Apples of the Earth: A Technoblade x Reader (ON HIATUS)

Chapter 9: Out of the Loop

Weeks flew by like migrating birds and each day, (Y/n) and Techno would meet at the brook; some of those days, Techno was invited in for Tea or other small pleasantries in order for their time together to last longer. Unsurprisingly, (Y/n)'s father was yet to leave his study and meet Techno, but (Y/n) didn't mind much; they weren't misbehaving or acting out of wits, so there was no need to have someone constantly question what was just friendship. Philza was yet to find out why Techno left straight after breakfast every day, as if a routine, to do who-knows-what before returning in the late afternoon or sometimes even the evening! However, unlike Charles, Philza was getting progressively closer to finding out why. After all, he had a son who refused to believe another person's affairs weren't his business and would go to far lengths to find out what he wished to: Tomathy.

Technoblade knew (Y/n) wasn't going to be in the forest that day, as she had told him the previous day that she would be too busy, but he still wished to visit the clearing in order to quell the chaos within his mind. Techno had just reached the treeline when he heard it: a twig snapping under someone's worn boot and the quiet mutter of 'shit'. He immediately tensed and scanned the treeline, searching for anything put of place. He thought it could've some paranoia and was about to continue into the depths of the forest, but then he caught a glimpse of golden locks. Still unsure of who his pursuer was, he his amongst the trees, slowly creeping towards their location and stopping whenever he heard movement. "Where'd the fuck he go?", he heard his follower think aloud in a hushed voice but audible volume. He recognized the voice. Carefully scaling the rough bark of a tree, he crept along the boughs and hopped from branch to branch until he was above his revealed watcher. He silently dropped behind them, his wine-red cape billowing behind him.

"Tommy.", he greeted calmly, but their was clearly a hint of aggression in his tone. Said child practically leapt out of his skin and his head shot round quick enough to cause whiplash. Tommy jumped back with a screech upon seeing his intimidating older brother, spewing forth a long line of curses and profanities when he hit his head on the tree behind him. Techno just silently watched, his mild anger unwavering despite the pitiful display in front of him. "How did you even get behind me? I was so stealthy!", Tommy questioned as if Techno was the one following him. Techno made no move to respond, simply crossing his arms over his chest, muscles straining against his shirt. "Is there a reason you were following me or were you just testing your reconnaissance skills?", Techno questions, not dropping his serious demeanor. Tommy audibly gulped.

"Uh... Well... You see-"
"Spit it out, child."
"Ok! Jeez.", Tommy muttered, sighing as though he were the one being put through trouble. "I wanted to find out why you're constantly out. Same time, same exit, it's like someone's expecting you. So who are you seeing? I won't tell Phil! Promise on Wilbur's life!", he bargained, but it was clear that if he was only swearing on Wilbur, then he wouldn't have much objection to breaking that promise. Even still, Techno gave in. "I have a friend—I'm offended that you look that surprised but it's understandable—who I've been meeting for a while. I'm not going into to detail about who they are and I'm not letting you meet them. Don't bother begging, even if I'd find it hilarious. I'm not gonna see them today.", he finished, and his blonde brother cursed under his breath at his failed attempt to obtain blackmail material.

While Techno spent his day begrudgingly with his brother, (Y/n) spent the largest portion of her day in the market. The previous morning, (Y/n) opened the door to an extremely tall messenger with a rolled up piece of parchment and a worn hardback notebook. Upon opening the door, she heard said messenger mutter about how much of a fool he was to become a messenger when he had the memory of a fish on most days. Noticing the door had opened, the tall boy casually greeted (Y/n) as if he had no reason for his visit other than just wishing to make conversation. It was only when he was half way through a story about how he randomly found himself leagues away from home with no recollection of how, when he realized he had a reason for his visit and cursed his poor memory. Once he did, he simply handed her the parchment and went off on his way.

So now, there she was: walking around town and looking in boutiques hoping to find a dress that catches her eye. (Y/n) doesn't want a dress that she'll just wear once and never again; she wants one that she would definitely wear multiple times, one that could make a man's breath hitch but not draw too much attention to her, one that makes her feel beautiful. Yes, it made finding the right dress difficult, but (Y/n) liked seeing the patterns on the dresses and admiring the tailors' work. However, the workers in the shops made it hard to just enjoy looking around. (Y/n) sighed as she walked, her heels knocking a few loose pebbles as she walked. But then she saw it: a dress she would definitely wear, a dress that if worn right could make a man's breath hitch but not catch everyone's eyes. Now she just had to try it on. So she entered the shop.

The dress fitted (Y/n) perfectly, as if specifically tailored to her every curve (curves you like, curves you don't like, you look like a queen regardless). The skirt flowed gracefully and when she spun around in front of the mirror, it fell slowly as if she were underwater and invisible currents kept it flowing. (Y/n) became flustered when she heard the worker gasp upon seeing her. The dress ticked every box and she felt gorgeous. Without hesitation, she made her purchase and left the store. (Y/n) was surprised when she realized how excited she was for a social event; she'd never been very social. As the silver bell chimed, signalling the doors had closed, (Y/n) brought her arms up up as if to block a blow, feeling a sudden rush of cold, as if all the warmth in her body left with her exhale. Opening her eyes, she saw Isabella Braithwaite wielding a, now empty, bucket of water while a window cleaner muttered about his sudden loss of cleaning supplies.

"Well if it isn't the motherless daughter of a traitorous fiend.", Isabella greeted, her sweet tone a sharp contrast to her clear malice. It sent a chill up (Y/n)'s spine, or maybe it was the icy water chilling her to the bone that caused it. Isabella giggled as if she'd heard a suggestive joke that you'd hear from close family at a wedding, slowly stalking towards (Y/n). With each click of her 4-inch heel, each seductive sway of her hip, each bounce of her enviable golden locks, Isabella's small smile contorted into what could only be described as a grimace, the thick layer of powder on her porcelain face making it look chipped. Isabella stopped mere inches from (Y/n) before snatching her bag, the one containing her dream dress. "I'll be taking what is mine, thank you.", she said, her faux innocent smile returning with her taunting thanks. It was hard to believe her malice towards (Y/n) kept being overlooked.

(Y/n) stayed frozen, or as frozen as she could be with how much she shivered, as Isabella continued on her way. The few onlookers who watched the confrontation occur snapped out of their curious trance and continued as if nothing happened. (Y/n) flinched as she felt warmth blossom on her cheeks, but soon realized it was because salty tears had began to trickle down her face, silently dropping into the puddle at her feet. While she was embarrassed and upset about what had occurred, her moment of wallowing in self pity ended when she remembered something Isabella had called her father: "A traitorous fiend." What reason did she have for calling her widowed, hardworking father a fiend? (Y/n)'s train of thought ended as a gust of wind reminded her of her drenched state. With a shaky sigh, she began her journey home.