Pepa waved off.

“You just need to talk to her some more, about better things.”

“Maybe you could visit the bakery more.”

“Maybe you could leave me alone! No, but that would involve not butting your nose into your brother's business for once in your life.” Pepa swatted at Bruno’s shoulder.

“I’m your sister, it’s my job!” A thunder cloud was starting to form over her head, which was their signal to stop the teasing.

“That’s enough.” Their Mami said. “We need to prepare for dinner. Everyone to the kitchen.” She ushered them away and they dutifully obliged, each helping to make dinner even though it was mostly Julieta who did most of the cooking.

Bruno frowned as he worked, mind running off to places it probably shouldn’t. His sister’s teasing had really gotten to him if he was actually thinking about Laila like that. He huffed at himself and pushed the thoughts away. It was all nonsense, they hardly knew each other and the likelihood of anything happening was so low. It was better to just forget about the whole thing.

Though, it had been nice, to feel appreciated by someone. He could cling to that, at least.

#encanto #bruno encanto #bruno madrigal #bruno madrigal x reader #bruno madrigal x oc #reader insert #encanto reader insert #bruno madrigal writings

392 notes · View notes

akaashisupremacy · 3 years

Text

Moments of Courage

Summary: Osamu Miya is a difficult ex to have. When your paths cross endlessly, you try to rebuild your relationship. Will there be second chances? Or just more broken hearts?

HQ Masterlist || Multi-fandom Masterlist || Read it on A03

Osamu Miya x reader

“Are you leaving this party because of me?”

Osamu calls you out from the tiny hallway of your friend’s get together. After locking eyes with him, you did your best to subtly scamper towards the door.

“You don’t have to go. I can leave if it’s making you uncomfortable.” he assures.

You shake your head, “You can stay. I’m not having that much fun.”

You begin shuffling through the coat rack to look for yours. You’re desperate for anything to cut the time talking to him, talking about him. The only guaranteed way for this to stop is to leave.

“Are you hiding from me?” he asks almost rhetorically. His brows are gently raised.

“Yeah, obviously,” you retort, “I don’t want to be seen by you or with you.”

Osamu Miya is your ex. After over a year of dating, he decided to end things with you in a small cafe far off his onigiri stall.

“I’m too busy,” he claimed, “You deserve someone who could give you more time.”

You reasoned out that you didn’t mind not spending so much time together. His job was time-consuming. You understood that.

But Osamu was unsettled. You didn’t mind cheering him on from the benches waiting for him to finish up work. You liked seeing Osamu do things he was passionate about. And yet he felt unsettled, because he knew this was the type of work you would not engage in.

Osamu pressed on, “I’m sure you’ll find yourself someone more worldly, more sophisticated in the city. I don’t want to prevent you from meeting someone like that.”

Something dropped at the pit of your stomach. Your mouth was ajar. He’s really trying to break up with you. It’s no secret that you preferred the city and Osamu the countryside, but neither of you seemed to mind. You’d both make the time to visit each other. You made it work.

You remember barely touching your drink. Listening to him talk was like having a ton of bricks dropped on your back. The sunlight pouring in from the glass window suddenly felt prickly.

“I just don’t think we’re a good fit.” he swallowed, unable to look you in the eye, “I think someone from the country, someone simpler and more traditional would be better for me.”

You don’t miss the yearning in his voice, the dreaminess for someone who was clearly not you. He’d always tease that you were a true blue big city girl. You liked the tall buildings, the noise and the fancy department stores. You thought it was a point of endearment, but apparently not.

It’s been almost a year since you last saw him. He looks so unaffected it irks you.

“I broke up with you respectfully. Why are you mad?” he scratches his head.

It takes all your self-control to not slap him across the face.

“Because you hurt me! You’ve hurt me so…so…much.” your voice hitches before you can catch it. This is so humiliating. He’s clearly moved on from you.

Tears start pouring down your face. You quickly hide your eyes behind your coat.

“You’d eventually realize that I’m not right for you.” he murmurs, “We’re too different.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.” you snap, clenching your fists, “So is this is it? To make you feel better you’re going to date a small town girl to solve all your problems.”

“Well, Kita did introduce me to someone lately.” he unironically replies, “She works in her family ryokan (inn) and we work similar hours. I think we’ll understand each other more than we did.”

Your eyes narrow.

“There’s no point staying in a relationship that I can’t make time for. Why can’t you understand that?” he snaps back.

It is one thing to be left for someone else and another for him to dump you just because. Somehow you feel like you lost even if you didn’t even have competition. He simply didn’t want you.

Your face contorts into an angry frown.

You slip on your coat and grab the door. “Man, you are a terrible ex. Do you know how it hurts when you tell me how wrong I was for you?”

When Osamu regains his cool, he tries to reach out to you, “I didn’t mean it that way…I didn’t feel good that I could make time for ‘ya and so I let the relationship go. Because i don’t know…—“

“Well, this is all just theory anyways.” he says, “I haven’t met Kita’s friend yet. We haven’t gone out yet, just the two of us.”

You do a double turn. “What?!?”

“Yeah, we’re working all the time but we haven’t made the time to meet.”

You break into a laugh. He stands stunned and confused.

“You know what? You stay behind. You left the last time. I want to be the one to leave this time.” you sigh, closing the door behind you.

You don’t turn back to see the look on his face.

————————————— Osamu mostly works in the countryside which means that you’d be less likely to run into each other in the city. It’s easier for you to keep your mind off him and focus on your current life.

So when you see him in the corner store in place of a small fried chicken stall you used to frequent, you’re visibly shocked, appalled even.

“What are you doing here?!” you jump back, “What happened to the fried chicken stall that was here?”

Osamu looks left and right, making sure no approaching customers can hear your dialogue.

“I run this stall now. Kawaneshi-san retired. It’s a great location. I’m literally in a crossroad between a shopping district and some schools. The rent isn’t too bad and it’s a very busy location.” he answers in his usual no nonsense tone.

You make a mental list not to pass by here again.

He recognizes the look on your face, “Have I just ruined your usual route for you?”

“I thought you were a country boy.” you avoid answering him.

“Even I need to make a living.” he snorts, carefully arranging umeboshi-flavored onigiri in his display case.

Sure! All of a sudden working in the city becomes important after he breaks up with you!

You roll your eyes and curtly walk away. You got here first. You love this city. You refuse to let some onigiri-making man ruin your everyday route.

The days roll into weeks. You stick to your route and diligently ignore Osamu each time. After a while it stops feeling weird that he’s there. You feel like you’re slowly taking pieces of yourself that he broke.

It feels so good to start to be whole again.

———————————— Your newfound peace with Osamu is interrupted when he calls you out of the blue one evening. He calls to tell you that he’s sick and that he needs help running groceries. The nerve!

“Don’t you have anyone else?” you groan. Hasn’t he made friends with some other shopkeepers?

“I have no one else. There’s only you.” he coughs through his words. He tries to explain that one of his few friends is out on bereavement.

You let it go. He clearly doesn’t have anyone for today.

You find out that Osamu lives in the apartment above his stall. The space is rather small. He shares his home with some of the equipment and supplies from his store.

He must hate it here. Osamu always loved wide open spaces.

You open the fridge to find it totally empty. His sink has a few empty bowls from his earlier rice porridges. You understand his desperation. He had nothing to eat.

Moved by his situation and the little compassion for him that remains in you, you sigh and begin chopping up some vegetables to make a nutritious broth. You add in some mushrooms and root crops. While the soup boils, you prepare rice and some pickles.

The faster he recovers, the less you have to interact with him.

When you bring him a tray of food in his room, he is equal parts surprised and confused.

“You can cook?” he clears his throat.

“No, Osamu.” you roll your eyes, “I eat all my food raw.”

He sits up and sniffs the aroma of your food through his clogged nose. He dips a spoon into the soup to sample his first meal of the day.

“I mean you can cook well, like a proper home cook.” he says, his eyes wide with awe. He quickly takes a few more sips and starts on his rice.

“I’ve never known.” he croaks, turning to you.

“You never asked,” you shrug, “And you like to do the cooking yourself. You probably assumed I can’t cook, because I’m not as passionate about food as you are.”

He quietly eats and looks away to confirm the truth in your statement.

You sigh and take a nearby basin with some towels in it. “I’ll leave after I bring the basin back.”

——————————————- Something changes in your relationship with Osamu after that incident. He starts to greet you when you walk by and sometimes offers you onigiri from his store.

You always insist on paying. He doesn’t always take it.

“You’re here to make a living.” you say as you push money into his hands.

In between these exchanges you start to ask about each other again. How are you doing? Was today busy? Stuff like that.

Slowly and surely, you two were rebuilding your relationship ground up. But it was tough. Neither of you went beyond these interactions. Maybe things are just meant to stay that way.

One late evening, the last customer for the day disappears out of Osamu’s line of sight when he heads into the back to start cleaning up. He’s about to start pulling down the rafters when you suddenly show up at his counter.

His face expresses his surprise.

“If it’s too late, I can just go.” you gesture sheepishly.

He’s always surprised when you come here on your own volition.

“It’s not,” he denies, “I was closing up too early anyways.”

You pick out your usual onigiri flavors and quickly pay up. As soon as you turn your back, Osamu stammers at you.

“I-I’m cooking up some stuff at the back. Do you want to stay and eat? Think of it as a return favor for the other week.” he refers to the episode of his sick day.

You’re caught off guard but you slowly nod your head to agree. You hadn’t had Osamu’s cooking in a while and it was getting quite late. He opens the door for you and you follow him towards the back of his shop.

In a messy plastic table, you see an array of salads and pickles with different kinds of miso soup laid out. You feel almost intrusive, even more than last week.

You set the table. Osamu fetches hot rice.

It feels unnecessary for you to be here especially if he is with someone else. You do your best to keep your mouth shut. This is a friendly return of favor.

Osamu notices how unusually quiet you are. He chats you up about work. He tries his best to be animated and show interest in your latest project. He asks about your coworkers and your work environment. Were you having fun? Do you get to eat on time?

For dessert, he brings out mochi wrapped in leaves.

“It’s made by the girl I was telling you about.” he remarks, while clearing the dishes.

“Oh,” your heart sinks. You get up and leave, feeling humiliated by your naivety. Of course he’s with her. You feel stupid for even hoping.

You’re about to walk out when he comes back in. “Apparently, she’s been secretly in a relationship with another chef in her family inn. They recently got married and are hoping to start a family soon. She sent these down to inform me. I suppose that solves the problem of having to see someone outside of work—”

He sees you standing. Confusion runs through his expression.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Just stretching…” you lie.

You want to shoot yourself in the foot in embarrassment.

When realization dawns on him, Osamu looks crestfallen. Any energy left in his body abandons him. He sighs, resigned.

“It’s ok if you want to go,” he nods, “Or if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

He bites his lip and looks down on his shoes. The room is still and pregnant with silence.

“I really am just stretching. My hip feels wonky from sitting all day.” you insist with some renewed energy. You grab hold of the pot on the table. “Also, can we get some more hot water? Tea would be nice with the mochi and it’s kind of gone cold.”

He offers to make another pot, relief evident on his face.

“I’ll go heat up the water.” he walks to the kettle, “Are you sure you want dessert?”

You sit back down.

“Yeah, I want to stay.” you murmur. For once you don’t go running to the door.

He glances at you, content, a small smile creeping on his face. ——————————————————

Atsumu, Osamu’s twin brother, always finds himself in his brother’s kitchen every time he visits. He doesn’t mind too much though. It gives them something to do when they catch up.

“Samu, you can’t still be moping around your ex!” Atsumu exclaims. He’s washing Osamu’s dishes as his brother prepares for their meal.

“I’m not ready to get back out there.” Osamu waves dismissively.

Atsumu flicks some water his way. “You’re just not open to seeing someone else.”

His words clearly prick Osamu who throws flour into his face. Atsumu dodges right on time and flicks some flour right back.

Some flour grazes Osamu’s sleeve. He sighs and dusts himself.

“It’s tough, because I’m working all the time. This job doesn’t pay too much and it’s not glamorous. Who’d wanna date someone like me?” he murmurs.

“That’s why you gotta date around to find out!” Atsumu emphasizes, “Maybe you’ll even find someone who might help you with your business when you get married.”

Osamu obstinately shakes his head. “It’s not as easy as you think.”

Atsumu dries his hand and carefully observes his brother. He puts his towel down onto the kitchen counter and raises his brow, “Or maybe I should just give you advice on getting back together.’

As if right on cue, Osamu slams his hand down onto the counter, “I hate that we still haven’t gotten back together. This is killing me!”

Atsumu chuckles in satisfaction. He’s hit the nail right on the head.

“Why has nothing happened yet? I’m already in the city!” Osamu continues on, “They can cook too! Did you know that?! I wish we can skip to the part where we can settle down.”

He vigorously gestures in frustration.

“I cannot! I just cannot move on until I know I’ve given everything to make this work and yet every time I see them all I do is offer them food!”

Atsumu places his hand on his brother’s shoulder, “You need to be more strategic about it. Here’s what you need to do…”

———————————————————————————

Osamu takes a deep breath before knocking at your door. He holds a bag of onigiri in one hand and whatever courage he has in another.

One knock, then another. He hasn’t been this nervous in a long while.

When you open the door, his ear picks up on a male voice inside your house. Combined with your expression, he realizes that he’s come at an inconvenient time.

“I brought you something.” he tries to smile despite the sweat pooling, “I made you lunch. I just wanted to make sure you were eating. We don’t have to talk. I just wanted to give this to you.”

He tries to look past your shoulder, attempting to glimpse at your guests.

“Are you seeing someone else by any chance?” he blurts out, “I want to clarify before I make any more free deliveries.”

You frown. “That’s none of your business, Osamu. You should leave.”

Your frankness pierces something within him. He hadn’t expected to be rejected so quickly.

Osamu’s eyes widen and his mouth drops. He quickly gathers himself before he gets disheartened.

“I want you to give me a second chance. You loved me so deeply. Maybe you can find love in me again.” he says quietly.

“I thought I was too much of a city girl for you,” you retort, despite lacking an edge in your voice. You notice his hands tightly clutching the plastic bag.

The noise at the back seems to melt away. It’s like you’re back in that party, standing too close to each other near the coat rack and the door.

“Maybe you’re not.” his shoulders gracefully go up and down.

You shook your head wryly, “Osamu, I haven’t changed. I like my job and the city. I’m not the life and business partner that you’re looking for. I’m just a customer and we should keep it that way.”

“I can stop if you like.” he offers meekly, putting his hands behind his back.

“Yeah, you should. You’ve hurt me so much.” you cover your mouth with your hands while you try not to sob, “There’s nothing to go back to.”

“I’m sorry I ended things the way I did.” he looks away, “Seeing you walk by me every day feels like penitence…“

You close the door before he says anymore.

Osamu gazes longingly at the door. It’s only now that the full weight of losing you sinks in.

—————————————— “How’d it go?” Atsumu calls to check on Osamu.

Osamu sucks in his breath, his palm pressed on his temple. Atsumu braces himself, this doesn’t sound good.

“They had someone else over.” Osamu is seething in frustration and angry tears.

“Calm down. Were they alone? Or was it a friend group?” Atsumu ’s mind races. He sifts through the situation in an attempt to placate his brother.

“Yeah? No? I don’t know.” Osamu snaps, “They told me she didn’t want to talk about it. Your advice sucks!”

Osamu walks most of the way home. When he catches sight of his store, he curses. He had left his damn bike at your apartment complex! The universe is not giving him any breaks today.

He sighs and continues towards his store. He had a friend watch it while he was away. He’ll have to come pick up after he closes the store.

Throughout the rest of the day, he tries to push you out of his mind. By the time he closes the store, he is bursting at the seams with anticipation to make his way back to your apartment.

Before he sets off, he sees your figure wheeling his bike towards him.

“You left your bike.” you breathe out. You fish something out of your pocket and toss him the key to his bike lock, “You left this in your lock too.”

“Every time you see me, I just look dumber and dumber.” he sighs in exasperation.

You can’t help but burst into laughter at his candidness. He perks up a bit. He hasn’t made you laugh in a while. Of course he’d rather have you laugh with him than at him. Still, this was a start right?

"Did Atsumu put you up to this?" you chuckle, handing the bike over.

“Yeah, how did you know?” he asks dumbfounded.

“I just do.” you scoff, “It’s not like you to show up on people’s doors.”

He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, “Sorry about that. It won’t happen again. It was a moment of weakness.”

Your eyes lower, framing the sad expression that sets into your face, “Yeah, it better not. I’ve moved on.”

You turn around to walk away. In a brief moment of courage, he cups his hands around his mouth.

“I’m not ready to move on from you and if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.” he calls out.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan @kaizumi @holaaaf @glxar

Comment or message to be added to the taglist! I’m definitely making a part 2!

243 notes · View notes

streetlight11 · 3 years

Text

Reunited Again

Summary: He was your neighbour, your best friend, he was your happiness ever since preschool. One day, he suddenly became distant and cold towards you for unknown reasons. Both of you slowly drifted apart. Years passed and you haven't seen him ever since you left your hometown to go to college. Who knew you'd see him again through your close friends from college 4 years after you moved. Would he remember you?

Theme: college au, childhood best friends to lovers

Genre: fluff

Warning: some curse words, that's it

WC: 3.9k

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x Fem!Reader

a/n: Hello again! Here's a Wooyoung fic for you. Take care everyone :)

12 years ago was when his parents divorced after a horrible fight. His father took him in custody as he was only 10 years old at the time. After the divorce, his father turned into an alcoholic, a drug addict and was abusing him after dusk. He became his dad’s punching bag, this only made the boy even more stubborn and rebellious.

This also led him to the introduction of tattoos, gang fights, smoking, drinking, but never drugs. That was probably the one thing he despised and would never even go near one. That was the thing that drove him to insanity living in the house.

His dad was a drug addict and because of those drugs, he couldn’t grow up with the love of his own dad.

However, despite being in that state, only a few of them still stuck around him. And these guys were not even those who teaches him all the bad stuff while growing up. Instead, these guys were the friends he met since high school and college. Sure he didn’t have a bright past, sure he’s done things that were probably illegal and had a few police cases before, but these guys never looked down on him.

They encouraged him to work hard and chase after his dreams, and not to walk down the same path his dad did. And for that, he was thankful to have met them.

It has been 4 years since you last saw him. He was your neighbour and probably one of your best friends growing up. He lived just across the road from you. You still remembered when you first met him at preschool. Where he accidentally spilled his milk and so you went up to him and gave him yours.

From that day on, you two became like two peas in a pod. You loved him as a friend. You cared for him. You could never bear to see him cry over a stolen toy. You were always there for him. So when he suddenly turned cold and distant to you one day, you just couldn't accept it.

You wanted answers.

And not long after, you found out that his parents had divorced. His father became abusive and a drug addict so that’s why he kept his distance from you.

Because of that, you never blamed him for acting how he did back then. But that doesn’t mean you don’t miss the old him. Even now that it has been 4 years since you left your hometown to live in Seoul to go to college, you still prayed that some day, you’d bump into him again and everything would go back to the way it was.

It was a bright Saturday afternoon and you had promised your two best friends that you would meet them for brunch and just hang out with them. You decided to wear a white low cut cropped thin strap top, a black floral skater skirt and a beige knit cardigan. To finish the outfit off, you paired it with your black combat boots.

You met up with Seonghwa and Yeosang at the mall for brunch where they took you to an italian restaurant. After eating, Yeosang told you that he and Seonghwa wanted to introduce you to their close friends and that it was time for you to meet them.

“Are you sure about this? What if they don’t like me?” You asked, a little too self-conscious.

“They’ll love you! Besides, if anything, I’ll just threaten them to leave you alone.” Yeosang said with a shrug. You couldn’t help but scoff at his sarcasm. A few hours later, Seonghwa drove you to a well known street in Hongdae.

You sat in the front passenger seat as your eyes travelled all over the place.

Once Seonghwa was done parking the car, the three of you got out of the vehicle as he locked it. Yeosang immediately placed a hand on your back to guide you towards a tattoo parlour shop located just across the road from where you were. The bell chime caught everyone’s attention in the shop as the two boys standing behind the counter whipped their heads towards the door.

Their smiles immediately got wider when they saw Seonghwa and Yeosang. “Oh hey guys! You’re here!” The cute, smaller one said, only for the tall, handsome one to speak up.

“It’s about time you guys came. You’re late for your piercing appointment with me.” Yeosang laughed knowing the boy was directing his conversation to him.

“I know, I know. But the main reason we came here was to let you meet our friend we’ve been telling you guys about.” Yeosang said as he turned back to you, who was hiding behind Seonghwa.

Yeosang chuckled at your shy being, only to slide his hand around your waist and tugged you forwards gently. “Hyung, Yunho, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Hongjoong and Yunho.” Your eyes flickered to the two boys who smiled at you and waved.

“Hello! It’s nice to finally meet you.” Hongjoong said as he held his hand out for you to take. You gently shook it in return, causing the man to giggle.

“Is she always this shy?” Hongjoong asked his two friends, only for Seonghwa to speak up.

“She’s only shy around boys she finds cute. So I guess you’re one of them.” This made you slap his stomach with the back of your hand, making the poor boy groan. You glared at him, only for Yeosang to laugh out loud before prompting you a high five.

“The rest will be out a minute. You can have a look around if you don’t plan on getting any piercings or tattoos.” Yunho said with a smile before turning to Yeosang and his smile completely disappeared before it turned into a snarl.

“Now get your ass back there. You’re late for your appointment.” Yeosang could only smile cheekily before he followed Yunho round the back.

You began to walk around the parlour, admiring the tattoo designs on the wall while Seonghwa and Hongjoong were just chatting by the counter. You were too engrossed in the tattoo designs that you completely missed the way two males just left one of the back rooms. One was a client and one was a piercing artist by the name of San who was also their friend.

You also missed the way Seonghwa pointed to you as he told San about why he and Yeosang came here today, earning a small cheeky smirk from the younger boy. You were just staring at the beautiful mermaid design when someone’s hand on your back made you jump.

It was just Seonghwa.

“Y/N, come meet another friend of ours. This is San. He’s in-charge of the piercings.” The said boy extended his hand out to you, making you shake it politely before saying hello. He too was pretty cute. Unlike Hongjoong who had two full tattoo sleeves, San was pretty clean on the skin except one or two small tattoos on his neck and inner bicep.

However, his piercings were prominent. He had a number of them on each ear, along with an eyebrow piercing on the right side and a tongue piercing.

You thought Seonghwa and Yeosang were cute. You clearly haven't seen their friends.

Right after you had just let go of San’s hand, a voice coming closer and closer to the main area made you turn your head towards the back rooms. Only to see a buff man maybe in his late 20s leave the back room. However, the person who left after him was the reason why your heart almost leaped out of your chest.

You couldn’t help but stare at him as you felt yourself stumble back a step. Crashing into Seonghwa slightly.

You watched as he went round the back of the counter to toss the tray of equipment into the sink before turning to Hongjoong and telling him the amount to charge the man.

After the man had taken the change and left, that’s when San spoke up brightly. His energy was definitely not at your level.

“Oh yah! Seonghwa hyung and Yeosang finally brought their friend over to meet us!” The individual turned off the tap and grabbed a clean cloth from the counter, only to turn around. That’s when his eyes got locked on yours. He paused his movements for a split second before returning his gesture.

But the disappointment on your face didn’t go unnoticed by him when all he did was nod his head towards you and simply turned back to go to the back room.

“Sorry about him. He can be a little rough with new people. His name is Wooyoung by the way.” San said. You clearly recognized him. His name felt all too familiar on your tongue.

Why did he react that way? Did he really not recognize you? Is he the Wooyoung from your childhood?

All these questions began to flood your train of thoughts as Yeosang and Yunho came back out laughing at something the other said. Just then, Seonghwa gently snakes his arm around your waist only to whisper in your ear.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

You blinked away from the back room that Wooyoung just entered only to nod. But you knew Seonghwa well enough to know that he didn’t buy your bullshit, yet he decided not to question any further.

A few minutes later, two more boys came in only for you to find out that they were also friends with the boys and their names were Mingi and Jongho.

The 9 of you ended up hanging out at the parlour, while you managed to warm up to San, Hongjoong and Yunho almost immediately thanks to their outgoing characters. You were seated on the couch’s armrest with your legs crossed over the other politely to cover your private area when Yeosang asked if they wanted to go grab dinner after the shop closes in an hour's time.

They all agreed to it, only for a new customer to enter. San immediately got up to attend to them who wanted piercings.

You noticed his absence in the circle when you glanced over to the back room. The boys’ voices were completely muffled in your ears as you couldn’t tear your focus off the male standing in the back room alone, looking busy.

He was wearing a plain black muscle tank. His biceps in perfect display, his right arm sleeve decorated with the most prettiest tattoo designs, his ear piercings, the left eyebrow slit and a piercing. He was hot.

You didn’t know how long you were staring, until he turned his head and caught you. With that, you quickly turned your head away in hopes that he wouldn’t think you’re a creep.

After they closed up the shop, the 9 of you dispersed to your respective vehicles to meet up at the dinner spot. You watched him carefully as Wooyoung approached the sports bike that was parked a few cars down from Seonghwa’s car. You cursed at yourself internally for out rightly checking him out when in reality, you might just be a stranger to him.

Nevertheless, you went for dinner and you bonded with the rest of them pretty quickly. Minus Wooyoung of course. That night, Seonghwa added you to their group chat and immediately, they welcomed you warmly.

Days became months ever since the rest of them first met you. The boys have been including you to most of their hangouts even if it just consists of them chilling at the parlour. However, not much has changed between you and Wooyoung. You knew you couldn’t force him to remember you so you avoided that. And he knew he couldn’t just outrightly tell you the truth cause it's been years since he last properly talked to you.

So he feels slightly embarrassed to actually talk to you and get close to you again. Today was no different as you all hung out at the mall for the day. You wore a blue floral off shoulder dress that stops at your mid thighs. You paired your outfit with a white converse, and your hair left in a straight wavy look.

Seonghwa picked you up as usual, only to compliment you on your look.

You arrived at the mall a few minutes before some of them, with Yeosang, Hongjoong and San already there. You were just leaning against the wall in between Yeosang and San, only to rest your head on Yeosang’s arm.

You were just talking to Hongjoong when you heard Yeosang call out to some familiar names. You lifted your head off his arm, only to see the remaining four boys walking up to you.

That’s when you took notice of Wooyoung’s outfit. He wore a white shirt with a black leather jacket, a white denim skinny jeans and a pair of Nikes. Damn he looked good. You looked away before he felt uncomfortable, only to bury yourself against Yeosang’s side.

You ignored his teasing, saying you were just tired when he knew that wasn’t the truth. They walked around the mall for a bit when they stood on the escalator one after another.

You were standing a few steps above Wooyoung, just talking to Jongho when he noticed a group of young boys peeking under your dress’ skirt from three steps below. But both Jongho and you didn’t notice this. He climbed up the steps, walking past the boys only to quickly come up behind you and used his body to shield your dignity from them.

But what made you jump was when you felt someone snake an arm around your waist from behind. You whipped your head around, ready to curse but your eyes melted when you saw him.

“Relax. The boys behind me were peeking under your skirt so I blocked them for you.” Wooyoung said softly, making you glance past his shoulder to see a group of young boys looking fairly annoyed at Wooyoung.

With that being said, you looked back at Wooyoung only to smile softly and said, “Thank you.”

Wooyoung could feel his heart skip a beat as they arrived on the top floor. What you thought he would let go of your waist, you were proven wrong. Wooyoung kept his arm around your waist, keeping it there naturally and it surprised you.

What you did realize is the way he kept looking back so you decided to do the same. You saw the same boys trailing behind you and this made you slightly uncomfortable.

You looked at Wooyoung who was already staring at you. Just then, you noticed the inner corner of his lips curving up into a smile.

You mimicked his expression as he playfully bopped your nose with his own, making you giggle.

Neither of you realized where you were going until the rest of them stopped in front of a restaurant. That’s when Wooyoung finally pulled away from you and you immediately missed his touch. Since that day, you couldn’t forget the way he hugged your waist, protecting you from potential harassment.

That was enough to make your heart melt even more for him. All you needed to know now is if he really doesn’t remember you or if he’s just been pretending this whole time.

It has been a month since that incident at the mall. Although Jongho was the only one who saw the small interaction between you and Wooyoung, he wasn’t one to rat people out. With that being said, nobody else except Jongho actually saw Wooyoung holding you by your waist that day.

It was currently a Saturday late afternoon and the boys invited you to hangout at Chan’s shared apartment with San and Wooyoung.

Since you were from your girls day out with Jennie, Lisa and Yeri, you were wearing a white skater skirt with a baby blue bralette that acts as a crop top for you. Your outfit was definitely more on the explicit side but it was just the boys right? They wouldn’t mind? Would they?

You arrived at their doorstep, only to be greeted by San who immediately gave you a one over, “Woah…” San said under his breath, making you realise that maybe this outfit was a bit too much.

“My outfit’s too provocative isn’t it?” You asked, making the boy panic. “What?! No! No! You look pretty, Y/N. Even hot to be honest. It’s just… like you said, a little provocative but I love it! I think you look great.” San said as he hugged you and soon dragged you in.

Suddenly, you were too shy to enter the house filled with boys and he noticed this. San chuckled as he rested a hand on your back to guide you until you were met with those in the living room. Similarly to San, everyone’s eyes were now on you, more specifically your outfit. “Woah. Since when do you own these clothes?” Seonghwa asked, making her sigh.

“I only wear these kinds of things when I’m out with my girlfriends. And I was with them, I just got lazy to head home and change. But seeing how all of you reacted, I wouldn’t mind doing it.”

Right after you ended your speech, a series of rejections came your way and it honestly baffled you.

“I just asked you about your ownership of these clothes, I never said you looked ugly in them.” Seonghwa said with a teasing smirk on his face. You scoffed as you stole a cushion from behind Mingi only to toss it in Seonghwa’s face.

However, the conversation got cut off when the halted footsteps down the hallway caught everyone’s attention.

There Wooyoung stood, in his grey sweatpants and a plain black muscle tank. His ash grey hair cutely tousled on his head as he scanned your outfit from head to toe, suddenly feeling his throat get dry and his face get hot. Since when did his childhood neighbour get this hot?

The room fell silent until Wooyoung spoke up first to get you attention.

“You look… nice.”

His simple comment made your heart melt as you thanked him shyly before putting your purse down beside Yunho on the couch and soon excused yourself to go to the bathroom. Once you were inside, you locked the door and soon stared at yourself in the mirror. You totally don’t blame them for staring but why did you feel extra warm when Wooyoung stared at you?

Fuck, this is torture.

Meanwhile in the living room, the minute you were gone, Yeosang was the first one to whisper out loud. “In the past 4 years I’ve known her, I have never once seen her in anything like that. What is she so hot for?”

“She looked really pretty just now. But I feel bad that she looked slightly uncomfortable.” Mingi said, making Wooyoung glance at the hallway.

A few minutes later, you finally left the bathroom ready to join the others when a familiar voice called for you from down the hall. You turned around to see Wooyoung poking his head out his bedroom door. He gestured for you to come over and so you did. Once you were in front of his bedroom, he carefully pulled you in before closing the door behind him.

“Wooyoung? What are we doing here?” You asked as he walked over to his dresser, only to pull out an oversized sweater before coming back to you.

“Here, wear this. Even though the rest of us really liked your outfit and we think you look really pretty in it, we do notice you being uncomfortable wearing that around us.” The room fell quiet as you stared at the sweater in his hand before looking back up at him.

“Wooyoung-” He cut you off by gently placing the sweater in your hands, making you smile.

“Thank you.”

He smiled softly at you as he watched you put the sweater over your head. It definitely was a bit too big on you but you loved it. Especially since it had a strong scent of him. After you were done, you spoke up saying, “Let’s go.” However, before you could reach for the door handle, Wooyoung stops you by sliding an arm around your waist.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you turned around to face him. You thought he would say something but what happened next made your heart skip a beat.

Wooyoung simply pressed his lips on your softly, his eyes fluttered shut as he moved his lips against yours. You were quick to do the same, hands finding their way up his chest and around his neck. You felt him hug you, deepening the kiss when you opened your mouth for him. Wooyoung pulled away for a brief second only to kiss you again. It was a kiss that he had been longing for, and he was finally getting it.

He soon pulled away, heavy breaths mingled together as you pressed your foreheads against one another. The room fell silent, your fingertips tracing down his neck before you spoke up.

“You remember who I am, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Then why… why did you act like you didn’t know me?” Wooyoung let out a soft sigh before he spoke up.

“I’m really sorry. I just thought you would have forgotten me since I treated you awfully since my dad became an addict… I’m so sorry Y/N.” Wooyoung whispered against your lips, making you cup his face.

“Shh, it’s okay… I forgive you.” You said as you kissed the tip of his nose, only for him to hug you. He buried his face in your neck, feeling him plant soft kisses onto your skin. You both stayed like that for a while, just embracing each other after all these years. You were the first to pull away, only to kiss him again.

“Promise me you’ll never leave me again.”

“I promise.”

You smiled as he pecked your lips and soon, both of you came back out to join the others. They asked you where you were, only for you to say you had a quick catch up session with Wooyoung. That stirred some confusion from them but they didn’t question any further. They also didn’t comment on the sweater that was now covering your body.

A few hours later, you were all playing a game of truth or dare as you sat in between Mingi and Wooyoung. The bottle stopped at you, making you choose dare over truth. “I dare you to kiss someone in this room right now.” You found yourself smirking as you shrugged your shoulders confidently.

“Easy.”

Without further ado, you didn’t even need to think as you turned to your left and kissed Wooyoung with a smile gracing over your lips. The gasps didn’t go unheard by you and Wooyoung but you couldn’t help but focus on your childhood neighbour.

Wooyoung reaches up to hold your face gently as the other hand snakes around your waist to pull you closer. After you pulled away with a soft giggle, Yeosang couldn’t help but ask out of curiosity, “Since when are you two close?”

“Actually, he was my childhood neighbour.” That’s when Hongjoong spoke up loudly in shock.

“She’s the one you’ve been telling me about?! I told you she would cross paths with you again and things would get better!” You turned to Wooyoung, only to see his ears turn red.

You found out that he had told Hongjoong everything about you and his friendship with you except for your name. You couldn’t help but laugh as Wooyoung hugged your side before kissing your cheek. This was such an endearing side of him, something you would never expect coming from a scary looking boy with two full sleeve tattoos.

Nevertheless, you were happy things got resolved between you and him.

~~~

#ateez scenarios #ateez wooyoung #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez wooyoung fluff #ateez wooyoung scenarios #atz wooyoung #atz x reader #atz wooyoung fluff #atz wooyoung scenarios

185 notes · View notes

clairdelunelove · 3 years

Text

AOT Valentine’s Day Headcanons

eren jaeger x reader, jean kirschstein x reader, armin arlert x reader, levi ackerman x reader, erwin smith x reader, porco galliard x reader, genderneutral!reader

genre: insane amounts of fluff, comfort

warnings: slight cursing, insane amounts of fluff

synopsis: small scenarios of what some aot boys would do for you during valentine’s day.

a.n: enjoy the lovely day with some of these cuties! remember to take care of yourselves and know you’re all loved <3

eren jaeger

this man would definitely try to cook a nice dinner for you

especially if you’re having a hard week

expect him to be researching the best recipe a couple days beforehand

“what are you doing, eren?”

he’ll glance up and nonchalantly mutter, “nothing, babe” while scrolling through fancy recipes

on valentine’s day it’s his time to shine

waits for you to leave the house and go to work before leaving to pick up the necessary ingredients

gets in a verbal argument with a store clerk if he doesn’t find the exact name of what he’s searching for

“are you deaf? I said I needed a bag of shrimp”

“and we have that, sir. you said you needed a bag of prawns right?”

“it’s shrimp! how many goddamn times do I need to repeat myself?”

gets home with bags full of groceries and gets to work

slowly chops all the vegetables and curses when he nicks his finger with the edge of the knife

puts too much oil in the frying pan and tosses everything in there

scrolls through his phone while waiting

spends fifteen minutes ogling at his screensaver

of course it’s a pic of you

ends up burning everything he made

orders takeout, plates it real nice, and attempts to brush off that it was his cooking once you’re home

“this is so good, babe!” you exclaim while lifting the fork to your mouth, “tastes like the order we usually get at that one French restaurant.”

“glad you like it, baby”

cue his nervous sweating

jean kirschstein

simp energy!

makes previous reservations to take a painting class with you

tells you to dress warm before the two of you head out

so! happy!

has the goofiest smile on the actual date

tucks your hand in his pocket while walking to the art studio

spends the whole time checking over at your easel

audibly approves of everything you do, even if you’re drawing a line

“wow, it looks great sweetheart”

scrunches up his brows while concentrating

listens to the art instructor say to paint something that they love

takes it quite literally

paints you

tries to get each pretty feature about you

swipes his hand over his cheek and gets paint on it

literally sweats out of pure focus and won’t want to leave until he’s done

“jean, babe, we gotta go”

“five more minutes please. almost done”

five min turns into five hours

jean’s painting of you is surprisingly amazing and he’s even lowkey impressed

has a random stranger take a pic of you and him together while holding up the paintings

treats you to an expensive restaurant afterwards and pays

full stomachs = happy couple

pulls you close while walking through the downtown streets

whispers cheeky pickup lines into your ear and presses a kiss against your head

best. day. ever.

connie springer

did you say it was valentine’s day?

shit

definitely forgets about the whole holiday but is quick enough to put something together for you

you both aren’t super invested in sappy holidays but connie tries each time

the morning of, he’ll run to the nearest shops and try to pick out a bouquet of flowers for you

everything’s sold out

will curse his luck and literally sprint out of there

kicks himself for not planning in advance as he’s walking up the driveway of your house

notices the neighbor’s beautiful flowers

idea!

he will dash through each neighbor’s yard and pick their flowers so a mismatched bouquet rests in his hand

“happy valentine’s day, my favorite goofball!”

“thanks, babe,” your wide eyes stare at the uncoordinated bouquet in your hands, “I love it”

cue the mud that falls to the floorboards

you scold connie about the dirt that’s still stuck on the roots since it dirties the floors

he’ll take you out to watch a comedy show too!

whole evening of laughter while his arm is wrapped around your shoulder

you were both glowing in happiness (along with having a sore stomach) afterwards

wraps his sweater around you since the evening was getting chilly

drives you home and gives you the sweetest kiss

he’ll pull away with a, “wow” while being completely dazed out

let’s you take his jacket home and texts you corny jokes the whole night

Maro Bott

desperately! wants you to be his valentine

almost cries tears of joy when you accept his confession which only makes you confused

“Marco, sweetie, we’ve been dating for two years”

“doesn’t matter, love”

shows up extra early with a bouquet of roses

“happy valentine’s day!”

expect him to walk inside the house and look through all your cabinets for a vase

helps you pick out an outfit because he has the “perfect date” planned

causes you to be wrapped in bundles of clothing

won’t tell you where he’s taking you once the two of you are in the car

“an,” you tilt your head and albeit a bit puzzled, “ice rink?”

“time for some ice skating!”

laces up your skates before he even does his own so he makes sure it’s secure

will ask multiple times if your feet are comfortable

once he has his skates on, it’s game over

can’t walk without holding onto your hand for a couple moments

“this is harder than I thought,” he confesses with a nervous grin

gets on the ice and falls

hard

the thump causes everyone to look at the two of you and he only responds with, “oh look (Y/n)! I’ve fallen for you! Get it?”

undoubtedly makes you giggle and onlookers awe

gets the hang of ice skating and teaches you how if you’re scared of falling

makes excuses to pull you close and sweetly kiss your cheek

“it’s part of the learning process”

the day was as sweet as Marco is

Armin Arlert

bookstore date!

will definitely plan in advance because he wants everything to be perfect

expect a good morning text that’s a whole paragraph long <3

still asks you, “can I be your valentine?” even if you are both dating

plan on wearing matching outfits for the day

light academia style of white turtlenecks, beige pants, and cardigans

will take a selfie with you and set it as his lock screen so he can awe at it every second

“you’re breathtaking”

intertwines your fingers with his when you’re holding hands

swings it while walking

lots of attention once the two of you step inside the bookstore

constant whispering about the matching outfits and innocent affection

he’ll lead you to the back of the store and spend the entire day there

sits on the floor, leaning against the wooden bookcase, and stroking your hair while you’re laying on his lap

silence = peace

piles of books around you both

“how’s the plot, love?”

will ask that when his head is resting on your thigh and inwardly loves how comfy you are

buys all the books you want and waves away your credit card when you try to pay

“consider it repayment for spending the day with me”

holds the tote bag of books the whole time despite it being heavy

stops by the cafe to buy cups of hot chocolate

notices a small amount of whipped cream on the corner of your mouth

chuckles and stops to literally lean down to press his lips against yours in order to wipe it off

whispers, “you’re so lovely, angel”

both of you will pull away with flushed faces and lovesick smiles

Levi Ackerman

“what’s this for, brat?”

frowns once he opens his front door and you’re standing there with a wide grin

“happy valentine’s day, dear! I wanted to watch a movie then-”

“yeah, yeah”

lets you in anyways

takes the large basket full of movies, snacks, and skincare out of your hands

sets it on the kitchen counter and you immediately pop a bag of popcorn into the microwave

your movements are quick as you’re scurrying around the kitchen retrieving bowls, plates, and napkins

levi watches you from the couch, inwardly pleased that you’re able to memorize the layout of his house since you’ve been over so many times

he’d never tell a soul though

movies with levi!

he won’t pay attention to the movie at all but still comments film mistakes

“he wasn’t even wearing that sweater in the previous scene”

“levi, honey, who even pays attention to that”

“people with eyes”

allows you to cuddle close to him but his fingers itch to bring you even closer

audibly groans when you move away to fetch something

“self care time!” you exclaim while holding up a pack of face masks

will not let you put one on him once he sees how silly they look

“please?”

“no,” he states, “they look fucking ridiculous”

does it anyways once your puppy dog eyes are on display

curses as you slick his hair back and put one on him

hates it and voices his opinion

but at the end of the day, he agrees with the saying, ‘happy wife, happy life’

and oh yes, you were going to be his wife one day

Erwin Smith

imagine sleeping in and waking up to breakfast in bed

pancakes, waffles, bagels, raspberry streusel muffins

and everything’s like

in the shape of a heart <3

turns on some classical, romance music

sweet candles that smell like vanilla = burning

that’s what this man would do

wakes up super early

determined to whip everything up pronto

folded all the laundry, cleaned the dishes, vacuumed the house

amazing

10/10 gentleman

“good morning, love”

edges the bedroom door open with his shoulder while holding a tray of delicious food

definitely still in casual wear clothes

a sweater and grey joggers that he wore to sleep

loves the smile on your face

says “happy valentine’s day” and presses a kiss on the back of your hand

sits on the edge of the bed while you eat

chuckles when you feed him

lets you though

brushes your hair back each time you take a bite to eat

amusingly shakes his head whenever you over-exaggerate a hum in delight

pleased smirks!

definitely tried to swipe whip cream over your cheek just to hear you giggle

it’s beautiful

watches the way the sunlight pours through the window and creates a glow on your face

serenity, calmness, and adoration

discreetly pinches himself to make sure he isn’t dreaming

wouldn’t want this day to end

Porco Galliard

“you doin’ anything today or what?”

will be the first text you get from him in the early morning

after a second passes, the little dots show up to indicate he’s typing again

“nvm. lemme take you out today”

shows up to your place unannounced and immediately notices what you’re wearing

“you’re wearing that? like for real?”

“is there something wrong with it?”

notices the panic in your eyes and immediately stutters

“nah, just,” he’ll bring his hand up to swipe at his noise while avoiding your gaze, “think you’ll be cold but you can wear my jacket or whatever.”

leads you to his muscle car and opens up the passenger door for you

surprisingly chivalrous for the day

drives throughout town to pick up stuff like a blanket, picnic basket, pre-made food, drinks

pays for it, of course, because he claims he’s the better man like that

“only scummy men let their partners pay”

spends the whole day driving around, hand on your thigh, while blasting your fav songs”

rolls the windows down so other drivers look your way

will also flip off anyone that suggestively gazes at you

loves when you belt out the lyrics and eagerly want him to join your singing session

rolls his eyes, “me? singing? gross.”

will sing 100% but only if you don’t call his bluff

pulls to the side of the road and sets up a romantic picnic spot nestled in an open field

drapes his jacket over your smaller physique and only mutters, “wear it before you catch a cold”

spends the evening star gazing, letting you rest your head on his chest while his hands are folded behind his neck

carries you back to the car once you’re asleep, snaps on your seatbelt, presses a kiss on your forehead, and mumbles, “thanks for lettin’ me take you out today, idiot.”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger #eren jaeger headcanons #jean kirschstein #jean x reader #jean kirschtein headcanons #armin aot #armin arlert #armin x reader #levi ackerman #erwin smith #porco headcanons #porco galliard #connie springer #connie x reader

271 notes · View notes

nugnthopkns · 3 years

Text

it all pours out after dark

word count: 5.8k

warnings: insinuated!fem reader, cursing, mentions of alcohol (but no consumption), expressions of self doubt

recommended listening: the knife | maggie rogers

series masterpost: here

a/n: first installment of hiiapl!! very excited about what’s to come. here is some bffs/roommates to lovers with petey :))

Elias’s friendship was a welcome surprise.

You hadn’t expected much when you met the Swede – after all, you were serving at the annual Canucks charity gala and he was the rookie poised to win the Calder trophy. There were a million other things you would have rather done than spend a Saturday evening walking around in sky high stilettos and passing out flutes of champagne, but the catering company paid generously, and you needed to come up with the funds for your next tuition installment. Vancouver may be beautiful, but it’s incredibly expensive.

So you spent the night with a kilowatt smile plastered on your face, staying silent in the background and making sure no one’s glasses were ever empty. You were barely legal to handle alcohol, freshly nineteen and waiting for an opportunity to experience the city’s nightlife for yourself. There was no way you should be regulating the alcohol consumption of adults but you were doing it anyways. The tips were very generous, more than you should have probably been receiving, but you accepted them with a smile because the athletes making millions could certainly afford it.

No one paid you any attention, but you didn’t mind. The night was beginning to wear on you and the event didn’t plan on stopping for another couple of hours. You debated on what to do with your tray while you tried to work out the knots that were forming in feet from standing for so long.

“Let me hold that for you,” a gentle voice sounded from behind you.

When you turned around you were face to face with Elias Pettersson. “That won’t be necessary,” you stated, tone kind but firm. If your supervisor caught you, you would have been fired immediately.

He didn’t take no for an answer. “Please,” he urged, thick accent ringing out in the space between you. “Your feet are going to cramp. Take your shoes off for two minutes.” The English was broken, but you appreciated the sentiment. He really wanted to help.

After a little more insisting from the blonde you agreed, and he diligently stood watch to ensure you wouldn’t get in trouble. It was a relief to be out of the torturous constraint of your shoes for a few moments, and you thanked him profusely.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, a small smile on his face. Shouting erupted from some other players then, looking for him.

“You better get back before they miss you too much.” You nodded in the direction of the voices, to which he begrudgingly agreed. Elias handed you back the tray of champagne flutes before taking one for himself.

He was about to fade into the crowd when he turned to face you again. “I never caught your name,” he stated.

“It’s Y/N.”

“Elias.”

With that he disappeared into the throng of people. You never expected to hear from him again, chalking it up to a kind interaction with a stranger, but a day later he had messaged you on Instagram after searching through the countless profiles that shared your name and were located in the general Vancouver area. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you, and you became fast friends.

☼☼☼☼

That first meeting was nearly four years ago, and countless memories had been made since then. You treasure your friendship with Elias, and truthfully it’s the one you hold closest to your heart. This could be because over the years you’ve developed a small crush on the lanky blonde, but it’s a secret you’ll take to the grave. No one knows of your true feelings for Elias, and no one ever will.

“E? I’m home,” you shout into the quiet apartment, wondering if he’s home from morning skate yet.

After you completed your undergraduate degree and your lease ended, Elias insisted you move into his spare bedroom. The offer was too tempting to resist – you got to live with your best friend and continue your education in a city you adore. Moving your stuff had been a bit of a pain, but your life fit seamlessly into Elias’s. The two of you worked well as roommates, and over the past few months the space began to reflect not just Elias, but you as well. Hair ties were randomly thrown on counters and the bookshelves began to fill.

You’re setting the few groceries you picked up from the local market on the counter when he comes down the hall.

“Hi sunshine,” Elias says softly, voice riddled with sleep. He must have returned home earlier than you thought and had a quick nap.

You smile at the nickname. Elias had gifted it to you early in your friendship when you were in a terrible mood. He had meant it sarcastically at first, but it stuck. Now he hardly calls you by your name.

“How was practice?”

“Really tough,” he admits, moving behind you to place the apples in the fridge. “Coach is being hard on us because we aren’t performing well.”

You frown but hold your tongue. Your degree in sports psychology tells you that isn’t the way to improve players’ morale, but Elias doesn’t like it when you lecture him on what the Canucks staff are doing wrong. He knows things aren’t perfect within the organization and hopes desperately the situation will improve when they start winning again.

The two of you put the rest of the food away in comfortable silence and then unwind by watching numerous episodes of House. You had recently decided to give the medical drama a rewatch, and Elias’s interest was piqued by the snarky physician who always saves the day. It’s become your favourite way to relax and it seems that both of you need it today.

“How does Wilson do it?”

You’re perplexed. “Do what?”

“Put up with House,” Elias sighs. “He’s an asshole.”

Laughter tumbles from your lips. “The same way I deal with you, grumpy.”

“No,” he scoffs, tossing a pillow in your general direction. “You’re House and I’m Wilson, sunshine. Being an asshole is how you got that nickname in the first place.”

You couldn’t argue with Elias’s point – he was right. Between the two of you, you’re the one most likely to be snarky with your anger and he’s more likely to shut himself off from the rest of the world. “Fuck off,” you giggle.

When Elias crawls on top of you and drops his weight you don’t flinch. You’ve become accustomed to his casual yet spontaneous displays of physical touch, and by now the two of you can frequently be found with your limbs tangled together.

The rest of your afternoon passes in the blink of an eye. You fall asleep a few episodes in, and you assume Elias did as well because when you wake up his body is still pressed against yours. Once your eyes adjust to being awake, you notice it’s well into the evening. Your stomach rumbles and you decide you have to get up.

“E,” you say softly, not wanting to completely disrupt his rest. The season is off to a rougher start than everyone hoped for, and he hasn’t been sleeping well.

There’s no response from the boy on top of you so you try again, voice a decibel or two louder. “Elias, please let me up. I’ve gotta start dinner.”

“Mhmm,” Elias murmurs, not opening his eyes. “Or you could just stay here. You’re so warm.”

You roll your eyes. “Dude, we’ve got to eat. Come on.”

He doesn’t move. In fact, he presses more weight on you, effectively trapping you on the couch. “We can just order food in a bit,” Elias suggests. “Please just stay and nap a bit longer.”

That’s all it takes to convince you, and you let your eyes flutter shut again. In the comfort of your best friend sleep comes easy, and neither of you move far from the couch for the rest of the night.

The next few days are incredibly busy, and you don’t see Elias much. School is heating up and you’re struggling to stay afloat. In an effort to get the team to put up a few wins, the Canucks organization is holding extra practices and development workshops in between games, so Elias is barely home. When he is he’s exhausted and spends most of his free time in his room, chatting with friends at home or playing video games.

You do your best to not let the distance bother you, but not being able to have a conversation that lasts more than fifteen minutes before one of you is running out the door is wearing you down. You miss your best friend.

Elias is set to go out with some of the younger guys on the team this evening, and though he invited you, you’re in a graduate student society meeting until well after they’re supposed to be leaving. He deserves the time to unwind, but a part of you is jealous he actually gets it. Both of you have been running around like chickens with your heads cut off and it seems like Elias can finally slow down. You on the other hand cannot.

Approximately twelve million things go wrong throughout the course of the day. First, you left your lunch and wallet at home, leaving you unable to eat. Then your advisor was late to your meeting and insisted it was your fault. To top everything off, the graduate student society dismissed your proposal for more funding into public outreach programs. You really, really wanted to be at home.

The door to the apartment is unlocked upon your arrival home, which you find strange. Elias isn’t one to forget to lock it on his way out the door. Brock was terrible about remembering that sort of thing, so you assume he was the last one out. You open it with a sigh and kick off your sneakers. It has been a long day, and you’re looking forward to opening the bottle of wine you picked up with groceries last week.

It doesn’t dawn on you that Elias’s shoes are still by the door or that the living room light is on. You’re so preoccupied with getting comfortable you don’t realize you aren’t alone until you hear a voice from down the hall.

“Rough day sunshine?”

Elias is standing at the end of the hallway, staring at you intently. It’s as if he can sense the tension rolling off your shoulders.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I thought you were going out with the guys?”

He just shrugs. “Didn’t really feel like it. Besides, I knew you were having an off day because you didn’t text me on your lunch break so I wanted to be here for you.”

You nearly tear up from his words. Elias is a lot of things, and kindhearted is certainly one of them. “Go have a shower,” he insists, “And I’ll start dinner.”

“Thanks E.”

A hand comes up to ruffle your hair on his way by. “Don’t mention it.”

The two of you spend the night tucked against each other, eating pasta and telling stories. You never make it to the fridge to get that bottle of wine, but you don’t mind because during your shower Elias made hot chocolate for you both. Conversation flows into the early morning, and by the time you head to bed you can’t remember why you were upset in the first place.

☼☼☼☼

The season drags on. The Canucks still aren’t playing well, and it’s beginning to wear on Elias. He’s spending more time in his room, reviewing tape and tweaking his workout regime to achieve maximum results. You worry he’s beginning to isolate himself and that it won’t be good for his mental health.

“Do you want to go hiking tomorrow?” you ask him at dinner. The team has a rare day off, and the coaching staff want them to decompress before leaving on a long road trip.

Elias shrugs, not looking up at you as he continues to cut his vegetables. “Not really sunshine. I have some clips I need to watch.”

You sigh loud enough to make him feel bad, and his eyes meet yours. “E, you need a break. Let’s go to that trail you like and just relax for a while. I’ll pack a lunch and we can just go slow.”

Whether or not he’s just appeasing you or genuinely wants to go you aren’t sure, but Elias agrees. He places a hand on your shoulder in silent thanks before loading his plate into the dishwasher and retreating to his bedroom. You take it as a victory, however small, and are glad he didn’t completely shut down the idea. The rest of the night is quiet, with you finishing a book and falling asleep on the couch.

Neither of you are quick to rise in the morning but it doesn’t matter. There’s no timeline for your upcoming adventure so long as you’re back before dark. You make it to the kitchen before Elias and take it upon yourself to make breakfast for the two of you. It’s nothing fancy, just oatmeal, but your best friend appreciates it when he finally makes an appearance. Elias looks like he slept for a maximum of three hours, and you have half a mind to tell him you’ll take a rain cheque, but you know he needs a change of pace.

The two of you chat idly throughout the meal but it isn’t tense or awkward. Neither of you are completely awake, and both like time to reflect in the morning. It’s nearly an hour later when you meet Elias at the door. You grab your keys, much to his surprise.

“What?” you shrug.

Elias cocks a brow in your direction. “You hate driving on the highway.”

He’s right – you have no issues navigating the traffic riddled streets of Vancouver, but as soon as you get out of the city and onto the freeway you freeze up.

“Gotta get over my fear at some point. Come on superstar.”

There’s no complaint from Elias, and you suspect he’s secretly relieved. Driving isn’t his strong suit either but you know he does it so you don’t have to. The ride is quiet, and once you hit the city limits the car feels lighter, as though Elias left all his stress behind. Some lo-fi playlist trickles through the speakers as you get closer to your destination. It isn’t your kind of music, or Elias’s for that matter, and you’re pretty sure Brock gave him the link. The parking lot is empty when you arrive, and you back into a spot with ease.

Usually Elias would comment on your driving quirk, teasing you because ‘no one under the age of sixty-five backs into a parking space’, but he’s quiet. You wonder if he even noticed. Nerves about the possibility of a far-away look in Elias’s eyes subside when he scrambles to get out of the car.

“First one to the top wins,” he shouts, metres ahead of you as you double check to make sure the car is locked. You let out a full laugh but don’t try to catch up – he’s going to win anyway so you might as well enjoy yourself.

The hike does wonder for Elias. Just being outside, in the fresh air that doesn’t hold any expectation of who he should be, is enough to lighten his mood considerably. You trail behind him the entire time, allowing yourself to marvel at his beauty from afar. The longer you live with Elias, the harder it’s becoming to mask your feelings. A couple of times he pauses to wait for you to catch up, and once at the top of the small summit he lifts you into the air in triumph.

“Alright E, put me down,” you giggle, squirming out of his grip. He obliges and places you back onto the rocky surface as though his previous act was the easiest thing in the world.

The two of you marvel at the view from the top of the mountain for a bit longer before making the trek back down to the car. Halfway down the trail you fall behind significantly, exhausted from not only hiking up a mountain, but worrying about Elias and stressing over some school deadlines that are rapidly approaching. Elias slows his steps so you can catch up, and insists you jump up to piggy-back the rest of the way. You try to protest but he isn’t having it. Eventually you give in and doze off with your face tucked into the crook of his neck.

You let Elias drive home, too worn out to think about the traffic you’ll inevitably hit. When you get home you allow him to tuck you into bed, and don’t tease him when presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

The road trip both flies by and drags on. At home, you're busy with school, work, and taking care of Brock’s dogs. Coolie and Milo have become a welcome responsibility, and truthfully you love having them around. They make the absence of Elias less apparent. Each night you curl up on the couch, a dog on either side, and watch the game intently. The Canucks seem to be on the up, winning the first three games with ease. It’s like something has clicked between them and on-ice communication is no longer a problem. However, that changes quickly, and they lose the entire back half of the trip.

You do your best to comfort Elias from afar – sending him periodic text messages of encouragement, random memes you find on instagram, and calling after every game. The streak of misfortune is getting to him, and it’s beginning to affect his play. He adds only one point the entire trip, an assist that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things since they were blown out of the water. When you talk to him it’s easy to hear how upset he is, and you imagine he’s hearing a lot worse than what you’re telling him from the coaching staff. It makes your blood boil – how they’re treating him – but you’re helpless. Nothing you can say will undo the potential damage.

The Canucks get back late, and you’re tucked into bed with the dogs, nearly asleep. You’ll return Brock’ pets in the morning. If you hadn’t had a disastrous meeting with your advisor you would’ve met them at the airport, seeing as it’s Friday and you often don’t go to bed until well into the morning, but your body is thoroughly exhausted.

You don’t hear the door open and are only alerted to a new presence because the dogs perk their ears. Footsteps echo through the silent apartment, and you think you can hear Elias grumbling in Swedish. He makes no attempt to find you so you assume he thinks you’re sleeping. You should be. Up until three minutes ago you were on the verge of sleep, but now you wait with baited breath to see if you can hear any indicators to Elias’s mood.

A door closes and seconds later the shower turns on, so you assume he’s feeling alright. Most certainly not great, but well enough to maintain his normal routine. You don’t try to move, knowing you’ll talk to him in the morning, and finally allow yourself to commit to sleep. There’s a few minutes of bliss where you’re almost unconscious, but your slumber is disrupted by a quiet knock at your door.

“Sunshine?”

Elias’s voice sounds like a different type of exhaustion that you’ve never heard, and you know right then that you won’t deny him entry to your room.

“I’m awake E,” you mumble, praying he can hear you because you spoke so softly. The door creaks open and you can just make out his facial features in the dark.

Standing tentatively in the doorway, Elias looks at you with tear-rimmed eyes. “Y/N, I think I’m going to get benched.”

☼☼☼☼

His suspicions were, unfortunately, right. The decision to bench Elias had apparently been made on the plane ride home, but he wasn’t informed until the team meeting after practice the next morning. You knew something bad had happened because when he came home there was no conversation. He slipped through the door like a ghost and disappeared into his room. You knew better than to go after him right away – Elias is the type of person who needs to process his emotions alone before sharing them with others.

You busy yourself with editing the chunk of your thesis proposal that has occupied your brain for the past few weeks. It’s getting closer to the end of your first year of graduate school, and you need to get approval for your topic soon. You hope to research the effects of locker room speech on athletes’ mental health. The focus group will be the Vancouver Whitecaps, and you’re excited to work with them. Your advisor has some personal connections and pulled a few strings to get you the gig and you’re extremely thankful.

An hour or two passes before Elias pads his way into the main living area. Wordlessly he flops onto the couch and holds his arms up in the air. You can read Elias like a book – you know he wants you to stop working and lie on top of him. The action brings him comfort, which he desperately needs in this moment, so you don’t have an issue with it. On your way over you grab a banana from the fruit bowl and offer it to him. He takes it, but sets it gently on the coffee table.

Once you’re settled, Elias wraps his arms around your body, holding you to him like he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers otherwise. You absentmindedly trace patterns on his forearms for a while, letting the silence soothe him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

It’s a shot in the dark, you know, but you try anyway. Elias doesn’t answer, instead asking you what you did while he was gone. You indulge him, knowing it’s the only way to take his mind off the heartache, and narrate the menial chores you did in painstaking detail. It seems to help, and eventually Elias brings his own anecdotes into the conversation, telling you something dumb Brock had whispered in his ear at practice.

Eventually Elias has to get ready to go to the rink. Though he isn’t playing he’s expected to be there, dressed sharply and watching from the press box. You help him as best you can – ironing his favourite tie and filling his lucky mug with just the right amount of coffee.

He gives you a short hug in thanks before bending down to tie his dress shoes.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” you ask. “I can easily get a press pass and we could sit together.”

Elias shakes his head. “You have work to get done. I’ll be fine sunshine,” he says, doing his best to convince himself along with you that everything will be alright.

You watch him open the door and gingerly blow him a kiss as he turns to wave goodbye. It’s a silly ritual the two of you started a few years ago, before you’d moved in with Elias. He insisted you spend time with him before each home game, which meant you wound up cooking dinner and making sure he drank enough water. To annoy him you started blowing him kisses as he left, and the tradition continued once his place became yours. Elias catches it with his left hand and blows one back.

Not much work gets done while Elias is gone. You’re too worried about him to focus on your proposal and end up with your eyes glued to the television as you watch the game. The Canucks desperately need a win, something you hope they can get so your best friend can be put back into the lineup. Your eyes zero on Elias every time the camera pans to him sitting in the rafters, and your heart breaks each time you see the defeated look in his eyes. It seems to have worsened since he left home.

The game does not go well for the Canucks. It’s as if the team isn’t communicating with one another on the ice, and a lot of passes don’t connect. Shots aren’t on goal either – you know Elias is fuming from within the press box. He feels responsible for the team’s deterioration even though he isn’t playing. You watch the rest of the game with furrowed brows and think of ways you could support Elias.

After sharing a space with him for almost an entire trip around the sun, you know Elias doesn’t like ‘grand’ gestures. He’ll hate if you draw him a bath, and besides, that’s not something roommates or best friends do for each other. That’s strictly reserved for romantic partners – something you’re sure you will never be to Elias. Ordering food is out of the question because he refuses to eat after nine-thirty, and sure it’ll be past ten before he walks through the door. You settle on warming up his favourite blanket in the dryer and making the both of you a cup of tea. If he wants to take them into his room to spend time alone and decompress that will be okay with you.

Your phone chimes from its resting place on the kitchen counter. Wondering if it’s a friend wanting an explanation to Elias’s absence from the game, you grumble on your way to the device. The notification is from Elias himself, and you open it with baited breath. You know he’s devastated and pray he’s only letting you know he’s on his way home, not sharing bad news.

Heading out now. Probably going to get stuck in traffic, got any sad song recommendations?

The message makes your heart break, but you respond with a playlist link that features your favourite songs to cry to. A short message is tacked on to the end to let him know you’re always ready to support him.

Hopefully this fits the mood. I’m here for you.

Elias’s response fills you with a small bit of hope.

I know.

You set your plan into motion, and finish pouring the boiling tea into your favourite mugs as the door opens.

“Hey,” you say tentatively, not sure what Elias’s mood will be like now that he doesn’t have to have his guard up. “I made you a cup of tea and there’s a blanket in the dryer that should still be pretty warm.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles, but it doesn’t make his words any less sincere. You can tell Elias is drained in every sense of the word by looking at him, and you decide you aren’t going to push him to talk tonight. The communication can come a bit later.

The blonde trudges down the hallway to the small room where you keep the laundry and reappears moments later wrapped in the plush navy blanket you had prepared for him. Elias doesn’t even bother to change, too exhausted to get out of his suit. You blow some of the steam away from his mug before picking it up and padding over to where he’s sitting on the couch. Elias takes the mug gratefully, and tries to smile at you in thanks. It comes out more like a grimace.

It’s silent as the two of you sit side by side, staring out the large window at Vancouver’s skyline. The absence of noise isn’t as unsettling as you feared but it still puts you on edge. You can tell Elias’s emotions are beginning to boil over, and you aren’t sure what to do about it.

“It’s my fault,” he says, voice small and fragile.

When you turn your head to see him, you’re met with two ice blue eyes brimming with tears. Your heart breaks for what feels like the hundredth time that night. “Elias, listen to me,” you urge, grasping his hands in yours. “The game wasn’t your fault. You not being on the ice did not cause the team to lose.”

Elias scoffs and rolls his eyes. For a split-second, hurt seeps into your bones, but you dispel it because you know he’s upset and didn’t mean to be so abrasive.

“Not the game!” he shouts, anger clearly winning the mental battle of what emotion to present. “The entire fucking season. We’ve played like shit all year and it’s my fucking fault.”

“Elias,” you say as calmly as possible, knowing it’s important for one of you to be rational. “You’ve consistently put up points all season, and you’re only going through a short dry spell. You pick up the slack where needed and try your hardest to succeed. You’re a damn good teammate and the best hockey player I know. Please don’t be so hard on yourself.”

It’s then he breaks, collapsing into your wide open arms and sobbing. You hold him close to your chest, afraid that if you let him go he’ll disappear in front of your eyes. The sounds of his ragged breathing and your gentle encouragement bounce off the walls until all you can focus on is his heart rate returning to something in the ballpark of normal. Elias cries for an unknown amount of time and you don’t even bother to calculate it. He needed to let everything go – hopefully he can now turn the page on the past couple of months.

When he seems like he’ll respond again, you speak. “I know they put a lot of pressure on you, and I know that you’re a professional athlete, but what they’re doing to you isn’t right. E, you don’t deserve to feel like this, regardless of how you’re playing or where the team is in the standings.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” Elias hiccups. “Everything has become a lot lately, and it keeps piling up. It’s affecting my play, and I just want the team to be successful. I want to be successful.”

You wrap your arms around him tighter and card your hands through his hair. “You are successful, and don’t you dare let anyone tell you otherwise. I’m always available to talk, but if you’d like I can book you an appointment at the clinic and you can talk to someone who’s actually qualified.”

“You’re so close to being fully qualified,” he encourages, always wanting to make sure you matter too. “But that would be really nice. Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

That phrase had first confused Elias when you first directed it towards him, but he now understands it’s your way of saying ‘Of course. I’d do anything for you’. You rarely use the phrase with anyone else, and it makes him feel special inside.

Eventually you untangle your limbs from Elias’s, getting up to refill your mugs and insisting he change into clothing that’s more comfortable. He’s gone a lot longer from the couch than you are, and you begin to worry he won’t be reappearing. The creaking of a hinge wrangles you free from your thoughts. Elias pads back into the living room, dressed in a pair of ridiculously patterned pyjamas you had bought him two Christmases ago.

“Hey,” he practically whispers. “Can I tell you something?”

You do your best to keep the alarm you feel from appearing on your face. After the conversation you just had, his mind could be going in a million different directions. “Always,” you reply, volume matching his.

“If it weren’t for you, I don’t know if I’d still be playing hockey.” You make a sound of protest, but Elias doesn’t let you form it into a thought. “I’m dead serious. The night we met? I was a wreck. Sure, I was in the middle of a rookie season most players dream of, but I was so miserable. I cried every night on the way home from the rink and felt completely alone. You were the first person in Vancouver that didn’t expect anything of me, that still doesn’t. I’m so fucking thankful for you. I love you.”

Tears flow freely from your eyes and you raise the sleeve of your sweater to wipe them away. Elias isn’t one for heartfelt confessions – that’s much more your style. He shows his appreciation through random acts of kindness, so you deeply treasure his words.

“I love you too E.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand,” he insists. “I really love you. I don’t mean it platonically, and I never have.”

You’re sufficiently shocked. “Don’t say something you don’t mean,” you mumble, pushing off the couch to go hide in your room.

It’s Elias’s turn to grab your hand. His grip is gentle but still firm enough to let you know he isn’t going to drop the conversation.

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?”

“Because,” you sigh, “You’re Elias fucking Pettersson. You’re the star centre of an NHL team and there’s a million other people better suited for you than me! Sure, I might be head over heels for you but we aren’t on the same level. I’m your best friend E, and that’s okay. I can live with that. What I can’t live with is you letting emotion get the better of you and confessing something that isn’t true. You’re grateful for my support, and I think we should just leave it at that.”

He shakes his head fervently. “This isn’t a spur of the moment decision Y/N,” Elias says. “I’ve been debating telling you for months, but the season kind of derailed my plans and got in the way. I love you.”

Before you can process the gravity of his words, Elias is pressing his lips to yours in an effort to show just how sincere he is. You falter for a split-second, shocked that this isn’t a dream – your best friend, who you’ve had a crush on for years, is in love with you and you’re in the process of kissing him – but you recover quickly. Kissing Elias feels like a long awaited homecoming. It’s as though you’ve found true peace, and nothing will ever be as good as your lips connecting. You lose yourself in him quite easily, and only focus to your surroundings when he pulls away to look in your eyes.

“So,” Elias sheepishly tucks a misplaced strand of hair behind your ear. “Think I could take you out, like on an actual date?”

You beam at him, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss to his lips. “That can most certainly be arranged.”

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales @kiedhara @tortito @boqvistsbabe @iwantahockeyhimbo if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

#god i want to be petey's roommate turned lover so bad #elias pettersson imagine #elias pettersson x reader #elias pettersson fic #vancouver canucks imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #cwrites #hiiapl

229 notes · View notes

yoonia · 4 years

Text

[Teaser] Blurred Lines

➬ Title | Blurred Lines

➬ Pairings | Kim Seokjin x reader

➬ Genre | Smut, Sexual Tension!au, Teacher!Jin, Teacher!reader, Tattooed Biker!Jin

➬ Summary | A new place to live, a new job, a new beginning. Six months have passed and everything has been going well for you in starting over. The warm welcome from your students and peers have quickly made you feel at home, yet you still long to have one calm day where you wouldn’t have to walk into the school with a heavy weight on your shoulders and the air thick with tension. Blame it on him—the strict English teacher who keeps giving you cold shoulders no matter how many times you try to play nice. One night out with your girls and a drunken dare ultimately lead you to uncover what he’s been trying to hide. People do say that the quiet ones always keep the biggest secret.

↳ Ratings | +18 / M for Mature

↳ Warning | Slow burn, mutual pinning, mention of alcohol consumption, hard dom!Jin, bondage, big cock!seokjin, dirty talk, mild degradation, cum play, creampie, tattoos and dick piercing, idk I might add more as I write this

↳ Estimated word count | 10k-15k words

↳ Estimated posting date | Dec 2nd, 2020 Dec 4th/5th, 2020

↳ Excerpt

“I’m not so sure about this,” you complain as your two friends barge in through the front entrance of the bar. Though you know that you are losing the fight when they keep pulling you along with them and you have no other choice but to give in when the drinks you had taken so far slowly begin to sink in their claws in you.

Holli wraps her arm around yours so she can drag you with her. “Oh, come on. Our goal tonight is to try on as many bars as we could get and none that we’ve been into looks like this one.”

Of course, they haven’t, since none of the bars you went to had looked anything like a bikers’s bar. And even under the state of tipsiness, you can still recognise this place as the one that you would usually avoid whenever you walk past down this road.

Both of your girls seem like an expert as they wave through the crowd, heading straight to the seating area to find yourselves an available booth.

The bar is nearly packed wherever you look. Only a few empty seats seem to be available, even with many of the patrons standing up, either crowding the pool table, lining up at the bar counter, or gathering in groups on the dance floor. Except that nobody appears to be dancing.

God knows how Holli can manage to snatch a seat at all through all of this, but she does it with ease. Taking one last look around as you take your seat, you are glad to have gotten a few drinks in from the previous bars. You would have never been brave enough to step foot into this place if you had been sober when you came in. Wherever you look, you see big, burly men drinking beer and laughing. Their muscles stretching out from beneath their tops—some wearing tight black T-shirts, some wearing white sleeveless muscle tops, either one had made their bulging muscles look like they are about to burst out of them—their ink work peeking out from either their sleeves or their necklines, and they are all wearing matching leather vests with silver studs on the shoulders, with a logo resembling a girl sitting spread-legged on top of a motorcycle and the name “Howlers” embedded at the back of said vests. You can even see that some of the men are sporting matching tattoos on their skin, though not all of them have them on the same spots—some on their necks, their upper arms, or at the back of their hand that is holding a glass of beer.

There are a few girls hanging out with them, some are simply sitting or standing close, while others are practically clinging on their men’s muscled arm. They are all wearing matching leather vests as well, suggesting that they are either members of their motorcycle club or they are here as their lovers, though the vests look much smaller in size and are a bit tight around the chest.

Waitresses with crop tops and tight plaid miniskirts walk around the room with trays that are never empty. They are always filled with glasses of beer that are filled to the brim, almost spilling as they weave their way through the crowd. The girls would occasionally stop on the tables they are tending to in between trips, chatting along with the patrons as if they are all old friends. And even through your drunken haze, you are pleased to find that none of the men are acting like sleazy bastards that might be disrespectful around these working ladies.

Damn, even those strong drinks Holli gave you still couldn’t get you out of your proverbial teachers’ shoes, it seems?

You look up just as one of the waitresses comes to your table, all warm smile and polite greetings. The lack of judgement in her eyes as she looks between the three of you sort of eases you down a little, and the apprehension you have been feeling upon entering the foreign place slowly fades away.

“Welcome to Anchor Roadhouse, what can I get for you ladies?”

Jennie leans forward over the table to make the order. “Cold beer for three, please. Oh, and with double shots of tequila on the side for each?”

The waitress nods. “You got it. Be right back.”

“We’re going a bit over the top, aren’t we?” you ask the girls as the waitress turns to make her way towards the bar to retrieve your orders, and Jennie only shrugs.

“This place looks like way more fun than the ones we’ve been before,” she says, looking around as she admires the sight she is seeing at all corners. You would have never thought that your best friend would have a liking to tattooed, burly men, but you are finding out all the new things about your friends tonight.

“It sure is. So might as well have fun,” Holli agrees with her, before turning to glance at your way. “But most importantly, we still have someone between us who has yet to do the dare.”

Ah, yes. The dare. You refrain from rolling your eyes as you are reminded of it. You have hoped that choosing to be the last one to do it would be able to safe your ass from actually doing it, thinking that your girls would have been too drunk to notice that you are skipping it by then.

You look around again, perusing the field and making plans, when you suddenly feel the heat of someone’s piercing gaze burning on your back, only to see that nobody is actually paying attention to any of you. But the quick scan around the room has you feeling quite intimidated all the same. Just how on earth are you supposed to get one of these burly bikers to buy you a drink?

You look at all the girls around you and consciously begin to compare yourself to them. Unlike these girls who are confident enough to flaunt their skin while wearing leathers and tight tops, you feel like everyone could look your way and figure out instantly that you are no more than a mousy high school teacher. Not even the mini black dress that you are wearing—no matter how tight and revealing it is—and the killer heels could hide it from the world.

The waitress returns just as you are about to give a closer look at the bar, to find your way in on finding a lone biker to talk to, and you are surprised to see her carrying not just three glasses of beer as requested, but a whole pitcher of it.

Everyone at the table looks at one another in confusion, yet the waitress simply sets down the pitcher and the clean glasses around the table, along with the tequila shots, and sets them all up as if there is nothing wrong with the order.

“Um—I’m sorry—” you try to cut in, “We didn’t order the whole pitcher.”

The waitress keeps her smile on her face when she raises her eyebrows. “Oh, don’t worry, Doll. It’s in the house. The owner wants to welcome you girls properly.”

You look at your friends again before asking, “The owner?”

The waitress cocks her hips once she is done setting up the drinks and tilts her head towards the bar. “Yeah, see the sweetheart standing right behind the counter over there? He’s watching over you girls to make sure you’re having a good time.”

You turn back to look at the bar as the waitress walks over to the next table right after Holli thanks her almost too excitedly. As if the night hasn’t gone any weirder yet, the crowd slowly parts way to give you the full good look at the bar counter.

And that is when you see him.

Standing behind the counter the way the waitress had described him is a familiar face. The same face that has your spine rigid and your muscles growing tense whenever you step foot into the school in the morning, knowing that your schedules will allow you to cross path with each other. He is now looking at you almost the same way he does it at school, the same way his gaze is locked on every move you make to have you feeling terribly self-conscious in everything you do when you are around him. Like every single move may end up as a mistake.

And now he is there, looking at you closely, though you are surprised to find him doing so without any judgemental look in his eyes when he finds you. He had discarded the ivory-rimmed glasses he normally wears, and instead of wearing his usual long sleeves dress shirt, he is wearing a black tight sleeveless top that puts his perfectly toned arms and shoulders on display, showing off the ink work that marks the length of his arms and all the way up to his neck, presenting you all the drawings and scribbles of words that you have never seen on him before. His fancy velvet coat has been replaced with a leather biker vest which looks exactly the same as to what everyone here is wearing.

You can barely get over the shock of not seeing the usual scowl that he normally wears at school, when his smile slowly grows upon noticing that you are looking straight at him, making your jaw drops even further.

This must be a dream, you wonder to yourself.

Because there is no way you are seeing Kim Seokjin—the strict English teacher that everyone is afraid of—standing behind that bar as if this is his own home.

But there is no mistaking the smouldering gaze he is giving you now, the same one that has been quite intimidating that you always avoid seeing him in the break room at school. Except that his gaze no longer causes fear inside you when you return the look in his eyes.

And he just bought you a whole pitcher of cold beer.

#fic teaser #misc: fic announcement #seokjin scenario #seokjin fanfic #seokjin smut #seokjin fluff #seokjin angst #jin scenario #jin fanfic #jin smut #jin angst #jin fluff #seokjin x reader #jin x reader

218 notes · View notes

wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner

Stab Me In The Front Part 2: Knives Out, Bitch.

Intro: Katie heads out to speak to Harlan, and encounters Ransom for the second time in as many days. It ends about as well as the first time…

Warnings: Bad language. SMUT (NSWFW)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

A/N: I love these edits again. Well played, @angrybirdcr

Part 1

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Katie groaned and fluffed up her hair in front of the floor length mirror. She’d chosen a simple long sleeved, turtle-necked grey woollen jersey dress teamed with a black belt, black tights and knee high tan boots wanting to appear smart yet casual for the setting at Harlan’s mansion. But for once it wasn’t her outfit or appearance that was causing her anguish.

“Have you decided if you’re gonna mention the whole Ransom thing?” Steve asked as he wandered back into the bedroom munching on another piece of toast from the tray of breakfast items they’d had delivered earlier.

Katie snorted and locked yes with him in the mirror. “Oh yeah, can you imagine? Mr Thrombey, your grandson is an asshole. In fact, he isn’t just an asshole he’s the asshole, he’s America’s asshole…”

Steve chuckled as he dropped onto the bed “You might not have a choice if he’s already told him what went down.”

“You mean how you threw him over the bar?” She raised an eyebrow as she leaned forward to check her make up. Steve dropped his head and sighed.

“I’m sorry but, well I’m not having anyone speak to you or about you like that.”

“Well, I think we both know your alpha male display turned me on just a little.” Katie smirked at him, and he grinned as he recalled how things had taken a very steamy turn when they’d gotten back to their room before he took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, I really hope I haven’t screwed anything up.”

“If Harlan had heard and was going to cancel he would have done it by now. I’ll just go and see what happens.” Katie turned round and stepped into the space between Steve’s legs and his hands gently gripped her hips.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you?”

“No, I’m okay.” She smiled, dropping a kiss to his mouth, her hands resting on his shoulders. “I’ll text you when I’m there and then when we’re done.”

Steve smiled, he was pleased she was feeling happy enough to take herself, this was a big step in her healing process.

Even if he knew he’d be on tenterhooks the whole time she was gone…

“Alright.” He nodded. “I’m gonna go exploring, see the sights.” “Captain America playing tourist.”She grinned and he chuckled slightly, his hands sliding down to gently squeeze her ass.

“When in Rome.” he shrugged, “Or this case Boston. By the way sweetheart, your ass looks great in this dress.” “What is it you say to me?” she laughed, her hands sliding round to remove his from her rear, her fingers lacing into his “It’s all yours, baby.” “Damned right.” He practically growled as she turned and headed into the sitting room area of their suite. Steve followed her, leaning on the doorframe and simply watching as she shrugged on her pea jacket that was resting over the back of the sofa. She picked up her laptop, checked her bag and wrapped a scarf around her neck.

“Walk you down to the car?” Steve asked, and she turned to face him smiling.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

****

The drive out to the Thrombey mansion was actually very pleasant. Katie enjoyed the scenery as she drove and soon enough was pulling up the large, tree lined drive and came to a halt. She stepped out, grabbed her bag and took in the mansion in front of her, giving a low whistle. It appealed to her love of all things old fashioned and gothic. Old and red brick, surrounded by scenery and stone figurines it was exactly the kind of home one would expect a Crime author to own.

She text Steve to say she had arrived and was safe and as she made her way towards the door, two large German Shepherd dogs bounded towards her. She paused for a second, allowing them to sniff at her, their tails wagging and she bent down, scratching one behind the ears.

“Oh aren’t you handsome boys!” she grinned, as she continued to pet them.

“Excellent judges of character, too.” a female voice said. Katie looked up to see a dark haired woman stood on the steps by the front door.

“They’re gorgeous.” Katie beamed, straightening up. “I’d love a dog but, well, we don’t really have time for one.” “I can imagine your line of work is a little hectic.” the lady smiled as Katie approached “I’m Fran, Mr Thrombey’s house keeper.”

“It’s nice to meet you Fran, I’m Katie.”

Fran smiled and stepped back to allow Katie to step through the large, wooden doors which opened into a huge hallway, which was grandly decorated just like something straight out of one of Harlan’s books. Katie looked around, taking it all in, before Fran spoke to her again.

“Mr Thrombey is finishing off a call. Can I offer you a drink whilst you’re waiting?”

“I wouldn’t say no to a coffee.” Katie nodded, removing her scarf. Fran took it from her, along with her coat and hung them up on a stand by the door before she gestured for Katie to follow her. They walked down a hallway which was lined with dark, panelled wood that opened up into a large, kitchen diner.

“How do you take it, Mrs Rogers?”

But before Katie could respond, the dogs outside began once more to bark, only this time Katie could tell they were agitated. Fran gave an audible sigh, and the source of her frustration was evident as the back door blustered open.

“Oh shut the fuck up!” a familiar drawl was yelling back over the grounds and Katie felt herself stiffen slightly. Ransom barrelled into the kitchen from the mud room, his open tan coat flapping behind him. There was a multi-coloured silk scarf hanging around his neck and he was wearing a blue sweater which was slightly frayed on the hem, a far contrast from the sharp suit he had been dressed in last night. He cast his eyes around and stopped dead, a snarl playing on his face.

“You?”

There was a pause and Katie sighed, summonsing every single bit of professionalism “Good morning Mr Drysdale.”

Ransom snorted “Mr Drysdale now, that’s not what you were calling me last night was it? I was a self-entitled dick, wasn’t I?”

Fran gave a snort which she hastily turned into a cough and Ransom shot her a glare.

“Well in my defence you did call me a hooker.” Katie shrugged, taking attention off the housekeeper.

There was a moment of silence before Ransom broke the stare he was giving her and turned back to Fran.

“You got my cookies, Franny?”

“In the usual cupboard Hugh.”

“Hugh?” Katie frowned. “I thought your name was Ransom.” “It is.” Ransom, or Hugh said as he made his way to a cupboard and pulling out a packet of Lotus Biscoff. He leaned against the counter and popped one in his mouth, eyeing Katie up and down. “Only the help call me Hugh.”

Katie couldn’t help the disdain that crept across her face at his tone. He really was an insufferable jerk.

“Really? Hugh to the help and Ransom to others?” She looked at him, “What do the dogs call you?”

“I dunno, go ask them. I mean you do speak dog don’t you, being one?”

“Wow did you think of that all by yourself?” Katie rolled her eyes at his childishness “Guess your time at Harvard really served you well.”

“How did you know I went to Harvard?” He frowned.

“Isn’t’ that where all the spoilt little, trust fund babies go?” She smiled at him. Truth be told she’d had FRIDAY look him up the previous night but she wasn’t about to admit that.

“Yeah and where was your brilliant education then?” He shoved another cookie in his mouth.

“Oxbridge.” She shot back. Ransom paused, arching an eyebrow.

“What are you doing here anyway?” He said after a moment, clearly unable to think of anything smart to say about her choice of University.

“Mrs Rogers here is the Owner and CEO of Stark Independent Publishers and they’re going to be publishing The Colour of Revenge.” A deep voice said from the doorway. Katie turned to see Harlan walking into the kitchen, his eyes fixed on his grandson. “And whilst she is in this house on my invitation she is a guest, so you could do well to remember your manners.” Ransom looked at him, blinked, then threw his head back in a huge roar of laughter. “Wait. You have your own company, and you’re using another to publish your next book?”

“Yes Ransom, that’s correct.”

“Oh that…that is fucking priceless!” Ransom continued to laugh “I can’t wait for you to tell Walt.”

Now Katie was utterly confused. There was clearly some fucked-up family dynamic at play, and she was even more puzzled when Ransom stepped towards her, offering her a cookie from the packet.

“You poisoned them?” Katie looked at him, and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m eating them ain’t I?”

“Fair point.” She shrugged taking one “Thanks.” “You’re welcome, Sweetheart. Anyone that helps piss off my shit head family can share my food.” He said, and with that he blustered out in as dramatic a fashion as he’d entered, his laughter following him down the hall.

“You should be honoured.” Harlan turned to face Katie “He doesn’t normally give those out, they’re his favourites.”

“Yeah, without meaning to speak out of turn he doesn��t strike me as the type to share.”

Harlan chuckled and crossed the room, holding out his hand. Katie shook it, smiling. “It’s a pleasure to meet you finally Mrs Rogers.”

“And you too Mr Thrombey.”

“I told you on the phone, please, call me Harlan.”

“As long as you call me Katie.” she shot back and he nodded.

“Sure I can manage that, Fran, dear, we’ll take the drinks in my study.”

“Of course Mr Thrombey, I’ll bring them through.”

Katie followed Harlan out of the kitchen.

“I’m sorry about my grandson.” he looked back at her

“Don’t be. We err, we actually met last night. He was in my hotel bar…”

“Let me guess, you didn’t particularly get on then either.” “There were a few words traded, yes.” Katie nodded, before she sighed, deciding to be honest. “Actually, there were more than words traded. Steve, my husband, kinda got in a bit of an altercation with him. I was a little worried you wouldn’t want to do business if you had heard about it.”

Harlan chuckled as he led her down the corridor and to the right. “If I refused to do business with everyone Ransom had pissed off I’d have a problem. But that aside, he hadn’t mentioned it. Although, I haven’t seen him since he stormed out of here yesterday after a disagreement with his mother and his cousin. He likes to flounce does Ransom, he has a flair for the dramatic. If you don’t mind me asking what did he say to you?” Katie explained as they walked, Harlan letting out a groan.

“On his behalf, I apologise.” He shook his head, opening a door and allowing her to step into the large study.

“It’s fine, I gave as good as I got.” She smiled and Harlan laughed.

“I don’t doubt that for a second Mrs Rogers” He closed the door. “Now, please take a seat and we can talk business.”

**** An hour later Katie was feeling a lot more at ease. Harlan was an easy man to talk to. He was firm, but fair, and as such had approved the cover designs, and accepted all but 6 of the amendments the Editing team had proposed to this manuscript. As a result, she was feeling a lot more confident about the pitch regarding her Charity idea, knowing full well that he wouldn’t simply dismiss the idea was spurring her on.

“So as we agreed Mr Thrombey.” Katie said, sliding the first piece of paper over to him “Your royalties on the print edition will be 9% of the cover price for the first 5,000 copies, 10% on the next 5,000 and 12% thereafter…and for the E-book edition 25% of the sales revenue. You can see from our forecasts what we anticipate this will bring you.”

Harlan took the paper and gave it a quick glance over before nodding “How have you come up with the forecast sales numbers?”

“We based it on your last 3 novels, plus the level of pre-orders we have had. And, without wanting to sound too big headed, SIP attracts a lot of attention given who…” she felt herself blush slightly “Who I am so we tend to make a lot of sales on the back of that, which to be fair in this case isn’t a bad thing.” “In this case?” Harlan frowned at her.

“Yes, errr.” She swallowed again, shifting slightly “SIP is donating 100% of its revenue on your book to charity, although we haven’t made that public yet. I wanted to talk to you about it before we release anything to the press.”

“Charity?”

“Yes, several to be exact. We’re going to split it across organisations that help victims of sexual abuse, rape and other violent sexually motivated crimes.”

“That’s very commendable.” Harlan leaned back in his chair “And I take it that’s because of the subject matter?” “That’s one reason.” She nodded, hesitantly.

“And the other?” The old man pressed, his hands steeping together in front of his chin as his elbows rested on the large mahogany desk.

Katie hesitated, before she bit her lip and took a deep breath as she looked at the man who was studying her intently. For some reason, she felt she could trust him so decided to tell him the whole story. “It’s fairly well known that last year I was missing for a number of weeks but the circumstances were never revealed. In reality, Harlan, I was, erm, held captive.” She paused to clear her throat “I was taken by an organisation who thought by torturing me I’d reveal certain information to them, information I didn’t actually have. When the usual methods of interrogation failed, well, I’m sure you don’t need me to fill in the gaps.”

Harlan’s face softened and he let out a sigh. “I’m sorry to hear that, I truly am.” “So yeah, there’s an element of it being personal in there.” She swallowed. “I didn’t know myself that half of these support charities existed until a year ago and to me it’s more about the awareness, that people who find themselves in the position I did understand that there are people out there to help.”

Harlan nodded “How do you intend on using the book to do that?” “Well, with your permission, ”Katie said, turning her laptop round to face him, to show him the various mock ups she had produced, “I’d like to include a foreword in your book, a little bit about why we have chosen to do what we are doing, so that everyone who buys a copy sees it. You have a huge established audience Harlan, and that kind of publicity is just something that no amount of money can buy. I’d also like to include a tagline about how the proceeds will be helping people in the advertising material and on the front cover.” “Will you be writing the foreword?” Harlan looked at her.

Katie nodded. “You’ll of course be sent a copy before it is finalised to ensure you’re happy with it.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea.” Harlan smiled “I’m happy to be part of it. And in light of what you’ve said, I’d also be happy to wave my royalties and also donate those to the cause.”

“Oh, no, that’s not…” Katie began to protest but Harlan shut her down.

“I don’t need the money.” he shook his head “All I ask is that you make it work. You clearly have a passion about this Katie, and for good reason. Frankly I’m blown away by the courage you’ve displayed here today by telling me this. There are a lot of people out there in privileged positions that could take a leaf out of your book my dear.”

Katie felt her eyes misting over and she blinked, looking away. Harlan passed her the box of tissues and she took one with a weak laugh.

“Sorry.” she smiled “I’ve just, well, no one knows what happened bar my inner circle so to speak.”

“It won’t go any further.” Harlan looked at her “I can assure you of that” Katie smiled, before she looked at the man, and her smile slid into a cheeky smirk. “Seeing as I’ve been honest with you, can you be honest with me?”

“Of course.”

“You have your own Publishing company, they’ve done all of your books for the last 25 years. Why have you chosen SIP for this one?”

Harlan sat back, sighing before he gave her a small smile “Because for the last 25 years my son has done nothing but ride on my tails. He likes to give Ransom a lot of stick for simply living off my money but he is no better. You see, I set the publishers up so he could make something of it, I didn’t expect him to simply sit there and use my books alone. Thought it was time he had a wake-up call.”

Katie gave a grin “I see now why Ransom was so amused.”

“Yeah, Walt won’t be best pleased…” Harlan said, “He’ll be even less so when he realises I’m giving my royalties away on this completely. Now, please permit me one last question before we finish.” “Sure.” “You’re the owner and CEO of SIP.” She nodded.

“Do you always visit potential authors or is this visit purely down to the fact this book means something personal to you?”

“There is that, and, well, honestly? I’m just a huge fan of your work.” she grinned “Owning and running your own business should have some self-indulgent perks after all, right?”

They spent 15 minutes or so tying up the final bits and pieces before Harlan walked her to the door, helping her into her coat.

“It’s been a pleasure.” He smiled, shaking her hand again.

“Same here.” she grinned “And thank you again. We’ll be in touch when we’re ready to go to press. It shouldn’t be too long. I’m hoping to hold the big launch early in November. Maybe hold some charity event, I’ll let you know.” “Of course, anything I can do to help…”

There was a pause as a loud engine sounded and they both turned to see a vintage silver BMW skid to a halt on the driveway driven by Ransom. He climbed out, his long legs stretching in front of him as he glanced over to the pair of them.

“I see he’s been out for his usual lunch appointment.” Harlan remarked. “Such a hard life.”

Katie laughed and with that she headed down the steps towards her car.

“Leaving so soon?” Ransom asked as she passed him.

“Work is done for the day so yeah,” she shrugged

“If you have all that money, why do you bother?”

Katie stopped and turned to him. “Because I’ve never had it handed to me on a plate.” She replied, honestly “One thing my brother instilled into me was that you have to work for things in life. Yes, I’ve had opportunities that most people wouldn’t but I’m eternally grateful for those and do this to prove that.”

“And the Avenging?” He asked. “Humour me, I’m curious.”

“I like to help people. It is what it is.” She shrugged.

“Putting your life on the line to help people with no thanks.” He shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” she shook her head, “But, I just remind myself that for every one person that’s like you, there are a hundred other people who actually deserve it so…” “Eat shit.” Ransom drawled, rolling his eyes.

“Fuck you.” Katie’s usual insult flew off her tongue easily, and she inwardly groaned knowing full well she’d given him an opening. And sure enough, the anticipated response came her way.

“If you’re offering.”

“Oh, believe me Mr Drysdale, I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last person on Earth.

“You wouldn’t be doing much sleeping.” he smirked, “And you’re forgetting something.”

“Oh pray, do enlighten me.” She said sarcastically. “You’re the one that mistook me for your husband, sweet cheeks. I’d say you must find something attractive about me.” “Don’t flatter yourself, you’re nothing like him.” she turned towards the car

“Oh, are we playing spot the difference?” Ransom chuckled and she gave a bark of a laugh and spun back to face him. “Your eyes are completely different, your jawline is nowhere near as square, your smile…well is it even a smile or are you suffering from trapped wind? I’m not sure and don’t even get me started on your hair.” She arched an eyebrow “Frankly my Stevie has more sexual appeal in his little finger than you have in your entire body and as for that lousy sweater you’re wearing…” “Ah, yes, you’re a sucker for spangly lycra…”

“It’s a mix of Tevlar and a patented material my brother developed actually, but that’s by the by.” Katie shrugged “When he fills it out as well as he does I can’t help but want to be a sucker if you get my drift.”

“More than happy to help you out there darlin.” he winked. “I bet you’ve never kept a woman longer than a night have you?” Katie shook her head.

“Sometimes they don’t even last the night.”

“Oh, I can believe that, I’d run too.” she nodded. “Why would anyone want a jumped up little trust fund baby like you when they could have a real man between their legs?”

Ransoms face instantly slid from the playful, teasing smirk into something slightly darker and much, much angrier.

“You jumped up little bitch.” He spat, his voice laced with venom as he moved closer to her. She held her ground, looking him up and down, simply raising an eyebrow as his voice grew in volume. “If I wanted you, I could have you. It’s that simple.” Katie felt her nostrils flare. After everything she’d just talked to his grandfather about, was this asshole seriously insinuating what she thought he was?

“You know what?” She stepped forward, glaring up at him.“That’s the problem with people like you. You think you can just take what you want without the consequences. Well I got news for you, Hugh, that isn’t how it works.”

“Oh get off your fucking high horse!” Ransom bit back, his voice loud as he shook his head “I’ve had enough of your sanctimonious I’m better than you bullshit.” “I am better than you. But then again, that’s not saying much as frankly I think you’re one of the most despicable people I’ve ever met, and trust me that’s saying something.” She looked him up and down once more, giving her best contemptuous glare before she turned on her heel.

“Now you listen to me,” he said, grabbing at her arm. In a flash she had twisted out of his hold and swept his legs from under him, putting all her body weight behind the movement, spinning and throwing him straight over her shoulder in a move she had learnt years ago from Steve. With a hefty thud and a yell he hit the floor, landing on his back. She knelt on his chest, her knee digging into his sternum, heel of her palm pressed straight against his windpipe.

“When I said yesterday I’d taken down bigger men than you I meant it.” she glared at him “Touch me again, and I’ll kill you myself before Steve gets the chance.”

“Get..off..me…” he snarled, but she didn’t move, instead she pushed on his throat a little harder, causing him to gasp for air.

“They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree but in this case, well, you’re about as far removed from your granddad as you could get. How he ended up with such an appalling little shit like you as a grandson I’ll never know.”

With that she stood up, leaving him to take huge gasps of air as she turned to see the dogs careering down from the grassy banks surrounding the house, barking as they ran.

“Mother fucker!” she heard Ransom’s yelling as she picked up her bag her hands shaking slightly as she headed to her car. His yells were coming thick and fast as she walked, quickly. “Oh you son of a BITCH! You just pissed ON MY COAT!”

She turned to see Ransom aiming a kick at the dogs, missing them both completely. She couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of the man desperately trying to escape and get up off the floor. Something then caught her attention and she glanced up slightly to see Harlan was stood on the balcony of the house, a mug in his hand watching the scene play out. He raised the mug in her direction before taking a sip and strolling back in his house.

As she passed Ransom’s silver vintage BMW, which was parked by the Porsche SUV she had hired, she hesitated slightly before she reached down her boot and pulled out the small combat knife she had kept concealed there. With a quick flick of her wrist she sent it flying into the rear passenger’s side tyre of Ransom’s car.

“Knives out, bitch.” She grinned to herself before she unlocked her car, settled in the driver’s seat and pulled away.

****

“Baby, that’s amazing!” Steve said, looking at her across the table as she finished telling him all about her afternoon. She’d driven straight to the small Italian Steve had said he had found and they were enjoying an early dinner whilst Katie told him about her meeting. She’d been completely honest about everything, what she’d said, how she had felt…well, almost anyway. Ransom hadn’t cropped up in their discussions yet, thankfully.

“I know, it’s better than I could have hoped.” she smiled, chewing on her ravioli. “I mean, the amount of money and publicity it’s gonna generate is off the scale!”

“I’m proud of you.” he said gently. She beamed at his praise and took a sip of her wine. “I take it then the whole Ransom thing wasn’t an issue?”

Ah crap, there it was…

Something flickered across Katie’s face and Steve frowned. ”What?”

“He err, he was there.” She looked down at her food, pushing it around her plate a little “We had…words.”

“Words?” Steve pressed.

“Yeah, at first he was fine. Even gave me a cookie, long story.” She waved away his questioning glance “But er…well we had a bit of a heated discussion on the driveway as I was leaving. He grabbed my arm and…” “He did what?” Steve nearly exploded and the table next to them turned to look at him.

“Shhhh” She hissed “It was nothing, besides, I floored him with that nice little over shoulder drive you showed me. Then when he was down the dog pissed on his coat.”

Steve was torn between his desire to rage about the fact the man had dared to lay his fingers on her, and laughing at the image he had of Ransom’s coat being soaked in dog piss. Eventually the laughter won out as he gave a small chuckle and leaned back in his chair.

“Wish I’d seen that.”

“Oh and I left a knife in his tyre” she shrugged, taking another bite of her food. Steve’s eyebrow raised.

“A knife.”

“Yup.”

“You took a knife with you?”

“Down my boot.”

“You know, you scare me sometimes.” Steve arched his eyebrow, taking a drink of his beer.

“I scared him.” she laughed “You should have seen his face.” Steve changed the subject then, not wanting to discuss him anymore. Whilst he was still pissed about the asshole in general, he was beyond pleased to see that she wasn’t phased by it, in fact she seemed excited about the entire thing. The meeting had gone well, and that was the most important thing to him. That she’d gone in the first place, especially after being so frightened.

They talked about where Steve had been, the sights he’d taken in and he promised to show her a few of his sketches when they got back to the hotel room, except that kind of fell along the wayside as no sooner had they gotten into the room they were pawing at each other like a pair of hungry, horny school kids.

As a result, Steve was found himself led on his back on the bed, Katie’s lips trailing his skin, from his collar over to his neck. He let out a soft sigh and Katie grinned as she moved back to look at him. His eyes were dark, full of desire and he watched as her head moved down his body, her soft fingers pulling the waistband of his boxers down slightly as she kissed across the bottom of his stomach, just on the V of his abdomen, where the thin strip of hair that led from his belly button down to his groin lived. He was aroused, desperate to feel her mouth on him, but as she trailed her tongue across his skin, she got as low as she could without actually touching him there. He let out a groan, his hips bucking slightly and she stopped, glancing up at him.

“Want something, Soldier?” she smirked, repeating the words he had said to her the other morning and he looked down at her lidded eyes which were sparkling with mischief.

“You want me to beg?” he asked, his voice gravelly “Because I’m not above that.” She let out a grin and decided to take pity on him. As her hot mouth took him in he let out a hiss, his head falling back against the pillow. One hand fisted in the sheets besides him, the other settled in her hair, fingers tangling into her soft waves as her head moved. Her tongue swirled around his shaft, teeth grazing gently as she took him deeper, twirling her hand around the base of his cock.

“Fuck, sweetheart…” he keened and felt her smirking as she continued her ministrations. It was so good, it was almost torture, and every time his hips moved she stopped, giving him a warning look.

Fuck, he loved it when she took control like this.

Eventually, when he could feel his stomach starting to tighten he gently pulled on her hair. “Baby,” he groaned, “get up here. I’m gonna lose it if you keep doing that.”

With a grin she released him with a pop and crawled up his body, her breasts dragging against his naked skin before she straddled him, and lowered herself down, taking him in completely. Her head lolled back slightly as he bent his knees, allowing her to lean back against his thighs, hands resting on her hips as she began to move. With every roll she made, Steve was actively fighting his release, but it was becoming increasingly harder. His hand moved between her legs to stroke at her bud, and she let out a gasp, shuddering slightly.

“Don’t stop…” she cried, “Please, Stevie…”

His strokes became quicker, and with the hand that still grasped her hip he pulled her down onto him harder as he thrust upwards, driving into her as much as he could. He felt her shudder slightly before she gave a loud, broken moan as her orgasm swept her away, and he was right with her, his hips faltering as his eyes flickered shut, his entire body stiffening before he relaxed backwards and Katie felt forwards onto his chest. She gave a soft hum of satisfaction, her face burying into his neck as his fingers trailed up her spine gently.

“Okay?” He asked when he had finally caught his breath, she made a noise of affirmation unable to summon the power to speak at that point in time. Steve gave a chuckle and moved his head, nudging her face with his nose. She looked at him for a moment before she gave him a soft kiss.

“Stevie.” She hummed gently as he pulled away to look at her. “We left the restaurant without desert.”

He arched an eyebrow at her “Seriously, you’re thinking about food now?” “Yeah, I got a hankering for something sweet.” “I’m not sweet enough?” He pouted.

She laughed “Not unless you’re hiding a pecan pie somewhere…” “Room service?”

She grinned and nodded, rolling off him. “Oh, and order a bottle of champagne.” “Pushing the boat out?” he said, shuffling onto his side so he could face her.

“When have I ever needed an excuse to drink fizz?” she looked at him.

“True.” he said, brushing her hair off her face before he leaned in for another lazy kiss.

“And then, when we’ve finished that I’ll let you draw me a bath.”

“Oh, you’ll let me draw you a bath?”

“Yup?”

“What’s in it for me?” “You can scrub my back.” She smirked, her hand sliding up his chest. “Oh well, when you put it like that, how could I possibly refuse?” He rolled his eyes as she laughed.

Steve grinned back at her. Frankly, the idea of spending the entire evening locked in the hotel room with her, drinking champagne, bathing, no doubt a bit more fooling around was fucking heaven in his eyes. Giving her one last, soft peck on the lips he reached over for the phone to ring in their order.

**** “You’ve done WHAT?”

Ransom smirked as his mother screeched across the room her almost unintelligible ramblings being punctuated by yells and protests from Walt. His grandfather had just revealed to them all that not only was he using a different publishers for his next book, he was also donating his royalties to charity after discussions with the Stark bitch, or Rogers bitch as she was called now. Naturally Meg thought it was a great idea, but then she would. Ransom didn’t give a shit either way. He just found watching them all arguing like they were doing utterly hilarious.

“Cookie?” he asked, offering the packet across the coffee table.

“No I don’t want a fucking cookie, you asshole!” Walt glared at him.

“Wow” Ransom mouthed, smirking.

“Ransom, enough.” His mother shot and he looked at her.

“What did I do?” He laughed.

“You’re being deliberately obtuse!”

“I haven’t said a word.” He sniggered “And I don’t plan on doing either. It’s the old man’s money. If he wants to give it away, so be it. I am curious though.” He leaned forward and looked at his grandfather. “What did she say to convince you to part with it?” “It wasn’t what she said so much as what she did.” Harlan answered after a moment’s thought, not wanting to betray her trust “Her company is donating their profits from what she openly admitted would be their biggest earning book to date. Says a lot about her don’t you think?” Ransom cocked his head to one side and shrugged, as the arguing once more began.

With a snort he stood up “Well this has been emotional, we should do this again sometime.” he said, “Grandfather…”

Harlan waved him away, none of the others paying him a blind bit of attention. He grabbed his dog-piss ruined coat from the chair he’d thrown it against, making a beeline for Fran in the kitchen, ordering her to get it dry cleaned as soon as she could. He then headed out to his car, and stopped dead as he noticed the rear tyre was flat.

Cursing he bet to take a closer look, and noticed the knife that was expertly placed right in the middle of the tread at near the bottom and despite himself he gave a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“Well played Mrs Rogers, well played.”

**** Part 3

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #Katie Stark #knives out #ransom drysdale #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers fic #steve rogers smut #chris evans #chris evans characters

57 notes · View notes

master-sass-blast · 3 years

Text

The Color of Our Love.

I LIVEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

Summary: You and Piotr take the next step in making your house a home: painting the walls.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: G.

Word Count: 1.5k.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @super-darkcloudstudent, @dandyqueen, @leo-writer

It’s the smell that gets to you the most. You’re used to soaring through the skies, drawing in gulps of fresh, pure air into your lungs. You’re used to smelling sun-warmed grass and fresh flowers and the dampness of rain in the air once a storm’s passed and—

“How do you deal with this?” You grimace, rubbing the bridge of your nose as your husband opens cans of paints and pours them into the trays meant for roller brushes. “I’m gonna get a headache.”

“You get used to it,” Piotr says as he unwraps the detachable brush head for his roller brush. He smiles sympathetically when you start massaging your temples and pats your shoulder reassuringly. “We can open windows. And take breaks.”

The two of you are starting the next leg of your journey to making your house a home: painting. Neither of you like looking at bland white walls.

It’s been a long process, though, of quibbling over color options, making sure those options match with the other choices for other rooms (as needed), and planning out which rooms to do when so you don’t inadvertently spend a whole paycheck on cans of paint.

You two decided to start in the master bedroom, for the sake of simplicity down the line.

Impatient, you pick up one of the paintbrushes Piotr had purchased for edging around window and door frames and smear a thick stripe of paint over an empty stretch of wall. “Chop chop, baby! We’re wasting daylight!”

Piotr laughs, loading up a roller brush with paint and letting the excess drip back into the tray. “After you, myshka.”

The two of you work for a while, chatting aimlessly while you transform the room from a sterile sea of white to something much homier –and less likely to cause eyestrain. Piotr handles outlining the window and door frames so there’s guidelines for the rollers and takes care of the high spots, while you flit around the room, alternating between the regular brusher and a roller brush as you fill in the places your husband’s prepped for you.

Eventually, though, your self-control starts to wane –and then your opportunity presents itself on a silver platter.

Piotr’s got his back to you. He’s working on painting the parts of the wall near the ceiling.

And, on prime display in a pair of old gym shorts, is his butt.

(God, he has a fantastic butt. Perfectly sculpted by innumerable squats and obscene amounts of protein bars. You can bounce a quarter off his ass –and, yes, you’re speaking from experience.

Not that you’d warned Piotr what you were planning on doing when you’d tried it.)

You bite on your lower lip, trying to stifle your excited giggles as you coat your hand with paint from your brush. Then, before Piotr can turn around, you dash across the room and smack your hand against his rear.

Piotr yelps. Jumps. Whirls around, twists to look at his backside, then faces you. His eyes are wide, mouth hanging open in a smile, as if to say, “did you really just do that?” Then, his grin broadens as he paints his own hand with his roller brush. “It is on.”

“No!” You squeal and sprint away, darting around your bedroom as you try to evade your husband’s pursuit of vengeance.

There’s only so much space, though, and your husband’s a large man. He catches you eventually, snagging you with his clean hand and locking you against him with his arm before pressing his paint-covered hand against your chest.

You bust out laughing, leaning back against his solid, warm chest; there’s not much point in trying to run away, now that you’ve been caught. “Not on my boob!”

“Serves you right,” Piotr teases, nuzzling against your cheek. “Naughty myshka.”

You tip your head back and grin up at him. “Yours.”

He grins back, then dips his head and presses his lips against yours.

***

Fumes aside, there’s not a single other thing you dislike about the painting process. It’s incredible to watch the bedroom slowly transform before your eyes.

“It’s like the feeling off the room has changed,” you comment as Piotr works on the delicate edging work near the crown molding; the two of you had opted for a soft, pastel color for the bedroom to promote rest and relaxation. “It feels cozier now. More relaxing.”

“Da.” He lays down a careful line along the crown molding –miraculously not getting so much as a speck of paint on the pure white border, which is why he’s doing this job and you are not—then dips his brush back into the pint can in his hand. “Is color psychology. Impacts our mood, perception of room.”

“I like it.” You stretch your arms, smiling as you admire the freshly painted walls. “It feels like it’s ours now.”

Piotr nods. He smiles as he finishes the last of the edgework, then sets his paint can down next to the roller tray. “Shall we rinse brushes, then take break for lunch before starting work downstairs?”

“I like the sound of the lunch part,” you say, offering up an impish grin.

“How about this,” Piotr chuckles. “I will rinse brushes, and you can make us lunch.”

“Okay, yes. Sounds great!” You shove your paintbrush into Piotr’s hand, then quickly skip out of the room and float down the stairs. “Love you!”

Piotr’s laughter echoes down the hall after you.

***

“Oh, yeah. This is it. This is how I want to work from now on.”

Piotr glances over his shoulder at you. A smirk tugs at his lips. “You are sitting on couch while I paint.”

“Correction!” You hold up your index finger. “I am sitting on the couch while you paint and staring at your butt. It’s a very integral part of the process.”

Piotr snorts and shakes his head. His cheeks flush –and, even though he’s trying to hide it, you can see the bashful smile playing on his lips. “My apologies, myshka. How could I forget?”

“I get it. I doubt you spend much time staring at your own butt –which, really is such a shame; you’ve got an amazing ass, babe.”

He laughs and shakes his head once more.

The reason he’s working and you’re not –aside from the obvious superiority of sitting down and staring at your husband’s ass—is because the family room and kitchen require a lot of edge work. You’d offered to help… and then gotten paint all over the baseboards, light switches, window frames, and crown molding within fifty seconds of starting.

You just don’t have the patience –or Piotr’s well-practiced, steady hand.

“Are you still going to do the zhostovo mural in the kitchen?” you ask as you watch Piotr work.

“Da. I have sketches in art studio, if you want look.”

You’re never one to pass up on seeing Piotr’s art, so you hop of the couch and scamper down the hall to his art studio.

Since Piotr’s art studio is fastidiously organized, it’s no trouble at all to find the sketchbook with the mural sketches in them. You flip through it until you find the various drawings of the bright, richly colored flowers, then lean against his desk as you gaze down at the page.

The bulk of the mural –which, based on Piotr’s sketches, looks like it’s going to be in the center of the wall between the fridge and the coffee counter—is comprised of large, delicately curved flowers. Roses, daisies, poppies, cornflowers… all of them weave together, bowing outward in dramatic flourishes of color. Vibrant green blades of grass form the base of the main mural, moving with the arcs of the flowers and leaves. You can see a few different designs for some edgework –to be placed on the edges and corners of the wall, so as to frame the main part of the mural—made of varying bits of filigree, Russian lettering, and tiny, white and purple tinged blooms.

You grin. Your fingers trace over the various filigree designs Piotr had been testing out. Wow. You amble back into the main room, gaze still focused on your husband’s designs. “These are amazing, sweetheart.”

“Spasibo, myshka.” Piotr looks up from his lining work, watching you –almost apprehensively—as you study his artwork. “Do you like design?”

“Piotr… I love it.” You let out a small, stunned laugh; as if there was ever a chance you wouldn’t like his art. “It’s so beautiful. It’s going to look perfect in the kitchen.”

Piotr ducks his head, cheeks flushing. His lips curve into a pleased smile. “Thank you, dorogoy.”

“Do you know which border you’re going to pick?”

“Not yet.” He shrugs. “Cannot find right ‘feel.’”

“You’ll get there,” you reassure him. “I kind of like the one you paired the Cyrillic. What does it say?”

“Is blessing,” Piotr explains. “Moya babushka made for family home, in Siberia. Illyana would have to do magic for it, but I liked idea of including words in design.”

“I like it, too.” You close the sketchbook and set it carefully on the coffee table (where it’ll be safe from potential paint splatters), then walk up behind Piotr and wrap your arms around his waist. “We have a home,” you murmur as you nuzzle your face against his back.

Piotr lets out a delighted giggle. His free hand clasps both of yours. “That we do, lyublyu.”

“I love you, Piotr. So much.”

“And I love you, Y/N, so very much, too.”

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #fluff fluff fluff #this is my wish fulfillment fic for house painting #because my fiance and i can't afford to paint the walls in our house yet #and the previous owner painted them fucking greyish poop brown #and i hate it #but soon #sooooon #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction

76 notes · View notes

ficforce · 3 years

Text

Running Scared Part 1

Sagamiya Konro x Reader

SFW

No set timeline

Mutual Pining

Humming quietly to herself Y/N put the fresh batch of steamed mochi onto a tray and placed into the display cabinet on the counter, then she made sure that the pans were ready for making dorayaki before bringing the water to boil for the dango. She smiled as she saw everything she had made, it was far more than usual but it was a festival day and she wanted to close up before things got busy in the evening. Two very distinct giggles caught her attention and Y/N headed to the counter at the side of her kitchen, it took a moment to unlatch the locks and push open the hatch door - her home doubled as her sweet shop. “Good Morning Hikage, Hinata.”

“Y/N! That’s a lot of food!” Hinata tiptoed to scan the counter whilst her sister pressed her hands on the glass of the cabinet, “Did you make candy apples?”

“I did,” She smiled and handed the girls a box each so that they could pick what they wanted, “They’re not set yet so they’ll be a little gooey.”

“I don’t like when they’re slimy,” Hikage pouted but didn’t complain more than that, “Add it to the bill and Konro will pay, he can carry it til they’re hard.”

Y/N’s eyes widened a little at the mention of the Lieutenant and she glanced up and down the street until she saw him chatting with one of the other vendors. It was hard to miss him; Konro had always been taller than most and broad, he had a presence that was hard to ignore. She watched him rub the side of his bandaged neck and then he smiled at the other person - how did he always look so handsome?

Y/N jumped a little when the twins called for her attention, they wanted some of the items from the cabinet and she quickly got their order ready. The oven gave a ‘ping’ and she grabbed the cheesecake she had been baking, “Do you girls want me to add some cake too?”

Hikage nodded, her mouth was full as she chewed on a pink coloured mochi, Hinata’s cheeks were puffed out and she ate her own treat. The woman liked to think her little business was popular, it was rare someone complained about her cooking and recently she had started baking savoury treats again, leaning on the counter she smiled at the two whilst they chattered away to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Konro approaching and her heart squeezed inside her chest, she stood back up straight and took a breath to calm her nerves.

The man towered over the two, he reached out to thumb off a bit of sugary powder on Hinata’s cheek then smiled in Y/N’s direction, “Good Morning - you’ve made a lot for so early.” He had to guess that she had probably been up since before the sun to cook so much, “You trying to close early for the festi-”

“Konro, you’re paying, got it!” Hikage interrupted and pulled at his pant leg, “We’re gonna go see the old biddy!” With that, the two ran off down the street without even a glance backwards.

“They’re so mouthy… Even when I was planning to treat them already.” He was certain Benimaru was teaching them these bad habits and figured he’d need to mother the Captain into teaching them better manners. Benimaru would deny it was his fault regardless of the evidence.

Y/N kept herself busy with cutting the cheesecake into portions for sale, very carefully avoiding looking at him as she wondered how such a tall, intimidating man could be so soft with children, the twins weren’t even a little bit nervous of him. Konro didn’t miss the way she seemed to try and ignore he was there and tried not to let it get to him - Y/N always seemed too jittery in his presence. Did he frighten her or had he insulted her in the past? They had been friends once…

He knew she could be shy, it was one of the reasons they had crossed paths in the first place, people would target her shop way back in the day. Konro paid her what was owed and picked up the boxes for the twins; just as he made to leave she slipped an envelope on top of them, “Y/N, What’s this?”

“It’s… well, I just…” She caught his gaze by mistake and tensed up, “When the roof got damaged… y-your guys fixed it. So they’re tokens for- well, you know.”

She was uncomfortable even looking at him and he had to admit that hurt a little, “We appreciate it, Y/N.” Konro stood for a moment longer before turning to follow after the girls. As he walked he went through his memory as far back as he could with Y/N - they used to get along just fine and at one time he thought they might become a couple. He used to visit her almost every lunchtime with Benimaru up until the Fires two years ago. She had always had a soft spot for Benimaru and never got upset when he complained that everything she made was too sweet, instead, she made savoury treats just for him and told him he needed to eat more to get bigger; not that Benimaru had ever been scrawny… just short.

Everything had changed overnight.

He had heard that after the Fires she had made food for anyone who needed it, bringing it to the builders, the people unable to cook and to everyone staying at the Guardhouse. Glancing back at her home he realised that all of the houses opposite were built over the hole his Akatsuki had bored into the ground. She had had to look at it every day until it was filled - no wonder she was afraid of him.

“Konro! Hurry up or we’ll go without you!” He shook his head as the girls yelled for him and he put Y/N to the back of his thoughts but not out of them.

x - -

Sales were so busy that Y/N had to make several orders even after she had closed the shop, a little earlier than usual so that she could cook. Once the last box of treats had been collected she locked the hatch and hung up her apron; she looked at the extra food she had made and bit her bottom lip anxiously. Most of the day Y/N had hoped that a Hikeshi might pass by so she could have them deliver it to the Guardhouse, some of them would have to stay on duty whilst everyone else celebrated at the festival, she thought it would be nice to give them some of the treats they would miss out on.

Looking outside at the dimming sky she also noticed more people coming out, the women looked so pretty in their new yukatas and the kanzashi in their hair were so beautiful; she couldn’t remember the last time she had celebrated or dressed up like that…

Y/N shook it from her head and grabbed the boxes, if she was fast she could get back before the crowds got too thick and then she would watch from the window.

By the time she reached the Guardhouse, the first few stars had started to appear in the sky and the lamps had been lit in the streets. “Hello?” The woman pushed past the noren and stopped at the genkan step so that she could try to peer further inside. There was plenty of movement, likely people getting ready for an evening of celebrating, “He- oh, Benimaru. I brought some food for the nightshift.”

“Sweets?” Benimaru took the boxes from her, glowering at them almost.

“Actually, the middle one has those salty snacks you used to like inside.”

His eyebrows drew together, “Used to?” After a second a memory seemed to come to him and he made an interested sound, “You haven’t made those in forever - I probably still like them, thanks, Y/N.” He set the boxes down so that he could hunt down the snack she had mentioned and took a bite, “Still like ‘em.”

The Captain then began to separate them into a separate section, “You know they’re to share, right?”

“Tch.” Ignoring her amused laugh at him stealing what he wanted Benimaru glanced her way, “I’m not sharing these. Are you going to the festival tonight?”

“…No,” she wanted to but at the same time, the whole idea scared her, “Maybe next time. I’m going to head back, please don’t eat all of it at once.” With that, she waved and left.

Barely a minute later Konro came out and watched the young man reorganise the boxes, “Y/N was here?” He recognised the boxes and looked toward the noren, “I guess she’s rushing home to get ready?” Maybe he would see her during the night? Adjusting the belt on the navy blue yukata he had put on, Konro glanced past the noren again like she might still be there and then his fingers skimmed the pouch tied to his belt unconsciously.

“She’s not going,” Benimaru said around a mouthful of food, “Crowds scare her.”

“Crowds?”

Benimaru looked at him blankly for a second, was Konro being stupid on purpose or was he getting old? “Yeah, remember when she had that panic atta- Wait, you weren’t there, scratch that.” It was one of those rare times that Konro was out of town that Benimaru had come across Y/N huddled in a corner crying into her knees on the ground. “Y/N barely ever leaves her house unless it’s unavoidable, Konro, it’s been like that since the fires.”

The Captain had been shocked when she told him through terrified sobs, he had had to pick her up to get her home because her legs were shaking so much and then he had spent almost an hour getting her to calm down. Benimaru had always seen her as a kind of older sister, she had always fussed over him as he grew up and even now she made him snacks he would like; it had been strange to take care of her for a change. He could see that Konro looked a little put out to be learning the information secondhand, “It’s pretty busy out there already…” Benimaru sighed, “You should go make sure she gets home safe.”

Konro smile was a little self-pitying as he sighed, “She’s scared of me, Waka, I make her uncomfortable…”

“Did I stutter, Konro?” The young man turned his mismatched gaze on the man, “Go after her.” It was all the encouragement the man needed to put on his sandals and rush out after Y/N. Benimaru clicked his tongue and shook his head, “Scared? And he says I’m an idiot.”

The Lieutenant wasn’t all that surprised with how many people were already out, groups of friends laughed and walked together as they headed for the stalls in the centre of Town, he searched the sea of colourful clothing and lanterns - using his height to his advantage - until he spotted the back of Y/N head and jogged to catch up with her. He weaved past a few groups and reached out to catch her wrist, “Y/N!”

Straight away Konro could tell something was wrong, she hadn’t been walking when he caught up to her and he could feel the tendons in her wrist sticking out with how tense she was, “Hey… Are you-?” All of a sudden the noise of people around them seemed to become muffled and everything outside of their little bubble slowed down as he saw her face. She was frozen in place and her eyes were wide and frightened, tears threatening to fall down her cheeks. Konro stood closer to Y/N to shield her from being bumped, “Please breathe, Y/N.” She kept holding her breath and then taking in small gasps of air, her whole body was trembling too and the Lieutenant guided her to the doorway of the nearest house, “It’s okay, I got you, Y/N…”

Y/N’s hands gripped the fabric at his chest, her breath still uneven as she pressed her face to his shoulder and tried to listen to his calming words, she tried to let the warm hand on her back rub soothe her but knowing it was Konro only made her feel worse. Somehow he got her to move, his hands on the base of her spine and her shoulder as he guided her through the people, using his larger body to shield her until she was back on her own doorstep. The bubble she had felt trapped in popped a little too rudely and the noise of the Town came back, the world rushing past, “D-Don’t go…” she could barely breathe and she wanted to feel safe again, contained and protected in Konro’s arms.

“I thought I scared you?” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it and Konro looked away from her, heat rushing to his face as he silently told himself to be quiet. Her hands wrapped around his hand and wrist, gently applying pressure to the bandaged limb and then she gave him a small tug. When Konro looked at her again she had the door open and was asking him to come inside with her.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Y/N had always felt safer with him around but over the last two years her anxiety about going outside had grown, “I’m so pathetic…” Asakusa had been her home her whole life, its people were colourful and kind, very loud and rowdy but they were like family; she had no reason to be frightened by the crowds, why couldn’t she just enjoy the festival like everyone else could?

What was wrong with her?

“You’re not pathetic,” his free hand lifted to catch her chin and make her look at him, “I’d never hurt you… I know what I did, the way I ripped the ground up, must make you think I’m some sort of dangerous lunatic but I did that to save my Town and it’s not like I can even call up a flame now.” They used to be such good friends, they used to talk all the time and he missed her so much; his heart ached that she couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. Was she reminded of the destruction he had caused when she looked at him? Or maybe it was that she thought he was weak now?

She squeezed his hand again and swallowed down the lump in her throat, “I-I’m not scared of you, Konro… I tried to avoid you so that I wouldn’t lose you.” Y/N saw the confusion on his expression from her statement and she took a deep breath, “Two years ago…”

Watching her struggle to form words and then watching her close her eyes as if defeated, Konro sighed and closed the door behind them, “What happened, Y/N? Don’t run away from me anymore.”

#sagamiya konro #fire force #en en no shōbōtai #enn enn no shouboutai #reader

39 notes · View notes

mapache-lector · 4 years

Text

Coffees & Cactus. (Part 3 of 5)

Rating: T Pairing: Ben Miller x chubby!fem!Reader. Summary: Reader and two friends are owners of a café, Benny comes in and finds more than the perfect gift for Maria, Frankie’s daughter. (I hate doing this, sorry)

Warning: I think I wrote Reader pretty much general, but the characteristics I mention are that she’s chubby, has a genderless wardrobe and she’s dealing with depression and anxiety (the way I do, which I know it’s not the common stuff… or maybe yes?). So, have that in mind.

Author’s notes: Introducing Maria and Franklin the plant!

Author’s notes.2: Hello, yes, it’s been a while since I wrote a fanfiction and the beautiful asks to @de-profundis-ad-astra lit the spark of this story. It’s -not only the first one I write in a while- but the first in English! So, bearing in mind that, feel free to point mistakes and let me know!

•·················•·················•

Ben kept coming to the café, buying more amigurumis, and she avoided him as much as she could. She stopped being flirtatious to him, trying not to get silly hopes with his answers, and her friends kept filling the silences between them. His brother came too, which made the situation more bearable, and all of them joked and chatted about everything and anything, she was often being outside the circle in silence, barely participating, observing, aware of other customers and whatever the café needed.

What threw her off was the fact she kept finding glitter in everything. Ben wasn’t even touching her that much, why is every surface shining? Also in her house and her bedroom, like a reminder of what couldn’t be.

“Honey?” Brit knocked on her door and waited for an answer, next to Eva. “We’re coming in, okay?”

The three friends decided to live together in a big house, trying to save money for the business, sharing the rent. Each one had a bedroom for themselves and respected the privacy of it. But sometimes someone needed a rescue, and it has been more than a day since they saw her friend.

She was on the bed, curled up in herself and barely moved when Eva and Brit sat by her side. They thought she was sleeping, then she slowly sat up. Her face was a little swollen, clear sign of crying.

“We were worried about you.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Her voice was croaky.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Eva reached and took her hand. “What happened?”

“It’s silly…” She hoped they would settle with that answer, but had to add, “I have a crush on Ben.”

“Good news, what else?” Responds Brit with fake surprise. “Did you tell him?”

“Of course not! It’s my own trap. We were flirting, you know, and I believed his words.”

“Darling, he has heart eyes for you too.”

“He’s a golden retriever, his eyes are shaped like that. It’s like he lives in a world of bones and treats.” Her friends made a few more jokes till she laughed with them, then laid with her to sandwich her.

“Do you want us to tell him?”

“We can talk to his brother.”

“Nah, it’ll pass. I’ll manage.”

•·················•·················•

After Will started teasing him about “your café lover”, Pope and Frankie made inquiries. And he discovered he could spend hours talking about her and all the things he loved about her.

“Can we go to the café with you the next time?” Asked Pope.

“We have to meet this lady.”

“Yes, the reason for all the butterflies!”

“Grow up, dickheads.” And a lot of bottle caps flew to his head.

“¡Mi tío!” Came running Maria, hugging his plushie and jumping in his lap. “Don’t be mean to him.”

“OOOOOOH my sweet, little baby.” He hugged her tight.

“María, a la cama, es tarde”, her father admonished her and she said goodbye with a loud kiss and a hug to her uncle Benny, her uncle Will, her uncle Santi, and her papá.

Once she was upstairs, they returned to the conversation.

“You should make a move, Ben.” Advised Frankie.

He started to play with the sticker of the bottle of beer.

“You know she’s being nice to me because I’m a customer, right?”

•·················•·················•

A few weeks later, two men entered the café and had a sit in a table, not looking to the street but to the counter. She was replacing the pastries and cookies at the display and could feel their gazes fixed on her. She could see them through the glass, they were being ridiculous. Maybe they knew her? She didn’t remember their faces: One with a baseball cap and a few locks at the nape, moustache and patches of beard; the other with a stubble and wavy black and grey hair.

Brit took their orders at the table and kept a little chat with them. Then, after making the coffees, leave the tray on the counter. “Could you please take this to their table? I need to go to the bathroom.”

She greeted them, put their coffees and pastries on the table and hugged the tray. “Do you need something else?”

“Your name?” Said playfully the one with the stubble.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” He laughed quietly, the one with the cap did it too.

“Santiago.”

“¿Santiago? ¿Hablas español?”

“Sí, ¿tú también?” She answered that yes, excused herself and went behind the counter. “Pero, ¿cómo te llamo?” Shouted.

“Sólo levanta la mano e iré.”

“Te atrapó, Pope.” Laughed the other, hiding his smile behind the cup.

“Hey, Brit. Do you know those guys?” She asked, turning her back to the men.

“No, I don’t. Why?”

“Why are they looking at us so…?” She made the “I’m looking at you” gesture and her friend giggled. “What are they doing now?”

Brit glanced behind her friend’s shoulder. “They’re talking to each other. The one with the cap looked at you and… Don’t know how to say it… they’re doing the same as us?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

“Don’t pay attention to them, I have your back and you have mine.”

•·················•·················•

Ben was in the shower of the gym, washing away all the sweat in automatic movements. His mind was occupied with the memory of a certain beautiful lady behind a counter.

After the tea party with Maria, she had fallen into silence, suddenly shy and distant, and he didn’t know why. It was something he said or did? Did he overstep asking the tea for the next morning, giving the impression he was charming her to get away with asking stuff she couldn’t deny? Did he overstep in another way he couldn’t think of now?

His head was spinning with worry and slowly the anxiety was coming in waves. Just thinking in her expressive, beautiful eyes, her smile cracking broad in her face before she pushed her lips into a timid one; how she looks away when she gets struck by one of his compliments; the way her hips swayed through the tables and her thighs fills every pant she wore. Thinking in her beautiful cheeks, who deserved all the kisses in the world, and that he –somehow and for the worse he didn’t know how– had made something to disgust her, made his heart ache.

“You should talk to her, bro.” Repeated Will for the millionth time. This time, although, it was different because he didn’t do it before while shopping groceries. “I can’t stand another day of you with your head low.”

“Listen, did you know if I did something to upset her? I can’t find the moment, and I keep watching over and over again all the times we were together.”

“You did nothing, for God’s sake! Or ask her about it and get over it!”

“I can’t go and ask her broadly: Hey, listen, I wanted to say I’m sorry without acknowledging what I did wrong.”

Will stopped mid step and said “Yeah, you should say that.” A bag of chips landed in his head, because that’s how grown up brothers communicate with each other. “I’m being serious here– Look,” he faced his brother and put a hand in his shoulder, remarking his words, “I know you wear your heart in your sleeve and they broke it many times. I understand you have doubts now, but unless you go and ask her, you won’t have answers and you’re breaking your own heart now.”

He looked forward to going to her café, to chat with her and her friends, to joke with her. He bought her dolls of wool because he adored them, and because was another excuse to say to her how talented she was. He was still awestruck how such tiny things could be made, the patience she had, and that she self-taught how to do them, she told him once. He was awestruck of how smart she was, the kindness she showed to strangers, the passion she put in everything her fingers touch. Her friends talked nothing but wonderful things about her, and were reluctant to tell him why she was gone that morning, trying not to break her privacy and he admired their loyalty to her.

“This is the best coffee I had in months.” Pope texted fifteen minutes ago, while he was in the shower.

“What do you mean?”

And he responds with a photo of a mug and table he recognizes straight away.

Little shit. •·················•·················• Traducción: Mi tío: My uncle. María, a la cama, es tarde: Maria, go to the bed, it’s late. ¿Hablas español?: Do you talk Spanish? Sí, ¿tú también?: Yes, you too? Pero, ¿cómo te llamo?: But, how do I call you? Sólo levanta la mano e iré: Just raise your hand and I’ll go. Te atrapó, Pope: Got you, Pope.

#ben miller #Benny Miller #benny miller x reader #ben miller x reader #Triple Frontier #triple frontier fanfic #I had a dream with Ben last night and I'm yearning

21 notes · View notes

girlofthefandom · 4 years

Text

Charlastor Week Day 3: Cooking

Alastor sat in the small seating room off the lobby of the hotel quietly reading his book in the quiet of the sleeping hotel. The calm atmosphere of night was quickly interrupted as Charlie rushed into the room and began to look at books on the shelf on the far side of the room. Alastor closed his book, taking note of what page he was on for when he returned, and watched as the demoness quickly pulled books from the shelf stacking them in the crook of her arm.

“Carlie, Love, what are you doing?” Alastor laughed as Charlie spun around to find the source of the sound.

“Oh Al! What are you doing up?” Charlie shifted using her free hand to stabablize the stack of books.

“I’m always up darling. You, however are usually asleep by now.” He stood and in a few long strides was standing by Charlie taking a few books from her stack. “Couldn’t sleep love?”

Charlie looked down a bit embarrassed. “No, so I was just going to read a little before I went to bed.” She fibbed.

Alastor looked at the titles of the books and the number of them and knew immediately that Charlie had been planning on working on something. He also knew that Charlie wasn’t just having trouble sleeping.

“I have a better idea. Why don’t we go cook something?” Charlie looked up at Alastor with her shock loudly displayed on her face. “A little midnight snack will do you good love. How about something sweeter?” Alastor’s voice was upbeat as usual though he was quieter as to not wake everyone and ruin the little quiet still in the hotel. He slipped her books from her hands and set them on the table. Then without waiting for a response from her he wrapped an arm around her waist and escorted her to the kitchen while listing some ideas of what they could make.

“What do you want to make Charlie?” He asked as they entered the kitchen. He walked over to the counter and pulled a few things such as a bowl and wooden spoon.

“Umm...” Charlie stalled “We can just make whatever you want.”

“I asked what you wanted.” Alastor said calmly, not accepting Charlie’s attempt to avoid answering. He began to roll his sleeves as Charlie replied.

“Umm. Ok. How about some cookies? Those are pretty simple.” Charlie said sounding the most unsure of herself that Alastor had heard in a long time.

“Let’s do Sugar Cookies. I have an old recipe I think you’d enjoy.” Alastor reached for a small recipe box sitting beside the oven. He opened it and flipped through until he found his prey. He snatched the card out and clicked the box shut. “You get the wet ingredients and I’ll get the dry ingredients.” He handed the card to Charlie in an exaggerated manner. She took it and turned to find the ingredients listed. As she searched Alastor began to hum a familiar tune and Charlie started to quietly sing along.

The two gathered what they needed and set to work. Alastor stood behind Charlie telling her the instructions from memory and guiding her hands. During quiet moments of stirring or rolling the two would sing a chorus of a song in their perfect harmony.

As Charlie carefully slid the cookies into the oven Alastor had preheated he spun a timer and the soft ticking filled the room. “Now Charlie. Tell me the real reason why you’re up so late.” Alastor brushes the little bit of flower he had on himself off and settled himself leaning against the counter.

Charlie, much more flour covered, began to dust herself off a bit self consciously. “I already told you. I just...” she glanced up locking eyes with Alastor. She knew that he could tell she was lying and that he wanted the truth. “I was worried. With the next extermination coming up I was thinking about what we’ll do to keep everyone in the hotel safe. I’m worried about how I’m going to find a way to get some of our patreons redeemed, because they’ve earned it! They’ve all been working so hard and I can’t even promise them safety during the extermination much less redemption.” Tears started to flow down Charlie’s cheeks. She tried not to cry but she always tried especially hard not to cry around Alastor. She knew that he expected her to be strong so to be sobbing in front of him was out of the question, usually.

It took Charlie a moment to realize that Alastor wasn’t leaning on the counter any more and it took her another moment that he was standing there with his arms wrapped around her holding her close.

“Al..What..”Charlie started her tears momentarily stopped from shock.

“Shhh.” Alastor said his hands rubbing genetle circles on her back. “It’s alright Charlie. You’re doing a grand job and no one is asking any more of you.” Charlie felt her tears begin again as she wrapped her arms around him feeling the warmth of his body as she sobbed into his shoulder. They stayed that way with Alastor reassuring her until the timer over the stove rang.

Alastor places his hands on Charlie shoulders and moved her back so he could look her in the face. He lifted a hand and ran a finger across her face, removing the tears left there. “I think you need a cookie my dear. Let’s get them out and continue this conversation in the seating room. Alright love?” Charlie nodded and the two moved to get the cookies. With an expertise only someone familiar with the recipe could Alastor took the hot cookies off the tray and piled them on a platter. He lifted the platter with one hand as he wrapped the other around Charlie as they set off for the seating room where they would spend the next few hours discussing what was bothering Charlie until she finally fell asleep leaning on Alastor’s shoulder.

Ooops this was yesterday. Oh well better late than never. Hope you enjoyed!

#charlastorweek #charlastorweek2020 #charlastor #cooking #cookies #sugar cookies #charlie #alastor

36 notes · View notes

hedwigstalons · 4 years

Text

The Tracy Prize - part 7

I’m not sure whether to leave this here or if people would like an epilogue to set the conclusion in stone – let me know. I have some ideas but I’m not sure if they are needed.

I really appreciate all the comments and support this fic has received. Every piece of encouragement has given me the nudge to keep going.

I hope you like this (potentially) final instalment.

xoxoxox

An air of preoccupation hung over the Tracy family. Brains had disappeared into one of the many areas off-limits to Claire. Scott was locked away in an office, occasionally appearing to grab a drink before hurrying back, the tension evident in his posture. Grandma Tracy and Alan had thrown themselves into displacement activities.

Only Kayo was an ever-present feature.

Wherever Claire went the other woman was sure to follow. Lounge, poolside, cinema room; it didn’t matter where Claire tried to find some solitude Kayo would find her. It was like being tailed by a malevolent minder. One that was determined to assert her dominance.

In an effort to shake off the shake off her self-appointed guard Claire headed to the kitchen. Grandma Tracy was elbow deep in a mixing bowl. For some reason the sight of the matriarch surrounded by flour and baking trays was enough to make Kayo retreat and melt back into the shadows.

When the first charred discs were offered to her under the guise of cookies Claire could understand why everyone why everyone was giving the kitchen a wide berth. However, she figured that ingesting charcoal was a small price to pay to rid herself of Kayo’s calculating stare.

Morning transitioned to afternoon and still Virgil and Gordon did not return. It was becoming evident that Claire would be forced to spend a second night on the island.

As the shadows began to lengthen Claire felt her wrist comm vibrate and an incomprehensible pattern of lights played across its face. Grandma Tracy’s device mirrored the signal. Her shoulders relaxed and she stopped weighing out the ingredients for a third batch of inedible baking.

“The boys are nearly home. Could you be a dear and help me fetch something from the stores for dinner.”

Grandma Tracy still hadn’t quite worked out what they would be fetching but she knew she needed to move Claire into one of underground areas. The sight of Thunderbird Two returning home would be clearly visible through the panoramic windows in just a few minutes.

They headed out of the kitchen, Claire trailing behind Grandma Tracy as she took the elevator down a level and let the way into a maze of utilitarian corridors at odds with the luxury of the residential areas.

As they entered one of the numerous store rooms a low growl rumbled through the complex. More felt than heard, the vibration caused the floor to tremble slightly. Claire worried that the clearly volcanic island was showing signs of activity but her companion was unfazed. The vibrations stopped as abruptly as they had started.

They dug about in the food for several minutes. Selections were made and discarded. Only when Grandma Tracy felt sure that all danger of discovery had passed did she quit stalling for time and fill a box with the final choices for dinner.

Claire offered to carry the box back to the kitchen. Grandma Tracy gratefully let her; her boys had voracious appetites and the box was now very full.

They made their way back down the corridor. Claire was grateful for her guide, she wasn’t convinced she would have successfully navigated the bland stretches of blank walls, uniform doors and unmarked intersections without help.

It was at one of these intersections that Claire nearly collided with Virgil and Gordon as they arrived from a side corridor.

“We really must stop meeting like this.” The baritone voice joked.

Claire took in the dishevelled look of the brothers, a stark contrast to the well-groomed man she had first collided with.

They were dressed in just shorts and undershirts. Brick dust streaked their hair and exhaustion lined their faces. A bandage was tightly wound around Virgil’s thigh, an ugly red stain marring its crisp, white surface.

“C’mon Virg, keep moving. We need to get cleaned up then you and I have a date with the suture kit.”

Gordon steered his older brother around them and led him away down another faceless corridor. Their bare feet making no noise as they padded away.

“Don’t take too long boys. Dinner is in an hour” Grandma Tracy called out over her shoulder. She seemed completely unperturbed by their half-dressed appearance and obvious injuries.

xoxoxox

As they re-entered the kitchen Claire found her load suddenly lightened as Scott took the box from her arms. The ever-present Kayo glared at her from a corner.

“Gordon and Virgil landed safely” he announced cheerily.

“We know. We’ve seen them.” Grandma Tracy’s tone was flat.

“Oh.”

“We bumped in to them coming out of the laundry.”

“Oh.” At least if they were exiting the laundry they should have got rid of their uniforms he mused, that one would have been difficult to explain away.

“Landed safely?!” Claire exclaimed. “They looked like they had been in a war zone! Virgil’s leg is sliced open and none of you seem concerned. What is wrong with you people?”

She hadn’t seen her move but Claire suddenly found herself nose to nose with Kayo. The taller woman was making full use of her extra inches. The display of aggression was clear.

“Of course we care. Don’t you dare judge us.”

“Stand down, Kayo.” Scott’s order was firm. Kayo grudgingly took half a step backwards.

Claire turned her attention on Scott. “Just who are you anyway? You run this place like some sort of military leader. I’m surprised your family put up with it.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew she had overstepped the mark. She was still a guest in his house but Kayo riled her. Their personalities flared and clashed. Before she knew it Kayo was back in her personal space.

“I could ask you the same question. Who are you with all your secrets? Who are you working for?”

The others in the room looked on powerlessly as the challenge was issued. Kayo was deliberately inflammatory and Claire’s temper ignited in response.

“I have no secrets and I’ve made it perfectly clear I don’t work for, or with, anyone!”

“So why did you disappear from research two years ago. Who made you a better offer?”

“Checking up on me, huh? The only place I disappeared to was the bottom of an ice cream carton.”

Kayo snorted. “I don’t buy it. Why would you give it all up then take on a job you clearly hate.”

“I lecture because my savings ran out. Some of us don’t have trust funds to fall back on.” It was a low blow but her anger was seething. “If you’re so desperate to know what happened I’ll tell you. I was working on a joint project on mineral refinement although you evidently know that already. Turns out the professor leading it was a fraud. He hadn’t had an original idea in years. He had just been trading off his reputation and claiming the work of more junior team members as his own. No-one could challenge him, he could kill your career in an instant. He claimed all the credit for my work and I was meant to be happy with the scrap of recognition from being associated with him.”

“So you quit just because some old guy passed off your homework as his own?”

“No. I quit because of ChemCorp. I doubt you remember it. It turns out Professor Oulton wasn’t just using the work of others to maintain his position. He was also selling the research to bolster his retirement fund. The result was ChemCorp. The method was still experimental and should never have been scaled up. The processing plant went critical. A waste gasses tank exploded, killing seventeen people. Seventeen families were ripped apart because of something I created. I could never let that happen again. To know that something I designed could cause so much harm in the wrong hands.

“I cut myself off and took and safe and easy job. But then the itch of an idea hit me again and I couldn’t shake it off. I started up my research but made a vow that my work would go nowhere before I was ready. Before I could make sure all the fail-safes were in place and no-one could get hurt. If I release my work it will be on my terms. I can’t have another business putting profits over people. I can’t face being responsible for more deaths so Tracy Industries can back off, I’m not for sale.”

The wave of emotion Claire had been riding left her with a crash. Her shoulders drooped and she slumped against the counter top. It had been cathartic to tell her story. The story that had been denied to her, and that Kayo had unable to divine, since Professor Oulton had relegated her role to a footnote in his publication.

Silence settled over the kitchen.

“You’re wrong.” Scott’s voice was low, little more than a whisper.

She looked up into clear blue eyes that mirrored the emotion in her own.

“Of course we remember ChemCorp. We remember everyone we couldn’t save. Every death leaves its mark. We arrived too late. Maybe if we had got there faster we could have stabilised the plant or helped with the evacuation. That’s why we need your fuel formula. I think it’s time to show you the rest of the island.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #kayo #brains

37 notes · View notes