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darkdevasofdestruction · 3 years ago

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My Little Physician Empress ~ Yin Zhen x Reader

Just a story in which reader, a regular girl, was allowed since very young to aid her father in being a Royal Physician, and helped the princes through the years without asking for anything in return.

Since ancient times, views on physician women have been distorted times and times again - Sometimes they are shamans, other times they are witches, and oftentimes, they simply don't deserve to live, no matter how many lives they save, or how capable they are.

Even now, in Qing dynasty, there is stigma, and all the physicians in the palace are men.

But that will soon change when, one day, a Physician from outside the palace is able to come up with a proper cure for the plague that was rampaging the people and somehow, found its way inside the palace too, and he was rewarded handsomely - He was awarded a wish granted - Any wish he wanted.

And that was to have his daughter allowed to aid him in his work inside the palace. He explained how his daughter played around with concoctions one day, and somehow gave him the brilliant idea for a revolutionary cure, and with this story, the Emperor indulged the old man and got them both in the palace.

They didn't earn a lot of money, but it was enough for them to dress appropriately with living in the palace. The girl never got any kind of accessory, so she mainly held her hand in a simply braid, occasionally put some flowers in it, and was ready to go on with the day in aiding her father.

But she was always a curious little girl, and very often, she went outside to play and discover every nook and cranny around the palace - Which is when she met the fourth prince - Not that she knew, though.

She held some struggling and splashing in the water one night, and saw a eunuch running away. Upon investigating, she saw a child who wasn't trashing around anymore, and he was about her age. She jumped in the lotus pond, getting him to the surface and, after opening his jacket, she pressed on his chest between his lungs and leaned in to give him the kiss of life.

As expected, the boy then jolted in a sitting position and started coughing, before falling into her arms once again, exhausted.

"How are you feeling?" she asked in a gentle voice, her hand on his cheek to get his attention. "Fine...I'm better now...Whoever pushed me is going to get killed, I'll make sure of that." the boy was angry, and rightfully so. He tried to get up, but was still wobbly, so the girl helped him go back to his room, letting him lean on her side. "It was an Eunuch. I saw him running away from the pond after you got underneath the water." she told him what she saw. "Now that I think about it...Who are you? I've never seen you around the palace, have I?" he asked suspiciously. "Don't be suspicious of the person who saved your life. I am Y/N, daughter of the Royal Physician who came up with the cure for the plague." she explained in a gentle manner. "Figures. Then, that means you know who I am, don't you?" he scoffed lightly. "Uh...No, not really. Should I?" she tilted her head a little to the side. "You don't? They why did you save me?" he asked, even more confused now. "...Because you were dying?! Did you notice that? Was I supposed to let you die there? Tell me, I can quite literally drag you back to the pond and throw you back if you want? I will ask for you name first and only then rescue you." she scolded him in disbelief at his ungratefulness. "No. No, you're right. Anyway, thanks for saving me. How did you save me? I know I blacked out as some point, right?" he said, and with all the nonchalance in the world, she answered. "I gave you the kiss of life." this answer made the boy stop in his tracks, yelling at her. "YOU DID WHAT?! That’s... That’s improper! I will have you flogged and caned for that! You’re a woman, and I’m a man, and we are both unmarried, it’s... It’s...!" he gaped at her in horror. "You do realise you stopped breathing, don't you? And if I didn't get you breathing again, your heart would have stopped. If your heart stopped pumping, blood wouldn't have gone everywhere in your body, to all your organs, therefor you would have gotten a total system failure in less than 10 to 15 minutes. That means, for idiots like you who don't value life, that you would have died if I didn't do that." she rolled her eyes at him, dragging him inside the pavilion, where lots of eunuchs and maids fussed over him. "Su Peisheng! Reward this maid handsomely, she saved my life." the little boy said - He must be one of the princes, the girl thought, amused. "No thanks. I saved your life, that's all. You yelled enough at me, I don't want anything from you anymore. Next time I try to save your life, remind me to ask you your name first and only then ask consent to save your life." the girl rolled her eyes at him, thinking him hypocritical, and turned around to go home, only to have the boy catch her wrist immediately. "Then, ask for anything, and I'll give it to you." he said, very seriously. "Fine. I'm not a maid, I'm a Female Physician, therefor you must address me properly from now on. Physician Y/N. Got it?" her voice was authoritarian, but she didn't inspire malice or evil, and it quite amused the young prince. "Very well. Until we meet again, Physician Y/N." and thus, making her smile softly, she left the place with a nod of Goodnight. "Su Peisheng." the boy called out his eunuch one again. "What do Physician girls like?" he asked, almost innocently. "Forgive me, Your Highness, this one does not know, for there have not been female physicians in the palace before. However, girls usually like feminine things like clothes and accessories. Miss Y/N wasn't wearing any, as far as I saw." the eunuch provided the young prince with the information. "I see...Very well. Tomorrow, you will send some red agate earrings to her. Make sure you give them to her directly." the boy ordered his slave, who nodded in agreement.

However, the next day, the eunuch returned as he left - With the gift box in his hands and endless apologies. "Miss Y/N wanted me to inform you never to gift her...To quote her...Useless things. Pardon my rudeness, Your Highness, I am merely telling you her words. She said that expensive earrings won't help her save lives. I tried to convince her, but she threatened to throw them in the pigstry." the eunuch kowtowed to the ground in front of the young prince, only for him to raise him up and chuckle in amusement. "Don't worry, it's fine. I'll just bring them to mother and ask her for advice. This is no ordinary girl I'm dealing with."

And this way, his mother advised him to find rare healing-related books, even more so, from the West, and gift them to her. She immediately accepted them, and Yin Zhen often found the mysterious girl reading by the wisteria tree, unbothered by anything and anyone.

The 4th prince often looked at her and got reminded of his annoying 3rd prince brother, but at least she wasn't so obsolete and dissolute like him.

He would find her occasionally swinging in the Apricot garden, where it was mostly quiet and very few people visited, and even so, he would often hear her practicing flute-playing.

The next Prince she met was, to Yin Zhen’s entertainment and slight jealousy, was the 3rd Prince, Yin Zhi, as she was delivering medicine to one of the Imperial Concubines, the foreign melodious tune of an instrument she has never heard of before, and as expected, her curiosity led her directly to this Prince who seemed just a bit older than her, standing under a tree and practicing said instrument.

The girl could only stay there in awe, the wonderful melody taking over her senses and imagination, only for a sudden screech to destroy everything, making her yelp in shock. The jerk of a Prince made the bow unceremoniously scratch the violin’s strings, making a God Forsaken ear-bleeding noise.

“Hope you enjoyed that as well, stalker.” the prince sneered at her, but to his surprise, she merely chuckled. “Wonderful how such an elegant instrument can create hellish sounds in the wrong hands. Only someone hardworking, dedicated and with grace can play this instrument. You are a Prince, aren’t you?” she leaned on the tree, a knowing smirk on her face. “If you figured that out, then why aren’t you bowing to the ground right now?” the aggressiveness displayed in his voice and words seemed to contradict his actions as he sat down at the table, where neatly drawn blueprints and parts to be engineered with. “I can accept the consequences of my mistake and I even won’t protest, should you want to take my head off, should you be so kind as to explain to me the process of building this wonderful instrument. It is a Western one, is it not?” she sat down next to him, analysing the papers carefully. “What would some lowly maid like you know of Western technology? Why should I waste my time on you?” he scoffed, looking down at her. “Do you not find sharing such groundbreaking information with someone genuinely interested to be rather... Enlightening? From my short stay here, in the Palace, I have found out that the 2nd Prince is rather dissolute and promiscuous, but at the same time, a very intelligent and lonely person who cannot interact with others. From the looks of it, you simply have completely different aspirations and interests, while your brothers are solely interested in this Game of Thrones, and you cannot possibly have a proper, intellectual conversation with them. Correct me if I’m wrong, however, and I will leave you alone.” that vixen-like smile on her face made the Prince want to strangle her and wipe that stupid smirk off her face for daring to figure him out so well. At the same time, however, he hasn’t felt so challenged in his life and frankly, this little maid could prove to be more interesting than expected. “I’ll have you thrown to the Office of Punishments should you dare bore me at any time after the cheeky, daring stunt you pulled. Now, you better be paying attention to every word I am about to tell you, I hate repeating myself for dumb airheads, understood?” his voice was serious and mature, especially for someone his age, but that only meant that Y/N had what to learn from him, and for that, she was grateful. “I swear to do my best and keep up with your intellectual explanations, so please, do be patient with me for I am very grateful for the time you are taking out of your schedule to teach me.” she bowed her head to him, and thus, with a soft huff, the Prince began explaining the to the girl about the peculiar instrument in his hands. “This is called a Violin, and this is called a Bow. As you guessed, this instrument was created in the West, from a country called “Italy”, in an unknown date from the 16th century. Although paintings from back then show the Violin had 3 strings, now, as you can see, it has four...” and so, he continued by showing her the component parts of the violin both on the instrument, and on the blueprints, only for him to, in the end, gift her the ink drawing he made of the original blueprint, as a way for her to promise to continue studying on her own too.

There were many other Royal Princes and Princesses, but many weren’t as interesting as the 3rd and 4th Prince who, quite frankly, were a force to be reckoned with. While Yin Zhi would teach her how to build a clock, or show her interesting literature, Yin Zhen would be adamant in taking her horse-riding and, surprisingly, he was rather interested in her healing knowledge, thus why, he would always acquire the rarest books from all over the world and, instead of giving them for the Physicians to learn, he would gift them to this lovely maid whose company he loved so much.

Time passed quickly, they got older, both Y/N and her father rapidly advanced in their ranks thanks to their revolutionary treatments that cured every illness, and the princes all grew into fine men - Which meant that the true Game of Thrones began for everyone in the palace, not just them.

The first to go down was the Crown Prince who, as Y/N discovered, had ricing powder put in his food. “It is quite simple, and unfortunately, incredibly deadly, even in small doses. All you need is the beans from a castor oil plant, you make them into powder and... You’ve got one of the deadliest poisons there are. My only guess is, it would have to have been someone from the Imperial Kitchens who could do such a feat because, if the powder was put on the dishes after being prepared, it would still be mildly visible, whereas if it was put in a big pot, it would get homogenized and thus, leave no visible or taste trace.” Y/N explained in front of the Emperor, standing poised and ignoring all the other many eyes staring at her. “I have heard many times of ricin, but none was ever brave enough to dare bring it into the Palace, especially after I have forbidden any dish to be made with Castor oil! For the poison to act, one administration was enough?” Emperor Kangxi asked, rage and sorrow evident on his face. “No, Your Majesty. I imagine that the culprit played it smart and only added small doses of ricin powder in His Highness’s food, but regularly. I have read the Medical Files from the Bureau of Imperial Physicians and I have noticed that His Highness was complaining of an upset stomach, difficulty in breathing, occasional coughs that turned bloody over time and spiking fevers - Again, all over a rather long period of time. If the culprit were to use a large dose of powder, the Princes wouldn’t have been able to finish all the food from the plate and, therefor, the Ricin would have been tenfold easier to detect. In this situation, however, small doses meant nobody would believe His Highness got sick because of the food, because of his healthy appetite, hence why he was treated symptomatically for unrelated, yet very possible diseases.” the Female Physician went on further with the deduction, which angered the Emperor even further. “These jackals won’t even allow my sons to eat anymore! From now on, every meal will have to be tested before any person from the Royal Family eats it. Find the culprit immediately!” the Emperor thundered, his voice echoing throughout the Hall of Mental Cultivation. “Your Majesty, if I may... Ricin cannot be detected with silver, and if it is put in hot meals, it wouldn’t be traceable anymore. There is no way to detect it. While ingesting the poison is admittedly the least toxic pathway into the human body... Even with a small dose, it starts to cause internal damage in as little as 6 hours after ingesting. In regular doses, death can occur in a maximum of 3 days, which means, to my understanding, that His Highness may have started being poisoned a week ago at most.” the girl spoke confidently, but also with a tint of reticence. “Are you trying to tell me there is no way of detecting the culprit?!” the man rose up from his throne, pointing his finger at her. “On the contrary. With the grace and cooperation of His Highness, the 4th Prince, a small pouch of herbs mixed with ricin powder was found in the pockets of one of the eunuchs helping at the Imperial Kitchens. That is to say... If the truth comes out that this eunuch was the one who put the powder in the food... We need a testimony and evidence that would point towards the mastermind behind this operation of regicide. His Highness was the Crown Prince and a mere eunuch wouldn’t be affected in any way by the future Emperor, however that may be, but someone who could benefit in having another candidate on the throne would get actively involved in working from the shadows...” she didn’t dare move her sight from the furious Eye of Heaven, no matter how much she wanted to avert her eyes and look at the Prince, begging to be taken away from there because the tension was crushing. “Yin Zhen!” calling out his son’s name, he stepped next to Y/N, bowed and knelt next to her. “The two of you did good in solving this crime. From now on, the two of you shall continue unmasking the truth of this mystery and bring justice to my son, the Crown Prince, got it? No matter who it is, I will have them punished!” the Emperor’s last command was abided by the two of them bowing to the ground and calling out their responses - “Yes, Your Majesty!”

And thus, the Hall of Mental Cultivation was cleared and the two people in cause walked away, looking at each other and letting out sighs of relief.

“Let’s not do that again.” the girl managed to mutter, putting the back of her hand to her forehead, exhausted from the trial. “You’re tired just from this? I was expecting a lot worse.” the Prince smirked at her, seeing her roll her eyes. “Yes, well, the Royal Family business isn’t for me. I’m fine just healing people and studying. It’s actually relaxing, you should try that once in a while.” she nudged him softly, only for him to stop in his tracks. “What if I tell you I want you to join the Royal Family.” he crossed his arms, looking at her with a playful expression. “I’d tell you... You’ve lost your mind... And that nobody would agree to something like this. I suppose I should remind you that... I am a commoner and you are, and I hope it doesn’t come as a shock to you, not only the Prince but... A very strong candidate at being the next Crown Prince.” she shook her head in amusement. “Father wants to promote you to Noble Lady Shuyu.” he refuted immediately. “Having ‘Noble’ in a title does not make you of noble birth. Don’t make it difficult for either of us, Yin Zhen. Not to mention, you would be doing me a great disservice by marrying me.” she explained, cautiously looking around for any prying eyes. “How is giving you a life of unlimited luxuries means I’m doing you a disservice?” he stepped closer to her, holding her hands to his chest. “I am jealous, first of all. Even if I am to be your main wife, which, by the way, is impossible, you would still need to have a huge amount of concubines because that is the life of a Duke and/or the Emperor, should you actually get the title. That doesn’t exactly sit amazingly well with me to begin with... And that also means I’m not exactly the most Virtuous, Selfless and King Empress that everyone would want the woman holding this title to be. That and... If I marry into the Royal Family, I won’t be able to continue my Physician work, and I will only have to stay inside a stupid, but nicely furnished palace, with tons of servants to do whatever the hell I want and many more other women who will be jealous of me and will plot to kill me. Ah, yes and the unfortunate case of you getting bored of me for a younger girl, when we get older, but that’s just that.” she got her hands back, and smiled at him sarcastically. “You’re an impossible woman, you know that, right? If you do, you should also know that, for you, I would give up the title of Crown Prince. If I am a duke, then it shouldn’t matter if I marry one woman alone, and whether or not she continues her hobby of healing people in a palace far away from the Forbidden City, where there would be no envious eye that would wish you harm. How does that sound.” his words were soft and gentle, and with every sweet word, he could see the girl’s defenses lowering down, bit by bit. “You would be an idiot to turn down the title you worked so hard for, especially after this perfect opportunity has just knocked on our doors. Don’t be stupid, Yin Zhen. I can still love you even if we are not legally married. Listen, we both know the 2nd Prince is the culprit, right? Him and his lousy mother of his, who wants to become the next Empress. I have a plan to take both of them down, and if we succeed, your place on the throne is automatically... But we have to be very smart about it. Very, very smart. Are you in?” she turned to look at him, as he stepped very close to her, cupping her face and kissing her forehead. “Since when have you become so scheming?” he asked, proud and amused. “Since I have a reason to win.” she winked at him, putting her hand on his face so he could lean down and hear the plot.

Months passed, and Y/N has been as busy as ever taking care of the women of the Harem since Imperial Concubine Yu was pregnant and the Empress, the late 1st Prince’s mother, protectively took her under her wing, while the sole Female Physician was to take care of her.

Thankfully, every plan was set in motion and time flew so fast, it was unexpected that 9 months already passed and the Concubine was ready to give birth already. Unfortunately for her, the Empress, along with the Empress Dowager, were away to pray for Buddha, and thus, the Noble Consort was now the most powerful woman in the Harem, and able to take decisions in place of the Empress.

As Y/N helped the Concubine give birth, to her shock, she realised the baby was very much yellow - But not only the little prince’s body, but his eyes as well. It caused a lot of shock and stir ups... But the unfortunate timing of arrival of the Noble Consort was enough to grab the baby from the midwife’s hands and toss is carelessly to the eunuchs who was digging a hole in the backyard of the Empress’s palace, to bury the infant alive, while the poor Concubine mother was frantically trying to escape the grasp of the eunuch keeping her away so she could rescue her baby.

But it was in vain, and no matter how much the mother begged, the Consort was absolutely ruthless. She was digging into the dirt, trying to rescue her child, but all of the Empress’s maids were uselessly staring, frightened and very much afraid for their lives.

Smartly, Y/N went inside the Empress’s palace and took her seal - As she ran back to the scene of the crime and yelled at the Consort to end this mess.

“The golden seal of the Empress is here! Enough of this mess! Yes, the infant has golden eyes, but the truth is, this might just be a medical problem, and we cannot know for sure if it is not investigated! Under such context, we must wait for Her Highness the Empress to make the decision! Noble Consort, I have begged you again and again to cease your actions, but I have no other way of stopping you. Seeing this golden seal is like seeing Her Highness the Empress herself, whether the 17th Prince is indeed sick, and how Noble Lady Yu should be dealt with, we must all wait for the decree of Her Highness the Empress. Any other person isn’t allowed to take any arbitrary action!” as Y/N glared angrily at the Noble Consort, showing off the Imperial Box that was hiding the Empress’s seal, the well known voice of the Eunuch announcing his Majesty’s arrival resounded through the place. “What happened?” the Emperor asked, followed by the 2nd, 3rd and 4th Princes. “Greeting His Majesty. Your Majesty, the little prince was born with golden pupils. His whole body is yellow. The Empress isn’t in the palace. I’m enforcing the palace law on her behalf. I was just about to punish the mother and child, but who knew that the servants of Changchun Palace would publicly stop me.” the Consort threw a shady look at the Physician. “Your Majesty, I dare not hinder Noble Consort in implementing the law. It’s just that Her Highness the Empress repeatedly instructed that we all must protect Noble Lady Yu. Before the Empress returns, no one is allowed to make punishments without permission. Moreover, whether the little prince is indeed sick or not, as a Physician, I must advise everyone not to make conclusions based solely on what we see. There was no time for me, or any of my colleagues to check the health of the little prince, therefor, this may all just be an unfortunate misunderstanding, not a bad omen. The action of Her Highness the Noble Consort is too hasty.” Y/N confidently explained the problem for the Emperor. “You wench, how dare you speak ill of my mother?!” the new Crown Prince, the 2nd Prince, rushed forward to slap the girl’s face angrily. “Father, there is nothing impossible in this vast world. I, who has been studying various Western practices would know that what we may consider impossible or strange, other would deem normal, and vice versa. It may just be as the Female Physician says - That the 17th Prince’s golden pupils are just because of some strange illness that, if treated, will disappear.” the 3rd Prince stuck up to the girl. “Your Majesty, my child surely has some weird illness! I beg you, Your Majesty, I beg you to immediately have him treated.” the mother’s pleas melted the Emperor’s heart. “Li Yu.” the Emperor called out his head eunuch. “Call the Imperial Medical College for a consult. And find out if Physician Y/N’s father returned from his trip abroad.” and thus, the Emperor called everyone in cause once again to the Hall of Mental Cultivation to hear the testimonies and make a decision.

Two elder doctors came inside the Palace and reported their explanations to the Emperor, while the poor, desperate mother was thrown out of the room so she could calm down and stop shrieking.

“I’ve seen a lot of babies with yellowish faces, but I’ve never seen a case where the pupils are also golden yellow.” one of them explained. “Is there no way to cure him?” Yin Zhen asked the Physicians. “This is not an illness, so there is no way to cure it. There is no such thing as a child with golden pupils in this world.” Physician Zhang answered adamant. “I know Your Majesty is unwilling to do it, but if we don’t resolve it today, if the sun rises tomorrow, the news that a Noble Lady of the Forbidden Palace has given birth to a child with golden pupils will spread to the empire as if it has wings. I fear that people will be in panic and it will be hard to handle the consequences. Hence, I hardened my heart, all for Your Majesty’s sake, for the Qing Empire. Even if everyone will blame me for it, I won’t mind. Your Majesty, why are you still hesitating?” the dead silence that followed was, as if on cue, disturbed by the baby’s cries. With a hurried smile, Y/N hurried to take the baby in her arms and kneel in front of the Emperor. “Your Majesty, look! Although the little prince is yellowish all over, his cry is very strong! Your Majesty, he is a live person and he is connected with Your Majesty by blood! How could you kill him so easily?!” Y/N spoke quickly, hoping to appeal to the Emperor’s soft heart strings. “Isn’t the Empress to kind? Indulging a mere physician to act like this? When your masters are talking, how could you interfere?!” the Noble Consort harshly reprimanded the girl. “I recognize my mistakes, however, as a Physician myself, while it is true that I do not know everything in this world, I can also say that I had my fair share of travelling, albeit, not as much as my father. The yellowing of the body may as well be jaundice, especially if we take into account the severity of the colour. In some texts that I have read, it is said that, on rare occasions, if the jaundice is severe, it may even affect the colour of the eyes. Your Majesty, I have no reason to work against anyone. My work is to heal people, which is why I am fighting so hard to save this child - Not only because he is Your Majesty’s child, but because all lives must be treasured and treated with great importance. If this child is sick and I can cure him, than I have done my purpose in life.” the girl gritted her teeth, trying to control herself. “Father, can’t you see you’ve been indulging this wench for far too long? You give a common wench a helping hand, and now look how unruly and disruptive she is! Speaking back to her superiors! Shameless!” the Crown Prince growled at the girl who was incriminating his mother. “Father, if I may - As Physician Y/N said, all of our Imperial Physicians have been working only inside the palace for so long. If a strange illness occurs, they may have no knowledge of that, perhaps even outside of the usual textbooks. If I understood correctly, Y/N father has returned to the palace just yesterday, perhaps his opinion will be of use, should this simply be a case of misdiagnosis.” the 4th Prince quickly defended her. “Nonesense! Could a distinguished Imperial Physician of the Imperial Medical College have less knowledge and experience than a common maid like you with no proper training or education?” Physician Zhang scoffed at her. “Your Majesty, although I’m well-versed in children’s illnesses, there is nothing truly impossible in this vast world. Maybe there are still a lot of strange illnesses that I’ve never had a chance to be in contact with. Many Physicians tried to get rid of the plague, but only Physician Liyue was able to do it, a common man from outside the Palace with no former education. Just because we haven’t seen it, doesn’t mean it can’t exist.” Physician Yang spoke modestly. “Physician Yang, are you old and muddled?! A matter that you yourself isn’t sure of, you dare report it to His Majesty?! If a problem indeed occurs, a natural calamity or a human-made disaster, can you bare the crime? No. Your Majesty, this concerns the fortune of the Qing Empire. You mustn’t be soft-hearted.” the Noble Consort quickly responded as harsh as ever.

However, just as she said that, Y/N’s father clumsily stepped inside the room and knelt next to his daughter, greeting the Emperor who, in haste, told him to check the child.

In doing so, he merely smiled and said the same diagnosis as his daughter did.

Jaundice.

“Can’t be. Not like I haven’t seen jaundice in children before.” Physician Zhang refuted immediately. “That’s because you are lacking in knowledge. Your Majesty, this jaundice, even if it’s not treated, the little prince would recover within 7 days. This illness is pathological and related to the bile of the expectant mother. It is usually connected with the pregnant mother having too much accumulation of bile.” the father explained. “Your daughter gave the same diagnosis.” the Emperor muttered. “Can it be cured?” “Your Majesty, don’t worry. If I prescribe a formula to reduce the jaundice, in less than 2 weeks, the 17th prince’s jaundice will subside.” and thus, the Emperor ordered to have the child be treated with care...And the Consort changed sides as much as her face changed instantly.

And thus, the Emperor forgave the Consort and had this matter be banned from being talked of...Until the 4th Prince spoke up.

“Father, before we leave, I had urgent news to speak to you about, and they concern the Noble Consort.” the Prince left his father’s side and stepped in front of him, next to Y/N. “Is this about your brother’s death?” the Emperor’s face became grim as soon as he saw the nod of the prince’s head. “Very well, speak.” “Su Peisheng, have the body brought in.” the Prince ordered. “Noble Consort, you are not afraid when you kill a man, so why are you afraid when you see a corpse?” the Prince asked, simply, as he took off the sheet to show off the man’s face. “Do you not recognise him? Or perhaps, your son does?” the Prince interrogated the indignant woman. “What are your implications, Yin Zhen?!” the Crown Prince stomped in front of his brother. “Your Mayesty, this is the Mongolian chef from the Imperial Kitchen. While he is also the one who cooked food for Noble Lady Yu, he is also the one who prepared the daily Mongolian treat that the 1st Prince enjoyed so much.” Yin Zhen spoke up confidently. “That’s right... Your Majesty, I have taken care of Noble Lady Yu since the beginning of her pregnancy, and pretty early on, Noble Lady Yu was gifted Mongolian scones from her hometown. She loved them so much, I imagine she ate quite a lot. She said she had no idea there was a Mongolian chef in the Palace and she was incredibly happy to see that she could eat her home food after so long. She would eat three pieces every day - At least that’s what I saw, if she ate more when I wasn’t supervising her, I cannot know.” the Physician girl explained as she stood up, tall and ready for action. “Your Majesty, I had these scones be brought here as well.” the 4th Prince spoke and a scone was given to Y/N’s father. “Do you know what they are made of?” her father asked as he took a bite. “I believe milk was added to the dough, or ghee to the skin. She also ate assorted confectionary to replace staple food.” Y/N told her father. “Yes, I understand. Your Majesty, the child contracted jaundice mostly because the mother’s body is moist and hot, so the bile gets accumulated. I usually advise pregnant women to watch their food intake and not to eat too much sweet, hot and unpleasant smelling food, to prevent damage to the spleen and stomach.” Physician Liyue explained. “Ah, I understand. I didn’t give it much thought because Mongolian women are used to eating these things, but since she’s been away from home for so long, her body adjusted to our food, so naturally, getting a large intake of food from home again made her body react as ours would.” Y/N nodded in understanding. “Very well, so we have found out the truth behind the Prince’s illness. Now, Yin Zhen, tell me about the body. Who killed him.” the Emperor urged his son to speak. “We just have to look at who wanted the 17th Prince buried alive the most and we will know. And on who benefits the most in having our 1st Prince brother killed.” Yin Zhen explained. “That man is dead, brother. On what bases are you accusing me and my mother?” the Crown Prince sneered at his younger brother. “Your Majesty, the 17th Prince was just born, he is just an innocent child. Why would anyone want him dead? Unless... Someone didn’t want him to be born safely to begin with. Carefully thinking about it, since Noble Lady Yu got pregnant, Her Highness the Noble Consort has repeatedly made things difficult for her. First, using her dog to cause her trauma at the Imperial Gardens, and then repeating the same feat at the Lychee banquet organized by Her Highness the Empress. When Noble Lady Yu gave birth, the first person to charge in Changchun Palace was also Her Highness the Noble Consort. She insisted on having the 17th Prince buried alive. To say that this matter has nothing to do with her, it’s really hard for anyone to believe that.” Y/N accused the Consort, only to be, once again, slapped by her son. “Father, this is a conspiracy, don’t listen to the lies of this servant! It is a plot made to frame me and my Royal Mother!” the Crown Prince desperately tried to defend himself. “Father, if this is a conspiracy, why then everyone else asked for a Physician to be brought and inspect the 17th Prince’s condition, while only the Noble Consort alone was so adamant in killing the child?” Yin Zhen struck again. “Not to mention, even when Noble Lady Yu went up to her to stop her, she didn’t spare her. Instead, she ordered her to be killed along with the child. If she truly had no intention to kill, why was she so hasty and resolute?” Y/N chimed in quickly. “Your Majesty, you cannot sentence myself or the Crown Prince merely just based on a corpse and some speculations! This person is dead, who knew if someone else forced him to kill himself as to frame me and my son?” the Noble Consort shrieked desperately. “Father, when I sent my men to the Imperial Kitchen, they discovered one letter written in blood and 20 taels of gold. It shows that this person had sensed that something bad would happen to him. Father, look for yourself at the evidence left behind.” and thus, the eunuch brought forth a messy letter and the Prince showed it to the Emperor -” 'The person who will silence me will surely be the Crown Prince’ - And with this, father, we found a small pouch of Ricin laying on top of it. It means that the culprits behind these two crimes that we thought unrelated are, in fact, mother and son.” the 4th prince explained, picking up the pouch as well. “Wh-What?! What is this madness? I would ever use such a stupid servant to kill my brother!” the Crown Prince yelled out, but it was in vain. “Not only that, testimonies from the Office of Punishments came out. The men from the Imperial Kitchens that were involved in either of these crimes, all ratted out their mastermind and all point out towards either Noble Consort or the 2nd Prince.” the Prince continued, and the atmosphere in the place was harder and harder to bear. “Your Majesty! Your Majesty, it really wasn’t like this! I really didn’t know! I’m being framed! Framed! Me... My son...! We’re being framed!” the Consort tried to beg, plea and weep, but nothing worked. “ENOUGH! I don’t want to hear any more explanations from you. You killed my beloved son out of greed, just for you to become the next Crown Prince. I have overlooked so many of your mistakes and evidence of a possible coup... You were already the Crown Prince, what more did you want?! Shameless, both of you! Men, take them away! Both of them shall be thrown into the Cold Palace until further notice!” the Emperor’s rage seethed fear into everyone, as they bid his order, uncaring of the two’s desperate pleas. “Yin Zhen, you did well. Although a tragic truth, I was expecting this. As the matter of a new Crown Prince has to be instilled, I will make the final Imperial Edict tomorrow... However, you must know that you are the chosen one. I only wish that you do not act as carelessly and shamelessly as your brother did.” the Emperor sighed, feeling older than ever. “Father...I...! Your Majesty, you are magnanimous, I do not know how to thank you.” the Prince kowotowed to the ground, only to hear a weak chuckle from his father. “Rise, no need for that. Physician Y/N, you and your father once again saved us with your vast knowledge and expertise. I shall grant you both the title of Noble Officials of the Third Rank and shall enjoy all the benefits and luxuries that come with it. You have served me well and I am sure you will continue to do so in the future as well. You are all dismissed.” the Emperor said as everyone bowed to greet him off. “That worked better than expected.” the Prince smirked, looking down at the stunned girl. “Am I a genius or what?” she spoke breathlessly before starting to laugh in glee. “Dear, I have no idea what silly thing you plotted while I was away, but... I have to say, you pulled quite the stunt.” her father patted her hair lovingly. “I suppose once in a while I do like to have some dangerous fun, huh? Good thing I have two Royal Helping Hands to take me out of the water should I suddenly forget to swim.” she grinned carelessly, only for her father to shake her head, smiling. “Just be careful. Although... I am sure you will be protected. I will take my leave now.” and with a small bow, the left the three alone. “Was any of that true?” the 3rd Prince eyed the two carefully. “Well... She really did want to kill the baby by burying it alive. The rest was... Induced or fabricated. But nobody has to know, right? It’s all our dirty little secret.” the girl winked at him and, taking the 4th Prince’s hand, pulled him outside. “How does it feel being a Noble Lady?” the Prince chuckled, pulling her close to his chest and smiling warmly. “None the wiser.” she snorted in amusement. “Honestly, Yin Zhen, it’s just a title. It’s not like anyone is going to care in any way. I am still going to be just a common girl with no right to stay anywhere close to you. Besides, you know as well as I do that, in the very small chance that the Emperor does accidentally impregnate a common maid and he wives her, she is still going to be treated poorly and will be bound to the Back Palace alone. You know as well as I do that nobody is allowed to enter the Back Palace so freely. I don’t want any of that.” she spoke, cautiously. “If I am going to be the Emperor, that mean the whole China is going to be mine. It doesn’t matter which woman is my Empress, as long as all the other concubines are there for political reasons. All they care about is wealth, fame and luxuries for their families, but none care for me the way you do. You saved me from drowning when you had no idea who I was, and you rejected any gift I gave you that wasn’t useful for your education. I know you don’t want to be pretentious or have me think that you love me solely for luxuries but that does not mean I should be forbidden from pampering you whenever I feel like it. Just accept it. I do not want any other woman to stay in the Empress’s throne besides me other than you. Don’t deny me that, Y/N.” he cupped her face, making her look up at him, his eyes tender and filled with love. “I can’t do it, Yin Zhen. I can’t. I can’t let you damage your image. You will be the best Emperor China’s ever had, you cannot have a common peasant woman be the Mother of the Nation. You will found a woman to genuinely love you and care for you as much as I do, and she will be worthy of you, and of noble blood... And you will forget about me, and I will no longer inconvenience you. You will be just fine without me, Yin Zhen.” her eyes gleaming, close to tears, as she spoke those painful words, but the prince had none of that. “I will have none of that modesty and selflessness of yours. Keep that to yourself. I am going to be the Emperor. The Eye of Heaven. If I cannot even choose the woman I love to be my Empress, than what’s the point in being diligent in everything else? No matter how hard working you are, at the end of the day, you need to have clarify and peace from your confidante, and for me, that is you. I will hear no more of your excuses, I will solve all of them. In fact, I know just how you can get the ultimate approval from my father, as if everything you’ve done so far over the years hasn’t been enough. In a month, the palace will hold a banquet for the Princess of Western Liang and her Diplomatic Corp. I trust you and you alone to accompany me to this. I know it’s not something you are used to, but I will prepare people to teach you the basic according skills needed. This is all you’re going to need to do, and it will impress Father without a doubt. Please, Y/N. Do it for me. Do it for us. I want to marry you and love you. I want to see you dressed in the most gorgeous Empress dress, to have you by my side at the coronation, to see you smile as I put accessories in your hair. I want to see you happy, and I want to see you by my side every day and every night. Screw the rules, the Emperor can do as he pleases in his private time.” the fire inside Yin Zhen’s heart seemed to reach the girl for she merely smiled and, with an unexpected turn of events, she threw her hands around his neck and pulled him down into a deep kiss. “You better abide your own words, otherwise this Empress is going to drive her new hair pin into your jugular vein and have you assassinated in your sleep.” she muttered with a teasing smirk. “That’s the Y/N I love.” and with that, he pulled her into another, and yet another kiss, with as much fire, love and passion as the previous ones.

For the whole month, the girl, getting used to servants and new luxuries in her home, trained in all the skills Yin Zhen’s servants thought necessary, as to become a proper Noble Lady and, as he would always say, His Empress.

As she was practicing her walking on heels through the palace, her maid, Shi Lian, seemed to be in quite the mood for chatting, telling her that the Western Liang delegation came by just earlier that day and that they are carrying this beautiful, exotic precious unique hairpin. However, unexpectedly, a huge crowd started gathering all around the two and the people started pulling and pushing around aimlessly, creating a huge commotion, making her fall on the street. Thankfully, just as she was about to get crashed by an incoming carriage horse, she felt lifted up.

“Are you injured?” the sweet voice of the man who so heroically rescued her called out, brushing a strand of hair from her face as he protectively held her waist. “Thanks to you, I am. Are you my guardian angel or what? I can’t believe how perfectly you arrived to save me.” she put her hand to her chest, trying to calm down. “I had orders to greet the corp. You silly... It’s great fate that I’m here. I’ll bring you back and send for an Imperial Physician to look after you.” he spoke strictly, only for the curtains of the carriage to be harshly drawn away and a glaring woman to stick her head out of the window. “4th Prince, are you going to leave me and the envoys of Western Liang behind?” she scolded in an evil way. “...Yin Zhen, I am alright, I promise. Shi Lian is with me. You said it yourself, this banquet is important, you cannot leave. Go attend your business. I insist.” the girl looked him deep into his eyes, knowing that they always understood each other from their looks. “Fine. But I will leave a guard behind to escort you home. Take care, Y/N.” and thus, with one last look, he left, as Y/N could only smile at how caring and attentive her hero is.

The silly man, however, as expected, dotted so much on her that he called her own father to care for her.

“Miss, looks like 4th Prince really cares about you! Ah, before I forget, the Matron has a massage for you. This afternoon, the Princess of Western Liang will be visiting the Imperial Palace and you are designated as her retinue.” Shi Lian’s sweet and innocent smile quickly disappeared. “Oh... Great. I have to take care of a bitch. May the Heaven watch over me.” Y/N muttered as she leaned her head on her father’s shoulder. “I heard she is pretty aggressive. She’d bully maidens without excuses. She’s fearsome... Miss, you have to be more careful.” the maid held her master’s hands, looking worried at her. “Don’t worry, I can do it. If this is the last step towards success, not even all the torture Wu Zetian went through can stop me.” Y/N’s voice was low, dark and dangerous. She was like a fearsome lioness ready to strike and maul anyone approaching her cub.

The next afternoon, after dressing is soft and demure looking clothes, Y/N went to show the Princess around the Imperial Palace. The load of exotic jewelry would blow away anyone’s mind, but she wasn’t interested in anything except for the fine craftmanship and the great detail put into everything.

“Ah, it’s you who was saved by 4th Prince yesterday morning outside the palace! To think 4th Prince would ignore me because of a slave girl!” the Princess stared at her condescendingly. “I am but a humble Palace maid. Surely 4th Prince would pay his undivided attention to you, Princess.” the girl bowed respectfully in front of the Princess. “I’d love to see what you’ve got! I heard the Tea ceremony of the Great Qing is extraordinary. Blow away my mind!” the Princess ordered immediately.

Thanking Yin Zhen for having all his servants meticulously teach her every art needed, Y/N proceeded in preparing the Tea Ceremony in such an elegant and graceful manner that the Princess was greatly jealous.

“She’s just a slave girl! In what position is she compared with me? Somebody drive her away, I don’t like her!” however, just as she was throwing her tantrum, Yin Zhen’s eunuch came by to invite Y/N to the banquet.

With a smile on her face, she went back to her home to change in the outfit prepared by the 4th Prince himself, and at dusk, when the glowing sunset brought out Yin Zhen’s most handsome features, she saw him. Tiredness was painted on his face.

“Yin Zhen... You look exhausted. Will you be alright?” she asked softly, cautiously raising her hand to caress his face. “I will be, yes. I am merely worried about you... But seeing you like this lifted all my worries. You are the most beautiful woman in the world.” saying so, he caressed her hand, kissing it. “I have to look my best when standing besides the most handsome man in the world, correct?” she winked cheekily at him, and thus, they went together inside the palace where the banquet was taking place.

There were songs, and dances, and just about anything you could expect - And there, on display, the precious hairpin of Western Liang, the jewel inlaid to it glistening mesmerisingly.

Seeing her confused look, he explained that the envoys are willing to part with the hairpin as a tribute only if they pass several tests. As it was a matter o Great Qing’s reputation, His Majesty couldn’t possibly refuse.

“Three tests and the hairpin is ours? How arrogant. No matter, I’m sure we can beat them.” the girl scoffed, standing besides Yin Zhen’s seat.

The first test, as expected, was Music. Western Liang sends out an envoy adept in music. The test is rather prompt to the palace and no one is prepared for that, so no one responds. Truly, perhaps she was a master at playing Pipa, and she was beautiful too, but that was not to say some intimidation wouldn’t work on the arrogant and prideful Western Liang.

“How do you like this song, Your Highness?” the girl asked, a proud smile on her face. “Very well. Your pipa is superbly crafted.” the Emperor spoke, making the girl frown, indignant. “You only complimented the pipa. Does that mean you don’t like the song?” the girl asked, offended. “That is an understatement. Though I am not an expert, I can tell the song you played was ingenious. However, and pardon me for being blunt, your skill is quite ordinary.” the 4th Prince commented, making Y/N bite her lip to stop herself from chuckling. “This is the Number 1 ancient tune from Western Liang. Few people in Qara-Hoja can play it. The way I play it is considered sound from Heaven.” the girl was angrily gripping her pipa. “Sound from Heaven? That’s an overstatement! I might as well tell you, a song like that, any Palace maid in the Qing Empire can play.” and thus, Y/N walked forward, holding the beautiful wine pot, as if to serve the pipa player. “Any? Any maid at all? Fine, can YOU play it?” the girl asked, volcanic-like. “No really... But the song you played... I’ve been practicing it since childhood.” and thus, Y/N sat down in place of the Western Liang pipa player and played her own tune with perfect dexterity. “If a Palace Maid can play it, why am I here?” and thus, the first win was awared to the Qing Empire.

With a modest bow, Y/N went back by Yin Zhen’s side, and to the trained eye, it was obvious the both of them were radiating with pride for one another.

The second test is about Poetry. Western Liang’s envoy is rather accomplished in literature, however, no one can defeat Yin Zhen’s outstanding talent.

“Y/N, you write for me. You have beautiful calligraphy and can write fast enough. I trust you.” and thus, the two of you sit down at a table in the middle of the banquet - Yin Zhen pours out elegant line after line, as Y/N carefully writes down the love poem that, no doubt was dedicated to her. An hour elapses and neither admits defeat. No one dares to even breathe heavily, fearing they might disturb the two poets.

Despite everyone’s concentration, the ink maid’s hand trembles just enough to pour ink all over Y/N’s paper and clothes. “What’s your problem?!” Y/N gasped from shock at being covered by the black liquid. “Pardon me, I didn’t mean it!” the maid nonchalantly says as she bows to the groud. “I saw it perfectly. That maid didn’t mean it... But the maid that writes has got such a temper!” unable to say anything, Y/N looked at the Prince who allowed her to quickly go change into another outfit, just as beautiful and chosen by him, and return. That Princess was going to be roasted pork very soon. “Careless as that maid is, this one is only too stupid. They both should be punished, or that’s unfair for 4th Prince.” the evil Princess sneered. “Western Liang is nowhere near the sea, but I have a feeling the Princess of Western Liang lives by the sea.” Yin Zhen retorted immediately. “What does that mean?” the Princess asked, confused, only for Y/N to smirk at her beloved’s silver, witty tongue. To think that this Bitchy Princess would trouble herself with a sea of trivials, despite her affections for him. “Your Highness, I am willing to make up for my mistake and write down what 4th Prince just composed, not missing a single word.” and so she did, shocking the Princess with her fantastic memory and even more, her elegant calligraphy. And thus, Yin Zhen gets easily the 2nd win.

The two then needed a break and went outside, to look at the beautiful moon and feel the chilly breeze of Spring. Y/N, without a care, leaned on Yin Zhen’s, sighing content.

“I know I’m amazing, but to think some bitchy Princess would get jealous of me... That’s something else.” Y/N muttered, clinging lazily on his sleeve. “I know she has ill-intentions towards you. That maid, my men have been tracing her. She is working for the Princess to frame you.” the Prince spoke, aggravated. “Well, good for her. She couldn’t beat us. We are the true perfect match of Heaven and Earth. Nothing can keep us apart.” Y/N scoffed at the lame princess’s intentions, making the Prince chuckle. “Fearless as always. You are incredible.” he commented, simple, but effective. “Oh, you should see yourself, my darling. Do you know what the 3rd test is about?” she asked, only to see him shake his head. “Not sure yet, no. But whatever it is, I fear the Princess would want to be the one to compete against you. She’s just that petty.” the Prince explained, only for a servant to call the two inside.

Apparently, the Princess decided that the last test would be, lo’ and behold, Dancing. It was perfect. She knew just what to do.

“I am just a maid. Never have I thought I’d have the privilege to compete against Her Highness, the Princess of Western Liang.” Y/N bowed in front of the Princess gracefully, only for the Princess to sneer arrogantly. “You don’t deserve it! However... You played a part in the two previous tests. I’d like to see if you really have what it takes, or you are just borrowing help from the 4th Prince. So? You dare not?!” the Princess raised her voice aggressively. “I do have nothing that’s worth mentioning... However, I do believe that dancing should be one of my strengths. Allow me to change into the appropriate outfit for dancing and I shall show you, Your Highness.” and thus, Y/N quickly left the banquet to change into a beautiful Tang dynasty pink outfit the flowed like water around her, highlighting her featured delicately. Her hair, she had the top part in a bun, with beautiful golden hair pins decorated with agate and pearls, and wore agate earrings as well. On her face, despite the gorgeous make up, she had a half mask, outstandingly embellished with different precious gems that would sparkle brighter than the whole Western Liang.

Y/N watched the Princess dancing first - A rather basic dance, beautiful, yet, but of no fantastic feat. Despite all this, all envoys seem to think very little the little Physician girl, and even His Majesty and his Ministers seem to show little faith in her. Understandable, she thought, considering that all her life she strayed away from luxuries and feminine arts and studies.

“Do you see? Looks like you are just a slave girl to everyone! You don’t deserve the competition against me!” the Princess laughed, taunting the girl, who merely smiled. “Then, Your Highness might want to be careful... Because losing to me... It’s really mortifying.” and thus, hearing the Prince reassuring his father that she will win without a doubt, Y/N proceeded in dancing the most beautiful dance.

Lanling Prince in Battle.

Throughout the month, she has been perfecting this dance in front of Yin Zhen, and it was his favourite. Such a tragic love story, of two lovers, their hearts and souls united in life and in death, no matter what. A love story of a woman loving a man so much that she would even march to war to bring him back. A love story of a man so tormented by his wife’s death that he goes insane and destroys everything in his path.

The half mask, symbolizing the beautiful features of the man, and the beautiful face of the woman, a dance that symbolizes their feelings, their love, themselves, the fate, their life - A single dance, a single person, symbolizing two soulmates.

It was the perfect dance, and it was to no wonder that this was their favourite dance... To dance together. Although it was a dance for one person alone, Yin Zhen could never resist embracing her and dancing with her. He couldn’t resist touching her and holding her up in his graces as if she was a Goddess.

It took every ounce of strength the Prince had not to join her in the dance, but as she finished, everyone was so in awe that they forgot to breathe, only to then burst into cheerful and loud applause.

“I... Lost? No... No way... How...?” the Princess was shocked as if by lightning. Absolutely horrified that a slave girl was infinitely better than her. “Do tell me how the Prince helped me here.” Y/N smirked condescendingly at the Princess who started growling. “Y-You...! How dare you?! A stupid slave girl, speaking back to me?! You deserve to be punished!” the Princess started wagging her finger accusatory at her. “Like you wanted to punish the maid who deliberately threw ink on the poem paper, realizing that Western Liang cannot, in this world, beat the Prince’s genius? Is this what Western Liang has to do to win? Cheat and frame? How ridiculous and disappointing.” Y/N shrugged simply, walking by the 4th Prince’s side. “Your Majesty! She wants me to call white black and even sow discord between the two nations! Justice be served, Your Majesty!” the maid shrieked, pointing at Y/N, as the girl sighed, taking off the mask. “I’m the bad guy now, huh?” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “I got my people, and you don’t have the right to an opinion here. You are from Western Liang.” the Prince, having made a secret investigation earlier, seemed to have enough evidence to get those two into trouble, but now enough to actually create a war. “As virtue rises one foot, vice rises ten. Prince, you are incredible. The maid was going to make you trip. If you had, no matter how beautiful you danced, there was no way you would have won. Still, you were as beautiful as ever. Congratulations, you are the reason behind Qing’s wins. I told you I know why I have faith in you completely.” he praised as he poured her a cup of wine, making her seat next to him and celebrate their win, as the Princess is taken out of the palace to receive punishment when she returns home.

And thus, Western Liang not only lose all 3 tests, but they are also completely humiliated by their Princess’s cheating, and present the hairpin, shamefully.

“Son, you earned this hairpin, I will confer it upon you!” the Emperor handed the hairpin to his son, who bowed his head as a thanks. “I thank you, Royal Father. However, may I ask for another grace? To give it to someone else?” he asked, as the Emperor laughed. “Now that I’ve given it to you, it’s totally up to you.” and thus, as Yin Zhen opens the delicately embellished box, he takes out the hair pin, walking in front of Y/N. “Come here. I promised I will be the one to put accessories in your hair. You earned this, my love.” he said as he put his hand on her waist, kissing her forehead. “U-Uh... Yin Zhen... Everyone is looking at us.” Y/N muttered bashfully, unable to look at him. “Good. I want them to know that you are my wife, and my future Empress, and that if anyone even dares to think of laying a finger on you, they are going to be brutally disposed of.” he smiled sweetly, lifting her chin up with his finger. “Very bold, doing that in front of even your Father. Very good. What a wonderful husband I have.” she chuckled lightly as she was guided outside, to watch the fireworks show. “I already told him I want to marry you. Wasn’t much he could say after today’s wonderful wins. I have to say, you are really good at making people do what you want.” Yin Zhen chuckled lightly, bringing the girl to his chest. “You know what I think? That you talk too much and that you should kiss your wife more often. How’s that sound, My Darling Emperor?” Y/N smirked like a vixen. “I love the sound of that... My Little Physician Empress.”

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Text

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 8 - ao3 -

Lan Qiren’s brother did not outwardly react when Wen Ruohan announced what happened.

He merely stared, face as impassive as a stone washed clean by the river, his posture and position impeccable from the little glimpses Lan Qiren kept stealing of him – he was trying to keep his head ducked and his gaze firmly on the ground, trying to demonstrate penitence, but he couldn’t quite resist looking. He assumed that his brother’s seeming indifference was a mask for the rage he undoubtedly felt, seeing his little brother screw up what would have otherwise been a perfect discussion conference for the Lan sect.

It seemed like a reasonable conclusion, given that Lao Nie was taking up all the slack of reacting with rage without any such mask whatsoever.

“He’s little more than a child!” Lao Nie shouted.

“Little more, perhaps,” Wen Ruohan said smoothly. He was enjoying himself, Lan Qiren thought. “But regardless of how close or how far he is, he is adult enough.”

“He can’t marry or inherit –”

“He shed blood in a night-hunt, and that means he can swear oaths, which is all that’s relevant here. It isn’t as if I married him.”

“He’s sixteen! If someone removed sixteen years out of your life, Hanhan, you wouldn’t even notice the absence!”

“True, but irrelevant,” Wen Ruohan said. “And don’t call me that, Sect Leader Nie.”

“I’ll call you whatever I damn well please, you little –”

“You are unharmed?” Lan Qiren’s brother asked Lan Qiren.

Lan Qiren, who’d been spectating the increasingly fraught back and forth between the two sect leaders, turned to look at him, surprised to be addressed.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I only had a headache, and Sect Leader Wen took care of that.”

“You call me da-ge now,” Wen Ruohan reminded him, turning briefly away from his argument to do so. “Your oath, remember.”

“Does he even remember swearing the oaths?” Lao Nie hissed. “You know how these Lan drink – you and your damned need for control! Just because you can’t get it one way, you have to try another, is that it, Hanhan?”

“Sect Leader Nie, if you really find it impossible to be civil -”

“If you are unharmed, then we can return to the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Qiren’s brother said, ignoring them both. His voice was as distant and cold as a winter breeze, piercing and lifeless; it reminded Lan Qiren a little of his father, and he shivered. “We will determine the remainder at that time.”

“See?” Wen Ruohan said goadingly to Lao Nie, whose scowl only deepened. “If even his own sect doesn’t object to it –”

“They didn’t not object, they’re refraining from making a statement; it’s not the same thing. ‘Even ten years isn’t too late for a gentleman to get revenge’ – !”

“I should like to see them try.”

Lan Qiren felt a sudden sense of relief, heralded by a bright and abrupt clarity: of course Wen Ruohan hadn’t sworn brotherhood with him on his behalf! He’d only done it because he’d seen Lan Qiren together with Lao Nie, found that the sight offended his vision, and immediately decided to disrupt it. Never mind that Lao Nie didn’t have any intentions beyond the casual mentorship of any older cultivator to a junior – Wen Ruohan was well known for his paranoia, his irritability, his tendency to seize on crazy ideas. And, of course, there was his jealousy, a trait to which he had himself admitted…

A treasure sword used to prop up a table, indeed. It wasn’t about Lan Qiren's merits or the Lan sect’s supposed failings at all. The only table Wen Ruohan was concerned with was Lao Nie’s!

(And that certainly did explain the whole bizarre ‘Hanhan’ thing better than any other hypothesis Lan Qiren had come up with.)

Lan Qiren wasn’t sure it was better, exactly, to be a pawn in a strange game between sect leaders, but it was at least more familiar. As a younger son of a politically minded Great Sect, he was more like a daughter; being used for some scheme by the adults around him had always been his destiny, barring some tragedy or especially indulgent parents – the former was unlikely, the latter he lacked – and so his fate was set.

Of course, it would have been better not to be in a game involving Wen Ruohan at all, but he supposed that there were worse options.

After all, if Wen Ruohan’s primary interest was in tormenting Lao Nie, he probably wouldn’t demand Lan Qiren’s presence in the Nightless City all that often – probably just enough to show that he could – and Lan Qiren would be allowed to continue with his plans for his future. It might even turn out to be something of a benefit. After all, a musician with limited martial skills, traveling all alone, could always use strong friends that were nearby, and the Wen sect’s reach far exceeded that of the Lan sect…

Anyway, comparatively, Lan Qiren disliked far more the idea of being stuck in the Jin sect with its inexplicable devotion to worldly affairs (and when it came to Jin Guangshan, word was that that usually meant literal affairs…), and he would have undoubtedly gone utterly mad in the Jiang sect, with its emphasis on freedom and lack of any rules to explain anything. And of course, regrettably, the Nie sect wouldn't have done such a thing to begin with, secretive as they were...

No, it wouldn’t be so bad, Lan Qiren tried to convince himself. It wouldn’t be so bad at all.

The illusion lasted exactly as long as it took for the leaders of the five Great Sects to retreat to finalize their discussions on business – with Sect Leader Jiang and Jin stepping up to keep Sect Leaders Wen and Nie from each other’s throats, even as Lan Qiren’s brother ignored them all – and Lan Qiren returned to his proper place among the other Lan sect disciples.

“Did he really put you in the Fire Palace until you agreed?” one of them asked, then was promptly elbowed by at least three of his fellows – it was poor Lan Yueheng that had asked, naturally; he was extraordinarily good at mathematics and extraordinarily bad at just about everything else, including both tact and following the Lan sect rules. Lan Qiren had gotten on quite well with him in the past, each one happy to have an audience to listen to their rambling without caring too much if the other side was really listening, but Lan Yueheng was Lan Ganhui’s mother’s sister’s son, the two of them raised together like brothers, and in recent years the latter had a habit of restricting the former from spending too much time with Lan Qiren, the favorite subject of his mockery.

“No,” Lan Qiren said stiffly, and turned his face away in sudden upset. He had almost managed to forget that his new sworn brother was reputed to enjoy spending his free time torturing people, enough so that he had an entire prison devoted to it.

The older brother guided, the younger brother obeyed – what was Lan Qiren supposed to learn from Wen Ruohan? How to be cruel and pitiless, how to hurt people, how to increase his cultivation by doing all manner of dirty things?

Even if he didn’t learn such things, wouldn’t people assume it of him anyway?

“But I heard –” Lan Yueheng persisted, then hissed when someone stepped on his foot.

“No,” Lan Qiren said, stronger this time. “Do not speak behind the backs of others, Yueheng-xiong.”

“Oh. Right.”

Someone muttered killjoy under their breath, but that wasn’t exactly new; his brother thought he was one, and he was popular, so others often followed his lead - and anyway, perhaps he was. At any rate, they all stood around in awkward silence for a little while before someone decided to recount one of the incidents in the main event competition once again, their voice a little over-loud in the silence, and a perfectly anodyne conversation about Qingheng-jun’s performance started up in earnest to cover over all the things they did not say.

That, too, was not new.

Truly, life would be easier if everyone would just listen to the rules, Lan Qiren thought wistfully. The nice written-down ones, just those, and never mind about all the unspoken ones, the ones that everyone seemed to intuitively understand except for him – he tried his best to learn those, too, and to extrapolate from one situation to another, but unspoken rules seemed as changeable as a puff of cloud. It was simply impossible.

In the end, the sect leaders finished up their business and each of them took their leave from the Nightless City, just the way that always happened. Before he went, Lao Nie put his hand on Lan Qiren’s shoulder and said, “Write to me if you ever need anything at all,” while glaring at Wen Ruohan, who smirked back; Lan Qiren’s brother did not glance at either of them and merely walked off, his hands behind his back and his posture straight and tall as a tree. The other two Great Sect leaders, Jin and Jiang, exchanged glances of their own and headed off their own way without a word, choosing, quite prudently, not to get involved.

Lan Qiren saluted to Lao Nie and, slightly more hesitantly, to Wen Ruohan, then followed after his brother. To his relief, Wen Ruohan didn’t stop him, only watched him go, his eyes glittering malevolently - his gaze a palpable weight. It wasn’t quite like the first few times they’d met, where the pressure almost felt like the other man was exerting power on him; rather, Lan Qiren suspected, the weight he was feeling was only the weight of all the new expectations that had fallen onto his shoulders as a result of his new brotherhood.

The ride home was excruciatingly awkward.

It was not a short journey, and Lan Qiren did not speak to his brother once the entire time by mutual unspoken agreement. He might not have noticed such a thing normally, but his brother’s usually cool aura was positively frigid, driving Lan Qiren to silence even when he might have otherwise spoken on mundane matters such as the weather or travel conditions.

Lan Qiren even suspected that if he had dared to try, his brother might have used the muting spell on him.

Naturally, the other disciples followed his brother’s lead – poor Lan Yueheng looked especially torn up over it, and at one point Lan Qiren found a book on abstruse geometry hidden under his pillow in what was probably a well-meaning gesture of solidarity – and Lan Qiren was stuck in that uncomfortable place where he finally had the peace and solitude he often longed for when stuck in a crowd while also simultaneously feeling awful about it, struck with a sudden desire for the company of his family, however cold it might be.

When at last they returned home in the late afternoon, Lan Qiren knew from experience what to do next: he went straight to the hanshi, where his father was waiting for their report, and knelt in penance outside. If the trip had gone well, he would have helped his brother settle the final matters relating to their trip – putting back anything borrowed from the sect’s stores, registering everyone as having arrived with no one lost on the way, that sort of thing – but since it hadn’t, his duties were limited to…well, this.

It was unpleasant, but then, it was supposed to be.

He waited for over a shichen in unmoving silence. The remainder of the sect tiptoed around him, with the disciples that had remained behind sending him sympathetic looks that suggested that they didn’t know exactly what had happened but were burning with curiosity to find out.

It was already dark by the time his brother arrived.

When he did so, he walked right by Lan Qiren without looking and went inside.

There was no written rule against eavesdropping, although there were several unspoken rules about it that were sometimes but not always applicable, but even when (guiltily) straining his ears to the utmost, Lan Qiren could only hear the vaguest murmur of voices within.

It was only after some time – towards the end of his brother’s report, no doubt – that there was a brief uptick, a surprised exclamation (possibly “what?!”, although Lan Qiren’s father was soft-spoken enough that even an exclamation was too muffled to be properly audible), and Lan Qiren braced himself.

After a little longer, the door to the hanshi opened.

“Qiren,” his father’s voice drifted out. “Enter.”

Lan Qiren got up, a little unsteady from all the kneeling, straightened himself out and walked inside, his hands folded behind his back. He would have knelt again, but his father waved for him to keep standing, frowning thoughtfully at him as his brother drank the tea they had been sharing.

“You swore an oath of brotherhood with Sect Leader Wen?” his father asked, his face frustratingly neutral.

Lan Qiren nodded, then amended: “I do not remember doing so. He offered me a toast, and would not allow me to reject it, and then the next morning, he informed me that we had sworn an oath together and showed me the written version of the oath.”

The paper in question was laid out on the table in front of his father. Lan Qiren’s brother had confiscated it after Wen Ruohan had showed it to him, and Lan Qiren hadn’t figured out a way to ask to see it, though he desperately wanted to know whether they had sworn one of the classical brotherhood oaths or if they’d added their own clauses. It seemed like a thing Wen Ruohan would do, yet the idea had only belatedly occurred to Lan Qiren, which meant he hadn’t properly examined the oath while he’d had the chance.

His father hummed thoughtfully.

“There’s no reason to doubt Sect Leader Wen,” Lan Qiren’s brother opined. “He is meticulous in his schemes. Even if there were, the announcement was public; I would not have our clan be known as oath-breakers.”

“Public and unrefuted,” Lan Qiren’s father said, and Lan Qiren blinked because he almost sounded disapproving – but his father never disapproved of anything his brother did, as far as he knew. “Still, you are not wrong. There are few more decisive than Sect Leader Wen. Once he settled on his course, he would not leave such a gap through which one could retreat, not even for himself…Qiren.”

Lan Qiren straightened.

“You were unharmed?”

He blinked at the unexpected question, the same his brother had posed.

“I only had a headache,” he said hesitantly, vaguely aware from the way his father looked at him and his brother did as well that his answer was not what they were expecting. “From the liquor. Nothing else.”

“Did anything else hurt?” his father pressed. “Your body?”

Lan Qiren thought back. “My upper arms,” he said, remembering. He’d thought it was from the uncomfortable bed. “And my right knee. They were a little bruised, I think, but it went away after Sect Leader Wen shared spiritual energy with me.”

His father frowned and twisted his fingers in a gesture; an array opened beneath Lan Qiren’s feet, and the places he had mentioned, as well as his palms and forehead, began to glow.

The marks on his arms, glowing with the pale echoes of Wen Ruohan’s qi, were in the shape of hands.

(Wen Ruohan had commented on Lan Qiren’s enthusiastic telling of the Lan sect rules while intoxicated, to the point of seeking to hold him down as an unwilling audience. Had Wen Ruohan had to physically restrain him from causing trouble as well?)

“The disgrace was minimal, then,” his brother remarked, and when their father said nothing but dismissed the spell Lan Qiren abruptly realized that they were trying to figure out if he had, in fact, been deflowered, just as Wen Ruohan had teasingly hinted that night. He had not shared with anyone that he had woken up in Wen Ruohan’s bed, too mortified to do so, and now that the suggestion had been seriously raised, he was even more determined never to do so. “Not that that will help the rumors.”

Lan Qiren hadn’t thought – surely people wouldn’t think – wouldn’t assume –

Wen Ruohan had no reputation for liking young boys. He wasn’t even known to cut his sleeve!

(Lan Qiren didn’t know what he himself liked. He’d thought he’d have more time to figure it out.)

“We do not guide our sect according to rumors.”

His brother put down his teacup with a little more force than necessary. “Is it the sale or the price that you object to, Father?” he asked, voice far sharper than it should be when speaking to an elder, least of all their father. “See what I have accomplished for our sect, and without even the official authority of being vested as sect leader! It is just as you taught me! Am I to flinch simply because he shares my blood?”

“It is not what is taken,” their father responded, his voice a little sharper than usual as well, but not by much; he might as well have been commenting disapprovingly on an unfortunate turn in the weather. “But that it is Wen Ruohan who takes. His greed knows no boundaries, his recklessness grows by the year – today Qiren is unharmed and your plans may proceed, but what of tomorrow?”

“Have you thought of any better use to put him to? His role is to serve the sect!”

“As a disciple of the Lan sect,” their father said. His tone was still mild, but his voice was icy enough to make Lan Qiren shiver in a confused sort of fear that he did not quite understand. “Not as a plaything for Wen Ruohan.”

By all rights, Lan Qiren’s brother ought to now kneel and beg forgiveness from his elder, his sect leader, his father, but instead he only shook his head. “An oath of brotherhood goes both ways,” he reminded their father, speaking to him as if they were equals. “Sect Leader Wen announced to the world that he swore an oath with a child – does that not also mean that responsibility for his safety and wellbeing falls equally on his shoulders? Any harm to him stains Sect Leader Wen’s name as much if not more than ours.”

“Are we to let outsiders educate our children, then?”

“One cannot compare a foolish younger son to a brother, voluntarily chosen. He chose it, not us; everyone knows this. Any mistakes Qiren makes will fall heavier on his shoulders.”

Their father frowned deeply enough to carve additional lines into his prematurely aged face. “You plan to use Qiren as a lever, then, and extract concessions for every slight.”

His brother shrugged, almost careless in his arrogance. “If Sect Leader Wen chooses to give me such a handle over him, am I meant to refuse? For all his clever schemes, he is also known to be moody and impulsive, easily lured into rashness…I see an opportunity here, not a trap. You chose to give me responsibility early, to have me help you make our sect stronger, greater; that is what I was born to do. You gave me power and I have done well with it, done exactly what you’ve asked me to do. I’ve made you proud - haven’t I?”

“But what of the risk that Wen Ruohan might ignore public opinion and harm Qiren regardless?” his father pressed, not answering. It wasn’t really necessary, of course; he was always proud of Lan Qiren’s brother, no matter what he did - his eldest son was his treasure, the only thing he cared for; it was as fact as undeniable as the direction in which the sun rose each morning. “The Lan sect does not buy riches with blood.”

“I have thought it over, Father,” his brother said quietly. “It is only a risk that he might be harmed, not a guarantee; it’s not as if I am sending Qiren to the Fire Palace myself. And there is the hope here, not of riches, but of glory for the sect –”

“Glory for the sect?” their father asked, voice rich with meaning Lan Qiren did not understand. “Or for yourself?”

“Are they not one and the same?” Lan Qiren’s brother was unmoved. “In the future, it will be mine, and so there is no difference - whatever you say now, that is what you have always shown me. Besides, Qiren will agree.”

Lan Qiren did not take a step backwards when they turned to look at him, though he dearly wanted to. His hands were still behind his back, gripped tight enough to hurt; he suspected when he looked later on he would find blood beneath his fingernails, dug in deep into his flesh.

“Well?” their father asked of him, though his gaze settled somewhere above Lan Qiren’s head as it always seemed to, as different as night and day from the tender and forgiving looks he gave his eldest son even in the midst of their argument. His voice was so cold that Lan Qiren could feel it against his skin like the bitter winter wind. “What do you say?”

Is it the sale or the price that you object to?

It’s not what is taken, but that it is Wen Ruohan who takes.

Have you thought of any better use to put him to?

His role is to serve the sect.

“I do not see what choice there is,” he said dully, his eyes focused on his father’s face just as his father’s refused to focus on his, foolishly still looking for the affection he knew he would likely never find. In his father’s mind, he had only one son – even his objections on Lan Qiren’s behalf, however mild, were nothing more than what he would have said on behalf of any Lan sect disciple. Even Lan Qiren, foolish and bad at people as he was, could see that his father’s primary concern over the approach his brother had suggested was its potential impact on the reputation of his brother and his sect. “I swore an oath. Even if I do not remember it, as a matter of personal honor, I will not allow myself to be foresworn.”

“There,” his brother said, his voice rich in satisfaction. “You see? The choice is made. It is only what we do with it now that matters.”

Lan Qiren bit his lower lip to keep himself from doing something stupid, like asking do either of you care about me at all.

“Very well,” their father said indifferently. “Then it will be as you say. Qiren.”

“Father.”

“You will spend the night kneeling in the ancestral hall to consider the consequences of violating the prohibition against alcohol and the injunction to maintain your discipline. In view of the circumstances, no other punishment will be imposed.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“Dismissed.”

As Lan Qiren left, he heard his father ask his brother to tell him about the riding competition.

He did not ask about music.

#mdzs #lan qiren #qingheng-jun #wen ruohan #sect leader nie #sect leader lan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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sckyie · 4 years ago

Text

word count: 1.9k

genre + warnings: bittersweet fluff + some angst?; timeskip!sakusa, drunk sakusa, kabedon, alcohol mentions

pronouns used: they/them

a/n: im sleepy omfg anyways hi im writing stuff on my other account after this

You were always the more affectionate type in the relationship between you and Sakusa. Well, that's what you would call it. Nothing was ever official the two of you but, he never minded when you held his hand in private, cuddled beside him, or even called him cutesy names. He was comfortable around you, it was almost as if he were a different person altogether.

Though he didn't mind the unofficial title, it did sting in your chest that you didn't technically matter enough for anything to be set and stone. It was hard to bring it up but also keep a cool head when talking about it. You wanted to be known as Sakusa's significant other, not just his best friend.

An upcoming MSBY dinner before the big game was approaching and Sakusa had asked you to accompany him as his date. You doodled on your notes as you looked at your calendar on your desk. Your mind wandered thinking about Sakusa. Why hasn't he asked you to be his yet? What would his teammates say when he introduces you as his best friend?

A few days before the dinner, you invited Sakusa out to a small lunch. You dragged him along to the grocery store to buy the food and drinks. You had your arm looped around him up until you arrived at the steps of the doors of the store. He shrugs you off him and looks away from you, something he always does. You sighed as you tugged his sleeve to drag him to the proper aisles.

He was distracted, to say the least, as you were picking out the different ingredients for your lunch date. Sakusa didn't even take notice when you disappeared into a different area. It wasn't like him to do such a thing but once he realized you were gone, he was sent into a panic. He quickly drifts into other sections, searching for you.

That's when he found you speaking to someone else. Speaking to another man in particular. You weren't flirting with him or anything, you were talking to him about which brand of spice would taste better for your dish. Turns out, the guy you were talking with worked as a head chef at a local restaurant. You say your goodbyes as you place your goods in your basket before turning to find Sakusa staring at the stranger. "Oh, sorry Omi, I lost you back there. I thought you were following me," You say.

"It's...fine- who was that?" He whips his head to look at you.

"Oh, no one, I asked him to help me find some spices for lunch, come on, I have to get a couple more things then we can leave okay? I know you don't like going out as much," You say.

Was he jealous? He was lost in thought as his eyes followed where the stranger left off. He denies that he ever felt that way yet he didn't notice you tugging on his sleeve."Omi?" You ask.

"Hm," He hums through his mask. He looks down at you, his chest pressed against your back.

"You seem like a puppy clinging onto its mom, you're never this close to me in public. Is something wrong?" You chuckle looking up at him. He takes a step back and tries to look away. You smile up at him before picking your final ingredients.

"Sorry Y/n, just..." You pat his side lightly before heading over to the cashier. He sighs before trailing behind you.

The entire lunch date it seemed like he was quieter than normal, uncomfortable to talk to you even. While you two shifted into watching a movie, he held your hand tighter than usual as you snuggled beside him. It was foreign to be this close to Sakusa, but you didn't mind the comfort being held in his arms. So much so, that soon after you found yourself slowly drifting off to sleep engulfed in his warmth.

Sakusa looked down at your now sleeping figure, his cheeks burning red, as he lowered the volume of the movie. How did he end up in this situation? Though he did like you having you beside him, he was thinking to himself. Why was he so clingy to you? Was it jealousy? It couldn't be, you technically weren't his significant other.

The next day, the two of you didn't talk about you falling asleep beside him. It was the first time he had let you gotten so close to him. Besides the point, tonight was the MSBY dinner at a night bar and restaurant rented out to the entire team. You joined the team and their respective invites to the tables as everyone greeted one another at the tables.

You sat beside Sakusa and across from Atsumu with his brother beside him. You smiled at the twins before turning to look down at the menu. "So how do you know Sakusa?" Atsumu asks.

"Oh, we're childhood friends, we were neighbors as up until we graduated. We reconnected recently when I moved back for college," You explained.

"So yer not...dating?" Atsumu raised his eyebrow. Osamu nudged his leg against his brother's but you paused to respond.

"No, we're not," Sakusa says, seeing you hesitate. You looked away from him, and awkwardly smiled back at Atsumu. "They're just my best friend."

Just a best friend. You couldn't wrap your head around those words. It was true, you were his best friend, but the feelings you had for him stung in your chest. You pinched your thigh to ignore the unsettling feeling in your stomach. You tried to make conversation with the boys, more so with Atsumu. Sakusa raised his eyebrow at this, but never saying a word to you.

When the dinner at the table ended, the team moved to the entertainment bar upstairs. You quietly followed behind Sakusa to where Atsumu and Osamu had gone to play pool. "Do you play?" Osamu asked, you shook your head as you watched Sakusa walk away to go get a drink.

"What's on yer mind? You seem down all of dinner," Osamu says. Atsumu seats himself beside you as his brother takes his turn at the pool table.

"Sakusa...He's..." You trailed. "To me, he's more than just my best friend. But I guess, that's all I'll ever be to him." You sighed.

"Oh he doesn't want to make it official, huh?" Atsumu nudges. You nod.

"He cuddles me, holds my hand- hell, he got jealous yesterday over a dude helping me buy spices, I don't get it. Now, look at him," You gesture. Sakusa sat himself beside Meian and the other players at the bar to drink almost as if he had forgotten about you. "It doesn't make sense. Now I just...Just wanna forget about my dumb feeling and move on."

You let out a sigh as Atsumu pats you on the back. The rest of the night, the twins spent playing while trying to cheer you up. It worked as you found yourself as well as two more players joining in, joyously playing pool and casually drinking.

Sakusa on the other hand, had decided to drink as he never wanted to admit he was jealous. He wanted you. He did, but he didn't want to tell you to stop talking to his teammate. Why didn't he tell Atsumu that you were his significant other? He takes another sip of his dark liquor before glancing behind him to see you and Atsumu leaning against a wall.

You two were smiling, laughing, being the happiest in the room. Why were you smiling so big? Only Sakusa was supposed to make you smile like that. No one else. His eyes watch as you playfully nudged Atsumu and that's what upset him. You weren't falling for him, were you?

Sakusa found himself walking towards the two of you. His cheeks were bright red, his steps were slightly off for his drunk stature. You turn to see the wobbly figure but before you could stop him or say anything to him, Sakusa had his mind set on one thing.

He had stood in front of Atsumu, nearly a step away from him. You feared for your life that Sakusa would hit him but you were frozen. Sakusa takes his hands and slams it against the walls behind Atsumu, encasing the setter in between his arms. You take a moment to pause.

"Who the fuck do you think you are talking to Y/n?" Sakusa mutters. Atsumu could smell the alcohol in his breath.

"Omi-kun it's not what ya think I- I-" Atsumu stuttered.

You couldn't make out what the two were saying but you were concerned. You heard the muttered arguments and you turned to Osamu who was talking to Bokuto. You tugged at his sleeve before showing him what was happening.

"Did- did my brother just get kabedoned by Sakusa-san?" Osamu tilted his head. You nodded and asked what to do. "Break it up. I'm not helping ya."

You approached the two conversing to overhear what they were saying to one another.

"I swear to fucking God- I'll break- I'll break-" Sakusa threatened. "If you were flirting with Y/n."

"I wasn't! I wasn't!" Atsumu pleaded.

"Hey hey! Omi!" You called out, trying to get Sakusa's attention. He glances at you but he turns back to Atsumu. This time his right hand moves closer to Atsumu's body to grab it. You approach the two. "Omi!"

"Omi-kun, we were just talking not flirting I swear! Just ask them!" Atsumu was sweating bullets. He had never been this close to Sakusa nor has ever seen him this infuriated. Sakusa had enough and grabbed Atsumu's shirt.

"Omi! Look at me, not him!" You called out, ran over grabbing Sakusa's wrist off Atsumu. He pulls off the fabric, allowing the setter to stumble away from the wall. "Omi, we weren't flirting. He was just cheering me up."

"Cheering you up? Why?" Sakusa scratches the back of his neck.

"Why? Because of you dumb dumb," You huffed.

"Because of me? Why because of me?" He asked.

"Oh my god," You groaned. You placed your hands on Sakusa's cheeks before pulling him down and placing a sloppy kiss on his lips. His mouth was soft despite what you'd expected. After waiting months, finally pressing your lips against his was a wave of relief. You could taste the bitter liquor leftover on his lips as you pulled away. "Because you...you failed to realized that I'm in love with you and you just abandoned me to hang out with your teammates and their guests. Now..will you hang out with me or are you gonna keep denying your jealousy like yesterday?"

Sakusa looks at you for a second before snaking his hand around your waist. He pulls you in for another kiss, prompting the team to give him a round of applause. His slips his tongue this time, letting you taste more of the alcohol in his system. You pull away, smiling and notice how much he was smiling too. "Sorry for being jealous," He says. He looks up to Atsumu who was now standing beside Osamu. "I may be drunk, but if you- if you flirt with Y/n for real, I'm break your nose Miya."

You giggle as you dragged Sakusa to an empty table by the bar where you'd sober him up. "Do you really mean that?" You say as you bring a glass of water to Sakusa. He leans against you, resting his head on your shoulder as he sips the water. "You'll beat up Atsumu if he flirts with me?"

"I'll beat up anyone. Do you really mean it when you say you love me?" He asks.

"Shhh, you're drunk," You laughed.

"Hey, I'm not that type of drunk, tell me," He persists. You take a beat of silence to answer.

"Indefinitely," You say. Your hand laces with his, thumb rubbing the back of his hand. "I can't see myself falling for anyone else."

"Me neither," He says.

taglist: @amillionfandoms-onlyoneme @just-a-siiimp @d0llpie @elianetsantana @snowsmuse

#haikyuu!!#hq #haikyuu x you #hq x you #haikyuu imagine #hq imagines #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu sakusa #hq sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x you #sakusa imagines #sakusa x y/n #sakusa fluff #forbes dreamz

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bqstqnbruin · 4 years ago

Text

I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind

We’re going to ignore all typos until I have time to fix them, and also ignore the fact that it’s four am and I have a 9 am class, but this was clearly more important.

Shout out to the anon who sent in the idea for the little blurb that I did that I ended up putting in here!

Prepare for the part all of y’all have been wanting! There’s some smut in this, so be warned that it’s not great leave me be. I still hope you like it!

Read the whole series: I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair // I hate the way you drive my car // I hate it when you stare // I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind // I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme // I hate the way you’re always right // I hate it when you lie // I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry // I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call // But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all

___________________________

“It doesn’t matter if other people think it’s true or not. What matters is that we know it’s true. I love you.”

“Fuck you.”

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

“So, is there a reason it looks like a vacuum attacked Matthew’s neck in his latest Insta post? Did those appear last weekend when I was gone?” Evelina comes barging into your room, phone in hand. “Damn, you actually picked that outfit out?”

You look at yourself in the mirror, your hair and makeup finished, the dress you had on for the charity event that Matthew was supposed to pick you up for any minute now. The black, off the shoulder high-low dress fit you perfectly, accenting every feature of your body in just the right way. But still, you weren’t quite sure if it was right. “It looks ok?” you ask her, going to your closet to find a pair of shoes to wear.

“If you didn’t fuck each other after destroying each others necks while I was gone, you’re going to tonight.” Wiping around, you can’t help but glare at her. You did not love Matthew. But then, why did you have to keep reminding yourself about that. “Hey, I have until you finish the list to keep this up, let me live.”

You were about to fire something back at her when you hear Matthew’s voice call from the living room. “We’re in Y/N’s room!” Evelina answers for you.

“You really abuse that key,” you say, not taking your eyes away from your closet as you try to find shoes to wear. You weren’t ready to look at him just yet. “Ev, help me find the right shoes!”

She gets up as you hear Matthew sitting on your bed, the creak of the frame sending a shiver down your spine. “What about these?” she asks, holding up a pair of heels.

You scrunch up your face, telling her to find another option. “How does he look?” you whisper, just loud enough for her to hear.

She smiles at you, handing you another pair of shoes, “I think you need to look for yourself.”

You put on the shoes, refusing to turn around until the last minute. You almost didn’t want to see what he looked like, but you turn to him anyway. The second you look at each other, you both stop breathing. He gets up from your bed, slowly, making his way to you while Evelina was watching off to the side. He looked perfect. The suit was fitting him just the right way, the tie in your favorite color to match the necklace you were wearing, his hair in a flawless mess, the curls going everywhere yet looking pristine at the same time.

He couldn’t find the words to say to you, taking your hands in his as he scanned your entire body. “W-wow,” he stammers out, swallowing hard as he tries to make any sound. “You look,” he starts, not knowing what word could accurately describe how incredible he found you, “Wow.”

You look down at your hands, intertwining your fingers in his. Everything about holding his hands just felt right. You look up at him, his blue eyes sparkling even in the shitty lighting of your bedroom. “Wow yourself,” you tell him, unable to fight the smile on your face, or control your breathing for that matter.

You stood there standing for what felt like forever, until you were interrupted by Evelina clearing her throat, a smirk on her face. “Don’t you two need to get going?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say, breaking away, embarrassed that she just saw that. If she thought you loved him before, that would confirm it now. But you didn’t love him. You didn’t even like him. You had a list of things you hated about him, even if there were only four things on it.

“Are you going to be alright in those shoes tonight?” he asks, looking down at the heels Evelina had picked out for you.

“It’s not like Ev here would let me wear these,” you say, holding up your black, beat up combat boots. You hear her fake gag behind you, throwing them in her direction and purposefully missing so that you don’t break anything of yours.

“Those would ruin the look,” Matthew says, both of you looking shocked that words like that would even come out of him. “Actually, Ev,” he says, changing the subject and finally tearing his eyes away from you, “Elias wanted me to ask you something, privately?” he lies.

You and Evelina exchange glances before you leave your room. Elias has Evelina’s number, why didn’t he just ask her?

“What’s up?” she asks, sitting down on your bed, Matthew sitting next to her. He lets out a low groan, putting his face in his hands. “Y/N looks flawless,” he says, pain in his voice.

“So what are you going to do about it?” she asks, pulling him up. “You both love each other. I know you know that. This whole list thing is ridiculous. She looks great, you look great, act,” she instructs him.

“I have tired. I can’t even kiss her on the lips without some sort of interruption. I can’t control that!” he whines, trying not to get too loud incase you were within ear shot. He’s wanted to do more than just kiss you this entire time. He’s flat out told you that and you somehow still missed the message. “How is it she’s so smart, yet so oblivious?”

Evelina shrugs, pulling him up off the bed, “People who are book smart never have common sense, bub. I’ve been telling her she loves you since you two met. She doesn’t even listen to me.”

“This is hopeless,” he says, practically throwing himself back on your bed.

“Nope, get up,” Evelina says, pulling him back up. Matthew nearly stumbles over and onto the floor, not expecting her to be as strong as she was. “Look, she only has four things on the list,” she explains, “I told you the first night, if she really hated you, she would have more than that. You still have two and a half weeks.”

He looks at her, biting his lip and nodding as the two of them go out to find you waiting on the couch. “Ready to go?” he asks, putting his hand out for you.

You get up, Evelina’s eyes going wide and her mouth falling open. “Wait, you left something in my room, Y/N,” she says, dragging you there. She closes the door behind you, “You’re not wearing underwear!” she tries hard not to scream.

“It would show under the dress!” you try to protest, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“I have worn a dress much tighter than that and you couldn’t see mine,” she provokes you, her eyes gleaming, knowing that she was right.

“I have to go,” you sing to her, trying to get past her.

“Admit it!” she yells as you run towards Matthew, taking him by the hand and dragging him out the door.

“Bye, love you!” “I hate you!”

You practically run Matthew to his car, praying that Evelina wasn’t following the two of you. “Do you want to talk about what that was just then?”

“I borrowed one of her shirts and haven’t given it back because I got a stain on it and haven’t done laundry yet,” you spit out the lie. There was no way you would tell Matthew that you weren’t wearing anything underneath the dress. Not yet. “So, uh,” you start to change the subject, “What is this event again?”

“Something with the organization and the season ticket holders? It’s fancy and I was told to wear game day clothes, so, here we are.”

You look at him for a moment, your eyes tracing his jawline like when you went to the liquor store. “You clean up really nicely, Rat Man,” you say, “You look really good.”

He smiles with the left side of his face so you can’t see it. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” he tells you, wishing he could figure out the proper words to say what he really thought. “Excited for tonight?”

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to see the guys not drunk at a bar.”

“Right because seeing them drunk in a ballroom is better.�� You both laugh, leaving the two of you in a comfortable silence as your phone buzzes with texts from Evelina.

‘This means you love him!’

‘No it does not. Who says I have to wear underwear under a dress?’

‘You never go without underwear. Admit you love him.’

‘I don’t love him.’

‘Do you like him?’

You take a minute to think, looking up from your phone to see Matthew watching the road. Like and love are two different things. You liked Elias, but did you like him in the same way you liked Matthew? Did you like anyone in the way you liked Matthew? ‘Sure.’ You roll your eyes as you hit send when Matthew finally puts the car in park. You didn’t even realize you were at the venue. Matthew gets out of the car, practically running to the passenger side to open the door and help you out. With your arm linked with his, you head inside, “Who would have thought you could be such a gentleman?” you tease.

“Only for you, babe,” he says, sending a wink your way before dropping your arm to greet some of his teammates. “I’m going to get us some drinks?” he says, leaving you before asking you what you wanted.

You wander around, finding Elias and making conversation with him while you wait for Matthew to come back. You had wanted a vodka sour, but would he come back with that?

“You look amazing, Y/N,” Elias starts, a smile on his face not unlike the one Matthew normally gives you.

You feel yourself blushing at his comments, unable to hide the heat that was showing in your cheeks, “You look pretty great, too.”

“Maybe at some point tonight, you’ll save a dance for me?” he asks, moving closer to you. This was the teammate that you’ve had a slight crush on since you met Matthew, so why didn’t you feel the same way with him as you did with Matthew? His hand reaches for your waist, but you move away from him, giving him an innocent smile before turning to see Matthew standing behind you with a drink in each hand.

He tried to hide the pain he felt watching Elias flirt with you. He knew you liked his teammate, and it was clear that Elias was seeing something in you that he hadn’t seen before. But you smile at Matthew, one very different from the one you had given his teammate. A real, genuine smile that reached your eyes. Matthew knew you felt the same way about him as he did about you from that, he just didn’t know if you knew. “Vodka sour for my girl,” he says, handing you the drink you had wanted.

You feel your knees buckle ever so slightly at the sound of hearing Matthew call him your girl, taking your free hand in his, intertwining your fingers. You immediately felt a warmth rushing through you as he gave you a soft smile, taking a sip of drink before starting a conversation with Elias. You start to look around at everyone surrounding you. The dance floor was crowded, you itching to get out there with Matthew. You both finish your drinks, probably too fast, but who cared? “Hey, can we go dance?” you ask Matthew before turning to Elias, “I don’t think you’ll be able to pry my from my guy tonight, Lindy, but if he lets you, I guess you can try.”

You drag him out to the dancefloor, your hands never losing connection as he looks back and smirks at Elias. The look on his face tells Matthew that this was intentional, whatever plan he had concocted working as a slow song came on. Matthew used his free hand to pull you in by the waist, your other hand on his shoulder as you swayed to the rhythm of the music.

Your mind starts running free as you think about dance, Matthew chuckling before letting out, “You know something about the history of dance, don’t you?”

“How would you know I know that?” you ask him, shocked that he read your mind for a second time tonight.

He shrugs, spinning you away from him before bringing you close, his front pressed against you back as he whispered, “It just sounds like something you would know.” He spins you back around so you’re facing each other, him beaming down at you. “Go ahead,” he teases you.

“It’s specific towards Canada, is that ok with you?”

He leans down, his curls tickling your face, “Anything you say to me is fine.”

“The first written record of dance in Canada,” you start, “was by Jacques Cartier in the 1530s. He described a group of Indigenous people dancing in modern day Quebec, but it’s obviously likely that this was going on way before he encountered them.” Matthew pulls you in closer, still moving with the music as you rest your head on his shoulder. He plants a soft, long kiss on your head as you continue. “Because of the idea 'assimilate or exterminate,’ where these Indigenous people had to either change their culture to fit that of the European settlers, or risk their culture being destroyed in its entirety, their practices of dance declined until the late 1990s when groups began investing more time into preserving these sacred dances as part of Aboriginal and Canadian culture.”

You lift your head off his shoulder as he starts kissing your neck, everyone around you disappearing as you felt his lips connect with your bare skin. “Europeans settlers brought their own forms of dance to the country, eventually infusing together to create new forms. Famous dancers like Martha Graham, Anna Pavlova and Ruth St. Denis started touring the United States and Canada, leaving their own imprint on the culture.”

He lifts his head, his forehead against yours. You could feel him grow hard the more you talked, his dick pressed against you as you stifled a moan. “Modern dance got its start in Canada nearly a decade before ballet,” you say, Matthew kissing your forehead before connecting his back to yours, “In the 1940s, Montreal became the central hub for modern dance, and stayed that way for a while. Ballet came about in a professional manner, companies developing their own identities before performing and going onto the world stage.”

The song changes and you stop moving. Staring at each other, you finish, “All of it comes together into the dance we know today.”

“Y/N,” Matthew starts, obviously staring at your lips. He wanted to kiss you. He didn’t care that his entire team was around him; he didn’t notice anyone there but you.

You don’t know what to say to him. You take your hands off his shoulders, cupping his face. His grip tightens around your waist, a confused look of his face.

‘Fuck it,’ you think to yourself, just like you did the other day. Your lips connect with his, everything around you melting away as you moved in sync with each other. His tongue swipes your bottom lip, begging to enter your mouth, you gladly letting him. You can feel him smiling as his hands move up your back, your hands falling down to his chest. You pull away, both of you breathing slightly unevenly. Why did you just do that? You weren’t upset that you did, but why did you just do that?

“Wow,” he whispers to you, kissing you softly again.

“Wow is right,” you let out.

“Hey, uh, Matty?” you hear Elias’ voice behind you. You pull away from each other, both of you slightly embarrassed that he, along with everyone else, probably just saw that. “We’re trying to do a team photo,” he says, looking like he was trying to stifle a laugh or something.

Matthew swallows, nodding and dropping his hands from your body. “I’ll find you later,” he reassures you before leaving.

You try to catch your breath as you run to find your phone. ‘SOS’ you text Evelina, praying that she was looking at her phone and not already asleep.

‘What?’

Your fingers hover over the screen of your phone. Do you tell her what just happened? You tell her everything, so why would you leave this out?

‘I have another thing to add to the list’

‘This list needs to be electronic so I don’t have to get out of bed every time you think of something new’

‘Do you want to know or not’

‘Duh’

‘The way he reads my mind’

‘That’s dumb, but fine. Are you at least having fun?’

‘Yeah.’ You put your phone away before you can say anything else to her. If she found out you kissed each other - no, if she found out you kiss him, she would have a field day. You would never hear the end of it, list or not. All you had to do was rejoin the event and hope you could find Matthew.

Staying off the side, watching the event unfold, you couldn’t find him anywhere. There was something fun about seeing all the guys and their wives and girlfriends dressed up like they were, whatever photo they were doing clearly taken. The season ticket holders and management looked good, even though you had no idea who any of them were.

“Hey,” you hear a man’s voice say to you, taking you out of the trance as you fixated on Johnny and Meridith, admiring the way they looked at each other while they were dancing. If they were back out on the dance floor, Matthew had to be following suit soon, right? “I’m Reggie.” He sticks out his hand, you smiling at him to shake it as you introduce yourself. “So, are you here with someone, or are you a ticket holder?”

“I’m here with one of the guys,” you say, trying to see if you can find him anywhere. Something about this guy wasn’t quite right, and you really prayed for an out from talking with him.

“Really? Which one?”

“Me,” you hear Matthew’s voice say, his arms wrapping around you as you feel your shoulders relax. “Thanks for keeping my girl company.” Reggie just nods and smiles, walking away and leaving the two of you in the position you were in. Matthew holds you tighter, your hands reaching up to touch his. “You are the most beautiful girl here,” he whispers.

“You’re just saying that,” you tell him, feeling his breath on your neck as he lets out a sigh. “What if I said you were the most handsome guy here?”

He freezes, swallowing hard and thankful that he was behind you so you couldn’t see the grin covering his face. Calling you his girl was something he said just to get the guy away, but after that comment, after that kiss, there was nothing more he wanted than to call you that and mean it. “What if we get out of here?” he whispers, kissing you between your shoulder blades.

A chill runs down your shine as he kisses along your back, moving your hair to your shoulder as you can’t help but let out a low moan, “Matthew.”

He moves his way up your neck, ending at your ear, “Come on. Do you want to go somewhere more private?” he whispers before his teeth connect with your earlobe. You didn’t expect that to do what it did to you.

When he pulls away, you turn to him, mirroring the smile on his face. “Where did you have in mind?”

“Is it too early to leave?” you ask him, running your hands down his chest.

“I’m ready if you are, babe,” he says, kissing you softly on your lips yet again. God, he hoped this was the start of something. Knowing what this was like, he could only imagine what more would be.

He takes your hand, leading you back out to his car. You look back over your shoulder before leaving the building, out of sheer curiosity as to whether or not anyone saw you. You make eye contact with Elias, who winks, raising his glass in the air to you as the two of you disappear through the door. “Your place or mine?” he asks as the two of you practically sprinted to his car. Given what you were both sure was about to happen, he answers his own question, “Mine, got it.”

You couldn’t concentrate the entire way to his place, thinking about what this was going to be like. You both wanted it and didn’t. You didn’t love him. You couldn’t love him. Evelina was in no way right about you being in love with each other. You just were both horny, right? That’s all it was?

Matthews hands don’t leave your body once you get out of the car. Whatever cameras were around the lobby of his building, the elevator, the hallway leading to his door caught everything. He was kissing you passionately, as if doing this was something that he had been waiting for. His hands gripped your butt, so tight that you had to hold back a scream of pleasure as he sucked away at your neck, something he seemed to like doing more than you expected.

You were surprised your clothes were even still on by the time you get to his door. You could only imagine how red and bruised your neck was, the handprints that had to be left on your ass from him, your mind going blank as you were sure you would regret anything.

You practically rip off his suit jacket, both of you impatient to get everything off each other. “Are you sure you’re ok with this?” he stops, his hands on the zipper of your dress as you bounced up and down, dripping with anticipation.

“All you have to do is take off the dress,” you tell him, his eyes going wide.

He swallows hard, “N-nothing underneath?” he asks you. That would mean that you were expecting something to happen tonight, right? Or did it mean nothing? He really hoped it meant the first thing.

“Yes, take it off, come on,” you whine.

He does as you ask, his lips connecting with yours, simultaneously taking off your dress and leaving it in the hallway while you unbutton his shirt and leave it there with it. You were down to nothing as he threw you on the bed, him rushing to take his pants off to climb on top of you. You spread your legs for him as he climbs on top off you, kissing you from your hip bone up to your mouth. “You’re really sure?” he asks you, in a quiet voice.

You nod, taking his face in your hands, “I’m sure,” you say before he kisses you again. You give him all the access he wants, the tip of his dick rubbing against your already wet opening, teasing you as you whined for him, “Fuck me, Matty.”

“I will, baby,” he says, pushing his hips against yours as he enters inside you.

You spend the night, both of you kissing, whining, moaning, begging for each other, everything you had ever imagined with any other guy, you were doing with Matthew. You didn’t want it to be anyone else.

You were so busy, so hungry for everything Matthew had to offer, you didn’t know your phone was buzzing, texts from Evelina flooding your phone.

‘Where are you????’

‘You were supposed to be home by now.’

‘Why isn’t your phone location updating? Elias said you guys left hours ago.’

‘Please tell me you’re ok.’

#Matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #calgary flames #calgary flames imagine #flames #flames imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagine

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mourntheantagonist · 4 years ago

Note

El goes over to Steve’s to get out of the cabin for a little bit and they have pizza and board games and stuff.. so Steve’s house is a little messy so Steve’s dad comes home earlier then expected he freaks bc he can’t see el here so he goes upstairs and puts her in his room and his dad is pissed at the mess so basically el overhears how much of an ass his dad is :,)

tear my heart in half why don’t you?

ok but seriously, could I have just written a short and sweet ficlet on this gorgeous headcanon? yeah. do I have self control? no.

that is why instead I present to you a 6.3k deep dive

also on ao3

****

It’s just a little thing the two of them have going for them. El hated being left alone in the empty cabin when Hopper was on duty and would often sneak out to the Wheeler’s for some company. Usually it was fine. Mike would let her in through the basement door and she’d always made sure to be back before Hop. Usually hitching a ride on the back of Mike’s bike. It was a pretty perfect system. Hopper never found out and she got to get away from the lonely woods for at least a couple hours.

Until one time they weren’t home and Mike wasn’t answering on the walkie. it was cold out and dark and she wasn’t prepared to make the long walk back to the cabin. But she did anyway. Shivering as she tried to forget that her powers still weren’t working quite right. Trying to forget the fact that she was defenseless.

That’s when Steve had pulled up beside her in the beemer. Headlights bright in her eyes, only recognizing him once the lights went out and she could see him through the windshield.

Steve was safe. One of the few people she was told she could trust, despite Mike showing his own disdain for the guy. But she was told that was only because he dated Nancy, and he didn’t like Jonathan either for that very reason. So she trusted Steve. Felt a wave of relief wash over her when he pulled up beside her from where she was walking on Randolph Way.

He rolled down his window with the crank and stuck his head outside. The quick change from hot to cold biting his nose, making it run.

“It’s past nine, El. What are you doing out here? How did you get out here?”

El shrugged her shoulders. Rubbing her hands against her arms to generate some heat to combat the cold from the Indiana night air. “Walked. Came to see Mike.” She said. The words coming out with a breath that was visualized by a misty cloud as vapor froze.

“He wasn’t home?”

She shook her head. Arms still crossed over her chest, hands now tightly gripping the flannel she stole from Hopper’s closet. A calming mechanism she’d use when she felt like she was in trouble. A way of protecting her palms from her sharp and jagged fingernails because she had a habit of biting them when she was scared, which came more often now that her powers were only functioning at a ten percent capacity.

Steve didn’t have to think for very long before telling her to get in, and that he’d take her home.

He turned the heat up to the highest setting, and pulled out a blanket he had stored underneath his seat. Handed it over to her because he could see her lips had begun to turn to a bluish color. Steve spared her the talk about how she needed to be more careful. He wasn’t her Dad or her babysitter, even though he kind of was at times. But she was just a teenager who wanted to see her boyfriend, he did the same thing when he was her age, and still does it now. He figured he could leave that conversation up to her Dad, even if he suspected it wouldn’t do much to curb said behavior.

Instead they said nothing to each other the whole drive to the cabin, aside from words of direction since he had never navigated the path in the dark before. El never talked much in most situations, so it wasn’t weird.

When he pulled up, he noticed Hopper’s Blazer was unmistakably missing from the premises, and there was no light indicating anyone lived there other than the singular bulb hanging from their front porch that looked to be only days away from burning out. He waited for El to get out of his car and head inside, but she didn’t. She just sat there in his passenger seat with the blanket pulled up high enough so it covered her nose and mouth. Still and unmoving, staring at the front door that was illuminated by the dying light source with a pained expression evident in her light brown eyes.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks, with hesitation clear in the way his voice cracks with a whispered tone. The dead silence of the empty forest creating an unnerving tension that made them both feel like just the sound of a pin dropping to the floor could set something off.

She heaved a sigh, the shakiness clear. “Could you stay? Until Hop gets home?”

She didn’t have to explain it to Steve. Just looking at the Cabin gave him the same feeling that looking at his own house did. Empty and abandoned and lonely. That’s why he was out driving that night. He had no destination other than anywhere but his house. He hated the way the floorboards creaked so loud in the silence and echoed around the house. Didn’t like the way he could hear the sounds of water droplets dripping from the bathroom sink from all the way upstairs. Didn’t like the solitary feeling of it all. Not even a ghostly presence to keep him company. Just him and his thoughts. Never a good combination.

So he agreed. Turning the key and shutting off the car, flipping off the headlights and following her inside. He liked El, and it was much better than going back to his vacant home on the outskirts of Hawkins.

He’d never been inside before. The only times he’d ever come by was to drop off Dustin and the rest of the party when El was still on probation from leaving the Cabin. For those he’d never leave the comfort of his drivers seat.

El flipped on the lights and he was greeted by a sight juxtaposed from the outside’s appearance. The outside looked abandoned. Rusted and worn. Moss growing on the roof, breaks in the wooden steps leading up to the porch, unmanicured ground covered in rotting leaves from the previous Fall. The inside, however, was lively. Sure, it still looked a little run down and had the rustic feel to it, but it looked like a home. Warm and cozy, messy with different books strewn across the floor, clothes hung on the backs of chairs, vinyl records stacked haphazardly next to the turntable. The sink was full of dishes that needed to be done, a laundry basket full of clothes that needed to be folded. It was clear that someone lived here. Like really lived here. Not like his house which was always kept clean and proper. Fancy decorations cluttered the halls, carpets were vacuumed and floors were swept. Steve never got behind on doing his dishes or laundry because there was never much for him to do with it only being the product of one person. And what else was he supposed to do to occupy his time? He preferred the sound of the running water or the rattle of the laundry machine or the loud hum of the vacuum cleaner as it picked up debris over the echoes of his own thoughts. He had to keep it clean anyway because his parents always came home without warning, and always expected the house to look just as pristine as they left it. So the house always looked more like a museum filled with expensive art and less like a home with dirty dishes and crumbs on the floor that indicated proper use.

He felt a warm feeling inside the cabin. Feeling the coziness radiate through him as he sat down on the couch. Rips in the upholstery, beer stained cushions. Comfortable. Like sitting on a cloud.

El was in the kitchen, rummaging through the freezer, he assumed she was just hungry. Maybe she had been expecting to eat at Mike’s house. He always did save her some leftovers just in case. He’d done so for all three hundred fifty two days she was “missing” and continued even after she was found.

He looked through the books that were scattered all over the floor as she did her thing. Noticing books his parents used to read him when he was little. Many of them by Dr. Suess. The Lorax, Green eggs and Ham. Some “I Can Read” books that looked to be well below her level, and several books he didn’t recognize at all like “Alexander the Magical Mouse”. She must have liked that one a lot considering the spine had been creased and torn and the edges were folding in.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sudden sound of the pop of the toaster oven. Hearing the slight sizzle of whatever had been cooking.

He turned around to see Eleven carrying two plates with Eggos on them. Already coated in butter and syrup, holding one out to him.

“I made you some.” It’s the first thing she’s said since they’d walked through the door. She wasn’t shy, she just didn’t talk a lot, having only ever been allowed to speak if she had something important to say, often going hours or even days without even having anyone to say those things to. It was no wonder she didn’t want to be alone in that cabin.

He took a seat with her at their little table. Big enough for just two people, perfect for just El and Hopper, and perfect for just the two of them now. He could tell the seat he was sitting in was typically the seat Hopper sat at. The table had cigarette burns on only that side, and he knew those didn’t come from El. Her side of the table had clear indication of someone who used a lot of syrup. Dried maple drops stuck to the wood. He dug into his waffles, which looked to have been cooked to perfection. Golden brown with a nice crunch as he cut off a piece with the side of his fork. She looked up at him and smiled before shoving a large bite into her mouth. Nearly half a waffle’s worth. Syrup escaped past her lips as she closed her mouth around the fork, sticking to the outside of her cheeks.

“You got a little.” He gestured to his own cheek, tapping it twice.

She stifled a laugh with her mouth full and wiped away at it with her sleeve.

It was nice seeing her laugh. El had a smile that brightened up a whole room. The one thing about her that not many people had, you know, aside from the whole ‘having powers’ thing, was that she said what she meant, and she meant what she said. You never had to worry about her faking a smile for your benefit, or worry about her lying to you. She was honest even if that sometimes got her into trouble. So when she smiled at him and laughed, he knew she was happy. Happy he was there, and so was he.

Before she stuffed a second bite into her mouth, still chewing the remnants of the first, they could hear the roar of a familiar engine. Headlights beginning to peek through the gaps in the curtains. El didn’t seem nearly as on edge as he was that Hopper was home. Steve was in his house. Uninvited. Okay he was invited by El, but not by Hopper and that’s what mattered more, right?

Steve wasn’t necessarily scared of Hopper per se. But he definitely tried to avoid being on his bad side at all costs.

But hey, it’s not like Steve had done anything wrong. On the contrary. He kind of rescued her, not that she really needed it. She survived months during Hawkins winter out on her own in the woods. But the point was, he should thank him.

At least Hopper should recognize Steve’s beemer out front so when he opens the door to his house Steve’s presence isn’t a total surprise. Like he won’t walk in guns blazing at the intruder who’s in his house with his daughter.

Okay should he be worried?

Luckily for Steve, Hopper walks through the door with his gun securely in his holster and sans a look of rage. More so a look of confusion.

“What are you doing here kid?”

El gives him a pointed look. Almost like she’s trying to use her mind powers on him. Get him to not tell Hopper that she was out by herself after nine at night in the cold… to see her boyfriend.

But here’s the thing. Steve likes El. He really does. But he’s far more terrified of what Hopper might do to him if he lies to his face about Eleven’s whereabouts.

He gives her a look back. An apologetic one.

“She was out wandering in the cold so I brought her back home. Decided to stay until you arrived.” Steve decided to leave out the part about her going to Mike’s house. Figured that’s better left unsaid.

Hopper pursed his lips. Nodding his head with his arms crossed, clearly trying to keep himself from yelling. He’s gotten better about that lately.

El is once again gripping the cloth of the flannel she is wearing tightly. Bowing her head and squeezing her eyes shut tight.

“Why did you go out El?” Hopper asks. His voice was a strained kind of calm. A calm that if you pushed slightly too far could easily go away.

“I don’t like being here alone. Not after everything.”

Oh yeah. Everything.

Everything being Starcourt. Those painful couple of days when she didn’t even know where he was while the rest of the world was falling apart in front of her. Those several hours before he finally emerged from under the Russian base below the mall. Hours without hearing from him, not even a confirmation that he was alive. And no way to confirm it for herself with her powers completely drained. All she could get was a black void. She couldn’t see anything at all.

Steve got a similar feeling. He’d experienced loneliness before. But nothing like when he was trapped in that room with those Russian guards. Beating the ever living shit out of him and no matter what he did or said, it wouldn’t stop until he was completely unconscious. The unconsciousness coming much later than he’d hoped it would. He could still sometimes feel his eye twitch with phantom pains from the damage done that night. He recognized it very distinctly from the memories of previous black eyes he’s received in the somehow two fights he’s lost. He also understands the feeling of dread that she felt when she didn’t know where Hopper was. He had that same feeling with Erica and Dustin. Not knowing whether they made it out alive. Had the same dread with Robin. Feeling her back pressed up against his as they were tied up in chairs and threatened with torture, knowing he was the one who brought her into all of this. Knowing that whatever happens to her is blood on his hands. That point where he had to make a quick decision and slam his car into the side of Billy.

Billy.

Feeling the shockwaves pass through him. His head jerk forward upon impact. Watching as the Camaro burst into flames in a blinding blaze. That moment of not knowing whether or not he survived the crash, not knowing if that was a good or bad thing, and not even having the time to even think about it before he’s piling into the back of the Wheeler’s station wagon and driving away from the mall.

So yeah, Steve got it.

Hopper’s face fell into a frown and he decided not to press the issue further.

“We’ll talk about it later. Finish up your waffles and get ready for bed. I’ll walk Steve out.” Hopper said. Wiping at his nose and taking off his hat and hanging it on the hook by the door.

El finished her waffles rather quickly. She practically inhaled the contents of her plate. Not sparing a moment of time before shoving another piece into her mouth. Messy enough making it clear that the syrup stains on the table were most definitely her doing. Steve finished up his own and promptly followed Hopper out onto the porch after putting his dirtied plate into the sink of dirty dishes.

“Thanks for bringing her home, son. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem, chief.”

“You wanna smoke?” Hopper asks, pulling a pack and lighter out from his shirt pocket and pulling one out, offering it up for Steve to take.

This was definitely weird. Smoking with adults. Hopper nonetheless. Sure he was of age, but that didn’t make it any less weird.

He accepted the cigarette anyway, because it was cold and god he could really use one right about now. He let Hopper light it up for him and he took a long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs creating a burning sensation he grew to enjoy. It almost functioned as proof that he was a living human being. Feeling as the damage was done to his internal organs, reminder that he was alive. Not lost to the void he felt like he drifted into so often.

“So what are you doing right now? You graduated right?”

“Yup.” Steve replied. Popping the ‘p’. As if basically scraping by the G.P.A. decent enough to walk across that podium was something to celebrate. His father most certainly didn’t think so.

“College?”

And that was the reason why. He couldn’t get an acceptance letter from anywhere. Not even the schools that supposedly accepted everyone and didn’t even send out rejection letters. Steve was living breathing proof that they did.

“No. Working mornings at Family Video.” He tried to say it with at least a little pride. Like, hey, at least he wasn’t a total bum living off his parents dime. At least he was doing something with his life. Even if that something was a dead end job in a dead end town.

“It’s honest work, kid. Good for you. College ain’t for everyone. I most certainly wasn’t cut out for it.” Hopper tightly gripped his shoulder and shook him a bit. In a way that seemed fatherly while also being a way his own father never interacted with him.

And god that statement felt good to hear. That acknowledgment and validation that Steve wasn’t just wasting his life away at that job. Validation for his hard work and attempt at bettering himself. Felt good, especially coming from someone so accomplished as him. Steve could only smile, unable to come up with any worthy response to that.

“So mornings. What’s your availability like in the evenings?”

“Typically free. Sometimes I get called out to cover for the night shift, but that doesn’t happen often. Why?”

Hopper put out his cigarette in the ashtray sitting on the porch ledge.

“Well, it would be nice having someone watch El when I’m patrolling at night. I don’t like leaving her here alone, and now I know she doesn’t like it either. And I’d rather her spend that time with you than Mike.” The way he says the name like it’s a slur almost has Steve laughing.

Okay look. Steve didn’t really tell the whole truth right there. His house isn’t always empty. He’s not always free. But it’s best he didn’t divulge that information to a man with a gun in the middle of the woods.

Instead he said yes. Because he wasn’t her babysitter, but he might as well be.

And he also had no idea how to say no to Hopper. Another thing you wouldn’t want to say to a man with a gun in the middle of the woods.

That was how it started. Hopper randomly calling up his house and calling him over to the cabin. Sometimes just choosing to drop her off at his house instead because he didn’t have the time to circle back. Luckily those times he didn’t have the company of a very recognizable blue Camaro parked in his driveway. And eventually everything became routine. Figuring out the patterns of Hopper’s work schedule so he was better prepared for those surprise visits. Eventually telling Hop to just keep bringing her over to his because it was on the way to the station and safer for the rest of the kids to travel to for the occasional hangouts he begrudgingly chaperoned.

Hopper did eventually catch them red handed. Or more accurately, with his pants down. He didn’t hear the phone ring and it was instead the honk of his horn that pulled the two from their current distraction. No point in trying to hide what they were doing with an elaborate lie as soon as Hopper yelled from outside “Harrington. Hargrove. Pull your damn pants up and get out here!”

They couldn’t be that loud. Could they?

Steve didn’t even want to entertain that thought.

When they did the walk of shame out the front door, heads bowed and arms crossed over themselves, Hopper was standing there with his hands on his hips. A stance that looked almost ridiculous on him, but also struck enough fear in the two of them that it silenced their laughs.

“Sorry.” Is all Steve could say. Unable to even look him in the eyes. Focusing his attention on El who sat in the passenger seat of the Blazer. Looking entirely confused. Good. She should be.

“No. No. My fault. I should have called. Uh, you still up for watching El tonight?” Hopper’s eyes darted between the two boys. They were all very uncomfortable in this current situation, and they were all equally desperate for the conversation to come to an end.

Billy looked over at Steve, both faces matching with the same kind of confusion. Distinctly different confusion than the look that washed over El’s face.

“Uh. Yeah I can go home, he can watch her.” Billy said, already moving his feet to leave.

“You don’t have to go. Hell, it’d be nice having someone who has actually won a fight around her.”

“Hey! I’ve won a fight.” Steve interjects, earning a small chuckle out of Billy.

“I didn’t see it. Doesn’t count.” Steve scoffs at the reply. “Anyway, point is, he can stay if he wants. Just no funny business if you don’t mind.”

Billy and Steve both blush simultaneously and nod their heads a little too aggressively. “Yes sir.” Says Billy.

Hopper tips his hat at the boys who are both just standing there stunned and trying to figure out if they just had a near death experience or not. Not before long El is getting out of the car and Hopper’s pulling out of the driveway and suddenly his house feels 300% fuller.

Billy stays sometimes for her visits now, but they don’t make too much of a habit of it. Still concerned about how the nature of their relationship looks to have a young girl in their presence. It’s wrong and stupid, but most people were nowadays. Despite Hopper’s insistence on being okay with it, they couldn’t put that much trust in people.

Except for maybe El. That girl he would trust with his life. No questions asked.

It took awhile for her to actually get what was going on. Not that they were together in the first place, that part she deduced pretty quickly. It was more so the reason that they were so private about it that she didn’t get. She didn’t get why she couldn’t tell Max or the party or anyone else for that matter. They’d constantly brush it off with an “it’s complicated” because they didn’t find joy in telling this sweet and innocent girl how terrible the world could be. But to El it was perfectly simple. Billy and Steve love each other like El and Mike love each other. Easy, straightforward. When they finally explained it to her, how “stupid people don’t think two men should be able to love each other” they could see the anger clear on her face. Veins popping out on her forehead and a red tint forming beneath the skin on her face. They explained how people might go as far as to hurt them if they found out. Her face only got redder and the clench of her fists only grew tighter.

“Bad people.” She called them.

They would just nod their heads in agreement.

“Does that mean Max and Mike and everyone else are bad people? Because I can’t tell them?”

That was a hard question to answer. A question that they tried to avoid thinking about yet always seemed to be at the back of their minds. Because they might be. And that was scary to think about. Steve liked to think that Dustin wouldn’t look at him any differently, the same with Billy about Max. They thought highly enough of them that they never liked to entertain the thought that they could potentially be “bad people.” But there was always the potential that they could.

Still they answered with a no. Because even if they did end up being “bad people” they weren’t bad people. “I don’t think they are,” Steve started. “But the more people that find out, the higher the chance some really bad people might find out. It’s safer to keep the bubble small. Is that okay?”

El nodded in agreement, and the three of them quickly went back to what they were doing like they didn’t just have a really deep conversation. It was scrabble. Thought it might be a more fun way of teaching El new words instead of just shoving a book into her face. She seemed to enjoy it, and was able to come up with some surprisingly long words. A huge grin popped onto her face when she was able to spell out the word “compromise.”

“Hop taught me that one.”

Eighteen points.

Nobody expected it to be Billy who was trying to pass off made up words.

But for the most time, it was just Steve and El. No party get together’s. No Billy. Just the two of them, pizza delivery, board games and movies. And it was honestly a blast.

Steve never thought it would be so much fun to make a mess like this. Paper plates scattered across the floor along with loose puzzle pieces and an array of VHS tapes strewn in front of the TV so they were easier to look through. Usually when something was out of place, Steve felt an overwhelming need to put it back. To keep things clean, neat, and tidy. That’s how he was raised. Vases dusted, dishes cleaned, laundry folded and put away. But he was behind on laundry and the only reason his sink wasn’t full was because he’d been eating off disposables since El wandered into his every day. Which reminded him. The trash needed to be taken out yesterday.

Usually the chaos would have him losing his mind. Like the way it did when he first snuck into Billy’s bedroom and was met with dozens of beer cans everywhere the eye could see. Hamper piled high with dirty laundry, and that was just what made it into the basket. And god it reeked of smoke and teenage boy. Like the combination of a wrestling mat and a casino. He had actual car parts sitting in his closet that he’d stolen from the junkyard. His room was a junkyard. But he’d never tell him that. Just kindly suggest that perhaps he wipe down some surfaces with disinfecting wipes because there are definitely some eradicated diseases living freely underneath his bed where he could see a large collection of socks. Yeah. He knew what those were.

But this was a mess he could handle. It wasn’t a hotel for rats like Billy’s room was. It was more like how he described Hopper’s cabin. Lived in. Proof that there were people having a good time and living there. Finally getting the living room to live up to its title. When he looked out across the mess of food and games and the fallen down fort they attempted to build, the word home started to feel like an apt word to describe the place. It felt like it was his and not like just some place he slept at night or the place he parked his car and had his paycheck sent to.

He’d be regretting letting it get so messy when he heard the familiar purr of a car outside. Distinctly not the roar of the Camaro or the rumble of the Blazer. No it was the purr of his father’s Buick.

He looked out once again over the mess in his living room.

He was going to be pissed.

El noticed the way his face fell when the sound had echoed outside. And then Steve noticed El.

He couldn’t see her here. She was allowed to be out in public but it was still slow going as far as who she was and how she was the chief's daughter. He didn’t want to take any risks.

“El. I’m going to need you to hide in my room. My Dad can’t see you. He won’t go in there.” Steve’s trying to stay calm so he doesn’t alarm her, but reading people’s emotions is something she’s really good at. Not sure if it’s a feature of her powers or just her, but she can always tell if you’re faking a smile and she can feel the emotions that lurk beneath the surface like an empath. So naturally she started to grow fearful as well.

“What’s going on?” She’s still sitting on the floor but appears to at least be shifting her legs to raise herself up. But it’s like everything is moving through molasses but his father’s footsteps don’t seem to be slowing at all.

“My Dad’s home. Take the back steps upstairs and lock yourself in my room. I promise I won’t be long, okay?”

She nods her head, she can see the urgency in his voice so she takes no time at all before sprinting up the stairs and finding Steve’s bedroom.

When she walks inside she realizes she’s never actually been in there before. Only knowing of its location after seeing Steve walk in and out of it from the base of the stairs. It’s not quite what she was expecting.

It was boring. Flannel wallpaper with a perfectly made bed. Shelves organized containing nothing of significance upon them. It looked like one of those bedrooms she saw in furniture catalogs. Steve wasn’t boring. He had a fun and bright personality. He screamed bright blues and bright reds, not the dull greens, grays, and browns that decorated his room.

Then there was an unexpected noise coming from down the steps. The walls were thin, she could hear everything so clearly.

“What the hell is all of this, Steven?” The voice was low and thunderous. Resonating through the entire house. It kind of reminded her of Hopper’s voice, but the underlying tone was distinctly different. There was a condescension to it that she rarely heard out of him. Almost like he was talking down to him. “You’re expected to keep this house clean, and you can’t even do that? How did I get stuck with such a stupid fuck up for a son?” The swears and insults rolled off his tongue like second nature and it made El’s blood boil.

She pressed her ear to the door to get a clearer picture, Steve talked in a very quiet voice in comparison to the fortissimo of Mr. Harrington’s.

“I was just getting ready to clean it up. I had a couple of friends over and they just left. I didn’t know you’d be home, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t let you live under my roof for you to be throwing parties Steven! You should be spending that time actually making something of yourself so I don’t have to explain to my friends what an embarrassment you’ve become.”

“I work full time Dad!”

“Don’t you raise your voice at me.” Steve had barely even gotten louder. “What? You think a career at Family Video is some kind of achievement?”

El could feel the tension in the room as it fell silent. She wanted to burst from that room and fling him through a wall. Break his arm.

Mouthbreather.

“Your mother will be home in a few hours, she stopped to see a friend. You will have this mess cleaned up before she gets home and you will help her with her luggage. Understand?”

“Understand.” Steve’s voice sounded broken. Cracking with an inconsistent tone.

“I’ll be in my office. Don’t disturb me.”

The only sounds that follow that line are the sounds of shuffling feet and a slam of a door downstairs. She’s startled when she hears the gentle knock against Steve’s bedroom door.

“You can unlock the door now.” He says.

She does so quietly. Slowly turning the lock so not to make sound that Mr. Harrington could potentially hear.

When she gets the door open she’s met with a Steve that she’s never seen before. He’s squeezing the bridge of his nose and his eyes are red and glossy. His cheeks are pink from wiping abrasively against tears that fell upon them.

“I need to get you home, okay? I can um… I can call Hop or someone to stay with you if you need. I’m sorry.”

El just doesn’t know what to say to him. Doesn’t know how to make things better without her powers.

So she just hugs him. Wraps her arms around his waist tight and lets her head rest where it meets his chest. Squeezing gently just waiting for him to return the gesture.

Which he does, albeit, hesitantly and guarded. Barely letting his own hands come in contact with her shoulders. She’s so small, and if he didn’t already know the strength she was capable of he’d be worried he could break her.

“Bad man.” She whispers.

Steve fights off the tears and squeezes her tighter.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Is all he can say.

The two of them quietly sneak out the front door. Steve knows his Dad wouldn’t care if he left so long as he did what he was asked. He’d picked up the mess and took the trash with him on the way out.

The two pile into the Beemer and Steve quickly turns on the music to distract himself from the words rattling around in his head. Letting the sounds of Metallica play over his speakers. Billy was always doing that. Shoving one of the tapes he made for Steve into the stereo when he wasn’t looking.

Look, a successful distraction!

But they barely made it a mile down the road before El was turning the knob to the left and the car quickly fell silent. She doesn’t look over at him when she says it. Just looks out the window at passing trees and street lights. Watching as power lines appear to move like ocean waves. Up and down, up and down. Fiddling with the cuffs of her shirt like she’s fearful of the words that were to come out of her mouth.

“Is your Dad like Papa?”

She wasn’t afraid of the question, but she was afraid of the answer. Steve knew who Papa was. They all did and were explicitly instructed to avoid that topic at all costs. But she was the one bringing him up.

“No he’s not like Papa.”

“But he’s a bad man.” She says matter of factly.

“Sometimes he is. Yes.”

“Is your Dad like Billy’s Dad?”

That one stung a little too sharply. Not at the premise of his father potentially being like that, but the reminder of Billy. That he was still there under that damn roof with that poor excuse of a man. And that he wouldn’t let Steve protect him no matter how hard he tried and how far he pushed.

That was another thing El knew that most people didn’t know. Another secret she was forced to keep. One she chose to keep on her own, recognizing it wouldn’t be fair to share the things she learned from entering into his mind without giving him a choice in the matter.

Steve was sometimes grateful for that. The fact that El respected Billy and showed him nothing but kindness. But so often he’d wish she’d just spill it all to Hopper. Do the thing Steve didn’t have the strength to do himself.

“No. He’s not like Billy’s Dad.”

“But that doesn’t make it okay.” She looks at him this time. Reaching over the center console to place a hand gently on top of one of his outstretched hands that tightly gripped the steering wheel.

He lets a tear fall. “You’re right. It doesn’t.”

The rest of the drive is silent. The only sounds are the purr of the engine and the tires rolling over rough asphalt.

Pulling up to the cabin with El in the passenger seat felt a lot like that first time he took her home. That same painful silence and that same hesitation as they sat in front of the cabin from the comfort of the cabin. Staring out at the porch. The lightbulb that looked almost dead last time now replaced with a brand new one that shined bright and illuminated the whole front of the house.

He was half hoping she would ask for him to stay. Not wanting to go back to that house alone with his Dad. He wanted to go to Billy. Crawl in through his window and curl up next to him in his bed. Make himself feel safe by making Billy feel safe. He’d accept crashing on Hopper’s couch if that was all he could get.

But he knew he couldn’t. Knew he had to get home despite having every reason not to.

“Steve?” She said, grabbing his attention.

“Yeah?”

She opened the car door and stepped out, looking at him intensely through the open door.

“You’re not stupid.”

That right there made him smile much more than her asking him to stay ever would.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #eleven #jim hopper #mandi writes tresh #fanfic

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sophiashortcake · 4 years ago

Text

— 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 🍰

“I GUESS I’M JUST A PLAY DATE TO YOU.”

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𝟐𝟐. kei shouldn’t be allowed to drink either: the spinoff

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: kicked out of her home with no place to go, y/n is forced to move into her family friend’s home, who coincidentally is also the family of tsukishima kei, the boy who denied her confession.

You were already driving Kei crazy and you hadn’t even left your room yet.

You should have left thirty minute ago, but you were still locked in your room supposedly doing your makeup. He could hear your pacing through the wall, so he definitely knew you weren’t still getting ready. You were purposefully avoiding him, but it’s not like you both weren’t doing that anyway. He regretted doing a favor to Kiyoko by driving you to the party. (He had a sneaking suspicion she could have driven you, but she wanted you two to start talking to each other already).

Getting fed up with waiting, he yelled through the door.

“Y/N, are you ready?”

“Uh- Yeah! Just give me a second!”

He sighed in relief, going back to his phone.

Your door slowly creaked open as you emerged from your bedroom.

Kei definitely should have had Kiyoko drive you instead.

He didn’t mean to stare, but it was damn hard to when you looked like that. He didn’t know if he wanted to curse God out or thank him right now for the dress you were wearing. How the hell was he supposed to be in a car with you when he found you, to put it bluntly, hot as fuck?

“Let’s go,” he stated, turning to walk down the stairs.

He hoped you didn’t notice the blush on his cheeks.

To make matters worse, you had been silent the entire car ride, averting your gaze anywhere but him. You couldn’t even look at him, did you really hate him that much?

“Did Yamaguchi ever mention what his plan was?” You asked, eyes still fixed on the buildings rolling through the window.

“No, he said he would handle it.”

“O-Oh, okay.”

What else was he supposed to say? The real topic hung above your heads, but he refused to talk about it as acknowledging it would finally make him realize you were leaving, leaving him. But he knew it would be easier if he could at least brace himself for what was to come.

“So when are you moving out?” He asked, almost wincing as the words moving out left him.

“The end of next week most likely.”

He didn’t realize the time you had left was going to be cut so short. If he had known, maybe he would’ve watched more movies with you in your room, stayed out later when you snuck out for food at 3am, maybe he even would’ve found the right time to tell you he loved you. He would’ve done so much more with you if he knew.

The rest of the car ride was silent, as Kei wished he hadn’t taken the time you were with him for granted.

Kei could already tell the party was going to be a headache the moment he walked in. Terushima had truly outdone himself this time, the party easily could have been mistaken for a full-scale frat party instead of a regular high school party. He guessed MiyagiTea was to thank for that, their promotion had gotten the party to where it was currently.

“Y/N!” A voice called, averting your attention away.

Bokuto emerged from the crowd, with Kuroo, Yamaguchi, and Akaashi in tow. He immediately picked you up into one of his famous spine-crushing hugs, you giggled in response, a bright smile plastered on your face.

He ignored the way jealousy brewed in his stomach despite knowing that you and Bokuto were purely platonic and that Bokuto was more than aware of his feelings for you, and would never try anything. But still, he couldn’t help but be green with envy, wishing you were the one smiling at him like that.

“Nice to see you too, Bo,” You giggled as he let you down.

“And here I thought I’d be the hottest one at this party,” Kuroo sighed melodramatically, “unfortunately, Y/N beat me at my own game.”

“Yes, Y/N does look very nice tonight,” Akaashi chuckled, greeting you with a side hug.

While you were preoccupied hugging Akaashi, Kuroo quipped an eyebrow at him. Kei realized, the motherfucker was purposefully trying to make him jealous.

“You’ll always be the hottest one in my book, Kuroo,” you quipped, punching his shoulder. He grinned brightly, but Kei knew the smile was smug pride, knowing that his little plan to get him jealous was working.

“Please don’t make Kuroo’s ego any bigger than it already is,” Akaashi sighed. Kei was thankful somebody finally put Kuroo in his place (even if they were friends) if it weren’t for Akaashi, Kei probably would have lost it on Kuroo already.

“Tsukki, you can at least pretend you’re enjoying yourself,” Yamaguchi commented.

“I don’t like parties,” he deadpanned. No, more like I don’t like how you’re flirting with Y/N.

“Well, do you like Y/N’s dress?” Bokuto slyly whispered in his ear. If you weren’t staring sheepishly at him, he would’ve strangled Bokuto right then and there.

He thought for a second, about to make his usual sarcastic comment, but the dress you were wearing was living in his head, rent free. His mouth ran dry, and he couldn’t think of anything to say but the truth.

“Yeah, she looks pretty.”

(He thought you looked even better than pretty, but he would’ve killed himself on the spot if he truly voiced what he thought.)

The group fell quiet, all eyes plastered on him as he tried his best to remain calm, as if he hadn’t just complimented you infront of his entire group of friends.

“I’m gonna go find Oikawa and Iwaizumi!” You chirped, breaking the silence. Before anyone could reply, you hurried away as fast as you could on your heels.

“Oh my god, she hates me,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you be nice to somebody, like ever,” Kuroo commented, still stunned at his compliment.

“Much less call somebody pretty,” Akaashi added.

“He really is whipped!” Bokuto cackled, smacking Kei on the back. Kei cringed, hoping nobody heard Bokuto, but it was Bokuto, so it was more than likely.

“I don’t think she hates you Tsukki,” Yamaguchi nervously replying. (Little did Kei know, Yamaguchi was tearing himself apart inside keeping his promise to you.)

“I called her pretty and she ran away,” he grumbled, “I think that’s reason enough to think she doesn’t like me back.”

“You, my friend, need a drink,” Kuroo said, before dragging him off to the kitchen.

The rest of the night, Kei noticed how you dodged and avoided him. You conveniently had to leave the room whenever he walked in, you made an effort to talk to everybody besides him, hell, even his friends got in a proper conversation with you before he could. The alcohol was affecting his emotions more than he would care to admit. Kei was losing hope, the realization you’d never be his settling in much deeper than he thought it would. He wished you were his and much as he was yours.

“Yams, it’s almost 1am and you still haven’t found MiyagiTea, what’s your plan exactly?” Kuroo grumbled, flopped on a nearby couch.

With you heavy on his drunken mind, he forgot the true reason for this party. Despite it being so late, the party was still raging, showing no signs of stopping anytime soon.

“I was hoping I would catch them slipping when some drama happened, but nothing,” he fumed. “There’s been 4 fights, 3 breakups, and Terushima even streaked across the lawn to lure them out! They still haven’t shown themselves.”

“Maybe we should give up,” Akaashi sighed, slumping down on the couch with Kuroo.

“No! We can’t just give up! This stupid tea account is what’s stopping Y/N and Tsukki from being together!” Bokuto cried. Kei took a mental note that you and Bokuto were both crying drunks.

“I hate to break it to you, but the reason we’re not together is because she hates me, and I don’t blame her,” he sighed. However, Kei was also a sad drunk it seemed.

“Tsukki, have you tried talking to her?” Yamaguchi asked, as if the solution was obvious. Kei scoffed in response.

“What do I even say? I love you, I’m sorry I’m such an asshole, please love me? It’s pathetic,” he spat bitterly.

“I hate to break up this little feelings sesh, but what the hell is going on in the living room?” Kuroo questioned, drawing attention to the yelling spouting from the other room.

The group stumbled out of the nearby room and into the living room, where the music had stopped and in the center of attention was you and Oikawa. A crowd had swarmed around you, hushed whispers filling the air.

Were you crying?

“Get the fuck away from me!” You spat, holding yourself as to shield yourself from Oikawa.

“Y/N, I swear I can explain-”

“No! I don’t want to fucking hear it!” You retorted.

Akaashi tapped somebody on the shoulder, “what’s happening?”

“Oikawa Tooru is MiyagiTea!”

Kei’s world stopped.

Oikawa was MiyagiTea.

He leaked all the information about you two.

He purposefully hurt you.

All Kei could see was red, every cell on his body was on fire. He shoved past the crowd, not caring who he pushed. Maybe it was the alcohol fueling the flames in his stomach, but all he could focus on was the fact Oikawa had fucking hurt you. You were crying because of him and if that didn’t make Kei go ballistic, nothing else could.

Kei stormed up to Oikawa and punched him across the face.

“Kei!” You shrieked.

All the noises around him drowned out, as he could only hear the blood rushing in his ears as he grabbed Oikawa by the collar and shoved him against a wall.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Kei could practically feel the venom dripping out his voice, wanting nothing more than to make Oikawa regret ever making you cry, but your grip on shirt made him snap out of his rage.

“Kei, stop!” You cried.

Your touch suddenly made him forget his rage. His muscles eased under your fingertips as he let go of Oikawa, who shamefully backed away from you two. He turned to you, your face making his stomach drop.

You looked scared. You were scared of him.

Iwaizumi pushed through the crowd, as well as Kiyoko.

“Iwa, did you know?” You asked, your voice cracking.

“No! God no, I had no idea- I would never-” Iwaizumi began before sighing to stop himself, “I’m going to take Oikawa, he shouldn’t be here.”

“Y/N, let’s go,” Kiyoko whispered, taking your arm. You nodded, wiping your mascara stained eyes.

“Y/N, wait-” Kei called, reaching out to stop you. But Yamaguchi grabbed him, reeling him back.

“You’ve done enough, Tsukishima,” Kiyoko hissed before taking you away.

Terushima emerged from the crowd, grimacing at the state of the party.

“Everybody, there’s nothing to see here!” He announced, “Go back to uh, partying or whatever!”

People awkwardly began to murmur, going back to the party, the music started up again, the atmosphere of the party slowly returning to normal.

“I- I have to see her-” Kei stuttered, the drunken adrenaline wearing off and realizing what he had done.

“Tsukki, she needs to be alone right now,” Akaashi murmured, helping him sit down on a nearby couch. Kei buried his face in his hands, he had fucked up, again.

“How about we get you home?” Yamaguchi asked, rubbing his back.

The boys piled Kei into the car, and drove him home. The alcohol, exhaustion from the party, and the quiet drive home should have been enough to lull him asleep, but the horrified expression you wore plagued his mind on an endless loop.

He wanted to blame the alcohol, but he knew it wasn’t an excuse. Like you said, he would always hurt.

And for the first time in awhile, Tsukishima Kei started crying.

𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭: terushima did everything in his power that night to lure out @/miyagitea. such things included, streaking across the lawn naked, doing two keg stands, and bodyslamming the pool table (in which it broke in half).

𝐚/𝐧: uhhh... sorry?

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃!): @sinistersith @moronsuke @yougivemebutterfliess @saturnfarie @peachiikichu @what-happens-inside-the-box @nonoszrk @cece-lives-here @belli-jelly @cvlliesstuff @ack-aashi @mindofess @virgoamajiki @natsukitakama @shimy-deko @irenevyas @virgoamajiki @toaster-stick @little-dark-empress @h0ngh0ngh0ng @freyafolkvangr @winunk @estmagnifique @thechaosoflonging @ilovesupersoldiers @simpletype @burntcilantro @starrydaisy @animatedrapture @intothatbluebluesky @resetrestartandreplay @lostmarimoismyhubby @witcherydotcom @kukiisan @not-venice @grapesauze @amberisnotcrazy @tarasaoristark @ammemuts @cloudymotel @loving-unicorns106 @strawberryssel @kakaokenma @cadelinha-de-haikyuu @wowie-issa-me-amario @pruemania @vitalthot @kageyamasgirl @abswrites @kac-chowsballs

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aomine-ryo · 4 years ago

Note

I just got my braces off about 4 days ago and idk if I like how I look yet cause of my confidence issues but could you do Aomine, Taiga, Murasakibara, Wakamatsu and maybe Haikzaki comforting their S/O I also use she/her pronouns! Thanks luv :) I hope you had a great Christmas if you celebrate if not a great 25th!

Oh god it’s been over a month since Christmas,, I’ve been so awful at posting I’m sorry!! For the record though, my Christmas was quite nice 😂 Anyways, I really wasn’t too sure while I was writing this but I hope you like it!!

Scenario: Kagami, Aomine, Murasakibara, Wakamatsu and Haizaki comforting their s/o

Didn’t find myself needing to use any pronouns here so I think anyone can read it!

Kagami

When it comes to being boyfriend— no, husband material, Kagami takes the cake. He’s so sweet and thoughtful towards you that you knew you could always go to him about anything. But sometimes there are things that afraid to talk to even him about because of your own insecurities.

Any kind of change tends to overwhelm you, especially if it had to do with your appearance— which is probably why you hated haircuts even if it was just a trim. However, this wasn’t just an issue of haircuts. You finally got your braces off.

Whilst you were a bit excited about it at first, once it was done you weren’t too sure about it anymore. Of course, you got a lot of comments about it when you went to school the next day, though most of the time it was just a statement rather than a proper compliment. “Oh Y/N, you got your braces off! Cool.” And that was about it.

You hated the attention, especially because you weren’t sure about the way it looked yourself. So you kept your talking to a minimum that day.

When school was over, you met Kagami outside the gate so that you could walk home together like you usually would. You quickly realised that it was inevitable that you had to talk to him.

“Hey babe, how was your day?” He beamed, patting your head as a way of greeting you as if you were a puppy.

“It was okay,” you mumbled.

Kagami furrowed his brows and looked at you again, trying to read your expressions to see if he missed anything that gave away any bad mood. “Doesn’t sound okay. Why are you talking like that?”

“It’s not—“

“Ooh you got your braces taken off! Lemme see,” Kagami said excitedly as you let out a groan.

“No, it looks weird,” you whined as you covered your mouth with your hand.

“I doubt it. Come on, you’re going to have to show me eventually,” Kagami pleaded as you kept walking and trying to act like it wasn’t bothering you.

You just shook your head no as you continued walking while Kagami trailed behind you.

“So are you just never gonna talk to me?” Kagami sighed.

You shrugged in response.

“Hm, I guess that means no more kisses,” Kagami said. You knew what he was trying to do, and you weren’t going to fall for it. So you just remained silent. “I think I won’t have you try any more of the food I make either then— you’d probably have to open your mouth to do that after all,” he provoked. Your stand wavered for a moment at the thought of that, but you knew he wasn’t serious so you continued to leave your lips sealed. “Wait, this means I could talk to you about anything! Let’s talk about basketball,” he said with a smirk— there was no way you were going to let this slide.

You loved Kagami with all your heart, and you loved listening to him talk about the things he was passionate about. However, when it came to basketball, the boy could talk for hours and still not run out of things to say. It also often ended with him forcing you to play a one-on-one with him because all the talking got him worked up.

You were still determined not to open your mouth though. You certainly weren’t all for the change so what if he ended up hating it too?

Kagami knew what he was doing. And you were painfully aware of that when the first thing he started talking about was a one-on-one he played with Aomine. He’d played so many games with him that every recount of events sounded the exact same to you. “...And I go for the dunk, and guess what he does?”

“He blocks it,” both of you said in unison as you started to chuckle.

A soft grin fell upon Kagami’s face as his heart warmed up at the sight of your smile. “How’d you know?” he said, his voice softening after going on his tangent.

“Because that’s what always happens,” you laughed.

Kagami dropped his jaw, pretending to be offended as his hand dramatically reached for his chest, “So you think Aomine is better than me now? I’m devastated,” he shook his head, though he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face even if he tried.

“Now you’re just putting words in my mouth,” you said, finally simmering down from your fit of giggles.

Kagami went silent for a moment. You looked up at him and found him just staring at you with the dorkiest smile ever.

“What?” You chuckled.

“See, I knew that your smile would look gorgeous no matter what,” he said, not taking his eyes off of you for even a second.

You hadn’t even realised until then that you’d forgotten about your worries of what you looked like. You really didn’t know how he did it; how he made you feel comfortable without even having to try. Just like that, the colour rose in your cheeks as you averted your gaze. “Stop it,” you blushed.

“What? I’m just stating a fact,” he shrugged, swinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to his warm body as you walked, making you stumble slightly. “You’ll always look stunning to me,” he said so softly that it was like it was only the two of you in this little world and no one else.

At this point, there was nowhere else you could look except into his eyes, and all you saw was love and sincerity. And suddenly, you didn’t mind beaming the brightest smile your face could muster, because in this little world of yours, the only person that mattered would do nothing but make you feel beautiful and loved.

Aomine

It wasn’t like you to skip school over absolutely nothing, but you felt like you would rather die than get any attention for having your braces taken off. It was inevitable that you had to go to school at some point, but you just decided to not go for at least a day to get yourself used to the change.

Of course, your boyfriend, Aomine wasn’t the most pleased when he went to school that day and found out that you were absent. What you weren’t expecting, however, was for him to be at your doorstep after school was over. In hindsight, you should’ve known that he would use visiting you as an excuse to not attend practice.

“Hey, is everything alright? You weren’t at school today,” Aomine questioned once you opened the door and let him in.

“Mhmm,” you hummed with a slight nod.

“You know, a text would’ve been nice. I spent all of recess looking for you and then Satsuki told me you weren’t at school,” he explained with a heavy sigh, “It was exhausting.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, causing him to look your way with a confused expression.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again.

You nodded in response, not wanting to open your mouth.

“Are you not going to ask me why I skipped practice?”

You shook your head no.

“Well, if you must know,” Aomine went on anyway, “I came here to check up on you. But seems to me like you don’t want to talk to me today.”

You didn’t respond, causing Aomine to get even more worried.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked softly.

You shook your head almost immediately.

“Then why won’t you talk to me?” Aomine said, tilting his head to the side to meet your gaze, though you immediately looked away.

“It’s nothing, I just don’t look that good today,” you mumbled, making sure to turn your head away from him so he couldn’t see your face.

“Hm? Is that so?” Aomine said, looking you up and down with furrowed brows. “You look beautiful as always to me.”

You let out a heavy sigh. He was going to find out anyway. “I got my braces taken out yesterday,” you said.

Aomine’s eyes lit up immediately as he looked at you expectantly, as though you were supposed to flash him a smile and show off your teeth like it was nothing. And honestly, if you had the confidence you would’ve, but you didn’t. “Well, are you going to show me or not?” Aomine asked.

You shook your head yet again.

Aomine frowned as he got closer to you. “Why not?”

“Because it looks weird,” you muttered as your eyes stared at the floor.

Aomine’s fingers brushed through your hair before reaching to your face to caress your cheek lovingly, making you melt instantly at his touch. “I don’t think you’re even capable of such a thing. You’re always gorgeous,” he said softly.

“No I’m not,” you mumbled, trying not to be swayed by the tenderness of his calloused fingers.

“Of course you are,” he said as his hand made its way down to your chin to tilt it up so you were looking up into his eyes. “You know, whenever I look at you my immediate thought is ‘Woah how’d I get so lucky?’”

“You’re just saying that,” you blushed, trying to fight back the smile that was creeping across your face. He was so close to you and your heart was racing at 100 miles per hour.

“I’m serious,” he said, unable to stop smiling himself at they way you were just putty in his hands. “Your smile is so much brighter without the braces by the way. I love it,” he added smoothly, making you want to giggle like an idiot.

“Really?”

“Of course, you dummy. I can’t even believe you were worried about that in the first place. You’re beautiful no matter what,” Aomine said. “You know that I’ll never stop thinking of you that way right?”

For a moment you stopped worrying about what you looked like and let yourself relax into a smile. Something about the softness of his voice and the way he held you close made you feel at ease— almost as if you could finally be your true self as you nodded in response. “Yeah, I know,” you said as you finally looked at him in the eye before he finally leaned in and gave you the kiss you’d been anticipating for minutes. And when his lips finally brushed against yours you could feel nothing but gratitude for having someone like him to remind you that everything will be okay.

Murasakibara

Murasakibara liked to come over a lot. When you first started dating you expected it to happen since his house was just down the street, but it was to the point where he practically lived with you. You didn’t mind at all though, you liked having him around. Your parents seemed to enjoy it too— especially since he offers to cook meals when he gets hungry, which saves your mother the effort.

However, with him always being over, it was hard to keep things hidden from him. Of course, both of you knew when to give each other space, but any changes to your physical appearance would be near impossible to hide— unfortunately for you.

When you got back home from your dentist appointment, where you finally had your braces taken out, you barely had much time to settle in when you got a call from Murasakibara. “Hey, I’m bored. Are you back from the dentist yet?” he spoke.

“Yeah I am, but—“

“Great, I’ll be over in a few minutes,” he said before you could protest. The happiness you could hear in his voice certainly didn’t make you want to turn him down either.

Just like that, the phone call ended and you let out a heavy sigh as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You’d been standing there for a few minutes prior to the call, trying to figure out how you felt about your new look. Whilst the braces caused you enough issues on their own, you’d become so accustomed to them that it was strange looking at yourself now. If you thought it looked weird, you couldn’t help but wonder what other people would think, thus sending you down a spiral of insecure thoughts all over again as Murasakibara’s arrival made you more and more nervous.

You knew Murasakibara couldn’t care less about anyone’s appearance. In fact, he didn’t even notice that time where Kise showed up to a get together with purple hair from accidentally using his sister’s purple shampoo until Aomine made fun of him for it. So realistically, you shouldn’t have been worried about what Murasakibara would think— but you still were.

You often tend to get really quiet when you’re anxious and the fact that your insecurities had to do with your teeth this time, it was all the more reason to just keep your mouth shut.

“Hey Y/N-chin,” Murasakibara greeted with a soft smile when you opened the front door for him. “I was going to get you some snacks, but then I remembered that you just went to the dentist so I got you some of that fruit juice you like,” he said, digging through his bag of snacks before pulling out a can and handing it to you.

“Thank you, that’s really sweet,” you said softly, happily taking the juice.

“Don’t mention it,” he said coolly as he planted a kiss on the top of your head before walking to your room with you trailing behind him.

As usual, Murasakibara plopped down onto your bed as if it were his own, letting out a tired sigh as he did so. “You know, while you were gone, I tried doing the math homework for the weekend, and it was the worst experience ever. I couldn’t even get past the second question,” he said, making you let out a small chuckle.

He was so open with you that it made you feel at ease. “Well at least you did the first one,” you shrugged, forcing back your toothy grin when you noticed him direct his gaze at you.

“Yeah, but I probably got that one wrong too,” he sighed before sitting up with his back against your headboard. “Anyways, how was the dentist?”

“It was okay,” you mumbled.

“Then show me your teeth,” he said, not particularly expectant of anything though there was a trace of interest as he absentmindedly munched on his chips.

“I don’t know, it looks really weird...”

Murasakibara’s eyebrows furrowed. “Weird? They’re just teeth,” he said simply.

“Well yeah, but, I don’t know,” you said, trying to find a way to respond to his statement. You forced a smile to show him your teeth before frowning again, “See? Doesn’t it make my face look weird?”

“No, you still look pretty to me,” he shrugged.

As sweet as that was, you still weren’t convinced. You found yourself staring at yourself in the mirror once again, picking yourself apart as you tried to decide whether you liked it or not. The more time you spent in front of that mirror, the more frustrated you got. And Murasakibara seemed to notice it through the agitated and hopeless look on your face.

You noticed Murasakibara get up from the corner of your eye, though you didn’t pay too much attention to it. Next thing you knew, you felt a pair of arms snake around your waist from behind you. You watched Murasakibara in the mirror as he rested his chin on your head.

“Y/N-chin, you look perfect. There’s no need for you to criticise yourself in the mirror like this, you know,” Murasakibara mumbled, unable to keep his eyes off of the gorgeousness of your reflection.

“I’m just trying to get used to it, that’s all,” you said, in what was a half-lie.

“I don’t think people frown that much when they’re getting used to something,” Murasakibara said. He leaned down and tilted his head to smother your cheek and neck with kisses as he held you tight. “You’re beautiful— I mean it,” he said against your neck.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach. Murasakibara was always one to speak his mind, so any compliments from him you knew were 100% genuine. Of course, the kisses definitely helped you sway your opinion about yourself as you began to giggle at the feel of his breath against your neck. “Atsushi, that tickles,” you laughed as you tried to move your neck away, however you were held captive by tight grip around you.

Murasakibara smiled as he watched how the expression on your face changes. He was glad that he was able to take your mind off of things for a moment. “You have a cute smile,” he said softly, making your cheeks flush a bright red.

You immediately looked away in embarrassment as a dorky grin spread across your face. “Shut up.”

“Well, are you finally going to pay some attention to me rather than your mirror? I came all the way here you know, the least I could get is some cuddles,” Murasakibara went on.

“All the way here? Atsushi, you just crossed the street,” you laughed.

“I don’t see you point. So am I getting cuddles or not?”

“Of course.”

Wakamatsu

Wakamatsu is seriously one of the most caring boyfriends ever. You wouldn’t be able to find someone as sweet and loving as he was even if you tried your absolute hardest. You were nothing but grateful for having someone like him because you hardly ever found yourself worrying about trivial things that would constantly bug you previously.

But like any other person, you had moments where your insecurities would get the best of you, and it could be quite tolling sometimes because you’d never let yourself bring it up with the people you were close with. It was quite a silly way of thinking because Wakamatsu was always more than happy to listen, but you couldn’t help it. That’s just how your brain decided to deal with things.

So when you finally got your braces taken off, you were naturally unsure about how you appeared. Of course, you were aware that you just needed to get used to it, but a smaller, though much louder part of you was extremely anxious about having judging eyes on you thinking that you looked as strange as you perceived yourself to be. Therefore, to avoid any questions or weird looks at school the next day, you decided to wear a mask and pretend you had a cold so no one would see your mouth.

When Wakamatsu came over that morning so that you could walk to school together like you usually would, he immediately went into concerned-mode upon seeing your mask. “Hey, what’s wrong? Why do you have a mask on?” he asked.

“Oh um, I’m not feeling too well. It’s nothing serious though. Just don’t wanna get anyone else sick,” you lied.

“Are you sure? Maybe you should just stay home and get some rest. You can copy my notes,” he said, his concern so genuine that it was like he was mothering you at that point.

He was too sweet. You couldn’t just lie to him when he was just trying to be helpful. “No, no it’s fine,” you said, trying to muster up the courage to tell him the truth.

“No, I insist. You have to take care of yourself—“

“I’m not actually sick,” you finally admitted. “I got my braces taken off yesterday and I don’t like how I look,” you mumbled, staring at the floor out of embarrassment.

“Oh,” Wakamatsu simmered down from his insisting and processed what you’d just said. And honestly, if he were to take the time to fully understand why you said that, you’d be standing there all day because he couldn’t even fathom the idea of you looking anything but amazing to him.

“Yeah, so can we just head to school now?” you said to fill the silence, not wanting to be late.

“Um, I’m not going to ask you to show me or anything because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Wakamatsu started again as you two walked along the driveway, “but I think you’re probably overreacting.”

“Maybe,” you shrugged. “Either way, I don’t like how I look and I don’t want other people to see me until I’ve decided that I do.”

“I guess that’s fair,” he sighed. “I just hope you know that I think you’re always really pretty.”

“Really?” you asked softly as you looked up at him again, the sudden eye contact causing him to get more flustered.

“Of course. You’re absolutely gorgeous Y/N. And I bet if you took that mask off that fact would not change,” Wakamatsu confirmed as he smoothly took your hand in his and squeezed it tight as you walked along the pavement.

You began to soften up for a moment. It was almost as if the warmth of his hand had made its way throughout your entire body, making you feel all fuzzy. However, you still weren’t ready to display your new look to everyone at school, even after the boost of confidence Wakamatsu had given you. So you kept the mask on that day.

Your boyfriend was very patient with you. It was one of things you loved about him. Even after he reassured you that you would look good no matter what, you never felt even an ounce of pressure to show him until you were truly comfortable— and he certainly didn’t mind waiting. Luckily for him, his wait wasn’t too long because you did end up showing him during lunchtime.

The two of you sat at your usual place— a bench that was fairly secluded— as you unwrapped your purchases of snacks from the canteen. You really appreciated how he didn’t bring up your braces again after you chat that morning. He was so normal around you that being with him just made it feel as good as any other day, which is probably what led you to forget about it altogether when you took off your mask to take a bite out of your sandwich.

Wakamatsu looked at you with a smile on his face, which you didn’t question too much because he had a tendency to do that every now and then. However, they remained fixated on you for a while as you swallowed your food and began to chuckle, “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“It’s nothing. I’m just happy because I’m always right,” Wakamatsu shrugged smugly.

“What?”

“I was right— you always look absolutely gorgeous,” he said nonchalantly as you were immediately reminded about your braces-free teeth, making your face heat up at the compliment.

You weren’t sure what it was about that moment where your eyes met and lips shared the same happy smiles, but you felt at ease. Wakamatsu really didn’t have to try to comfort you— all he had to do was be there and it was enough. But he didn’t ever think like that. He constantly went out of his way to make sure you were happy and comfortable at all times. And when you weren’t, it was pretty much guaranteed that he wouldn’t leave your side until you saw yourself with the same amount of admiration as he sees you.

And whilst by the end of the school day you had more or less regained some of your confidence, Wakamatsu still decided to spend more time with you at your house, where he smothered you with warm cuddles and soft kisses, all while reminding you how beautiful you were to him.

Haizaki

If you think that Haizaki isn’t exactly the best at comforting, well, you’d kind of be right. He’s not someone that takes things seriously most of the time so his solution to most problems tends to have the “it is what it is” mentality. You didn’t mind this too much though, in fact you liked how laid back he was, however that also made it a bit difficult for you to approach him about certain things that made you feel insecure.

He was a caring boyfriend, don’t get me wrong; he truly did love you. And sometimes you did agree with him about letting things be the way they are. But sometimes he just doesn’t understand why you feel a certain way because the situation seems so trivial to him. For example, when you finally got your braces taken off, you weren’t exactly feeling the most confident. Sure, it was nice to finally get that damn metal wire out of your mouth, but at the same time, the change was quite overwhelming.

Of course, Haizaki, who spends an awful lot of time texting you because he really has nothing else to do, knew about you getting them taken off before he saw you again at school the next day. However, you weren’t all that excited to show him, or anyone for that matter, because you really hadn’t gained the confidence back yet. Nevertheless, you went on with your day, doing your best to minimise your speaking so others wouldn’t notice the change.

Once it was time for lunch, Haizaki approached your desk, his eyes as tired as they always were during the school day. “God, I slept through that entire English class— what a bore,” he yawned.

“It wouldn’t hurt to pay attention once in a while, you know,” you said as you shoved your books into your backpack.

“Anyway,” Haizaki continued, knowing that he didn’t want to get into a conversation about his awful study habits. “You got your braces taken off right? Go on, give me a smile,” he said in a joking tone.

“No, I don’t like how it looks,” you said firmly.

“Mhm,” he hummed, “doesn’t matter. I want to see for myself.”

“No way, it looks weird,” you said softly as the classroom emptied.

“I can decide that for myself.”

You looked up at the eyes that were hovering above your desk. He wasn’t going to back down. You let out a sigh and flashed him an uncomfortable smile as you waited for him to say something. Each moment of silence convinced you more and more that he hated how you looked just as much as you do.

“I don’t see why you were complaining so much,” he said with a shrug and a small grin on his face.

“I feel like I look awful,” you muttered.

“Awful? You? Please,” Haizaki scoffed. “You’re hot as fuck.”

“I’m really not...”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Haizaki questioned, determined to prove his point.

“No, but—“

“You’re really fucking beautiful, Y/N,” he interrupted. “If anyone tries to tell you otherwise, I won’t hesitate to throw hands— that’s how much I believe it.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that last part. “Babe, you wouldn’t hesitate to throw hands with anyone.”

“Shut up. My point still stands. Now how do I get you to see how pretty you are?” he said, trying to think of something clever.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” you said, half-joking.

Next thing you knew, Haizaki had leaned in and pressed his lips against yours ever so passionately, taking you by surprise. It took you a moment to realise what was going on before you quickly pulled away— even though you quite enjoyed it.

“Babe, were in a classroom,” you scolded softly, though you couldn’t fight back the grin that was spreading across your face.

“So what? No one’s here,” he said, voice as deep as ever. “Besides, I’m trying to remind you how pretty you are— that’s more important.”

“How exactly is that going to remind me?” you chuckled.

“Well, I wouldn’t just kiss anyone like that, now would I?”

“I suppose,” you said with a smile.

“In all seriousness though, I really don’t know why you think you don’t look good, because in my eyes you’re the most beautiful thing ever,” he said, sincerity in his eyes.

You began to blush at the sound of his words. It might take a while for you to feel more confident about yourself but this was certainly helping. “When did my Haizaki get so tooth-rottingly sweet, huh?” you teased jokingly.

Haizaki rolled his eyes and pretended to be annoyed at you but the smile on his face really said otherwise. “Shut up.”

#kuroko no basket #kurokos basketball #kuroko no basket x reader #aomine daiki #kagami taiga #murasakibara atsushi #wakamatsu kousuke #haizaki shougo #knb

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mypoisonedvine · 5 years ago

Text

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 2)

read Chapter 1 here

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind. you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 2.3k (exactly the same as last chapter, i’m proud of myself lol)

warnings: just fluff and ~pining~ for now

thanks again to @evnscvll for making this moodboard-- and this series is for her 3k celebration challenge so def check out her writing!

You should’ve known that you wouldn’t be able to force yourself to write, but after a quick shower to wash off the day’s journey, you decided there was nothing better to do but sit at the desk and hope for inspiration.

Your husband had never been very supportive of your writing, which is why you had struggled to complete your latest novel. He, like your publisher and many of your readers, wanted a sequel to your last book, in spite of the fact that you were adamant it was impossible. It was a complete story, even if the ending was ambiguous. There was no room for growth in the characters or the world of the story; just because readers wanted more didn’t mean that they would actually enjoy a forced product.

The publisher and your husband, however, shared a very strong opinion: the fans won’t care if it’s forced, and neither should you as long as it sells. But, they weren’t writers. You were. And you knew there were different stories you needed to tell… if only you could find the words for them.

You were a few pages in when you heard the stairs creaking outside your closed door. There was a quick knock at the door; you answered with an offer to come in.

“I was just wondering if you wanted some coffee,” Mrs. Alberti explained as she crossed the room, standing beside you at the desk. You nodded with a quick thank you as she set the cup and saucer down onto the wood. “Oh heavens, he’s working on the house again,” she suddenly groaned, motioning out the window.

You leaned over and nearly spit out your coffee when you saw Sebastian outside. He was only wearing some much-too-tight jeans, driving a hammer down onto wood as the sun cast orange light over his body. He was glistening with sweat, which was probably pretty uncomfortable for him but he looked damn good anyways.

“Is he always… like that?” you shuddered.

“Maybe I didn’t just hire him because he was cheap,” she shrugged, handing you a cloth. “Go soak this in cold water and bring it to him, he looks overheated.”

You should’ve questioned why she was giving you chores, but you just took the rag and did as she asked. He didn’t notice you walking out to him at first, but stopped when he did see you, waving quickly and setting down his hammer.

“For the heat,” you explained as you handed it to him.

“Ah, mulțumesc,” he nodded, accepting the rag with a smile.

As he wiped the sweat from his face, you found your gaze trailing over his arms, down his chest and abdomen. Jesus, how could this guy eat Mrs. Alberti’s cooking every day and still have washboard abs? When you looked back up to his face, he was looking right at you with a grin-- oh shit, had he caught you ogling? But then again, maybe he wanted you to ogle. Why else would he be doing housework so… shirtlessly?

“Wh-what are you working on?” you asked him to break the silence. He gave you a puzzled look. “Er, the wood,” you motioned to the work he was doing, “why?”

His face softened with understanding. “Construiesc un cadru nou pentru fereastră,” he explained, motioning vaguely to the house, “în partea de est a casei.”

“Right…” you nodded, realizing that you had no idea what he’d said. Clearly you hadn’t thought this through.

“Aici, permiteți-mi să vă arăt,” he said, grabbing a board and walking past you, motioning for you to follow him as he slung the rag over his shoulder. You figured you looked like a lost puppy trailing behind him like this.

He stopped when you reached the wall of the house, and grabbed part of the window frame; it creaked and moved as he wiggled it, clearly on the verge of falling off. Then, he held up the new board he had been hammering and you realized that it was going to replace the rotting portions of the frame.

“A intelege?” he smiled.

“Da!” you answered, and he laughed.

“Cred că asta contează ca român,” he shrugged.

“It’s good you’re fixing the window. I’m sure Mrs. Alberti appreciates everything you do.”

“Bătrâna îmi plătește rahat, dar sfârșesc trăind aici gratis.”

“Well, I should let you get back to it,” you decided as you stepped back with an uncomfortable smile.

“Nu te voi mai ține, sunt sigur că ești ocupat,” he said, and though you had no real way to interpret it, his tone didn’t seem to indicate that he was trying to stop you from going.

With a little wave and a heavy sense of god why am I such a dork?, you left him and returned indoors.

First nights in new places were always sort of surreal, but this was definitely less weird than the sleeper car of the train. You’d felt like a proper stowaway then, but you had a stronger feeling of belonging here… even if you didn’t quite feel like you had any place to call home at the moment.

As you laid in bed and looked at the room turned on its side, you found yourself missing your room. Your real room. It had been designed and decorated somewhat meticulously, but most of all you missed the things about it that you hadn’t put that kind of thought into: the random earrings on your bedside table, discarded casually before you went to sleep; the layers of blazers and skirts draped over the chair in the corner; the still-slightly-visible coffee stain on the corner of the rug, even though you’d spent hours trying to get it out.

Meanwhile, this room was so obviously not a space that people lived in, but just a space people passed through. Though nowhere near as sterile as a traditional hotel room, it had the same emptiness even with its personality-- specifically, a reflection of someone else’s personality rather than your own.

All that said, sleeping was pretty easy once you got yourself comfortable in the fluffy mattress, even if you were aware all through the night that you were not at home. So aware, even, that you weren’t surprised at all when you woke up in the new space for the first time. What you were surprised by was the sounds of heavy rain against your window, immediately dashing your plans for a morning jog. As much as it seemed apropos to type by the window instead and soak in the moody weather, you decided to head downstairs for a cup of coffee first. Already having forgotten where you had left off, you grabbed the pages you'd already written to reread with your breakfast as you slipped on some comfortable clothes and made your way down the creaky steps

Passing through the living area, it was impossible not to notice Sebastian sitting in one of the chairs, staring intently at a half-played chessboard. Stopping for a moment to try to determine what he was doing, he moved a piece and you realized he must be playing with himself.

Against himself, you interrupted your own thought, he's playing against himself… important distinction.

“You play chess?” you asked, pointing to the board.

“Şah,” he replied.

You pointed to the chair across from him. “Can I join you?”

“Luaţi loc,” he offered as he gestured to it as well, nodding in approval. You smiled and sat down as he reorganized the pieces back to the starting position.

“Negru?” he asked, pointing to the black pieces-- “Sau alb?”-- he pointed to the white.

“Um, black,” you decided, pointing to them since they were already on your side anyways.

“Tu primul,” he prompted you, and you moved your pawn. He moved his, and after that, it was long stretches of silence between moves. It didn’t feel awkward anymore, though; even between two people who share a language, chess is usually a silent affair.

“Check,” you announced as your bishop came into range of his king. He looked up from the board and gave you a puzzled look. “The bishop, see?” you demonstrated, tracing a line through the air over the diagonal squares which led from your piece to his.

“Ahh,” he nodded, stroking his chin as he considered his next move. It called additional attention to the shadow of stubble which dusted over his jaw.

He maneuvred a rook in the path of your bishop, and you settled back into your chair and you pondered your options.

The next hour went by oddly quickly. Not in a rushed way, just in a way that made you wonder how it had already been an hour.

“Şah,” he informed you as his knight threatened your king. You weren’t sure if it was supposed to mean ‘check’ or ‘checkmate,’ but since you were able to capture his knight with a pawn, it was definitely just a check.

Instead of mourning his knight, he grinned and moved a rook forward, capturing the aforementioned pawn and trapping your king for good. You gasped a little as you realized you’d fallen right into his trap.

“Şah-Mat,” he declared triumphantly. That definitely meant ‘checkmate’; you could tell by the smug look on his face as he crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair.

“You got me, man, that was sneaky,” you smiled. Offering your hand for a shake, you looked up at him: “Good game.”

He grabbed your hand and shook it, squeezing just tight enough that you wondered if you were the only one noticing a certain energy to the air. “Bun joc,” he replied with a nod and a smile.

He let go of your hand after lingering just a little too long, his fingers brushing over yours for an electric moment.

Now the silence was awkward again, as the two of you sat in the high-backed chairs, staring across the table at each other.

“So, you really don’t speak any English at all, huh?” you considered aloud. He looked back at you vacantly. “English? Even one word?” you lifted one finger as a symbol.

“Halloo,” he replied-- apparently a broken attempt at ‘hello.’ You laughed a little.

“Yes, that counts! Did you learn any English in school?”

“Televiziune,” he replied.

“Ah yes,” you nodded, “I know what that is. Television; I’m a big fan myself.”

“Puteți vorbi un singur cuvânt de limba română?” he asked you, raising one finger as well. Turnabout is fair play, after all.

“You mean other than ‘da’? Or ‘salut’?” you asked with a laugh.

“Pentru a fi corect, acestea sunt cuvinte,” he shrugged.

“Teach me,” you requested. “Just one word.”

You looked around the room, settling on a lamp. “What is this? In Romanian-- română?”

“Lampă,” he replied.

“Okay, well, that one isn’t very exciting,” you frowned. “Um, what about this?” you bent down from your chair, picking up one corner of the rug.

“Covor,” he answered, leaning down with you to run his hand over the soft shag.

“Covor,” you repeated, surely butchering it.

“Da,” he smiled. Okay, maybe you didn’t butcher it so bad, or maybe he was just being nice.

“Can you teach me more?” you asked, hoping it wasn’t too demanding.

“Uhhh,” he stalled, looking around the room. Finally, he pointed to the fireplace. “Vatră.”

“Vatră, fireplace,” you tried to memorize it as he said it.

You pointed to the window. “What’s the window called?”

“Fereastră.”

You pointed to the stairway. “Scară,” he informed you, smiling a little. You hoped this wasn’t boring for him, because you were actually having a bit of fun.

You pointed to his feet. He furrowed his brow a little and lifted one, grabbing his shoe. You nodded; “Pantof,” he explained.

You grabbed your blouse and shook it a little, appreciating the puffs of cool air that rolled down your chest; “Bluză.”

You pointed to him; “Sebastian.”

You already knew that, but it was interesting to hear the way he said it versus Mrs. Alberti’s pronunciation. “Yes, that’s an English name too,” you told him, “but pronounced differently…”

You wondered if your name had another pronunciation or translation, so you pointed to yourself; “Frumoasă,” he said, a little slower, a little more thoughtfully.

“Is that the Romanian equivalent to my name-- or does it mean ‘woman’?” you asked. He just smiled vacantly.

“This,” you pointed to the book, “what is this called?”

“Carte,” he answered. “Engleză?”

“Book,” you replied.

“...book…” he said slowly, contemplatively.

Suddenly inspired, you grabbed the loose pages of manuscript that you’d laid on the small table beside you. “Book,” you repeated, flipping through the pages. He seemed confused. “My book,” you clarified, pointing back and forth from yourself the papers. “I’m writing this-- that’s why I’m here.”

“Ah!” his face lit up with recognition. “Ar trebui să scrii o carte!”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I’m a writer; or, I’m trying to be. My last book did… better than my first, at least.”

“Ce fel de carte este?” he asked. You looked at him with confusion to indicate you weren’t sure what he was asking. “Uhh, book… este--” he made a sad face, rubbing under his eyes like a cartoon character’s weeping-- “sau--” he fake-laughed.

You laughed, actually, at his charades. “It’s a thriller, it’s crime--” you thought for a moment, then made the motion of stabbing someone with a knife.

His eyes got wider. “Este… erotic?”

You choked a little, realizing that your hand movement was… more ambiguous than you originally intended. “No!” you blurted out suddenly. “No, it’s… crime, mystery--”

You looked around and saw a magnifying glass resting on the side table by your chair; grabbing it, you held it to your face and gave your best quizzical look.

“Oh! Crimă!” he grinned. “Detectiv?”

“Yes, yes, there’s a detective,” you sighed satisfactorily, “and absolutely no handjobs.”

shamelessly tagging the people who liked chapter 1! @mariahthelioness29 @navybrat817 @navegandoaciegas @mandalorianspace @2smittinkittin @maizyistrash @honeygingergemini

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan fic

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honeymoonjin · 5 years ago

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 14.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex/voyeurism/exhibitionism as usual, semi-public sex, foodplay, a lot of sloppy making out, creampie is not the only type of dessert involved, very soft dom!jin, sub!reader, unprotected sex but who’s surprised, dom!hoseok, waxplay, painplay, very explicit discussion about consent since waxplay is technically edgeplay, restraints, cuffs, flogging, hobi in his element is a kink in and of itself, degradation, discipline, subspace, scratching, rough sex, hoseok going the extra mile honestly, still unprotected sex, cumshot

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and sponsored by the red room

FAN FAVOURITE

On the sixth Day of every Week in the game, the Audience Fan Favourite vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the elimination vote, which is taken on the seventh Day of each Week.

The vote is at the end of this chapter.

DAY TWENTY

Though it’s the weekend (as if that has any real significance when you aren’t really working) you wake up tragically early, before the sun’s even risen.

Unsure of what woke you, you rub your eyes and duck your head out into the hallway. To your surprise, there’s the distinct yellowish glow from a light on downstairs. It’s hard to walk down the stairs when your head is full of cotton, your eyes still bleary and your mouth constantly stretched in a yawn, but finally you stumble down into the main space.

Frozen, with a metal spoon hanging out of his mouth and his eyes wide and red, is the oldest man of the house. He leans dejectedly against the kitchen counter, haunting a tub of ice cream that’s definitely not intended for one person. You quickly realise what may have woken you is the obnoxious whir of the microwave, something in a covered glass jar twirling round and round inside.

“What-” you swallow and clear your throat when the word comes out croaky, “what are you doing here so early? Are you okay?”

Still startled by your presence, he blinks a few times and removes the spoon from his mouth, letting it clatter to the table. “I’ve been better.”

Your face drops in sympathy, ignoring the freezing tile on your feet as you approach him. Without waiting for permission, you wrap your arms around his waist and pull him close to you in a tight hug. “What’s up, Jinnie? You can be honest with me. If you let me have some of your ice cream, of course.”

That manages to pull a weak laugh from him as he hands you the spoon and ruffles your hair. “I am, as it turns out,” he explains, “incredibly stupid.”

“Ah.” You dig into the tub of ice cream one handed, dislodging a chunk of what looks like brownie. “First of all, I disagree, but more importantly, why do you think that?”

“Do you have an hour?” Jin sighs at the poor attempt at lightening his own mood. “To tell you the truth, and this may come as a shock to you, but-”

“Is this about Yoongi and you fucking?”

Jin pulls back, staring you down with a bewildered expression.

You swallow a cold mouthful, furrowing your brows apologetically. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted. Go on.”

“I- How did you- Who knows?”

You hum for a minute, tapping the end of the spoon against your lips. “Oh, I’d imagine everyone,” you summarise. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit.” You wince as you recall a few particular evenings. “Nor is volume control.”

“Right.” Jin has the good grace to look sheepish at that, but gently tugs the spoon back. The microwave beeps noisily behind you, and he curses, rushing over to pull the jar out. “Anyways, yes, Yoongi and I have been casual for a short time now, but things are messy. And I suppose I sort of thought they were good messy, but last night I realised how very not-good messy they were. I haven’t been fair to Yoongi. Or you.”

You tilt your head, watching him uncover a lightly steaming jar full of what looks and smells like caramel. “Me? What does this have to do with me?”

Jin opens his mouth, grimaces, and closes it again. After a few moments of silence where he stirs the sauce and tastes a bit of it, he finally faces you to speak. “After the fight, you didn’t really...say anything about what you found out. My feelings for you, I mean. Not that you were at all obligated to, of course, but I wanted to give you space. And… I wanted to have space too, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so when Yoongi expressed interest in me, I thought him and I could help each other out.”

He pours some of the sauce directly into the tub of icecream, but then puts it down and rests his forearms on the countertop, really leans his whole body weight onto them like it’s hard to stay standing. “Yoongi has feelings for me,” he explains. “I don’t know if you know that too, but- yeah. He said- even as recently as yesterday, he said he was fine, but I should know better. It’s irresponsible of me to take his words as gospel when I can so clearly see, as his friend and as a trained therapist, that he isn’t okay.”

You want to wait until he’s said his piece, but your chest feels hot, like your ribs are smouldering coals. You can’t stop your tongue. “I don’t need space.”

Jin blinks, caught off-guard. “Huh?”

“I don’t need space,” you repeat in a warm voice, “I don’t want you to be distant. Fuck Yoongi if you want, but don’t do it just because you’re avoiding me. You’re right; that isn’t fair to either of us.”

“I know,” he concedes, shoveling another spoonful of melted ice cream and sauce into his mouth to buy him some thinking time. “It’s getting out of hand, too. Just yesterday Jungkook asked to join and- God, this is such a mess. I should end it, shouldn’t I?”

Your tongue tingles with the urge to press about Jungkook. Feeling like that isn’t really Jin’s priority right now, you change tact. “Do you want to end it?”

Jin furrows his brows, deep in thought. Clad in blue and white striped pyjamas, his face seems far too serious for his attire, but it’s clear this is really eating away at him if he’s up so early thinking about it. Had he even gone to bed at all? “I don’t want to,” he admits, “being with Yoongi is so easy. And not like- not logistically, I’m not saying Yoongi is easy, but… God, I don’t know how to say this without it being soppy. It feels right. But at what point do I stop doing what I want and start thinking about others? I need to do what’s best for Yoongi.”

It’s hard conveying any semblance of intelligent thought when you probably have not even half of the whole story, but you do your best for him. “Is that a decision you should be making on his behalf, though? I feel like you should be having this conversation with him.”

Jin sighs, placing the spoon down so it doesn’t clatter. “Here’s the thing. I’ve been going over and over it in my head. My reasons for sleeping with him aren’t all noble or genuine or even fair. And I know he has feelings for me. I think if I let this continue I’ll be hurting him. So surely ending it is the right thing to do?”

You mull it over a moment. “It seems like you already know the answer, Jin,” you offer up softly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Jin bites his lip, eyes distant. “If I text him, if I tell him that we need to talk, or that we shouldn’t do it anymore, then… You said you didn’t need space. So can we talk? About us?”

“Of course,” you reply immediately, though your heart rate quickens at the thought, “that’s probably for the best, too.”

“Alright.” Jin wipes his hands on his shirt pants, whether it’s to get off the stickiness of the dessert or sweat you don’t know, but soon enough he’s slipping his phone out and hunkering down on the kitchen tile floor.

You join him, scooching up so that your shoulders bump. With your back against the cabinets and your lower half on those icy tiles, normally you’d be shivering. But Jin’s body is like a radiator, and he leans into you as he unlocks his phone and pulls up Yoongi’s contact.

For his privacy, you try not to look, but you can’t help but notice the name for Yoongi is Min City, and that their recent texts are calls for late-night rendezvous. Jin takes a deep breath, his thumbs hovering over the keypad. “What do I even say?” he muses out loud. “I’m a therapist; why can’t I even work out a good ‘we should talk’ text?”

You hook your hand under his arm, tucking it to your side. “Start off by apologising for texting him at ass o’clock in the morning,” you jibe.

Jin pauses. “I’ll probably rephrase,” he admits, “but that’s solid.”

hey yoongichi, sorry about texting you so early. |

“Okay, what next?” Jin says in a shortened breath.

You let out a light laugh. “This is your message,” you remind him, “but fine. How about this? Tell him that you’ve been thinking a lot, which you have, and that you just can’t keep sleeping with him in good conscience because you don’t feel like it’s wise. And maybe, like, tell him to come find you when he reads it so you can have a proper chat. It shouldn’t just be done over text, you know?”

“That’s true… Okay, here goes.” Jin swallows hard as he types away, and were it not for the fact that these were your friends who were involved, you’d laugh at the cheesiness of the moment. Like something off a trashy k-drama, though your life felt more and more like one every day anyway.

hey yoongichi, sorry about texting you so early. i’ve been doing a lot of thinking after our talk, and i just really don’t think us doing this is a good idea anymore. please let me know when you get this. we can talk it over a bit. |

“Is that all I need?”

You shrug. “I guess so. Unless you wanna add an ‘xoxo’ to the end of it.”

Jin bites his lip. “That may send mixed messages.”

“It was a joke, Jinnie,” you protest, shoving him playfully. “Anyway, are you gonna send i-”

A loud ding cuts you off, echoing slightly in the otherwise silent house. Above the box of text Jin had been crafting, a new strip of grey appears.

The both of you freeze, staring in disbelief at the screen. “Did he just..?” Before you can even finish that sentence, a second chime rings out again, and the screen shifts to display more grey, slightly smaller than the first.

“Looks like,” Jin murmurs, scrolling up to view the new message. “Holy shit.”

I’m sure you’re still asleep jin-hyung, so just text me when you get this but yesterday i was lying when i said i was fine, because i’m really not and jungkook has really helped to give me a little perspective so i’m sorry if you still need someone to distract you but i’m not gonna be that someone anymore

No hard feelings btw, i still feel the same way about you but i don’t think we should have sex for a while, i just need some distance. I like to think that you’d want me to put myself first and i’m doing that now. I hope you can understand

“That… I guess that’s that sorted,” Jin says slowly, tapping the screen to delete his message. “Should I reply now?” He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head as he locks the phone. “No, I’ll wait until later. He won’t be expecting a reply now, anyway. Hopefully he can get some sleep.” His eyes turn sad. “Do you think he was up all night stressing about that?”

“Hey,” you warn lowly, “don’t guilt yourself. The two of you can straighten things out later, and sleep better tonight. Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.” He releases a slow breath, his body heavy with unshed tension. For a moment, the two of you stay silent, you giving him time to process. When he speaks, he shuffles his whole body around to face you. “I know why you’ve been so hesitant,” he announces suddenly.

You frown. “Wait, what? Hesitant?”

“Yes,” he insists, “you haven’t really talked at all about if you return my feelings. I used to feel really confused and hurt by it, but I get it now.”

Your stomach rolls strangely, a feeling like being caught red-handed. “What do you mean?”

“Last night,” he explains, “I came up to tell everyone that dinner wasn’t far away. You weren’t in your room, and Taehyung wasn’t in his…” He trails off meaningfully, and realisation settles in your bones, not shock, but resignation.

“Oh.” You swallow, sitting up so you’re no longer leaning towards him. “You saw us? In Jimin’s room?”

“I won’t tell,” he begins automatically, “and it’s okay. I see that you’ve been answered for already. I’ll respect that.”

“It isn’t like that,” you say reflexively, “we - god, we weren’t supposed to let anyone know, I can’t believe we didn’t lock the door - but we aren’t together together. It would be too messy, and it was putting a strain on our relationships with everyone else, you know?”

Jin frowns, like he’s trying to work it all out. “So it isn’t a romantic relationship?”

You smile thinking of Taehyung’s loving brown eyes and Jimin’s gentle embrace. “It’s a promise,” you explain softly, wrapping your arms around your torso. “We aren’t making any commitments or ties now, and we obviously can’t be exclusive, so it’s a promise that once we’re out of here, we’ll try and explore our feelings. Do it right.”

The therapist takes in a deep breath, nodding. “Then where do I fit into all of this? Does that mean I have a chance?”

“I-” You bite your lip, avoiding his imploring gaze. “It would feel wrong getting into a relationship when I’d decided that I wouldn’t do it with them. If that makes sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” he assures, “but that’s not what I mean. I don’t need to be in a relationship with you to treat you right, Y/n. I just want to know if there’s a chance in hell that you return my feelings.”

You lift your eyes at this, staring at the way his soften in response. Your heart thuds in your chest and there’s a liquid relief pumping through your veins that he’s willing to stay by you. If you didn’t already know it before, those sensations certainly make it clear. “I like you, Jin. A lot.”

He smiles in relief, a small and sweet one that makes his eyes crinkle. Rather than responding verbally, he slips one large palm around the nape of your neck and pulls you in for a kiss.

Eyes slipping shut the moment he comes close, you reach out blindly for him and fist your hand in the thin fabric of his pyjamas to steady yourself. His lips are so plush, and moving so slowly, that it feels like they could slow down time itself. There’s no urgency in the sensual way he kisses you, but you can nonetheless taste his elation sweeter than the remnants of caramel on his tongue.

In that same way, you have no idea how much time passes with your mouths locked together, slowly warming the kitchen floor with your body heat until your skin feels on fire. Even the slightest details, like his fingertips on the back of your neck and your inner wrist make you dizzy.

You break apart for air, still clinging to him like you’d drown without his touch. Panting, you try to slow your racing heart. Your lips still tingle, and reach up to brush your fingers against them in wonder. “Oh, wow,” you whisper dumbly.

Jin smiles, then, a brilliant one that warms his whole face. “Wow,” he repeats. “I’ve been waiting to kiss you like that for a long time, Y/n.”

Barely able to think, you find your eyes slipping down to his lips, how swollen they are, dusky pink. “You can do it again, if you want.”

Jin goes to lean forward, but halts, looking up to the countertop. “One sec,” he hedges, “I’m determined to continue my opportunist streak.”

“Your what?” You chuckle at first, but as he reaches up and drags the jar of caramel sauce down, your eyes quickly widen in realisation.

Jin catches your look, sending you a wink. “Open up,” he instructs, and you drop your jaw without hesitation, anticipation heightening your senses.

When he tips the lip of the container forward, and you feel that warm sweetness burst on your tongue, you moan, tilting your head back so it pools in your mouth. But instead of stopping, he continues to pour, until you feel it threaten to spill out. “Too much,” you try to say, but you can’t move your tongue or lips enough to enunciate it.

Jin only pulls the jar away when it begins to drip down your chin, and like a man starved, he leans in and licks into your mouth without abandon.

You moan as you feel his tongue cut through the molten sugar, running over yours, over your teeth and lips and even ducking down to messily swipe up the stickiness on your face. No matter how much he ravishes you, the moment you begin to kiss back, your tongue lifts and a thick wave of hot caramel slips between your mouths, no doubt getting on your pyjama shirt.

Jin doesn’t seem to care; on the contrary, he moans and clasps your face in both hands, nipping at your lips and deepening the kiss more than you even thought possible. Slowly, the sweetness of caramel gives way to his own taste, and you’re left licking each other filthily, entwined together on the kitchen floor.

Once your chest is aching with a lack of oxygen, you pull away with a gasp, wincing at the weird feeling of caramel on your chest. “So messy,” you groan, “sorry, I didn’t think you’d pour so much.”

Jin’s eyes just light up with mirth. “Messy is the point, baby. We probably have, what-” he pauses to consult the time on the microwave, “two hours before the early risers are up? Why don’t we make an even bigger mess? I’ve decided I’d like to have my dessert first.”

You press your lips together to prevent a moan, nodding frantically. “Fuck, please. I want you.”

The therapist’s chest hitches, but he reaches out to squeeze your thigh. “Lie back, then, baby. Can you take your shirt off for me?”

You’re in such a hurry to obey him, shivering violently at the cold tile against your bare back, that when you suddenly feel a cold burst on your chest you jump, getting a fright.

There’s not enough time to feel that burst of ice, however, as a hot tongue quickly laps it up, collecting every last drop. Jin even sucks the skin there, just above the swell of your breast, to make sure he’s cleaned you up.

You writhe on the floor, your panties uncomfortably soaked, but Jin just throws a leg and an arm over you, straddling you and caging you against the floor. His weight against you makes you moan, that delicious sensation of being trapped exactly where you most want to be.

This time, when he digs his spoon into the slightly-melted ice cream, he pops it into his mouth instead of on your skin. You almost assume he’s just taking some for himself, but then he’s dipping his head and wrapping those sinful lips around one of your nipples, making you cry out.

The cold is immediately overwhelming, tightening and stiffening your peak, and the dizzying mix of his hot tongue with that cold dessert has you clinging to his back, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. “F-fuck, Jin,” you gasp, “so cold.”

“Is it?” Jin quips, his hand reaching to his side. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby.”

Without giving you a moment’s respite, he’s drizzling trails of caramel over your breasts, and lapping it up with ravenous enthusiasm. Though the caramel has gone mostly room-temperature, the contrast against your cooled nipple just makes it feel that much more electric, and you arch your back harshly until Jin finally reaches it and soothes it with his mouth.

You moan, wishing you had something to rut against, some type of friction where you needed it most, but Jin’s more focused on licking, nipping and sucking the sugar off of your body, leaving you trembling. “More,” you plead needily.

“More sauce? More ice cream?” he asks, panting as his own arousal presses stiffly against your lower stomach.

“More you,” you beg, arching up into him, making him curse lowly.

Like desperate virgins, you both quickly discard the last of your clothing, Jin just about popping the buttons of his shirt clean off, and it feels simultaneously like a second and a century before you feel his familiar girth pressing into you, stretching your dripping walls.

You groan, the back of your head knocking against the tile as you go slack, letting yourself focus fully on the sensation of him filling you up. “Fuck, Jin,” you gasp out, legs wrapping around his torso as he goes deeper and deeper.

When he bottoms out, however, Jin doesn’t begin fucking you straight away. Instead, he reaches for the jar. “Tongue out, baby,” he instructs.

Swallowing the drool that gathers in your mouth from the pleasure, you stick out your tongue until you feel it on your chin, awaiting the stream. Clearly wanting to be as messy as possible, Jin intentionally lifts his hand higher so that instead of a mouthful, you get whippings of sugar all over your neck, chin, and cheeks. Hardly any actually makes it in your mouth, but the therapist just chuckles and puts the jar beside him, bending down to run his tongue in a broad swipe up your cheek.

You squeal, turning your head to the side, but the surprise quickly bubbles into arousal as he laps up every last drop, sucking hickies into your neck all the way. The longer he goes, the more you need him, wetter and wetter around his cock. Rocking your hips just to get some friction, you whine into the silence of the kitchen. “Jin, fuck me already,” you plead.

Jin’s first thrust punches all the air out of you. He snaps his hips hard enough to push your body forward from the tile, then grabs your waist with a low growl, pinning you against the floor.

Though the tiles are still cold, your body heat is quickly taking the edge off, and being fucked against such a hard surface is a new feeling to you entirely. There’s no give, no bounce. When Jin begins fucking you at a greedy pace, you feel every inch of him stretching you open.

Your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, trying not to moan loud enough that the sound would travel upstairs, but barely able to even contain them at all. “Fucking me so go-mmf!” Your mouth is filled with a cold intruder, and you suck hard, swirling your tongue around the two fingers covered with ice cream. Jin curses lowly at the feeling, and suddenly he’s picking up the pace even more.

You cry out around his fingers, hands flailing to find something to latch onto and anchor yourself, but your knuckles whack into something solid. The ache in your fingers is quickly drowned out by the sudden rush of thick wetness on your stomach, and your eyes fly open, choking on Jin’s digits.

His thrusts slow down and he pulls his hand away and before you can say a single thing, the room is filled with the contagious sound of his laughter. Cock still buried deep inside you, and one hand dripping with caramel, holding onto the near-empty jar, Jin howls, shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“Hey!” you whine, pouting when the caramel disperses over you, soon dripping down onto your back and the floor. “Don’t laugh at me! You wouldn’t like it if your chest was drenched in caramel!”

Jin discards the jar beside him with a sticky clink, and composes himself, though that glint still remains alight in his eyes. “Oh, wouldn’t I?” Without a moment’s hesitation, he’s bending down until your chests are pressed together, separated only by that slippery layer of sauce.

A muffled squeak leaves your lips when he captures them again, his fingers scratching lines up your sides, making you shiver. You try to protest his attempt at tickling you while you were vulnerable, but then he’s rocking his hips, shallow strokes that grind into you so deep.

You moan, wrapping your arms around his back. Every time you feel his nails cutting through the syrup, you scratch his back. Instead of deterring him, however, he just groans into your mouth and doubles his efforts at fucking you.

Slowly, his hands move around from your sides to your back, and you cling to him tighter as he lifts you off the kitchen floor. Still delving his tongue deep into your mouth, he pulls you up until your torso is arched against him and your head tips back slightly, a perfect halfway point between horizontal and vertical, and uses the extra momentum to thrust up into you harder. The angle hits your g-spot roughly with every snap of his hips, and your clit grinds against his cock.

You cry out and lose contact with his mouth, but he just latches it onto your neck instead, dragging his teeth over your shoulder to let the cooled caramel pool in his mouth.

“Jinnie, I’m close,” you confess in a rush, your orgasm quickly building with a pressure between your legs. Something in the way your toes curl and stomach tenses warns you that this will be a powerful one, and your cries increase in pitch and volume, every breath a moan. “Jinnie! Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-”

“Make another mess for me, baby,” Jin groans, and with those words alone your vision goes white.

Jin curses when you lock up around him - legs and arms and pussy alike - but continues to rut against you as you ride the churning wave of your high. Burying your head into the crook of his neck so that you don’t wake the others with your keening scream, you feel a sudden burst inside you that leaves you trembling uncontrollably beneath him.

You feel Jin’s chin pressing into your hair as he glances down, grunting with exertion, and suddenly he’s freezing, holding you tightly to him as he cums inside of you.

The warmth of him filling you is the perfect soother as you come down from that intense climax, and you sigh as he leans forward, lying you back down on the kitchen tile. The two of you fight to catch your breath, the only sounds in the room your joint gasps.

Above you, Jin’s chest heaves, dripping with caramel just like yours must be. He doesn’t take any bother though, wiping away the sweat on his brow with a clean patch of his forearm. “Man,” he exclaims with a cheery chuckle, “you really did make a mess, huh?”

“What?” you ask blearily, weakly propping yourself up on your elbows to glance down. Thinner and clearer than the caramel, a liquid drips over yours and Jin’s stomachs, running down to the tile. You’d squirted. With a weak groan, you let yourself collapse back onto the sticky floor. “It’s too early for this,” you whine. “Oh, god. We have to clean this up.”

Jin’s smile is wiped clear off his face. “Oh, fuck. I didn’t even think about that, my notes didn’t mention it…”

“Your notes?” you ask curiously, grimacing when Jin slowly pulls himself out of you, a stream of cum following and joining the mess of liquids on the floor. “What notes?”

The therapist lets out a nervous laugh as he gets up off the floor, grabbing a clean dish cloth from the bottom drawer. “I did some research, that’s all. Like, no spicy stuff near any mucous membranes because of the sting, no sugar in the vulva otherwise you might get a yeast infection-”

“Eugh,” you cut in, “I’m glad you did the research, but that just makes me want a shower even more now.”

“Go shower, then,” Jin allows with a sympathetic smile, wetting the cloth and beginning to wipe off the stickiness on his chest. “I can clean this up for you.”

“Absolutely not,” you insist, “I’ll quickly wash this off, but I’m coming back down to help you. The sun’s about to rise, so if we work together, maybe there won’t still be cummy sauce all over the floor when the others come down for breakfast.”

“It is probably a safety hazard,” Jin admits. “Okay, then, we’ll clean it together. I’ll have a quick shower once you get back.”

You beam up at him but, before you grab your clothes and rush up the stairs, you rise onto your tiptoes and press a kiss to his sugared lips. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Jin returns your warm smile, ducking down to steal another kiss, and another, and another until you’re giggling and ducking away. “I’ll do my best.”

“You aren’t being particularly subtle.”

Hoseok shrugs at Yoongi. “I’m not trying to be subtle.”

The doctor’s eyes narrow. “Then tell us what’s in the box.”

Hoseok hesitates. “I’m trying to be a little bit subtle.”

Taehyung groans, reaching out for the heavy cardboard box and glaring reproachfully at Hoseok when he smacks his hand away. “Could we have a clue?”

Hoseok smiles sweetly. “No.”

“Then why is it on the table?” the masseuse whines miserably. “You’re just teasing us!”

“I don’t know why you’re so bothered,” Yoongi notes, “it’s not even for you.”

Perhaps you’d be more bemused by the antics of the boys at the table were it not for your own rampant curiosity. As usual, your days were measured by communal mealtimes (courtesy of the fact that six of you were too lazy to cook for yourselves, and the remaining too were perfectly happy to make enough for you all) but this time, as you enjoyed a pan-seared fish of some sort, the flow of the table was interrupted by the package that Hoseok had so dramatically dropped down in front of him. “What is it on the table for?” you ask in what you hope is a casual, unbothered tone.

Hoseok sighs patiently like he’s been through this before. “It’s to create an atmosphere of anticipation,” he explains importantly. “This is reality TV gold, guys, this is exactly what the editors would put a close-up of right before the ad break.”

Jin furrows his brows. “I don’t think there are ad breaks, Hobi.”

“You get what I mean,” he huffs petulantly before clearing his throat, “anyway, let’s change the topic. Any gossip? Love declarations, plot twists; what have I missed?”

Jungkook opens his mouth, beside him Yoongi quickly places a hand on his thigh, and the younger boy sinks back into his chair. “Just the usual for me.” If you weren’t already looking at him, you might have missed the slip of a smile that he presses his lips together to suppress. “Except for the extra dicks I’ve been sucking.”

“Jungkook!” Yoongi shrieks, before sitting up straight. “Wait. Dicks, plural?”

“Well, yeah, Taehyung can’t fuck Y/n anymore, so…” Jungkook deflects. Across the table, Taehyung wordlessly throws his hands in the air in a ‘what can you do?’ type gesture. “It’s like an emergency relief fund but sex,” the youngest explains, “I’m very generous like that.”

Taehyung’s mouth drops open, his breezy demeanour fading. “Hey! You only sucked my dick because you said my technique was off!”

Jungkook smiles glacially at the rest of you. “I’m a giver,” he continues, “much like Yoongi, I teach on the side.” He pouts at Taehyung. “And your technique was off!”

“It was better than your sloppy toppy!” Taehyung defends. “I wanted a blowjob, not a shower.”

“Listen,” Jin says sharply as Jungkook lets out an offended cry, “the only way you’ll ever know for sure is if you have an objective party to compare the two directly.”

Jungkook harrumps, crossing his arms. “What; are you offering?”

Jin pauses. “To have...my dick sucked twice by two very attractive and enthusiastic people? Yes, yes I am.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes at Jungkook. “You’re so on,” he threatens, “when I win, you have to let me join your stream.”

Jungkook’s already leaving the table, dragging Jin up by a handful of his hoodie. “Such a shame you’re not going to, then,” he taunts, “when you lose, you have to give me a full-body massage and no skimping on the back.”

The rest of you watch in speechless bemusement as Taehyung huffs and throws his chair back, hurrying after them. “Maybe if you didn’t slump in your chair so much, you wouldn’t have a sore back in the first place! Wait, Jungkook, not so fast, I just ate…”

Once the three have left, Yoongi clears his throat. “The gossips have left,” he states carefully, eyes serious as they watch Hoseok, “so what’s in the box?”

Hoseok giggles and claps his hands together, clearly delighted with the attention this box has given me. “You know, the more you ask, the less likely I am to show you.”

Yoongi immediately makes his expression sour, turning up his nose. “I don’t even want to see what’s inside the box,” he insists, “I don’t care at all.”

“Sure thing, hyung.”

The academic is next to have a go. With gentle eyes and shy fingers, Namjoon props his hands on the very edge of the table and looks over to Hoseok. “What if you just showed us one?” he bargains. “It just seems like such a shame to get them delivered all the way over here and not get to show more people.”

Hoseok purses his lips, still unconvinced. At the head of the table, Jimin lets out a scoff and stands up, picking his plate and cup off the table to go discard them in the dishwasher. “It’s going to be something boring,” he drawls, bending over slowly to put away the dishes, letting the table get an eyeful of the tight black jeans he’s wearing. “He’ll wrap Y/n up in rope like tinsel on a Christmas tree and call it BDSM.”

An indignant cry comes from the table as Hoseok watches Jimin reach into the fridge, pulling out a single raspberry from the fruit drawer in there, and grin rakishly at the older man. “That’s not true at all,” Hoseok defends insistently, “I’m just easing her into it. Besides; let me show you something from the box and then we’ll see what you think.”

“How- wha-?” Yoongi’s mouth drops open as Hoseok reaches for the box and uses a knife from the lunch to cut the tape down the middle. “He doesn’t even like you! Why was he the one to convince you?”

Hoseok barely takes note, shielding the opening from your eyes as he digs around inside. It’s near impossible to restrain your curiosity, but you curl your ankles around the chair legs and force yourself to stay seated as he shoves his hand in.

You hear clinks, thuds, and scrapes, before Hoseok lets out a triumphant gasp and pulls his arm up, retrieving a braided leather handle, which he lifts out of the box to reveal a whip of sorts, complete with a neat pile of clean-cut leather strips. Your eyes widen as Hoseok sets it on the table with a weighty thunk, closing the box back up.

“Too boring for you?” Hoseok asks of Jimin with a challenging stare. One finger lazily trails along one of the tails of leather, neatly folded in a gathered loop on the table, making you swallow harshly at the thought of what one of those might feel like lashing across your skin.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jimin returns to the table, inspecting it slowly. “And what are you going to do with that, big boy? Such a big flogger; I must admit, it seems like you’re overcompensating.”

Hoseok scoffs, a smirk playing at his lips. “I’ve caught you staring enough times, Peaches,” he taunts, “you and I both know that’s not true.”

This time, Jimin seems almost expectant of the nickname, and just rolls his eyes. “I’m surprised you noticed, seeing as your eyes are always locked onto my ass. Bet you wish you had a handful, huh?”

Hoseok frowns, pushing himself away from the table. “Did I eat too much or did the thought of dirtying my hands with you make me physically sick?” he questions rhetorically, making Jimin huff. “Anyways, I’ve got a scene to set up. Best for last, and all that.”

With a flourish, Hoseok picks up the whip - or, as Jimin had said, flogger - handle between two fingers and throws the tail of leather strips over his shoulder, lifting the box into his arms with a light grunt of exertion. Suddenly, he turns his gaze to you, warm but firm. “The downstairs bathroom; be there in half an hour wearing your underwear and only your underwear.”

You suck in a breath when he suddenly leans in close, hoisting the box on his hip as he uses the opposite hand to reach out and fiddle with your bra strap, snapping it against your shoulder with a teasing smile. “If you want to make Master happy,” he says in a voice like crushed velvet, “pick something pretty.”

Hoseok disappears down the hallway with all the drama of a Disney villain, sans a cape to billow behind him, and Yoongi lets out a slow sigh, getting up from his chair. “Well, I’m going to go outside and try and forget about all the debauchery in here. Anyone else?”

Namjoon straightens up immediately, hips bumping against the table. “Sounds good to me,” he rushes out, still looking a little pale from seeing that sneak peek of Hoseok’s box of toys.

Jimin, on the other hand, glances up towards the ceiling with a thoughtful expression. “You two go ahead,” he states, “I think the little ones upstairs could use another judge.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows lift, almost looking like he’s about to reconsider his choice to leave, but Namjoon is already suggesting they could bring out some board games or a pack of cards, and as usual Yoongi is softer than he likes to think he is.

Once everyone has left you alone in the living room, you slump back onto the table, letting out a breath. Your skin is already tingling relentlessly wondering what those strips of leather would feel like raining down on your skin. And that tool must have only been taking up a small portion of that box. It was heavy, full with other surprises that you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Taking a look at the time, you curse and scamper upstairs to track down something pretty for Hoseok.

It’s impossible to stop your mind from conjuring up countless images of what could be waiting for you. Big posts of metal or wood to tie a sub to, chains and latex and the Hollywood taboo of kink that comes to mind. But in the end, it seems trying to picture anything at all was a useless venture, as when you make it downstairs and knock on the door exactly thirty minutes after Hoseok let you, what’s inside is not anything you would have ever expected.

The bathroom itself is decently large, with flat tile all over, a row of showerheads without the luxury of cubicles, a large bath set into one corner, and a bench with a mirror.

But in the middle of the room, closer to the bench than the showers, sits Hoseok.

There’s nothing around him bar a single empty chair that he inclines his head towards, silently instructing you to sit. You glance around in suspicion, but the cardboard box is folded up just beside him and there’s nothing else to see.

Hoseok himself quite easily takes his spot as the centre of attention, though. As you sit gingerly on the wooden chair, grimacing at the scraping sound of the legs on the floor, you look him over. As usual, he makes his statement in black. Hoseok dons boots that lace up to just below his knees, tight leather pants, and a collared shirt that shimmers slightly in the light, like expensive silk. Around his middle is a belt that tightly cinches his waist, accentuating his chest and shoulders. With his hair parted and slightly curling to one side, you don’t miss the way his eyebrow quirks up. “Are you quite done?”

Your cheeks heat, and you lean back until you can feel the chair digging in. “Sorry.”

“Sorry, who?”

“Sorry, Sir,” you stutter out as quickly as you can, lowering your gaze.

“Dear me, I hope you haven’t forgotten your manners already,” he croons with a faux look of disappointment, crossing a leg over his knee. “Lucky for you, our scene hasn’t started yet. I want to have a little conversation with you first.”

You swallow, eyes darting down to that cardboard box, curiosity eating you up from the inside. “What do you want to talk about, sir?”

Hoseok’s eyes soften slightly and he laces his fingers over the top of his knee. “You and I are going to have a talk together as two adults, princess. I know we have the consent forms and safewords, but this one requires a little more direct communication. Normally in a scene, you’d be kneeling or I’d be standing right now, but I want you to be fully aware that we are having this discussion as equals. Understood? You can ask questions, raise concerns, anything you need.”

Though your heart hasn’t stopped racing, you feel yourself beginning to calm, relieved for a chance to properly prepare yourself and see what’s going to happen. “Yes, understood. Sir.”

Hoseok’s eyes fleck with mirth as he tilts his head. “First of all; are you allergic to soy or paraffin? I know we have the allergy sheets, but I’d feel safer double-checking.”

You frown, brows knitting in confusion. “Soy? Like soy sauce? And no, I’m not allergic to either of them.”

When Hoseok smiles to reveal his teeth, you catch a glimpse of his dom side, even as he maintains a friendly disposition. “Soy candles, princess.”

A flicker of alarm rushes through you, and you clasp your hands together, fiddling your digits to keep calm. “Is this like, pouring hot wax? I don’t know, Hoseok…”

“It wasn’t a hard limit you listed,” Hoseok reminds gently, “has that changed?”

You swallow. “I- no, it hasn’t but it’s still a soft limit, and I don’t know if-”

“That’s why I wanted to sit down and have a talk with you about it,” he explains without missing a beat, “and if, at the end, you want to keep it as a limit, we’ll do something else. I don’t mind forfeiting the challenge and taking a week in the bunks; they’re perfectly comfortable.” You still don’t answer, feeling scarily vulnerable in a bra and lace panties, nothing but a loose satin robe over top to keep you a little warm and covered. Hoseok’s warm expression keeps you anchored. “Wax play isn’t explicitly pain play, it can be sensation play just like running an ice cube over your skin. And I’ve been doing it for years, princess, if you know what you’re doing, it’s perfectly safe. Do you want to hear me out? There are no obligations.”

You suck in a deep breath, taking a second to think. “I want to at least hear you first,” you decide, “but I really don’t know.”

“I understand entirely,” Hoseok says, and a strange change overtakes his face as he bends down to slip open the folds keeping the box closed. It’s a slight lifting of his brows, pursing of his lips while still being relaxed. The almost stern look of a teacher as he pulls out a weighty red candle, rolling it over in his palm. He glances back at you, presenting it. The two of you are seated close enough together that you only have to lean forward to take it from him.

He lets you look over it as he speaks, his voice soothing and practiced. “This is a pillar candle,” he explains, “see how it’s quite girthy? When you light a candle like that, the molten wax pools in the middle. So when you go to tip it, you can control how much wax you want to pour and when. Some people will have at least two candles burning so that they can alternate. These ones are soy, but I brought paraffin too in case you had an allergy.”

Out of curiosity, you dig your nail into the top, by the fresh wick, and watch thick red wax build up under the nail. “Doesn’t it burn you?” you question. “Like it got melted because of actual fire, surely it would burn.”

Hoseok shrugs. “Not with the right wax.” He takes it back from you, flipping it up to show off the base where a small white sticker displays some information about the candle in tiny print. “Soy and paraffin both tend to melt at roughly the same temperature, and it’s low enough that it won’t burn you. The further away you drop it from affects the temperature when it gets to your skin, too. But candles like beeswax melt at a very high temperature. Those can be dangerous, and you’d never catch me or anyone at Red using them. Now-!” Slipping the short, fat candle back into the box with a soft thud, he pulls out a second one. This one is black, and thin with a pointed end at the top. “This one is a taper candle. There’s no room for the wax to build up, so when you light it, it’ll drop the melted wax one drop at a time. The advantage is that it’s handy for constant use, and very easy to maneuver. One of my friends at Red actually uses it in suspension bondage. She’ll tie up her sub and slip a lit taper into the rope somewhere so that it drips on, say, the sub’s back or stomach. You can imagine if you where tied up and blindfolded, feeling a single drop of heat at a time would be a pretty intense experience.”

The dom breaks off with a laugh at the look on your face, and promptly slips it back in the box. “For our purposes, I’m going to use the pillar. It means that I can easily stop at any time and let the wax just sit in that little divot at the top without it getting everywhere. Still with me?”

You nod quickly, shifting on the chair. Perhaps it’s the hypnotic, soothing lilt of his voice as he walks you through it, or perhaps you’re just realising that it’s not as scary as it seems, but that soft limit is getting softer and softer. “You can go on,” you state in a small voice.

Hoseok’s beam is addicting, brightening the room as he lets out a pleased hum and stands up. Instead of approaching you, however, he walks right past to the bench, fiddling with something in the sink there before he’s filling it up. “An important safety measure,” he explains, “is to have a water source nearby. In case it’s too hot, or the candle catches on anything. I’m doing it in here so that there’s not really anything flammable like carpet or curtains, but there’s no such thing as being too safe.”

You watch him shake the water off his hand with a fond smile. He returns to sit across from you, nudging the open box with his foot. “We have some other surprises in here, but nothing too wild apart from the flogger. How are you feeling about it?”

Your heart skips a beat when you recall it, the satisfying whip of air as he threw it over his shoulder earlier. “I’m nervous, but I really want to try it.”

“Excellent,” he says warmly. “And the wax? We can take it slow, try it out a bit and then I’ll check back in, yeah? Just because we’ll be in the scene doesn’t mean this communication is cut off.”

You suck in a slow breath, biting your lip. Hoseok gives you time to think, waiting patiently and without expectation, but you know that you want to at least try chasing that thrill deep inside you. “I wanna give it a go too.”

Hoseok’s look of pride makes your decision feel all the more right. “That’s my girl,” he chimes, “so brave for me.” Without further notice, his eyes darken, and his smile turns less sweet and more sly. “You know Master will make it good for you, right?”

You shiver beneath the thin layer of satin and lace. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he coos, “I want you to make a choice now, princess. I’ll let you choose what you wish to have first? Candles or the flogger?”

You feel slightly paralysed by the sudden decision making, brain already beginning to slow down. “Flogger please, sir.”

“So polite,” he praises, “alright, then. I want you to stand up and take that robe of yours off.”

You do so with a quickening pulse, but Hoseok doesn’t even spare a second glance at you, instead shifting the box over to the bench, pulling out… something that definitely isn’t the flogger.

Hoseok turns to you with a grin, dangling a chain on a single finger. At either end, leather cuffs twirl and bump each other, familiar to ones you’d used on the show before. Unlike the other pair, which were pretty simple and basic, this pair look beautiful enough to be a regular fashion accessory. The leather is thick but not stiff, and they’re done up with silver buckles, adjustable for size. What really catches your attention, however, is the gorgeous red trim of the softest velvet, a deep colour that makes it look unbelievably expensive. As he approaches, you notice that the insides of the cuffs are embossed with the symbol you recognised from the box. Two Rs facing away from each other, with delicately curled strokes.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” Hoseok asks rhetorically. “They’re from the dungeon, if you hadn’t already guessed. Show me your wrists.” You rush to obey, sighing when you feel cool velvet encase around your left wrist, Hoseok deftly fastening the cuff as he continues to talk. “We have a colour code for everyone that comes in our doors. All spectators wear a simple black wristband. If you’re there to play, doms get armbands and subs get cuffs. Green means free use, anyone inside those walls wearing a cuff or a armband can play with you-” he doesn’t miss the way you shudder at the concept of being totally at the mercy of a roomful of strangers, arms pulling closer to your sides defensively, “-blue means looking. You’re open to negotiation, but there needs to be a kink negotiation and mutual agreement before you begin to play.” Hoseok moves to your other wrist, making sure the cuff is snug, but not cutting off circulation. “Can you guess what red means, princess?”

You can’t bear to look away from the gorgeous cuffs that adorn your wrists. You can feel the weight of the chain that connects them as it swings below. “Taken,” you offer in an uncertain voice.

“That’s right.” Even though you aren’t looking directly at him, you can sense Hoseok’s grin. He gracefully hooks the chain on his finger, lifting it up and tugging it to watch your wrists jerk towards him. “And can you guess why I picked red for you?”

You think you know the answer. But you become overcome with the desire to hear him say it. You lift your gaze to his, shaking your head slowly. “I don’t know.”

Hoseok sees right through you, tilting his head. “I think you do,” he counters, “but I’ll happily tell you.” He yanks again, making you stumble forward into his chest. With an arm bracing you against him, Hoseok bends down to murmur in your ear. “Because you’re mine.” With the teasing slowness of a cat playing with its food, he brushes your hair back, fingertips light against the bare skin of your neck and shoulders. “Do you want to know something funny? The entire time you’ve been in there, you haven’t thought to look up.”

It happens quickly. Just as you lift your chin to seek out what he’s referring to, you feel a pull on your wrists. Hoseok’s grip on you loosens but the tug on your wrists continues until they’re stretching right up above you. The moment you set your eyes on the hook dangling from the ceiling - what looks like thick, industrial grade steel - you see the chain loop onto it and suddenly you can’t drop your arms anymore.

You tug them, a natural instinct to escape the hold, and the unforgiving way your body is stretched out makes your chest pound a little with alarm,heels only just resting on the floor. Hoseok’s hands are on you, palms hot as they smooth up and down your sides and back, soothing you. Your racing pulse starts to slow, even as your arms tremble.

“That’s better,” he remarks, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. “Would you believe that hook was there when we came?”

Your lips twitch. “Honestly? No, sir.”

He flicks you a wink, patting your ass fondly. “You would be surprised. Used to be a fixture for a chandelier. Who the fuck needs a chandelier in a bathroom?” You suppress a laugh, knowing that your nervous giggles will get the best of you if you give them a chance, but Hoseok sees that he’s managed to calm you down quite a bit, and slips back into the velvety depths of his dominant persona once again. His hand hasn’t moved from your ass, and you suck in a sharp breath through your nose as his fingers slip beneath the lace, gripping the flesh there, unable to move away from it.

“I’ve been waiting for this, you know,” he starts with a casual air, massaging your ass openly even as his eyes stay fixed on yours, monitoring your every expression, “been waiting to turn that pretty ass of yours red. Let’s take these pretty panties of yours off first.”

You relax your thighs to let the strip of fabric sneak past, and when he bares your bottom half, tucking the cream-coloured lace into his back pocket, you shiver for a different reason entirely. You feel the wetness between your thighs begin to run down now that it’s unhindered by your panties, and your nipples are stiff, begging to be touched.

Hoseok isn’t so merciful, however, and when he glances down and sees them, he flicks lightly at one with an amused chuckle. “Desperate little one, aren’t you? Now, princess, I’m going to go over to the bench and get my flogger. Are you okay here alone? I’m not leaving you; I’ll only be out of your sight for a moment.”

The tile feels so cold and unforgiving under your toes as you shift, the chain preventing you from going far. “Yes, sir,” you say, but Hoseok clearly senses your hesitance.

Eyes imploring, warm yet serious, he tips up your chin with his knuckles gently. “Do you trust me? I’ll be no more than ten seconds. How about this? In your head, chant ‘Master is a good kisser’ three times, and I’ll be back.”

Your eyes round, wetting your lips. “How would I kn-umph!” Your question is cut off prematurely as Hoseok ducks down and demonstrates; a firm, bruising kiss that’s only heightened by the bondage restricting your movements. You can’t touch him, or move closer. You just have to sit and take it, and your mind feels heady as his lips press roughly against yours, teeth tugging on your lower lip enough to sting. By the time he pulls away, you feel breathless, the tension of the cuffs the only thing keeping you on your feet.

Hoseok gently buffs you on the cheek with another wink. “Don’t forget the magic words, princess,” he chimes, “I’ll be right back.”

And, though only two weeks ago the feeling of having him out of sight and out of reach had freaked you out to the point of safewording, the tingle in your lips and that admittedly accurate mantra - Master is a good kisser - keep your mind occupied enough that before you reach the end of the third recitation, Hoseok has stepped back into your line of vision, giving you an expectant look. “Still with me?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod with it, though you can’t bring yourself to look at him, so captivated by the flogger in his hand. He holds it like a seasoned expert, which you don’t doubt he is. The handle is black braided leather, with two thicker balls on either end like a dumbbell, no doubt for ease of grip. His hand wraps around the narrower middle section, but loose enough that his fingers look relaxed around it. Though he holds the handle upright slightly, the strips of leather fall straight down in a single cascade, neatly kept together.

Observing your trained eye, Hoseok laughs and steps closer, sliding the leather over his palm to display it for you. “Shall we have a quick lesson? This here is a perfect beginner’s flogger. Perfectly balanced with a weighted handle and clean-cut leather. These strips here, they’re called falls. The less you have or the thinner they are, the more it stings like a whip would. This one has probably around 30, 35 falls. Proper garment leather. Expensive, but well-crafted.” His hand shifts, clasping around the ends, which he spreads apart with a thumb. “You see how the ends are rounded? Some falls have forked tips, pointed tips, or straight-cut ones. The pointier it is, the sharper the sensation. Rounded tips are best for a newbie like you.”

Suddenly, he drops the ends, letting them revert back to their single stream of leather spouting from the handle. The quick movement makes your eyes automatically jump up to his face, and you suck in a breath at how intense his gaze is on you. “You need to be very clear where your limits are, princess. Tell me if I’m going too hard. This is painplay, but it should still be pleasurable. Understood?”

You swallow. Now, with your body almost entirely naked, your body restrained and a very practiced dom standing in front of you with a flogger, the concept of pain is a little more concrete. But still, you trust him, and his ability to make it feel good for you. “Understood, sir.”

“Good.” Hoseok steps back, giving himself some distance as he eyes you up. With a smooth motion, his wrist begins to flick, and you instinctually recoil when the falls of the flogger start flying through the air in a graceful arc. They’re uniform in both width and length, probably just about as long as Hoseok’s arm, which stays perfectly still as he isolates the movement in his joint. Even if you weren’t in the metaphorical hot seat, this show of excellence and practiced skill would nevertheless add to the coil of arousal between your legs. He looks good like this, fully in his element. “Now,” he states, smirking at your telling reaction, “normally the best spots are the back of the shoulders, and the ass. But something tells me you’d rather see what I’m doing before letting me loose behind you. Would I be right in thinking that?”

You picture him going behind you and beginning to whip you with no context or warning. You nod your head quickly. “Yes please, sir.”

Hoseok smiles, slowing his wrist, before he begins flicking it the opposite way, the ends of the flogger curving downwards towards you instead of upwards. “Now, this flogger is a little thuddier than what I’d usually use on breasts, but since I’m only going to be very light, it’ll be just fine.”

You try to inch backwards, but the chain rattles and gives you away. “My breasts?”

Hoseok’s hand stills, his head cocking to one side as his brows come together. “Is there a problem, princess?”

His disapproval is clear, and you get the feeling that you’re treading on thin ice. But he said that communication wouldn’t stop here, so you forge ahead. “I’m not protesting, I’m just curious, sir. Why not somewhere easier like the stomach?”

Distaste wracks his features. “This isn’t going anywhere near your stomach,” he says firmly, “the organs there are unprotected. Anything vulnerable - joints, spine, the stomach and lower back, of course the head - they’re all off-limits. Do you understand that?” When he receives a nod, the line of tension in Hoseok’s shoulders relaxes. “Now, I need you to move your head back so that it’s between or behind your arms. Can you do that for me?”

Pushing your head through the gap in your upper arms, you shift until your whole face is between them, chin tilted slightly up. “May I ask why, sir?” you request in a small voice. Why did this whole thing feel so technical? And why were you still so wet from it?

“You may,” Hoseok replies bemusedly, “it just distances your face from the swings. Don’t worry-” he interjects quickly when your eyes widen in alarm, “the falls will be nowhere near your face. It’s just for our peace of mind. Do you still trust me?”

You manage to nod with your face bracketed by your arms, and with a rush of anticipation, watch Hoseok start up those quick circles, the leather whipping through the air in one bunch. Instead of stretching his arm forward, he steps in slowly, moving the falls getting closer and closer until the smooth stroke of impact flicks across your right breast.

You gasp, out of shock more than anything, but those strokes deliver a regular pattern, and it’s already lacing across your skin again, and again, an odd feeling that certainly isn’t unpleasant. There’s a distinct feeling of impact, without any real weight behind it, and the slightest hint of a sting that just serves to gradually warm the skin. Your chest is heaving, but Hoseok lands each blow with perfect accuracy, even stepping side-on between arcs and switching breasts.

The constant snap of contact helps you get used to it and calm down, and you can’t deny that it feels kind of...nice? There’s something satisfying and freeing about feeling those split second granules of pain and tolerating them, overcoming them. It doesn’t take long before you unconsciously arch your spine, seeking out something more than just light swats from the very tips of the falls.

Hoseok notices the moment you move and, frustratingly, he stops with a chuckle. “Did that turn you on, princess? Do you want more?”

You whine, tipping your head back further so he disappears out of your sight. Against the skin of your inner arms, your cheeks are raging hot. “Yes,” you admit in a defeated voice when he refuses to move on.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir?” you quip with a hopeful tone.

“Nice try,” Hoseok replies flatly, “I want you to say it, princess. Yes, what?”

You bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut. There’s only silence. The heat has already left your breasts, and they feel strange without that lick of leather on them. “I want more, please, sir.”

“Good girl,” Hoseok coos, and in reward you feel the now-welcome flick of the falls on your breasts. This time, however, he stands directly across from you and twists his wrist over, casting figure eights, alternating left and right. You tremble at the feeling, squirming under it. Though it’s still light, every strike feels even more intense on your nipples, shooting sensation right between your legs.

“Sir,” you gasp out, “I w-want some more, sir.”

Hoseok answers without faltering, and his voice easily carries over the sound of the flogger. “Oh, do you? I can’t go any harder on these pretty little tits of yours, princess.” He pulls away, ceasing the motion. “If you want to continue, I’m going to have to go behind you. Are you okay with that?”

You push your reddened chest forward to no avail. “Fuck! Hoseok, yes, I’m okay with it,” you whine, unable to resolve any of the need in your core, needing more. Hoseok clicks his tongue in disapproval, and you curse internally at the slip. “Sir! Sorry, I’m okay with it, sir.”

“You better not forget your manners,” Hoseok warns, taking one step at a time, boots thudding on the tile as he circles you. “I’m flogging you for pleasure, because I like to treat and train you, but if you do that again, I can easily turn this into a punishment.”

The thought makes you moan, and your wrist jerks as you fruitlessly try to cover your mouth. Actually relieved he’s behind you for once, you let your head duck forward, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Hoseok chuckles. “It seems like you’re more of a painslut than you realise, princess,” he teases, and you’re given no warning before you feel a strike against your ass, making you jump with a yelp. Though it’s the same light figure eights as just before, these ones whip up from the bottom, so that every hit lands on the meat of your ass, avoiding your lower back. If the ones before were easy, these feel like child’s play. Whether you’ve gotten more used to the sensation, or the skin on your ass just isn’t as sensitive, you find yourself immediately wanting more, trying to lean back into it.

The dom isn’t pleased. “Did I say you could move?”

You don’t answer, hands reaching up to grip the chains that bind them as you bite down harshly on your tongue. “I can take more, sir,” you begin, but Hoseok cuts you off with a gruff noise of disapproval.

“Did I say you could move?” he repeats sharply.

You whine low in your throat. “No, sir,” you admit, “but I can-” You yelp and flinch when a single swat hits below the swell of your ass, across your thighs. It feels different there, stingier and less hazily pleasant. “I’m sorry-”

“That’s right, I didn’t,” Hoseok’s voice comes from behind you, cold and unforgiving. “In fact, I hung you up here to keep you still for me, so that I could play with you as I wished. If you insist on defying that, I’ll quite happily fetch a spreader bar so that you can’t move an inch.”

You furrow your brows, hating the feeling of making him mad. Hating even more that the sharpness in his tone and the filthy word he says just make you even needier, tightening your thighs together. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll behave,” you mumble shamefully.

You jump slightly when you feel something on your ass again, but it’s just his hand, cupping the flesh. “I’m doing this to warm you up. For your own safety. I’ve been doing this for years, princess, don’t forget that Master knows best.”

“Master knows best,” you repeat mindlessly, feeling yourself begin to slip. It’s a comforting thought just as much as it is an arousing one; Master knows what he’s doing, and all you need to do is take it.

“Exactly.” Hoseok sounds pleased, and just as your heart lifts in relief, the hits resume.

Eyes slipping closed, you let yourself tune everything else out. When you focus, when you really actively feel it, you can recognise every shift in his posture, or change in angle by how it feels on your skin. The strips of leather lash up, gradually causing the skin to heat up as the thuddy feeling stays longer and longer after each strike.

Before he ups the intensity, he simply speeds up his strokes, and you let out a pleased whine as the constant ebb and flow of pleasure-softened pain lull you deeper. The more you take, the less it hurts at all, even as the skin on your ass feels like it’s radiating heat.

The warmth floods to the rest of your body until even your toes aren’t cold against the tile. You feel like you could stand here forever, strung up and lost in the sensations he’s giving you. In fact, those dull edges of pain are so soothing that it feels almost therapeutic, worries and aches melting away, irrelevant in this space.

Hoseok finally deems your skin is sufficiently warmed up, and you whimper when the hits shift. Instead of friendly, playful flicks of leather, every strike echoes in the room, the thud of impact delivering a bolder note of pain.

Not that it’s bad, though. On the contrary, if the earlier flogging was lulling you into a sleepy bliss, these ones wake you up like a burst of energy with every swing. Without even realising, a dopey grin stretches your cheeks, and you find yourself no longer trying to muffle the pleased sighs that stutter out with every flick of Hoseok’s wrist.

“Fuck, look at you,” the dom croons, “a painslut indeed. You’re dripping onto the tiles, naughty girl.”

You moan openly, knuckles aching with how tightly you’re gripping the chains that hook your cuffs to the steel loop above. Your pussy aches with the need to be touched, but to do that Hoseok would have to stop whipping you, and your mind hisses at the thought. All you want is more, you can take more, you want to show him, to show yourself you can take more. Every burst of pain on your flesh is another victory, and it feels euphoric.

You stay in this headspace for a while as Hoseok maintains the same, regular hits. Eventually, the scream for more overwhelms you, and you seek out something more intense the quickest way you know how - disobedience. “Hoseokie,” you whine, “hit me harder.”

You could sob when his hand freezes, the next strike coming down without any bite, just a loose draping of the leather falls. As they linger on the skin, you realise just how sensitive and raw it’s gotten, feeling every edge of leather in sharper clarity. Hoseok holds it there for a moment, then drops, the silence in the room palpable. “Are you giving me orders? And without the proper title, no less.”

Pain bursts across your skin like a line of fire, the sharpest and strongest hit yet. Like the one across your thighs, this comes at an angle instead of the upstrokes of his circles or figure eights. You can imagine him holding it back, and whipping it down with a single, swift flick. The residue heat on your ass just makes you want another.

Instead of another hit, however, you cry out when you feel nails digging into the flesh, not scraping, just groping the globes of your ass in each hand. You can even feel the stiff leather of the handle pressing into your flesh on one side, and you whine at the sensation.

“I know what you want, princess,” Hoseok growls, his voice startlingly close as his breath wafts hot on the back of your neck. “And if painplay was the purpose of the scene, perhaps I’d whip you until you cried like you deserve.”

You sob. “Master, please-”

“It’s too late for that,” he cuts off sharply. “The time for begging is over. You’ve disappointed me. I was going to lift up your legs and fuck you right here, but you’ve showed me that you don’t deserve that yet.”

Unprecedented, your eyes brim with tears. Hoseok slips back into your line of sight, face stern as he tucks the handle of the flogger in his belt at the back, and reaches up to unhook you. Your legs are weak, but he carries your weight with ease, letting the chain dangle around the back of his neck as he walks you over to the bench.

Instead of propping you up on it, or sitting you on a chair, he helps you lie down on the cool tile, an immediate balm for the deep-set heat radiating from your ass. Even as his face is stiff with disapproval, he handles you so gently, ensuring you don’t knock your head on the way down.

“Just stay here a moment,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your eyes, “calm down a little bit. I have some candles to light.”

You feel strangely floaty, your emotions all over the place, but Master had asked you to calm down, so you try your best to settle them. It’s not a bad sensation once you relax a bit. Need burns fiercely between your thighs, but the last thing you want to do is upset him by breaking the rules, so you simply let your eyes slip closed and your thighs clench together. You’ll wait until Hoseok comes back to you, and then you’ll make things right by being extra good. The thought of pleasing him makes you smile, and when Hoseok’s voice wraps around you, checking that you’re still with him, it’s only too easy to chirp a contented, “yes, sir.”

When he returns, he’s slipping one hand under your head and the other behind your back, lifting you ever-so-slowly so that your head doesn’t spin. Once you’re up, you lean forward and cling to him, wanting nothing more than to be close. Hoseok lazily cards his fingers through your hair. “You’ve misbehaved,” he states slowly, “you haven’t earned an orgasm, princess, but I’m soft on you. I’ll give you the chance to win one, how about that?”

You blink dazedly, feeling clarity begin to seep back in. “Win?”

Pulling back, Hoseok smirks down at you. “We’re going to play a little game, you and I. Come; I want you on your hands and knees.”

Hoseok guides you over, though you’ve mostly gotten your strength back. On the floor, near the box, are two lit pillar candles. The flames dance cheerily, leaving behind wells of molten wax. One is the red candle you’d inspected earlier, and the other is a pure white, the wax melting clear. You prop yourself up on your hands and knees beside it, but the dom quickly corrects you, leading you to instead assume the position over the box, which almost reaches your stomach.

Upon receiving your questioning look, Hoseok rubs one hand over your reddened ass cheeks, soothing the flesh. “I don’t want you losing your balance and creating a large angle,” he explains shortly, “the wax could drip forward into your hair or, worse, drip back where I’m sure you don’t want it.”

You shudder at the thought, your pulse steadily quickening as the reality of what he’s about to do sets in. This feels even more unfamiliar and alien than the flogging did at the beginning, but you feel safe beneath his touch.

Hoseok gets on his knees behind you, and you could cry in relief when you hear a belt buckle clink, and then a zip lower. It takes no time at all for you to feel the blunt head of Hoseok’s cock pressing against your entrance until it begins to sink in.

You moan, arching your back enough that you fee the texture of cardboard on your stomach. After only receiving external stimulation - pain, nonetheless - until now, suddenly being speared on his tongue has you speechless, tongue heavy in your mouth and drool pooling in your cheeks.

“Feel good, princess?” Hoseok questions, giving your raw ass a playful swat when you cry out the affirmative. “I bet it does.” But when he bottoms out, leaving you deliciously full, he remains perfectly still. “Sadly, that’s all you’ll get for now. Do you want to hear the rules of the game?”

You sob lowly in your throat, elbows almost buckling as your walls clench around the unmoving intrusion. “Please, sir.”

“I’m going to write a word on you, princess. A special word. But it just so happens that I don’t have a pen on me, so I’ll use this wax instead.” The glimpses of red and white blink out of your peripheral as Hoseok drags them closer to himself. “You can guess each letter, and if you manage to get the word right once I’m finished, then I’ll let you cum. Does that sound fair?” Your reply is garbled, incoherent, but Hoseok doesn’t seem bothered. “Then let’s begin. Pay close attention, now.”

Your body naturally tenses up, eyes squeezed shut as you wait for a burst of pain, of searing heat. When something touches your skin, you automatically cry out, but quickly realise that it doesn’t hurt at all, instead, it’s like viscous warm water that slowly stiffens on your skin as it cools. The tightness in your chest loosens.

“That was a test patch, princess,” Hoseok says in a calm voice, devoid from his usual dom smugness. “Too hot? Not hot enough?”

You swallow. “It wasn’t hot,” you admit, “it’s not bad.”

“Understood,” he confirms, squeezing your hip in reassurance as you clench again around him, but the safety monitor Hoseok quickly takes a backseat to the Master persona. “First letter, princess. I’ll only do each one once.”

This time, when lines of warmth bloom on your back, concentrated in the top corner by your shoulder blade, you focus your mind on picturing the shapes they create. Something straight, then a small loop. The wax isn’t painful; on the contrary, it doesn’t feel hot when it first makes contact. As it sits, the skin heats up, but before it gets too warm, the wax has already cooled to mostly solid. Your fears melt away fully, and you tune back into the game. “D?” you guess.

“Close,” he allows.

You rack your mind. “P?”

You moan when Hoseok’s cock suddenly moves inside you, pulling out slowly and giving you a single, snapped thrust. “Correct,” he confirms, “next letter.”

This one feels similar, starting with the same straight line, slightly to the right of where the first patch fell. A straight line, something wobbly again with a line to end it. Your breath catches. “R? Is the word ‘princess?’”

“Guessing so soon,” Hoseok chimes, humour lacing his voice, “but wrong on both counts. It’s a vowel.”

You go down the list, comparing them against the already-fading memory of thick warmth on your skin. “E- no, A?”

“A is correct. This one’s easy.” After fucking into you once another time, he does a single stroke that you easily identify as an I, and then you hear the thud as he puts down one candle and picks up the other. “Let’s see how you look in red, princess. Next letter.”

It gets harder and harder to correctly name the letters as you go on. With every right answer, you’re rewarded with a second of pleasure before it ceases, and that paired with the arousing feeling of warm wax drizzling over your skin just has you feeling hazy. It takes you whole minutes to guess N, but lucky it’s followed by simple strokes of S, L, and U.

By the time he’s switched wax a couple times and is readying you for the last letter, you already know the word. But Hoseok drops the wax from a little lower every time, and you relish the heat more and more with each letter, and you’ll take whatever else you can get.

At this point, the only space left on you is low on your back, just in from your waist. You squeeze your eyes shut, already knowing that he’s going to paint two strokes: one horizontal and one vertical. So instead, you allow yourself to just feel it for what it is.

He tips the pillar candle - red or white, you’ve long since lost track - and you moan openly as you feel fluidity, then heat, which crests and settles into a seal of solid wax. Hoseok wastes no time before completing the letter, one longer line going down in a thick trail that threatens to drip down your side.

“‘s T,” you slur out before he can even ask, tightening your walls around him as he snaps his hips a single time so that you can feel every inch of him. Even the sound of the one movement is obscene; you’re so wet that it runs down your thighs and soaks his cock, but Hoseok’s not complaining.

Instead, you whine as you feel his nails on your shoulder, dislodging the fully hardened wax from the beginning. It’s a strange sensation, there’s a minute suction to breaking that seal, but it lifts off so smoothly when he’s careful like that. “And can you tell me the word, princess? I picked it out just for you.”

Sighing out, you nod shakily. “Painslut,” you gasp.

“That’s right,” Hoseok replies warmly, even as his nails curl and drag down rough enough to crumble the wax in his path, leaving stinging lines over your skin. “You’re my little painslut, aren’t you? Say it, and I’ll give you your reward.”

“I’m your little painslut,” you moan out, back arching under the relentless way he dislodges slivers of dried wax, exposing the sensitive skin beneath.

Without further preface, Hoseok bends over to quickly blow out the two candles, shift them further away, and then straightens up to grip your hips with hands slightly slippery from the soy.

When he begins fucking into you properly, with the full force of his powerful hips, you’re pushed forward onto the cardboard box, a cry punched from your throat. He doesn’t wait this time, just as steady and unforgiving as the circles his flogger made earlier.

You feel the weight of his balls slapping against you, his hip bones pressing into your sensitive ass, and his nails dig in sharply to give you that delicious pain that had become just as potent as pleasure. You feel him inside you, too; mercilessly parting your walls and stretching you around him until it feels like you can’t breathe.

Your mouth spills a constant stream of garbled moans and pleas, doing your best to fuck yourself back on him to feel him deeper. “Fuck, Master, I’m so close,” you manage to make out, “can I cum, sir?”

Hoseok growls deep in his throat, and you squeal helplessly as his pace picks up until you can’t even stop yourself from drooling onto the tile, jerked about within his grip. “Cum for me, princess,” he commands, “cum on my cock now.”

In your body’s final effort to please your Master, your orgasm follows only a few thrusts later, and you go limp and shivery against the support of the cardboard box, clinging to it as Hoseok chases his own high.

Having cum from g-spot stimulation alone, the orgasm seems to reach as deep as your bones, and you ride the wave longer. By the time you’re finally beginning to come down, pleasure slowly turning to oversensitivity, Hoseok’s thrusts are stuttering, and he’s suddenly pulling out of you, grunting as a different kind of heat spurts over your back.

You’re panting, hugging the box you’re curled over as you feel Hoseok’s cum run down the divot of your spine, slowly cooling. You can still feel the dry flakes of wax that cling to you, and even as Hoseok gently helps you off the solid tile floor, you see shavings and slivers of red and white falling to the ground.

Hoseok’s dropped the Master persona entirely by now, and you hum happily as he checks you over, fingertips running across the skin of your back and ass. “No pain still persisting?”

“Well, my ass still kinda stings,” you admit, “but nothing seriously painful, no.”

He furrows his brows in concern as he straightens up in front of you. “And the wax was okay?”

You smile shyly and a little dopily, still coasting on the endorphins the pain and temperature play had released. “I’m probably going to go to Sejin and get him to change it to a definite interest, actually. It was great, Hoseok. You were great. Thank you.”

Hoseok’s eyes warm as he fondly buffs you on the underside of your chin. “Well; I say we have a nice shower and clean you up, and then we can go into the kitchen for some ice cream. Get your sugar levels back up, how about that?”

You could laugh, but you feel too blissed out to even exert that much energy. “I’m not sure there’s any ice cream left, actually.”

FAN FAVOURITE

Please vote for your favourite member in the house according to Week Three only. Vote here. You need to sign in to prevent spamming, but I delete the survey after the 48 hours is up. All I take note of is the pie chart at the end. I’m very excited to see what the results will be !

And so we meet our fourth guest... Confused? Check bonus content four, five and six for the other three teasers ;)

#cypherwritersnet #bts smut #jin smut #hoseok smut #bts x reader #hoseok x reader #jin x reader #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #ot7 x reader #ot7 smut #taehyung smut #jimin smut #namjoon smut #yoongi smut

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photiniainsummer · 4 years ago

Text

Something Worth Celebrating

Rating: General Audiences (basically GenFic)

Summary: Dark admits he sort of, kind of has a birthday. And then he sort of, kind of asks you to throw him a party.

I know. Pinch me, I must be dreaming.

(Basically a purely indulgent fic where Dark gets to be happy for 0.2 seconds. Yes, it's late, please forgive me, Mr. Darkiplier sir.)

(second person POV, gender neutral reader)

Word Count: 4906

Author’s Note: No warnings. Honestly just tooth-rotting tenderness. This is a super-late birthday 'present' for our favorite spooky ego that I just couldn't get out of my head. Also posted to AO3!

The thought strikes you in the midst of your weekly scan of Mark’s content. While Dark makes sure to check his uploads and social media presence moment-to-moment, you often join his weekly wrap-up review sessions as a second, fresh set of eyes. It’s usually a silent and uneventful affair, with Dark sitting at his desk and you to one side of it, both focused on the week’s batch of content as it projects on the opposite wall. Hooking up the projector was easier than hunching over Dark’s laptop, the two of you bunched together around the screen, and it usually meant you could catch and examine any irregularities with greater accuracy. Not that there had been any for months. Mark’s content has become suspiciously unsuspicious, with no odd shot changes in the middle of playthroughs, no sideways comments in food reviews… and so your mind has started wandering during your viewings.

It’s not that his content is boring. But it’s hard to enjoy Mark’s lighthearted commentary, really, knowing the man for what he is: a manipulative, body-snatching, undead creature bent on conquering the hearts and minds of the world. That kind of imposing terror makes it hard to kick back and enjoy him goofing through a new horror game.

And, yet, despite that same terror, it’s difficult to stay fully focused on the task at hand. Maybe it’s the lack of weirdness lulling you into being unobservant - maybe that’s Mark’s goal. Regardless, he makes a jokey comment, surprised by a new onslaught of enemies so soon after receiving a new weapon - “What, is it my birthday?” - and though he proceeds to casually mow down a fresh flood of zombies, your mind is nowhere near his running monologue. No, you’re off on a tangent of wonderings - When exactly is his birthday, anyway? Is it soon? Do the egos share his, or do they have their own, if they know it? When would they celebrate it, anyway? Did Mark build in birthdays for them when he summoned them up, or was it whatever day they were formed from some strange, shadowy process you still don’t know the specifics of? It’s a strange and vaguely sad thing to ponder, your mouth turning down at the corners as you roll it around in your mind. To your side, Dark sighs softly, reaching out to pause the current video. Mark’s face freezes in an unflattering expression, and you turn to look at the entity.

“What, think of something?”

“No,” he demurs, scrubbing the video back. “But you are distracted. What do you last remember?” He doesn’t sound annoyed, which is a little surprising. Where a few months ago he would have bitten off a sharp comment about your wandering attention, he just gives you a mild look when you don’t immediately respond, hands hovering at his computer. It speaks to how routine this has become for you both, how each of you has grown accustomed to the other - the ringing of his aura barely registers for you now, although you were certain when you arrived that investing in a lifetime supply of ibuprofen was a basic requirement for working in close proximity to Dark for any extended period of time.

That’s when the thought strikes you - you meandering thoughts crystallizing around his presence, centering on him. You have to wonder how much of your thought process Dark actually heard, if your idle thoughts are loud enough for him to pick up. But seeing as he’s not making any attempt to immediately answer, nor chide you for thinking about such unimportant things, the thought, as a question, easily tumbles out between you.

“Do you have a birthday?”

He immediately furrows his brow, blinking in surprise. “What?”

“I said, do you have a birthday?” you repeat, committing to this line of questioning. You go so far as to turn slightly in your chair to look at him better, attention fully directed at him. Dark sighs and turns back to the computer, picking a spot in the video a couple of minutes ago, certainly farther back than necessary.

“I heard what you said,” he clarifies. “I am attempting to understand what could have possibly brought that up.”

“He said something about his birthday. It just got me thinking, that’s all.” Dark pauses, squinting his eyes ever so slightly at the screen. His cursor hovers over the playback bar, obviously considering his next move. You pause with him, then a smile tugs at your mouth. “You missed that, didn’t you.”

“I did not. It was merely an inane comment, so I did not take note of it.” He’s a little too indignant, too quick with that response, and it makes you laugh. He shoots you a patented glare, although it carries very little true malice. “When did he say that.”

“A couple minutes forward, it’s right after he gets that new gun.” Dark hums in response, clearly still miffed at having been successfully teased, but in a good-natured sort of way. You watch him scrub for the right spot, lulling back into a comfortable silence for a few moments before you remember what brought all this up and press on. “So, do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Don’t be obtuse, come on. Do you have a birthday?”

“They had birthdays,” he remarks. You recall them, or, at least, a picture of them, the only one you’ve seen that isn’t a staged portrait. You like it better than the stiff, properly posed photographs Dark hesitantly showed you once, when he had finally explained his origins to you. In the one you preferred to remember, a well-dressed woman and man hug each other close as they smile warmly into the camera. It’s some holiday, or just an excuse to get together - there are garlands blurred in the background - and the woman is holding a fancy-looking drink in the hand that isn’t wrapped around behind her brother, tugging him into frame. He looks a bit put-upon, smiling almost embarrassedly as if the woman has cajoled him in front of the cameraperson into taking a picture with her. But his expression, for all it implies, is still warm. His body curls close to his sister, his hold on her obviously affectionate. The woman is beaming like she’s won, squeezing her brother close as her cheeks apple, her painted lips curled in such pride. Her eyes dance, catching the light of the camera’s flash. They look comfortable, happy, beautiful. Full of life. The woman’s smile had pulled one out of you, when you saw it.

Dark’s explanation of how he had come to be makes the memory all the sadder, the melancholia curling around your throat even as you remember it now.

“I, on the other hand, was not born,” he explains, and for a moment you begin to regret bringing it up. But the shadow-bathed man doesn’t seem bothered, his tone matter-of-fact, simple. You know it pains him still, you saw the look on his face as he described how he had come to be, how his aura had raged around him like he was going to pull apart. How their faces had appeared in agonized red and blue flashes behind him - now that you knew what you were looking for, you could see them as themselves, not just as Dark.

Which makes the fact he can say something that directly referential without threatening to rip through existence sort of comforting. Is he just comfortable with you, now, knowing that you know? Whatever it is, you decide it’s a good thing, and settle back in your chair. “Well, sure, not as such, but… do you celebrate theirs?” you ask, as gently as you can.

“I do not.” Dark finds the proper place in the video, advancing to it.

“So you don’t celebrate you… coming into being, on any particular day?”

“I do not.” You squint slightly.

“You don’t,” you repeat. Dark sighs once more, bringing a hand to his brow in the way he does when Wilford is being particularly taxing.

“No. I do not. But the… fans. Do.” It’s an answer given through gritted teeth - the man finds the celebration of him and his many appearances in Mark’s work frustrating, to put it simply. Of course, he’s completely committed to his role as the villain the actor dreamed of, and won’t lie and say he doesn’t find it utterly amusing how Mark’s own fans seem to like him more than the actor himself. But all that is tinged with the truth of his conscription into this role, the indignity of being painted as the wicked mirror image of the man who took everything from him. It is particularly insulting, particularly painful. So to have some false version of him celebrated and adored, is…

Well, to use his words: Disgusting.

You would go for complicated, instead. It does feels strange to have them celebrate a fictionalized version of the entity next to you, given the reality of the situation, but it’s not like you can fault them for what they don’t know. They’re caught up in Mark’s game - it isn’t their fault. Still, you aren’t really surprised they found a whole day to put aside for the man.

“What day did they pick?”

“Hm?” Dark seems caught up in some internal brooding, set off by the memories of the fanart he’s seen. You prod again.

“What day is it? That they made your ‘birthday’?”

He pauses a moment, considering. You can tell he knows, he’s just debating whether or not to tell you. Whether or not this will have unintended consequences. “June 19th. It was the first time Mark posted something… strange enough to be counted as my first ‘appearance.’ So it is my birthday, by their reckoning.” He pauses again. “I suppose it is as good a day as any. Although I do not understand it - why would someone want to celebrate my existence?”

His tone takes this bitter, harsh edge, and you instinctively want to cringe against it. But you also know how Dark hates you trying to be delicate with him. It’s better to be honest, to know his reactions are not for you, but for his situation. For Mark. So you suppress the desire to turn away from it, instead reaching across the bit of desk between you to touch his arm. He doesn’t react, apart from flicking his eyes to rest on your hand. Touching him like this, yours fades to take on the same black-and-white cast as his own.

“For what it’s worth, I’d want to celebrate it. I’m glad you’re here.” You squeeze him very gently, as if trying to impress that more fully into his mind. “And… they don’t really know you, but, I mean. I think they’d like you even more, want to celebrate you more, if they did.”

Dark is silent, gaze falling to a whorl of wood in his polished desk as he considers your words. He doesn’t immediately reply and you take your hand away, not wanting to be overly touchy-feely about the whole thing. Or, at least, you don’t want to be if that’s not what Dark wants. You’d be the first to console him, if you could, but it’s hard to get a read on what might help the man most. He lives in his head, unaccustomed to sharing much with the other egos, let alone someone who hasn’t directly been through what they have. Your position on the outside imposes a distance that even having worked so closely with him for so long hasn’t yet bridged. Still, you leave that door open for him whenever you gracefully can, whenever it doesn’t feel like you’re opening it to force him through.

You try show him he can walk through whenever he likes. If he likes.

The man shifts slightly, reaching out to adjust a small pile of papers. He puts them to rights, even though they’re already perfectly in line with each other. When he finally speaks, his voice is almost covered by its own deep echo.

“If I am honest, I meant more… why would they celebrate the man they see, the ‘Darkiplier’ in his works? He is not a good man, by any means. He tells the truth, Mark’s confidence in himself sees to that. But they do not know it. He seems to seek to trap the audience through lies, manipulation… I simply do not understand the appeal.” You feel a little caught out, wondering if you jumped a bit too eagerly on his statement as a chance to comfort him. “However…”

He stops, realizing he’s run out of papers to arrange, things to fidget with. Folding his colorless hands in front of him, he finally and intentionally turns to look your way. It’s a slow, steady motion, heavy with purpose. When you meet his intensely contrasted eyes, they fall gently on you. His expression is open, almost bare. Devoid of any bitterness, frustration - his usual armor.

“...it is incredibly kind of you to say that. About me. I. I sincerely appreciate it.”

The hesitancy in his voice, yet how honestly he continues on, intent on telling you this… It’s enough to break your heart. You give him a tender smile.

“You’re not exactly that man in those videos, Dark. Not the way he has you play it, know you well enough to tell that… But even if you were, you have reason enough for it, I’d wager.”

That gets you a wry smile from the man. “Enough reason to pull ourselves back from the dead?”

You laugh, softly. “Yeah, something like that.” At your mirth, the lines of his body begin to relax, and he eases back into his seat somewhat. It’s a rare sight, Dark letting himself relax, be still for a moment. Even his aura, ever-roiling, merely seems to ebb and flow around him in gentle pulses. His mouth stays gently turned up as he looks at nothing in particular, gaze easy on some middle distance. You can tell he’s thinking, even at minor peace like this, but has no real intention to speak again. Sensing the Big Heart-To-Heart Moment™ has passed, you sigh and look back over your sparse notes. “Should we get back to it, though? I totally derailed us.”

Dark pauses a bit longer in the moment before he idly waves a hand and reaches out to close the lid of his computer. “There is nothing interesting this week, really. I think we can call it there, unless you are especially invested in head-exploding physics.” You pull a face.

“Not particularly. I can finish going over it later, anyway. Just in case.” You stretch and twist in your chair with a sigh. “Think I’ll make some coffee - can I get you a cup?”

“Are you going to use the cafetiere?”

“No, I thought the Mr. Coffee would be better. Really gets it nice and watery, just like you like.” Dark scrunches up his nose in the most totally undignified way, and god that makes you belly-laugh, bending slightly over the desk to support yourself. It breaks him, getting a real smile to curl over his face. He can be such a goofball, when he wants to be. “Of course I was gonna use the cafetiere. Who do you take me for?”

“I have to check, I have had many a disappointing cup after agreeing too eagerly. But yes, I will take one, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“None at all,” you hum, coming down from your laughing fit. You make your way out of his office but before you can turn the corner, Dark calls your name, stopping you in the doorway. You look back to him, and he seems… at ease. His hands are folded across his middle, he’s resting back in his desk chair. The ghost of a smile is still on his face. You try to bottle that moment, preserve it mentally. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. Again. And…” He hesitates for a beat, making some decision. “If you or the others would like to do something. On the day. My… sort-of birthday… I would not be opposed.”

You force your jaw to stay in place and not hit the floor. Wilford will go ballistic. You don’t know if the mustachioed ego will be able to handle the thought of throwing Dark a real birthday party - he might just explode in a haze of confetti and glitter stars. Blinking, you right yourself, finding your head nodding before you even know what it’s doing.

“I. Y-Yeah! Sure, we. We could definitely do that. Do… something.” Dark just smiles a little more fully, exhaling a laugh. “I’ll. I’ll talk to them about it.”

Holy shit.

“Wonderful. It will be nice to have a reason to have a proper party. Something to celebrate. Don’t you think?” You’re nodding again, agreeing wholeheartedly, but dazedly, too. You don’t realize you’re just standing there sort of staring until Dark tilts his head thoughtfully to one side. “Is… coffee still happening?”

“Huh?” You remember. “Oh. Oh! Shi- I mean, shoot. I mean. Yes. Yeah. I. Coffee, yes. I’m… gonna do that.”

As you beat a hasty and red-faced retreat to the kitchen, bursting with ideas, you can just make out the man giving the faintest, echoing chuckle.

---

You don’t think you’ve ever felt such pure excitement in the Manor before. The air is practically buzzing with pure, unbridled energy as you approach Dark’s office door. Downstairs, you can hear the egos making final preparations underneath Wilford’s speaking in an overly dramatic tone, giving some kind of grand speech. Likely a rallying of the troops into being on their best behavior for their de facto leader. You can’t help a smile and a shake of your head - maybe he’d take his own advice tonight.

Either way, everything is ready, so you rap on the birthday boy’s outer office door. He’d graciously locked himself away after retrieving his morning coffee so you would all have the space to prepare. Of course, he hadn’t escaped early-morning birthday wishes from you and the Host, nor a fresh-cut bouquet of flowers you two had collected for him. You’d even carried them up to his office for him, just so he wouldn’t have to touch them himself and risk draining their color. The memory of how sort of bashful he’d looked, the you really shouldn’t have energy that had rolled off him as he directed you to set them on his desk - it makes you grin in anticipation for this evening as he calls for you to enter, now.

He’s sitting by the fireplace, apparently killing time with a book which he looks up from as you enter. An inquiring look pulls his brow. “All prepared?”

“Oh yes. Your party awaits you, sir.” Dark huffs a laugh and rises, setting his book aside. He’s dressed a bit differently, still in slacks and a tie but with the addition of a waistcoat closely fit over his dress shirt, which is slightly rolled up over his forearms. Then he begins to fix them, going for his jacket, and you have to interject. “Are you really going to wear a full suit to your party?”

Dark stops, looking confused. And a little concerned. “I. Was intending to, yes.”

Oops. “I mean, you always wear a suit,” you chide as gently as you can. “They look nice, but the whole point is celebrating, relaxing a little? Besides, you look nice just like that.” Dark pauses, casting a look over himself. He absently adjusts his waistcoat, and you notice a thin chain connected to one of the buttons loops into one pocket. Has he always had a pocket watch?

“You are certain it is not too… casual.” He almost sounds worried, the poor thing. You give him a reassuring smile as you approach, picking up his jacket and folding it with care before hanging it over your arm.

“I’ll bring it down, but I think you’ll be more comfortable like that. Though you aren’t totally dressed, yet.” The man gives you an utterly baffled look, and you grin in response, bringing out a brightly colored party hat. His look sours immediately.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No. I am already being made to go down undressed, I will not go with bells on.”

Sometimes you forget he’s just a grumpy grandpa. You pull out the big guns. “Well… we’re all wearing them,” you hum, your own firmly in place. “Besides, Wilford insisted. And he’s the Decoration Czar. Self-proclaimed, but he rules with an iron fist.” Dark makes a valiant effort to hold onto his resolve, but it weakens in the face of you invoking the mustachioed man. With a soft, amorphous grumble, he pulls the elastic band of the hat under his chin.

Now that you understand a little more about how Dark and Wilford had come to be, their bond makes a lot more sense, even for all Dark’s frustrated looks shot the more light-hearted man’s way in the midst of meetings. Even before you knew the depth of their bond, Dark had always seemed surprisingly willing to go along with Wilford’s more doable requests, less inclined to irritatedly snip at him for his foolishness. As Dark adjusts his party hat in a nearby mirror (making sure his well-coiffed hair isn’t too disturbed by his headwear), you’re glad that, although Wilford may not fully be aware of it, the two of them have each other.

He drops his hands with a sigh. “I look ridiculous.” He’s positioned the cone-shaped hat directly pointing up in the middle of his head, and. Well. It looks way too proper, but very Dark all at once. You chuckle, coming close to help.

“You should see the den. It’s a wreck,” you tease, reaching for his hat, giving the man enough time to wave you off. But he doesn’t, just watching you in the mirror as you adjust it (careful of his curls) to a more jaunty angle. His aura has already absorbed the color from it, but it looks party-appropriate. More importantly, Dark seems a bit more at ease as he gets used to how it looks. You wonder if he’s ever worn a party hat in his life. “There, much better.”

“Hm. Then I suppose I am ready.”

“As you’ll ever be. C’mon, they’re all waiting.” When he turns from the mirror, you playfully offer him your arm. You think you’ll get an eyeroll, a dismissive but amused huff at best. You aren’t anticipating him looping his arm in yours and giving you this little smile that warms his eyes and has you pulling up short. He chuckles somewhat at your reaction, your lack of movement.

“I thought I was being escorted.”

“Uh. You. You are, oh, you definitely are, hold on to your socks, you’re about to experience the best escorting of your life.” Dark’s free hand comes up to help suppress the grin that threatens to split his face as you lead him from the office and down to the almost overwhelmingly decorated den. While the room is comfortably illuminated by a variety of the Manor’s most colorful lamps, the light is somewhat low and catches on the sparkling garlands heavily draped on the walls. Matching balloons bob at varying intervals and a rousing cheer goes up as you and Dark enter, a flood of grins turning your way. Music cuts on - something upbeat and jazzy - and the flock of egos quickly descends on the object of celebration, Wilford leading the charge and pressing a drink into the man’s hand after a massive bear hug. You release Dark’s arm to let the crowd of other egos at him, covering him in birthday wishes and affectionate pats on the back (their boldness inspired by Wilford, no doubt), before eagerly showing off all their preparations.

While Yancy explains the variety of possible games he’s worked up, getting a horribly wry grin out of the shadowy man at his creation of ‘pin the cravat on the Actor,’ you step back a bit to make sure Dark’s suit jacket is safely out of the way of the night’s oncoming revelry. Clearly, he’s already forgotten it, much to your pleasure. The bar is lined up with a few drink options, pre-made cocktails and bottles of wine opened to breathe, a number of elegantly arranged finger foods courtesy of resident chef Google Alpha. Carefully, you tuck Dark’s jacket under the bar in an empty shelf and before scooping up a drink of your own and tossing yourself back into the fray.

It goes a lot more smoothly than you had anticipated - everyone quickly falls into comfortable conversation, dipping into the snacks and games when it lulls. Wilford manages to keep his pants on despite threatening to provide a different kind of ‘entertainment’ at one point (and in spite of encouraging whistles from Bing and the Jims, who are quick to shove a camera in Wil’s direction). Further, Dark survives having ‘Happy Birthday’ sung to him, even blowing out the single candle in the middle of the complicated-looking tiramisu Alpha crafted.

It’s a rousing success, by all measures.

By the time you finally get a chance to sidle back up to Dark, the easy hum of the party has kicked up to a bit more of an excitable buzz as the jazz records have turned more and more swinging. Yandere and Illinois clearly know what they’re doing, beating a quick step around the open dance floor and grinning like bandits as Yancy does his best to help poor Eric get over the hurdle of not staring at your feet when you dance. The Manor feels more full than it usually does, with all of you crowded in the one room together, and you can see the warm, pure energy of it all is having a similar effect on Dark as it is on you - you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile so much, small as they are.

Another thought hits you, even better than the one that prompted this whole affair. Grinning, you quickly gesture over the nearest Google. With the music like it is, it’s hard to speak over the ruckus, but you mime taking a picture and Green gets the idea, his glasses getting a particular sheen to them so you know he’s flipping through his interface. Once he gives you a thumbs up, you gently tug Dark down by the arm and gesture in Green’s direction. “Say ‘cheese,’” you prompt, and the shadowy man pulls a face.

“I don’t think-”

“Oh, just one, Dark, c’mon,” you poke. “He’s set up and everything.” With a sort of resigned huff, the man twists and gets his free arm around you, hand resting carefully on your back as you get yours around him, bringing him in closer.

Then, almost in your ear, you hear his very dour voice say, “Cheese...” and it breaks you. You’re busting out laughing, forcing yourself not to double over or spill your drink, and over the music and your own laughter, you can hear Dark chuckling, the subsequent snap of Green’s camera feature. The latter catches the most attention, the gathered egos coming running as soon as they realize pictures are happening.

Suddenly, everyone wants in, smushing in as close as they can get to you and Dark, bickering when elbows ‘accidentally’ find soft sides and someone worms in front of someone else, Green taking pictures all the while of the ensuing chaos. Dark’s aura is starting to rouse from its relatively peaceful state when you decide it’s gone on long enough. You quickly clap and break up the worst of the infighting, getting folks arranged as best you can. By the time you finish and most everyone is settled, Dark is wearing a very betrayed look and Wilford’s heavy arm, which is hugging him quite close to his side. With a playful shrug, you pick your way back to your spot.

“I thought you said one,” he grumps softly even as you both get your arms situated comfortably around the other.

“You believed me?” His eyes get a bit wide - you trick Dark? You trick him into photograph like the child? - but you turn away with a triumphant smile. “Green, set your glasses on the bar, get in!”

The android quickly obliges, setting the timer and sliding in among his copies as he counts you down. “Okay,” you call, “everyone say ‘Darkling!’”

The cacophony of laughter and broken-up attempts at the word is something you’ll never forget.

---

Google sends you the photos the next morning, as the Manor collectively attempts to nurse minor to severe hangovers. Flipping through and marking the best ones to print and frame, you get to see the first one of the two of you.

In it, you’re hugging each other close, smiling warmly into the camera. There are garlands blurred in the background and you’re holding a fancy drink, tugging Dark into frame. That slightly embarrassed tinge is gone from his smile, but he still looks cajoled, still smiles as affectionately as he ever has. There’s no doubt he’s changed - the photo warps to try to capture his existence, red and blue fragments breaking up the image - but his expression is still warm. And you look so pleased with yourself, so amused, eyes dancing with success and joy.

Full of life.

It pulls a smile out of you.

#markiplier fanfiction #markiplier egos #darkiplier #ego fanfiction #happy birthday mister man light of my life #sorry it is late i was a pile of mental goop after exams #mad market pliers ramblings #fanfiction

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silkling · 4 years ago

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Silkling, I really love your writing. Could you please write a TFA fic of Isaac and Bulkhead bonding over growing up on farms?

You know, I always forget Bulkhead grew up on a farm. But I would be thrilled to! I hope it’s to your satisfaction!

———————————————————————————————————

Bulkhead was painting again. That in and of itself wasn’t something new. He painted a lot. What made this time different was that he was alone at the base. Sari had taken the others to something she’d called a “theme park”. He didn’t understand exactly what a park had to have to be called a theme park, but she’d told me it usually involved lots of things called “rides” and lots of games. He also didn’t understand how a ride could be fun, but then again he didn’t know what a ride was. He had a feeling that the way Sari used it, these “rides” weren’t the kind of ride that was defined by the dictionary definition of the word. She had also, helpfully, said that theme parks were always popular and the funnest part of the “rides” was the screaming. He had opted out at that point, being more confused by what exactly that weird park entailed. So, here he was. At the base, alone and painting with peace and quiet.

He rather liked it, actually. He knew Bumblebee didn’t understand, but it was moments like this Bulkhead found himself really getting Prowl. Stillness and quiet could be nice, sometimes. He was intending to do a big project today, wanting to take advantage of the rare peace to be found in their make-shift home. The others had said they’d be gone all day. He wasn’t expecting them back till close to sunset.

So when he heard a voice from the front of the base, he was rather startled. Thankfully, he didn’t ruin his painting as he jerked, and he sighed in relief before dropping the brush in the water pot. Then he turned to the voice, head tilting as it called out again. Oh, wait. He knew that voice! The large bot lumbered towards the unexpected guest, and as soon as the smaller form came into view his engine let out a soft churr of greeting.

“Hey, Professor Sumdac.” he said contentedly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

The human had turned at the sound of approaching pedes, his gaze locking on the Autobot at the soft rumble of his engine. He blinked rapidly, not having expected the largest of their alien guests to be the one to greet him. He would have thought it would be Optimus, or perhaps Bumblebee. Still, it wouldn’t do to be rude. He may have had more humble beginnings than most of his wealth, but his mother had taught him manners and he intended to use them. Besides, Bulkhead had been polite enough to come out and greet him, even though he was technically intruding on the gentle giant’s own home.

“Good afternoon, Bulkhead. It is very nice to see you. I apologize for the intrusion, but I was looking for Sari. You wouldn’t happen to know where she is, would you?” he asked hopefully.

Bulkhead only blinked a few times, looking a little surprised. “She took the others to something she called a theme park. I stayed behind. Screaming for fun doesn’t really…sound good. I’m surprised she got Ratchet to go.” he paused. “Actually, that may be because I’m pretty sure she has blackmail on him.” he added, as if to himself. Then he seemed to remember the point of the question, and he frowned at the older human. “She didn’t tell you?”

“That she’s going to a theme park or that she’s blackmailing senior alien robots?” Isaac said dryly. “She told me neither of those things.”

Bulkhead smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Professor.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m certain she would have found a way to the theme park either way. I do wish she would stop skipping her lessons, though.”

Bulkhead blinked. “I suppose. You’re very patient with her. On Cybertron, if a youngling consistently misbehaves than their creators wouldn’t be as patient.” he said offhandedly.

Isaac blinked. “Youngling? Is that your word for a child?” he asked. Then the second part of the statement caught up. “Ah, pardon me for asking, but what are “creators”? I was under the impression you are living robotic organisms, not built by someone else.”

Bulkhead hummed. “Yeah, youngling! I’m one, technically. Though I’m closer to being considered a fully grown mech than Bumblebee. I’d be considered the equivalent of a 16 year old human?” he said, running the calculations in his head. “Yeah, somewhere in that range. Bee is the equivalent of a 13 or 14 year old.” He was pretty good with math. His numbers were mostly right, or at least close enough for his point to be understood.

Isaac was staring. “You and Bumblebee…are not yet adults?” he seemed stunned.

“Nope!” Bulkhead was cheerful. “Bossbot and Ratchet are. Prowl is too, I think? He’s really private but I’m pretty sure he is. He’s older than Bossbot is, anyway.” he smiled, humming to himself. “I actually think Prime is only just considered a proper mech? Like, uh….between 19 and 21 in humans terms?” he tapped his chin with a finger, only just then noticing the open mouthed gape the professor was sending him. The large bot squirmed, uncomfortable. “Professor?”

Isaac snapped his mouth shut with a audible click, then shook his head. “You and Bumblebee-“ he cut himself off, shaking his head again before he kept speaking. “You are not yet adult on your world?” he repeated, still internally flailing over that revelation.

Bulkhead blinked. “Well, no.” he said, tilting his head. “Why?”

“Because if you’re still so young you shouldn’t have been allowed off the planet!” Isaac answered, his hands flapping with his distress.

The Autobot frowned. “Well, I’m close enough to being an adult that I’m considered capable of any type of non-combatant work. When I flunked out of the Academy that left space bridge repairs.” he said. “My creators were fine with it cause they were sure I’d be staying in Autobot space territory, and since they know how well I know space bridges they weren’t actually worried about me being in danger.”

“What about Bumblebee? You said he’s even younger than you!”

“Ah….” Bulkhead hunched his shoulders. “Bee, um. He doesn’t have creators. He wasn’t cold-forged, which means he wasn’t just placed in a protoform after Vector Sigma spat out his spark, but he was a abandoned at a Youth Center as a sparkling. A, uh, a baby.” Bulkhead explained awkwardly. He squired at the probing stare. “Please don’t make me explain Cybertronian reproduction differences. Ask Ratchet.” he said desperately. He did not want to have that discussion.

Isaac sighed. “Oh, very well.” he agreed. He didn’t want to make Bulkhead uncomfortable, after all. “So, creators…I gather they are the equivalent of human parents?” he tilted his head. “Would you mind telling me about yours?”

Bulkhead perked up. “Yeah!” he confirmed. “My creators were real proud when I joined the Academy. I’m lucky they weren’t disappointed that I flunked out. They understood.” his gaze went soft and fond. “I do miss them. I know they were a little sad I didn’t want to continue on with the family business like my older brother, but…” he shook his head. “Breakdown didn’t mind staying at the farm. I always wanted more.” he sighed. “Roadbuster and Beachcomber, my creators, were just happy I was getting the chance to do something I wanted.”

Isaac stilled. “Farm?”

“An energon farm!” Bulkhead supplied cheerily. “The farm was built on top of a really big underground energon spring. Our job was to extract it, purify it, then refine it into different grades and types of energon to be shipped out to the rest of Cybertron.” He shot a fond look around the building. “This place reminds me of the energon refinery on the farm, actually.”

Isaac blinked. “You grew up on a farm.” It was a statement.

Bulkhead frowned. “Didn’t I just say that?”

Isaac smiled. “I grew up on a farm as well, Bulkhead.”

The Autobot’s eyes quite literally lit up at that little tidbit, and he shot a glance at the small lounge area they’d put together. “Sit?” he asked hopefully. “I’d like to know about earth farms.”

Isaac nodded, leading the way and taking a seat on the himself couch while Bulkhead sat himself on one of the odd tire seats. “It was a dairy farm, primarily.” Isaac smiled. “My family raised cows for their milk and sold it to stores and at farmer’s markets.” he sounded fond as he reminisced. “We also made our own cheeses. I still have the recipes!”

Bulkhead tilted his head. “What happened?”

“I…” a pause. “I was always good with machines. I suppose that I, like you, wanted more. So I went to school for robotics and then, well…” he put out his arms. “Here I am.”

Bulkhead hummed. “…I miss the farm sometimes. Even if it was annoying to have to get up so early.”

“Ah, yes. Early mornings.” The human groaned. “I remember those. I despised them. Especially when I had cleaning duty for my morning chores.”

Bulkhead made a look it disgust. “Tell me about it. Cleaning out the energon purifiers and refiners was the worst job on the farm, but I always got stuck with it cause I was the youngest.”

Isaac hummed. “I remember the smell, even years later.”

“I remember the slime.”

He paused, unsure if he wanted to know. “…slime?”

Bulkhead nodded. “Yeah, see, when energon is being refined and when it’s being purified, the process involves removing unwanted contaminates or components at a base level.” he tilted his head. “The finished product comes out looking fine, but then it leaves a very thick, sticky slime on the insides of the machines that has to be cleaned out.” He grimaced. “I really preferred the work of extracting the raw stuff from the spring. It was really hard and labor intensive but at least it wasn’t slime.”

Isaac found himself grinning. “I was much the same with the cows. I detested mucking out the barn, so much so that I would prefer to do twice my share of the milking. That was dull work, but at least I could plan out blueprints for my projects in my head while I worked.”

Bulkhead found himself humming softly. “I liked the farm. I would have been happy there, I think. But…”

“It wasn’t what you wanted to do with your life.”

He grinned. “Yeah.” he paused. “I do miss the songs, though. And my brother, though Breakdown is probably annoyed that I missed so many calls. I miss my creators too.” he frowned. “I hope they don’t think I’ve offlined. I was in stasis for a while.”

Isaac softened, sighing and feeling something fond well up in his chest. “I’m sure they held out hope. Speaking as a parent…well, I don’t think I’d ever stop hoping if Sari were to go missing.”

Bulkhead glanced up, then smiled faintly. “Thanks, Professor.”

“You mentioned something about songs?” he asked with a smile in return, hoping to shift to topic in order to cheer up the green bot.

“Yeah!” Bulkhead brightened. “My creators had old songs that were passed down from their creators, and that they taught us. Whenever we were all working together we’d sing!” he seemed fond as he recalled the memories. “It was always really nice. When we were singing, I almost wouldn’t mind cleaning duty.” he shuddered. “Almost.”

Isaac barked a laugh. “I see! My family never had any songs, but we had recipes we shared and cooked together. We would all make dinner together after a hard day’s work. Those were my favorite moments of the day.” he sighed.

“Your parents must be proud of how far you’ve come.” Bulkhead mused.

Isaac smiled sadly. “They’re dead, Bulkhead.”

“Oh…” he reset his vocalizer. “I’m sorry.”

The human sighed. “It is alright. I have had time to mourn and grieve. And you are right. They were very proud. My father was proud even when I left the farm. He was happy to see me trying to pursue a better life. My mother was disappointed that I would not carry on the family legacy.” he sighed and tilted his head up. “But she did come to terms with it. In the end, she was happy for me and proud of all I’d accomplished.” He glanced at the Autobot, considering. “I own the farm now, though I no longer work there and I have far fewer cows. One of my cousins stays there when I am not to take care of the few cows there are, and I return with Sari during holidays sometimes.” he shot Bulkhead a warm grin. “In fact, I was going to bring her there again for the upcoming Fourth of July. Perhaps…you would like to come as well? I can show you life on a human farm in person.” he offered.

Bulkhead almost seemed to vibrate with glee at the prospect. “I’d like that a lot, Professor! And hey, if you’re ever on Cybertron, I’ll show you may farm!” he said brightly.

Isaac laughed, loud and free. He doubted that he’d ever see the alien planet, but the sentiment was still very nice. “I’d like that very much, Bulkhead. Thank you.”

Just then, he heard the sound of approaching engines, and when he looked towards the door he realized he could see the sun setting. Goodness, he and Bulkhead had been talking for hours. As the other bots stopped and transformed, Sari hopped out of Bumblebee before he did so and froze when she saw her father.

“Uh, hiiiiii, dad!” she squeaked.

Isaac sighed. “Sari, you should have told me where you were going! I was worried about you!” he scolded. “Come, we’re returning home. It’s getting late and I have the feeling you haven’t had proper food all day.” he said.

“But dad-!”

“No buts! The car is outside. Go, please.”

She groaned and grumbled, but after a quick goodbye to the others she obeyed.

Isaac turned to Bulkhead, smiling. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, Bulkhead. I enjoyed it.”

Bulkhead, for his part, merely beamed in response. “You’re welcome! I had a lot of fun! It was great to learn more about you, Professor Sumdac!”

Isaac smiled. “Please, Bulkhead. You can call me Isaac.” he said warmly.

The Autobot blinked a few times, and before smiling even more brightly. “Right. Isaac.”

Isaac grinned in response. The young bot’s joy was positively infectious. “I would enjoy talking further another time, Bulkhead. For now, I must take my leave. Goodnight!” he said, before walking out the door.

Bulkhead waved. “Goodnight, Isaac!” he called.

When the sounds of the human car had faded into nothing, Bulkhead turned to find everyone else staring at him. He smiled at his teammates, standing from his seat. “Hey guys! Did you have a good day?” he asked. Then he realized he had forgotten his painting. “Awe, scrap. You can tell me about it later! I have to go!” And then he was gone, hurrying to see if his art couldn’t be saved.

Even if it couldn’t, he didn’t mind. He’d gained a new friend today, and that was worth a thousand paintings in his optics.

Back in the main room, Bumblee could only stare after his friend. “Uhhh…what was that all about?”

———————————————————————————————————

And there it is! I hope you liked it! I gave Bulkhead a family because I wanted to, and yes his big brother is Breakdown. That means his brother-in-law is Knock Out. Ratchet is horrified when he learns this. Roadbuster and Beachcomber are very worried for their youngest. They were told he’s dead but like Isaac said, a parent never stops hoping. The team is currently very confused about what they just witnessed.

Also, poor Ratchet. Sari will never let go of her blackmail on him. How does a child get blackmail on a millions-of-years-old giant alien robot? It’s Sari. You could tell me she convinced Megatron to agree to peace purely by annoying him and I’d believe you. I love her. :D Anyway.

Until next time, folks!

#silkling request fics #request fic #tfa #transformers animated #tfa bulkhead #bulkhead #isaac sumdac #Professor Sumdac and bulkhead bond!#they’re both farm boys at heart!#Breakdown is mentioned #he’s bulkheads brother #friendship!#also please forgive my copious use of personal headcnons in this #bulkhead is a sweetie!#he’s just baby #maccadam

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