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chockfullofsecrets · 3 years

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Critical Role: The Importance of Timing, Ch 1

<<chapter navigation TBA>>

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: Jester sobers quickly, though, pouting insistently down at them.“Four is pret-ty bad, you guys.”

Kingsley nods seriously. Thus validated, she starts bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. “I think we need to punish them, Fjord!”

Caleb and Essek make the mistake of overworking themselves right before the Mighty Nein are scheduled for a reunion. Lessons are learned.

Wordcount: 3.6k (yeah, this one’s going to take a while)

A/N: making some more progress on my backlog of prompts (this one happens to be both from the most recent vote and this lovely anon prompt)! cross your fingers that this is going to be my first finished chapter fic lol

---

Caleb hardly remembers it, later.

It was evening - not particularly late, but after three near-sleepless nights time stretched into its own kind of viscous liquidity. Like a soup.

He laughed to himself at the absurdity of it, too tired for more than the barest expense of breath. Essek would know better than he, of course - he turned to him, intending to share the thought, and found a sheaf of notes thrust mere inches from his face.

“Here,” Essek said brusquely. Exhaustion did not lend itself to the usual smoothness of his speech. “I think I have it, finally - if we engrave it this way, the spell will replenish itself without interrupting conversation, yes?”

“Oh.” He took the papers, looking them over blearily - his eyes widened, a brief rush of vigor returning. “Oh, this is - oh, this is good! Let me just fabricate the surface smooth again and we can try-”

There was a crash from a location beyond the lab and therefore currently unimportant. Neither of them looked up.

The interruption, then, arrived unexpectedly.

“Hel-loooo!”came a lilting Nicodranian accent from the hall. “We got here early and you didn’t answer your door so we used our super cool magic powers to come in, and we should to-tally make a hammock themed room in the mansion tonight because I think Fjord is kind of land sick - Caleb, look at me, why do you look so terrible?”

Caleb knew the consequences of ignoring that voice. He looked up.

After hours of gazing at runes, his eyes refused to fully adjust and take in the three figures in the doorway. He squinted and managed to make out a bit of blue. “Jester?”

“They look tired right out, the poor things,” a purple blob pronounced from Jester’s right. “We haven’t missed out on an adventure, have we?”

“No,” Jester said, “Essek would never go out with his hair looking like that. Right, Essek? Aren’t you, like, super embarrassed that your hair’s all floppy right now?”

Sitting shoulder to shoulder with the floppy-haired drow in question, Caleb could just barely hear him hiss in protest at the interruption. “Leave, then, if it disturbs you so.”

Caleb blinked, starting to fumble together a sentence to dull the reprimand, and suddenly the remaining green blob resolved into Fjord as he put a hand on Caleb’s forehead and crouched to look into his eyes. “All right, it’s bedtime for you two. Jes, can you get Essek?”

“Wait-” Caleb grabbed weakly for the table, for his notes at least, but he was already being swept up in Fjord’s arms and carried bodily from the room. Essek sounded much more awake - and irate, frankly - behind him, trying to explain something, but it had been far too long since he had been anywhere near horizontal - with his head pillowed against Fjord’s bicep, he was asleep before they reached the stairs.

---

Waking is a slow process.

He is not alone - there’s a weight to being tangled up in someone else, the warm scent of closeness, and even without his eidetic memory he does not think he can ever forget the stony, moon-soaked smell of having his face buried in the crook of Essek’s shoulder.

He yawns lazily. Essek must be very tired, if Caleb is awake and he is not, and he is the better cook of the two of them anyway - although of course neither of them have any comparison to Caduceus, or Yasha now that it’s been several months since her last poisoning incident. He presses a gentle kiss to Essek’s jaw and rolls out of bed to get started with breakfast.

Or tries to, at least. His top half makes it out of bed easily enough, but the rest of him does not seem inclined to follow.

Something clanks at the foot of the bed as he narrowly hauls himself up from a quick trip to the floor. He props himself up on an elbow, halfway through another yawn, and finds himself staring down a pair of manacles hooked around his ankles.

He kicks cautiously. The chain threaded through his bed posts clanks again.

Panic begins to stir low in his gut. “Essek!”

There’s a sleepy murmur next to him. He twists to find Essek blinking awake - there’s not much else he can do, with his arms shackled above his head and his legs chained below in similar fashion. The cuffs are padded at least, stuffed with what looks to be worn handkerchiefs, and they’re both fully dressed in sleep clothes - their captors don’t want to hurt them, then, not yet.

Caleb scans the room frantically. The book he has been reading is still propped open on the bedside table, the door knob Essek had pried from an Aeorian ruin after Caleb had commented on its sparkle still proudly adorns the bathroom door, Kingsley is still leaning against the window-

He grins smugly as Caleb’s gaze snaps back to him. “Oh, good, you’re both awake. Comfy watch, but it’s ever so much more boring without the-” He pulls his hands from his pockets and rocks them back and forth. “Oh, and also the fish folk trying to kill us, those are great.”

“Kingsley?” Caleb demands. Next to him, Essek makes a shocked sound as he presumably recognizes that he cannot move any of his limbs. “What is this?”

“Oh, I can’t rightly say.” Kingsley saunters over and swings himself neatly up onto the mattress, worming between him and Essek to sit cross-legged at the center of the bed. “Wasn’t my idea, at any rate-”

“Jester and Fjord were here too,” Essek interrupts. “Is this - this is a prank, is it not?”

“Hush, you,” Kingsley smirks. “All I’ve got is that I’m to ensure you don’t make your way free with any spellcasting before Fjord and Jester get back. And to that end…”

He breaks the pause with a dramatic flourish of his arms, spreading them wide before laying a palm down lightly on each of their bellies. “I’m told this should do just fine, if the two of you care to demonstrate?”

Caleb connects the dots just a moment too late to throw himself back off the edge of the bed. “Kingsley - wait - ah!”

There was a time when it would take minutes for his mind to link the intruding sensation of touch to anything but wariness. Now, the instant Kingsley’s fingers start scribbling he’s flat on his back, pushing weakly at the offending limb and doing his best not to collapse into hysterical snickering at how much it - it -

“Tickle, tickle, magic man,” Kingsley teases, pupilless eyes aflame with mischief. “No, no, don’t bother fighting it. I’ve heard tales about those ribs of yours, you know. Especially how much you love letting Jester play with them, hm?”

“N-nein, that’s not-” Caleb tries to protest, but he’s already giggling just at the thought - Fjord and Jester are here, and he’s stuck, and Kingsley won’t stop tickling him-

Kingsley’s grin grows another satisfied inch as he turns back to Essek. “And you, stubborn - oh, are you trying to cast something? Is that what that face means?”

Essek is struggling, jaw working and face scrunched as his entire body trembles in time with the claw vibrating its way into his belly. Caleb can practically see the Misty Step brewing on his tongue, just a few short words between him and freedom if only he can get them out without laughing.

Until Jester tracks him down, that is. He hasn’t - they’ve been apart, and then in Aeor, and then working on their big project for the past few weeks, and Caleb hasn’t exactly gotten around to admitting that he might like Essek to - admitting anything, really. Or telling Essek that now that Jester knows he’s ticklish and doesn’t entirely mind it, any attempt to escape will only end in more retribution.

An oversight, in retrospect.

Kingsley purrs, apparently entirely delighted with his victim’s predicament. “Oh, come on now, you can do it! It’s been a while since I’ve seen a good magic show.” Essek shakes his head frantically, lips pressed together even as his cheeks puff with repressed giggles, and Kingsley grins all the wider. “No? Let’s see how long you last when I really start pressing your buttons, then.”

On his side and snickering helplessly, Caleb cannot help but feel a little jealous as he watches Kingsley tug up Essek’s shirt and wait for his eyes to widen in terrible anticipation. “One last chance, then? Cause I think this is really going to tickle.”

Caleb wants him to succeed, really, he does - but watching Essek try as hard as he can to curl in on himself as a single fingertip starts to rub at his navel, squirming and squeezing his eyes shut and finally barking out the first two syllables of his incantation before the third succumbs to high, squeaking laughter holds its own considerable charm. “Ahahaaaa - nooo, hehe! - wh -” He laughs a little more, shoulders shaking, and barely manages to gasp out the words. “Fjord - Jester - where -”

“Couldn’t take it? Oh, you are a ticklish thing,” Kingsley tells him, laughing when Essek’s attempt at protesting collapses into a breathless snort. “You’re wondering where they are? Really, I couldn’t say. Maybe they’ll be gone for hours, and I’ll just have to keep tickling and tickling-”

He’s focused in on Essek now, taking his other hand off Caleb to wiggle it menacingly over a defenseless armpit - Essek takes one look at the new threat and screams. “Caleb!”

Kingsley’s replaced his hand with his tail squeezing around Caleb’s thigh, and it tickles so badly and unexpectedly that Caleb would like to curl up in a ball and do some screaming of his own, but with Essek pleading for his help there’s no other choice.

He pulls himself back onto his elbows and flops into Kingsley’s lap as best he can with his legs chained, reaching blindly for ticklish spots that used to belong to Mollymauk - gasping through a new wave of laughter as the spade of Kingsley’s tail starts to poke at the soft back of his knee, he crowds his fingernails against the small of Kingsley’s back and yelps in preemptive terror as Kingsley starts to laugh and reaches for him instead. “Fjord! Jester!” he shouts. “Help!”

“Gah - oh, fuck, thahat’s - haaaa-” Kingsley flails for a moment, legs kicking out as he tries to shimmy away, but in the next moment his fingers are tickling mercilessly under Caleb’s arms and Caleb can hardly breathe, let alone keep tickling him. He flails to escape, trying to wrap his arms around himself and use them to drag himself away at the same time, but really that just means that Kingsley’s hands are stuck in his armpits now and he’s going to die-

“Right, right, I’ve learned my lesson, no ganging up on our little star,” Kingsley grumbles. Caleb gasps in breathless relief as Kingsley works his hands free - he’s facedown on the mattress, but he hears Essek shout for Fjord and Jester too before dissolving into another fit of giggles. Presumably Kingsley’s putting his tail to good use somewhere.

A hand grabs his shoulder, and he’s rolled over onto his back with his legs untwisting beneath him. He blinks up into Kingsley’s gaze, eyebrows raised in apparent dudgeon. “You, on the other hand,” Kingsley growls, as if his lips weren’t curving up into a fanged smile already, “I am absolutely going to need both hands for what I’m about to do to your ribs.”

“Mist,” Caleb sputters reflexively, and then, louder, “Fjord! Jester! FJORD!”

Kingsley’s eyebrows rise even higher. “Oh, it’s sweet that you think they’re going to help you. Unless - oh, did you want more hands?”

Caleb hardly hears the approaching footsteps over his own anticipatory squeal as he watches Kingsley’s fingers start to wander back down towards his ribs. “Nein! - eheeheh, oh gods, nein-”

But then, suddenly, blessedly, the fingers ghost lightly over his ribs and settle for spidering across his tummy instead. He wheezes in relief - half of it comes out as giggles, his nerves still on high alert, but he fully intends to enjoy breathing while he can.

He flops tiredly back, eyes tracking to the doorway as Fjord and Jester stroll in. “Sorry for the wait,” Fjord says politely. “Jester and I were just finishing up lunch. Because it’s lunchtime.”

“No rush, Captain!” Kingsley practically chirps. “We’re having a wonderful time, aren’t we, boys?”

Fjord looks completely unsurprised to find the two of them in chains. Jester is practically bouncing beside him. Caleb imagines this does not bode well for them.

Essek pipes up from behind him, metal clanking as he tries to move to see around Kingsley. “Did - heh - did we oversleep? I think the shackles are a bit uncalled for-”

“Oh,” Fjord says, low and dangerous. He’s not smiling, not yet, but Caleb can see it in his eyes and that is even worse. “Don’t mind those. It would be a shame to let the two of you leave your bedroom so soon when you haven’t seen it in days and days, wouldn’t it?”

With Kingsley still tickling at his waist, Caleb can’t even begin to coax his stomach muscles to let him sit up as Fjord and Jester cross to the bed and loom over the both of them. Jester claps her hands together, looking dangerously pleased with herself. “Do you like them?” she enthuses. “We got them from a pirate raid, because someone put our other set on a fish person that jumped right back into the ocean.”

“They were getting rusted anyway - I don’t think we collected a single one of those at sea, they’re not even waterproofed.” Fjord grumbles amiably. “These, though-”

He hooks one finger delicately through the chain connecting Caleb’s ankles to the bedpost and tugs, dragging one helpless foot just close enough to scoop up in a waiting hand. “Now these are made for some real seafaring shit. Could hold a body for as long as you want, as long as they aren’t inclined to use any magic tricks.”

Caleb tries to yank his foot back. Fjord just chuckles and leans over to stare him down, his yellow eyes warm and amused. “Isn’t that right, Caleb.”

“No magic tricks,” he gasps out through another fit of giggles as Fjord rubs a warning thumb over his sole. It’s hardly a concession - between that and Kingsley, he hardly has the breath to try anything.

“Good,” Fjord says encouragingly. He puts Caleb’s foot gently down and turns to Essek. “Now you.”

Caleb turns to look at him - from what little of Essek’s body language he can read, he looks wholly confused. “You’re not going to let us go?”

Fjord crosses his arms. “Oh, I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement. Just consider this a friendly reminder that Jester, Kingsley and I are quite capable of following any… magical exits.”

Essek visibly rallies at the mention of magic, quirking an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware you had learned how to Teleport.”

“Essek,” Caleb hisses. Fjord shushes him and stalks a single step forward, just close enough to start tickling lightly at the bottom of one purple foot.

Essek’s superior expression lasts all of a moment before his entire body starts flailing to escape the single point of contact. “Ah! No, nohoho, wahahait, I didn’t - ahaha, stop that!”

“You’re right, I can’t Teleport,” Fjord says conversationally. “Good catch, I’d kind of forgotten about that one. Jes, we’ve got some antimagic stuff on the ship, right?”

Jester interrupts herself from making increasingly dramatic faces at Essek to answer. “I think so? You know, just in case if we meet someone icky like you know who.”

“Perfect. Maybe you and Kingsley can keep Essek busy, and I’ll head back to the ship and root around for it?” He looks calmly down at Essek, kicking as frantically as he can with the few inches of leeway the shackles afford him and still completely unable to avoid Fjord’s fingers. “It’ll take a while, mind you.”

Jester perks up, dancing over and reaching for Essek’s other foot. “Yes! Kingsley, did you try his ears yet? They get all flappy and it’s really really-”

“No!” Essek rushes out, squeaking in harried protest when they still don’t stop tickling up his arches. “I - wait,” he pleads. “No! I won’t cast, I won’t!”

Fjord grins. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Alright, Kingsley, can we give them a moment?”

Kingsley removes his hands from both of them rather reluctantly. Fjord claps his shoulder in silent thanks. “Now, would either of you like to explain why we found the two of you half-dead from sleep deprivation?”

“Yeah, you guys, we were so worried!” Jester adds. “You can’t do that when we’re not around to take care of you! You guys haven’t been doing this all year, have you?”

“We’ve only met up in the last few months,” Caleb adds, wincing a little as their eyes turn to him. He sits up slowly, wincing apologetically in the direction of Essek’s wrist shackles. “But no, we have not, we are just working on this project - it is a real ficker, there are so many moving pieces - and we are nearly done, we meant to sleep last night.”

“How many days?” Fjord asks. “One? Two?”

When neither of them answer, sharing a silent look, he hovers a hand threateningly over each of their trapped feet. “Believe me, you really don’t want us to pick a number.”

“Four,” Essek says warily. “But Caleb slept for at least an hour each night, and I don’t need to-”

“Oh, four’s a lot,” Kingsley cuts in. “Did you not learn how to sleep in shifts, not being on the ocean, or do you just enjoy each other’s company that much?”

Essek turns bright red. Caleb’s pretty sure he turns even redder. Even Fjord looks a little embarrassed as Jester and Kingsley collapse into laughter.

Jester sobers quickly, though, pouting insistently down at them.“Four is pret-ty bad, you guys.”

Kingsley nods seriously. Thus validated, she starts bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. “I think we need to punish them, Fjord!”

Caleb can easily guess what this punishment will entail. “Wait a moment,” he says hastily, “we have not even told you about this project-”

“It will be worth it,” Essek adds. “If you would just let us-”

Fjord nods thoughtfully, ignoring their protests. “What do you say, a minute for each hour they should have been sleeping?”

“No-” Caleb starts.

“So that’s sixteen for Essek, and - Caleb’s been napping on and off, sounds like, so we’ll round it down to a neat half hour for him.”

Caleb gapes fearfully. A half hour of tickling, after months and months - he can admit to himself that he missed it a little, but- “That’s too much,” he blurts. “Bitte, you’ll kill me-”

“Really, this is unnecessary,” Essek adds, surprisingly dignified for the way he’s trying helplessly to press his feet against the bed. “Just - we are well rested now, we only need a few hours more to finish the project, there is no need!”

Jester pouts. “Oh, Essek, don’t you want to hang out with us?”

Essek flounders at that, and Caleb can’t help the soft smile that slips out of him. “I would like nothing more,” he assures her, “but being chained up and - and tortured - was not quite on my mind-”

“Well then, you shouldn’t have been so dumb, Essek,” she says cheerily. “Caleb, do you want me or Fjord to tickle you?”

His mouth goes dry. Jester will be - Fjord teases, but he is gentle at least, and Jester is - Jester-

He looks over at Essek, wide-eyed and eyes flicking between all of them in some strange combination of bewilderment and anticipation, and braces himself. “Jester.”

Kingsley laughs, delighted. “Oh, he must really love you,” he tells Essek. “He’s gone and given you the better option by far.”

Essek looks at Caleb, gaze softening. “Really?”

Caleb grimaces back at him, a little embarrassed by himself. “He’s exaggerating. And besides, I am not the one laid flat out here.”

Essek frowns. “Yes, about that.”

“Caleb doesn’t like having his wrists pinned down,” Jester says easily, scrambling up onto the bed and into Caleb’s lap. “Though you should know that already if you two are boning-”

“Jester,” Caleb pleads. Kingsley starts to laugh again.

She beams at him, darting in to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Hi, Caleb!”

It’s impossible not to smile back. “Hallo, blueberry.”

He looks around her to see Fjord walk over and settle on Essek’s side of the bed, patting his shoulder companionably. “It’s good to see you two, really.”

Essek just sighs.

Kingsley prods at his belly, earning a hasty yelp. “He’s in a mood, it seems. You want some help with him?”

His stomach grumbles, just then, and Fjord laughs. “Why don’t you get some lunch instead,” he suggests. “We’d have brought something up, but the screaming sounded rather urgent.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Kingsley cocks a loose salute and swings back off the bed with one more tickle under each of their arms, snorting in amusement as Caleb and Essek both squirm and protest. “The others should be arriving soon, I’ll keep a weather eye on the door.”

“Yes, do that,” Fjord says, waiting for him to round the corner and start down the stairs. “That guy is really into sea lingo.”

“Kingsley is great,” Jester enthuses. “Don’t you guys think he looks so much prettier now that he’s all tan?”

She’s not wrong. “Ja, sure.” Caleb says. “By the way, what exactly did the two of you tell him about-” He flushes. “About my ribs?”

“Oh, you know, just some stuff!” Jester says cheerfully. “Most of it is definitely not true by now, probably, since it’s been a super long time since we’ve seen you.”

She puts both of her hands on Caleb’s shoulders and presses, sending him flat on his back and leaning over with a mischievous smile. “Good thing we have a whole half hour to catch up, huh?”

Caleb gulps.

#tickling #critical role #shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #kingsley tealeaf #fjord #jester lavorre #chocfic

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leviaju · 4 years

Text

forgiveness

pairing: belphegor x GN! reader, hints of everyone x reader

words: 8.1k+

genre: angst, fluff at the beginning and a bit at the end if u squint

warnings: mentions of mc and lilith’s death, foul language

preview: “I’m sorry,” He begins, voice much weaker than anticipated. “I know that will never cut it, and it will never be enough, but I’m sorry.”

“You’re right, Belphegor. It won’t cut it.”

hey guys what up. so... i’ve done a lot of thinking about belphegor’s dynamic with MC, and, like many others, was really bothered by the sudden switch after... he killed them. u know. typical stuff. i wanted to fill in the gaps!!! if im being completely honest, this has sat in my wips for.... like half a year. it’s my first time writing for obey me, so i hope that everyone’s not too terribly ooc LOL

anyways yeah. i mention how belphegor killed mc a couple of times, so proceed with caution! hopefully, if i get any ideas, the next stuff i write will be a lot lighter. hope you enjoy! (also requests r open soooooooo)

The weight on your chest crushed your rib cage, threatening to snap your bones like they were nothing more than twigs. All you could see was the pitch black of eternal night, and whether your eyes were opened or closed you couldn’t tell. What commanded your attention was the searing pain in your lungs, growing exponentially every half-second, and the unrelenting grip that was slowly shattering your esophagus. No matter how hard you struggled, squirmed and fought against the weight holding your body down, there was no use. It was pointless. The pain spread from the raging fire in your lungs to the tips of your fingertips, and everywhere felt as if you had been set aflame. Slowly, a light illuminated the force keeping you down.

You couldn’t make out much, save for the cackle that rang insufferably through your ears, and the intense eyes that were staring you down.

They held no remorse.

Bones ache as you rest against your bed, finally allowing the tension in your muscles to melt away. You’d never mistake this feeling for regret of a busy day, having spent so much time with the people you care about, but it certainly took its toll on you.

It began with Satan, who’d asked you the night before to accompany him on an early morning walk. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence — he’d invite you to join his morning routine on every day off, and you’d never refuse — hence, at the wonderful time of 7:00am, you were venturing around the Devildom, hand in hand with the Avatar of Wrath. The two of you would walk, occasionally resting on a park bench for longer than either of you would like to admit, for about an hour and a half before you took an official break. The time was filled with pleasant chatter and comfortable silence. Every so often he’d squeeze your hand, and when you’d look over, the fondest of smiles crossed his face. It was a reminder of how glad he was that you joined him.

At around 8:30, he took you into a café for breakfast, and two of you spent only about thirty minutes there chattering away happily. For the most part, he was vividly and excitedly discussing a book he’d just finished the night before…

Until you were interrupted.

“Hello, lovely!” Asmodeus wrapped his arms around you from behind, just before pressing a kiss on your cheek. Satan sighed, resting his head in his hand as he watched the interaction.

“My selfish older brother’s been hogging you all morning, I couldn’t help but want to whisk you away!”

Despite the glare Satan was sending his way, Asmodeus took a seat next to you, happily engaging in conversation as he completely ignored his brother. He told you that the mall was opening in about an hour, and Asmo desperately wished to get his perfectly-manicured hands on a new makeup product being revealed that day.

“But of course I can’t go alone! How positively dreary that would be.” His fingers twined with yours as he looked at you hopefully, and you ran your thumb across his hand. A sheepish smile crept its way onto your lips, and you looked over at Satan. He simply nodded, flicking his hand as a gesture for you two to leave, and Asmodeus didn’t hesitate. He was quick to stand and pull you with them, holding tight to you as he whisked you away. You called out to Satan, now alone at the table with a reluctant smile on his face as he waved goodbye.

“Thanks for breakfast! Get home safe!”

You almost missed the chuckle that left his lips, the café door closing behind you.

Asmodeus kept you until noon. He got a hold of the lipstick he wanted almost right away, but insisted on buying an outfit to match the colour. Regardless of what you’d initially thought, the outfit wasn’t for him.

“Oh, we’ll look positively stunning together!” He exclaimed after about two hours of forcing you in and out of changing rooms, putting his hands all over you to “adjust the clothing” as he deemed necessary. Near the end, you could feel soreness deep in your muscles creeping in from such an active morning, but Asmodeus’ cheery face and constant flirtations helped you forget about it almost completely.

It wasn’t until you got home that you truly felt the effects of on-and-off walking since early in the morning. Be that as it may, your stomach was growling, loudly reminding you that it was now past lunch. As much as you wished to give up on food for the time being and instead head to your room to collapse, the pain in your belly was enough to urge you to cease any arguments, instead ready to try and ignore the ache in your bones in order to quell the angry rumbling of your stomach.

Unfortunately, when you finally made it to the kitchen, there was no food prepared. Instead, what you found was a dejected Beelzebub, frowning softly as he once again was at the receiving end of a lecture from the eldest of his brothers. As quiet as possible, you snuck into the kitchen, trying to listen in on their conversation.

There was silence, followed by a sigh.

“It’s easier to simply ask what’s going on as opposed to trying to eavesdrop, MC.”

You jumped, then bashfully made your way into the kitchen, a sheepish grin on your face. Lucifer was rubbing his temple.

“Beelzebub was supposed to be on lunch duty, but ended up ‘taste-testing’ to the extent that he ate it all. Again.” Lucifer sighed. The typically perfect eldest brother was being run ragged, if the bags forming under his eyes told you anything. “So, instead of working on the papers I have to get finished for tonight, I’m stuck making lunch while he cleans up.”

Beelzebub’s frown tugged at your heartstrings, and in spite of the exhaustion clawing relentlessly at your bones, you relented.

“Why don’t I help? Four hands are better than two,” you proposed, and a small smile graced Lucifer’s face. He lifted his hand to brush the disheveled black hair out of his face, and your chest ached just a bit at the sight. You made a mental note to drag him to bed for a nap the next time you saw him like this.

“That would be more than welcome. Please, if you may.” Already you turned to start working, but Lucifer’s voice made you pause.

“But no feeding Beel. He’s eaten more than his fill already, he can wait until we’re all done.”

Needless to say, every so often you’d slip Beelzebub a piece of chopped vegetable or cooked meat, and he’d very happily (but quietly!) munch away, his expression radiating warmth and joy. And Lucifer, who seemed to almost be omniscient at times, never once mentioned it. Once the three of you were done cooking, Lucifer placed his hand on your head, patting you gently.

“Good work, MC. I must leave now, but I trust that the two of you will be able to clean everything up. Your help was much appreciated. You will be paid back in kind for all of your hard work.”

If nothing else, the slight blush on Lucifer’s face as he ever-so-gently pressed his lips to the crown of your head was more than enough payment.

“Thank you.” Beelzebub cleared his throat, washing the dishes as you dried them. “I… Thanks for helping. And feeding me.”

His smile warmed your heart, and you nodded, bumping your arm with his gently. The small bit of pink that dusted his cheeks compelled you to coddle him, but you resisted the urge. Barely.

“Anytime, big guy.”

After you ate lunch, the only thought in your mind was the prospect of curling up under your covers and passing out. The fretful, broken sleep the night before wasn’t helping at all in keeping you awake, and that on top of the rest of the day’s events had you yearning for the feeling of your pillows.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t even made it through the door when your phone began to blow up, one notification after the other in quick succession.

GGKKJFLFJG

CMOE QUIC K

PLS

SUPE R RARE EVENT IN MONONONOKE

PELASE

YOU HVE TO BE PARTNERED WIHT SOMEONE TO GTE THE PRIZE

PL E A S E

HURRYHURRYHURRYHURRYHURRYHHHUUURRRRRYYYYYYYYYYY

You found yourself in Leviathan’s room, sat in his lap as he explained the event to you. Your half-asleep brain did its best to keep up with his quick speech, but that, along with the warmth of his chest against your back, became the most soothing lullaby.

“Hey! Normie! I agreed to let you sit here so I could easily help you through the event, but if you’re going to fall asleep on me, I’m pushing you off—“

“I’m awake! I’m awake.

...Now, what was I supposed to do?”

The unintentional giggle that escaped your lips at his expression caused Leviathan to huff, exasperated, despite the flush of his face. Diligently, however, he thoroughly explained the event, for the second time, and the method to obtain the rare prize: a level 2000 I’m Going To Murder You So Hard That You’ll Come Back To Life Just To Die Again Death Sycthe, the strongest weapon ever released in the game. It was a partner event, which explained Leviathan’s desperate and urgent request for aid. You didn’t mind though. While yes, you’d probably never be able to get to his level of gamer, you were more than happy to go along for the ride. It made him happy!

Leviathan rested his chin against your shoulder as he played on his phone, focused to such a degree that the usually easy-to-fluster demon was completely unphased by your proximity. Your phone, set to AutoFight, rested untouched near Leviathan’s leg, abandoned on the floor. You watched him expertly take out enemies that would have one-hit KO’d you through heavy eyelids, and every time he beat a wave of enemies, his attention would momentarily avert from the screen, looking at you from the corner of his eye expectantly. A kiss on his cheek was more than enough to motivate him to continue on, albeit with a pink glow on his cheeks until his attention was once again completely wrapped up in the game at his fingertips.

“Levi! I said open up, goddamnit!”

The pounding against the door was enough to distract Leviathan from his game, subsequently killing his character in the process. He groaned, cursing the demon who interrupted the two of you as he gently lifted you off of his lap, before getting up to open the door.

“The hell do you want?!”

To be completely honest, you were so wrapped up in watching Leviathan play his games that you had forgotten about your weekly movie night with Mammon, who had come over to his younger brother’s room to drag your ungrateful ass back to your own. Leviathan had cleared the event in Mononoke Land hours ago, but not wanting you to leave just yet, invited you to keep watching him play. Setting aside how tired you were, how could you say no? You’d wanted to spend time with him, too.

Unfortunately, you lost track of time, and your phone, battery completely drained from the event, rested uselessly in your pocket. A consequence of this happened to be missing the countless messages and calls Mammon had sent your way, before he began his hunt for you throughout the house. The last place he checked was, of course, Leviathan’s room.

“Come on, human, I ain’t got all day. No one keeps the Great Mammon waiting!”

“Except for MC,” you heard Leviathan mumble under his breath, and a laugh escaped you before you had the chance to slap a hand over your mouth. Mammon flushed deeply, before striding into his brother’s room.

“Hey, wait, you moron! I never said—!”

The force of Mammon throwing you over your shoulder wasn’t enough to hurt, but it certainly was enough to leave you breathless for a moment. “Let’s go, fragile human. I picked the perfect movie already.” Mammon’s words came out in a bashful mumble, but he had enough courage to lift his head and smirk at Leviathan as he carried you out of the room. All you could do was smile apologetically at the blue haired demon before Mammon turned, bringing you out of sight.

Mammon was all complaints as he carried you to your bedroom, but you knew it came from a place of love. Even though he’d never admit it, you could tell he was hurt by you unintentionally ignoring him. Because of this, instead of demanding he let you down, you allowed him to hold you like this, not a single complaint leaving your lips.

When he brought you to your room, you were set on the bed you’d missed dearly and he went to put the movie in the player.

“Hey! No sleepin’ on me, alright? I wanna watch the movie with ya, and I can’t if you’re passed out, now can I?”

And so here you are now, bed frame creaking as Mammon climbs onto the mattress. Rubbing your eyes, you nod, and lean into him once he gets close enough for you to.

“Seriously, I’m gonna hafta have a serious talk with Levi,” Mammon grumbles, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you in so that you’re almost in his lap. He pulls the blankets over the two of you as you rest your head on his chest, and hum quietly in return. “He used up all your energy, and now we won’t be able to get to enjoy the movie as much! Honestly…”

The vibrations of Mammon’s words can be felt through his chest, and you simply cuddle into him more and try to train your bleary eyes on the television screen. The Avatar of Greed shuts up completely when you take his hand in yours and press a gentle kiss to it, before doing your best to focus on the movie. As time passes, however, the idea of giving into your whims grows more than tempting, and oh-so-easy for you to do.

“Hey! Yo, MC! Seriously… You’re hopeless.”

A chiding, yet gentle voice draws you from the confines of rest. You puff air from your nose in response, cuddling closer to whatever it was that had been so comfortable in the first place.

“MC… Come on. Ya gotta wake up, ya didn’t even watch any of the movie! It was really good, y’know.”

Mammon’s hand rubs circles on your back as you mumble incoherently, a noise to acknowledge the fact that he‘s been talking, and that you are indeed awake now.

It takes a good amount of time, as well as some gentle encouragement from Mammon, to get you to finally open your heavy eyes, and even longer for you to be able to apologize to him for missing out on the movie he was so excited to watch. He pouts a bit, but the blush on the highs of his cheeks lets you know that he didn’t mind all that much. You smile and yawn, and his chuckle resonates in your ears.

“I gotta go now, otherwise Lucifer’s gonna kill me for staying so late. Sorry I woke ya up, but ya look so tired now that you’ll probably fall back asleep right away.”

And so, after a quick goodbye and a kiss on the cheek (which made Mammon turn the prettiest shade of red), you close your door and… sigh. If you had been able to stay asleep, the fact that you aren’t in pajamas and haven't brushed your teeth wouldn't be that much of an issue. Now that you‘re slightly more conscious, however, it’s hard to convince yourself to simply climb back into bed. Your breath is bugging you a bit, and the jeans you’re wearing certainly aren’t at all as comfortable as your pajama pants. For that reason, to your own dismay, you begin getting ready for bed — properly this time.

A small “finally…” tumbles from your lips after you finish your nighttime routine. Lacking any form of grace, you plop into bed once more and pull the blankets to your chin, nuzzling into the pillow. Your bed still smells like Mammon’s cologne, and you hum softly to yourself before closing your eyes and waiting for sleep to take over once more, and hold you hostage until late in the morning.

Alas, sleep seemed to be evading you now, similar to how you had ignored it during the day. The mattress you lay on simply isn't comfortable anymore, and the blankets that hug your body cause you to overheat. Unfortunately, if even one limb is out of the blanket, you get so cold you start shivering. None of your typical sleeping positions are anywhere near as effective as they typically are, and you’re left to wrestle with sleep alone, hoping to beat it into submission so you can finally get some proper rest.

After about 45 minutes of tossing and turning with no results, you finally relent. The nap you’d taken while watching the movie royally fucked you over, and you groan. Eventually you decide to give up on trying to fall back asleep, and huff as you sit properly on your bed.

Blanket dragging behind you as it drapes from your shoulders, you slowly make your way through the silent hallways of the House of Lamentation. The only sounds floating through the walls were the light buzz of electricity running through the wiring of the house, and your own footsteps as you began walking up one of the many staircases in the large building.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been walking, the passage of time different at night to a hazy mind, but eventually you arrive at your favourite area in the house, second only to your lush bedroom. There are no artificial lights, only the gentle cast of the night sky providing the ideas of shape in the planetarium. You’ve never seen stars so vibrant and bright, and there are so many more in the Devildom than anywhere you could go back home. Even though the only light comes from the stars, it’s enough to create soft, fuzzy edges around everything in the room; this includes the bundle of various blankets mussed in the centre of the floor. Slowly, cautiously, you make your way towards the pile.

Since you’d arrived in the Devildom, the planetarium at the top of the House of Lamentation became your safe haven. Your room, without a lock on the door, was way too easy for intruding demons to enter without permission, and on nights when everything became too much for you to handle, you’d head up to the planetarium to clear your mind. There’s just something so calming about a starry sky on a clear night that releases you of your fears and anxiety, and helps you get a grip on the situation around you.

After freeing a certain someone from their attic-based captivity, however, you learned that the planetarium was a place favored not only by you. Since he’d been freed, you’d been kind, but there were still fears plaguing your mind, reminding you of everything that has transpired between the two of you. It’s something that you can’t escape, following you even - especially - in your sleep, when you wished you’d be the most at peace. It makes sense, considering the sin he embodies, but you wish it wasn’t like that nonetheless.

Once you’d learned that this was one of his favourite rooms in the house, especially on nights when he can’t fall asleep, you found yourself avoiding this area. It’s not that you hate him; it’s the opposite, really. Nevertheless, you can’t help but feel the tightening of his fingers around your neck, and the burning sensation in your lungs that’s screaming for oxygen, and the desperation to alleviate the seer of deprivation.

Still, you trek on. Closer and closer to the pile of blankets, your gut cries to you to run away. You ignore it. The nearer you get to the nest of blankets, the faster your heart beats, the more lightheaded you feel. But you continue.

Eventually you get close enough to make out the shape of a familiar pillow, the cow print on the case worn and well-loved. From the moment you walked in the room, you knew he was here. All the same, you walk on, and the only sounds in the room are the gentle taps of your clothed feet against the tile, and the quiet noises of your quickened breaths.

You’ve avoided being alone with him since… Since you… Since the event. Your heart screamed at you to forgive him, to love him just as much as you love his brothers. That said, there’s nothing in you that can stop your stomach from churning whenever he gets too close.

Butterflies beat aggressively within your heart and stomach, and it’s years before you get within his range of sight, but you sit down on the floor, holding the blanket tight to your body.

There’s one beat,

two beats,

three beats of silence before you can hear him sucking in a breath through his teeth. In your peripheral you can see his lips parting, closing, parting again as he tries to find the words. He heard you walk in, and was pleasantly surprised when you didn’t immediately bolt in the opposite direction. However, this proximity leaves him with an entirely new predicament. He wants to talk to you, he wants to laugh and joke with you the way his brothers do, but one look at your face and he notices the dark bags under your eyes, and the frown that tugs at your lips as you stare up at the stars. He can hear your heart racing, and feel his own in the tips of his fingers. He opens his mouth again, but the crack in his voice betrays his usual collected personality.

“I’ll go,” Belphegor begins, begrudgingly starting to gather his blankets. His body freezes when his eyes pass over your figure and you’re looking right at him, through him, and he swears he can feel the blood in his veins stop pumping. Your expression is unreadable, almost scary, and he’s never in his life been in fear of a human until this moment.

The seconds pass as years do, both of your bodies chilled to the bone but neither of you able to look away. In the end, the one who casts their gaze somewhere else is you, and he exhales loudly.

“Don’t.”

Your reply is simple, but he’s stuck in place. Slowly, he nods, sitting down again the way he had been prior, and pulling his beloved pillow close to his chest. He can’t breathe, the tension suffocating. It doesn’t help that now you refuse to look at him.

“... If you want,” he replies dumbly, staring at the floor. He feels trapped in place, afraid to move and scare you off. Despite every nerve in his body screaming at him to leave you be, he stays. You told him to, after all. Slowly, you sit down, his blankets creating a low wall between the two of you.

It’s only now that he gets a good look at you. You're tired, he knows, watching as your eyelids droop and your lazy movements when you get more comfortable under your blanket, but there’s more to it than just that. You seem so fragile, like sugar glass, breaking with even the slightest amount of pressure. He feels he can reach over and shatter you with the gentlest of touches, and that thought alone roots him in place. Since you came back, he’s never seen you without a smile. Your genuine smile was the prettiest, he decided rather early on, one that lights up your face and brightens those around you. Belphegor really, truly loves your smile.

He knows there was a point in time, not long ago, where he could have made it so no one saw it ever again. He can’t help but be grateful he didn’t succeed when he sees you smiling at his brothers.

That’s never the smile you show him though. It’s not for lack of effort; you certainly try, and he loves you for that. But the smile you show him is always plastered on, and he knows you’re doing it for his sake. With Belphegor, your smile never reaches your eyes. Be that as it may, you’re never weak around him. Fake smiles prove exactly how strong you really are, but your heart races every time he enters the room. As much as he wishes your palpitations are out of excitement, he knows better than to give himself false hope.

That’s why he’s so taken aback when he looks you over and you seem so vulnerable. Never, not in a million years, would he ever let himself believe that you’d allow yourself to look weak in front of him, not after what he did. Even so, here you are, shaking, knees drawn into your chest, and his heart soars because you’re showing him a new side to yourself. It aches at the knowledge that you’re feeling so vulnerable because of him.

His eyes burn holes in the side of your head. You know he’s watching you, studying you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Not when the hands he uses to pull the blankets over his body are the exact same ones that led you to your untimely and violent demise, and not when every time you look at his face, you can also see Mammon’s above you, sobbing as he tries to will you not to fade away into nothingness.

There’s no putting it nicely. You were murdered, and Belphegor was the one who killed you. As much as he tries to pretend it never happened, to act around you the same as his older brothers do, you would never forget. Neither would he, regardless of the effort he puts into pushing the memory out of his mind. His chosen way of coping was to laugh with you, to get close and have you forgive him without acknowledging the situation. It was too painful to talk about, after all. He willingly, happily snuffed out the life of someone his brothers love, and someone he’d find himself loving too. You became someone who changed him, helped him grow and be better. It was easier, simpler to act as if you’d met him the same way you’d met any of his brothers.

Belphegor killed one of the last remaining parts of his past, a part that, while once warm and light, mutated and infected him, causing his anger to grow out of control, like a weed that suffocates any flower that tries to flourish. He killed a descendant of his sister, and the fact that you’re here now is more of a second chance than he thinks he could ever deserve in all his millenia of living.

And yet, here you are. Scared and shaking, but here. The silence has stretched on for longer than he’d like; he wants to be able to love you, openly and happily, but knows it won’t happen. It can’t, unless he does what he thought was the very last thing he’d do.

“I’m sorry,” Belphegor begins, voice much weaker than anticipated. He can hear your heartbeat pick up, and he curses himself mentally. Your lip between your teeth, you remain silent. His nerves force him to speak more.

“I know that will never cut, and it will never be enough, but I’m sorry.”

There’s more silence. He feels like he can’t breathe, the tense atmosphere forcing its way around his throat and tightening its grip. He doesn’t know how long it takes you to even contemplate replying, let alone allow yourself to respond. Belphegor’s ears ring almost deafeningly loud. He can’t take it.

“You’re right.”

His eyes, which he trained to the ground, dart up to your profile once more. You pause, wetting your lips.

“You’re right, Belphegor. It won’t cut it.”

There’s not enough time to process your words before he really, really looks at you. Almost fearlessly, you meet his eyes.

Almost fearlessly.

The shaking of your hands betrays the strength of your voice. Belphegor’s chest aches.

“But…”

There’s a pause as you speak. He can’t look away again, even as your eyes meet the stars once more. There’s no chance he’ll miss a word you say, even if it tears him apart.

“It’s… it’s really difficult. I know you know that, but…”

Each time you pause, Belphegor’s mind begins storming. He can’t figure out what you’re going to say, or how you’re going to react, and it drives him crazy. He’s usually so good at reading people, but you’re an enigma. It sends a chill down his spine.

His throat is caught. Even if he had words to say, they wouldn’t be able to come out. So he sits in silence as you find your own.

“I don’t want you to feel worse than you do.” You lick your lips. “Or maybe I do? I… I really don’t know. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about you, Belphie.”

The nickname tugs at his heart, more than he could ever admit. He wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to do anything other than look at your melancholy face, knowing he’s the problem. He wants to run and hide, to sleep forever. He can’t, though. Not when you’re here. Not now.

Knuckles turn white as he clutches desperately onto his pillow. His breath shakes as he draws in air.

“I want to love you. I want to love you as much as I love your brothers, and care about you as much as I care for them…”

You struggle to find the words.

“... But it’s hard.”

You curse your lack of eloquence. Now, of all times, when your words are the only thing that enable you to communicate how you truly feel, they fail you. This might be your only chance to ever properly show Belphegor how you feel, what makes you so conflicted every time he walks into the room with a smile on his face, and yet all you can say is “it’s hard”. Obviously.

A breath finds its way into your lungs, and the sound of your lips parting in the otherwise silent planetarium echoes in your ears.

You continue.

“It’s hard because every time I see your face, or I hear your voice, or I-”, you falter, heart catching in your throat, “or you touch me, I can’t help but be reminded of what happened.”

Belphegor doesn’t dare tear his eyes away from your form. The grief that settles into his face perfectly matches your own, eyebrows upturned and bottom lip quivering just the slightest bit. Even the trembling of your hands is replicated in his own. He’s never seen you like this, so incredibly vulnerable, and it tears him apart inside to know that he is the cause of it.

A shuddery breath comes from Belphegor, and you fight your instincts to check if he’s okay. You know he isn’t.

The silence deafens you, thundering in your ears so harshly that you're tempted to place your hands at the side of your head to muffle how quiet it is. You don’t, however, and whether it’s because you don’t want to look crazy, or because you’re afraid you might shatter if you move, you’ll never know. Do you want him to talk? Do you want him to say anything? Do you want an apology?

If you had an answer for that, you’re sure that things would have patched themselves up much quicker than this. You caution a glance at Belphegor, and the weight pressing down on your chest gets heavier at his expression. It feels almost as if you can inhale the guilt he feels, the emotion radiating off of him in waves.

“I… Logically, Belphie, I get it.” Again with that cursed nickname. Usually, hearing it from your lips makes Belphegor feel warm and goddamn near giddy, but now it only seemed to drive the knife in his gut further.

“I understand what happened and why you did it. I may not agree… but I get it, you know?” You swallow.

“In the end, I’m still here. And… and I’ve come to learn that you’re nothing like that anymore. You’ve grown, and changed, and the guilt and anger that consumed you took control, and that's why you-- that’s--”

You pause, clutching the blanket around you to try and ground yourself. The shakiness in your voice is not missed by Belphegor, and even if it had been, there’s no way he’d be able to ignore the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. Slowly, subconsciously, one of your hands comes up to rest against your neck, a phantom of the grasp that once threatened to crush you.

“S-So… I understand why you did it. And I’m alive, and we’re friends, so it should all be okay, right?” Belphegor casts his glance away.

“But Belphie… as much as I want to forgive you, I also know that I’m never going to be able to forget what happened. It’s there in my dreams, and it’s there in your smile, and it’s there every single time your arm brushes mine and I flinch like a total loser.”

A weak chuckle makes its way out of your chest, and the halfhearted smile that follows forces a tear from your eye. You’re quick to wipe it away, hopefully quick enough so that it goes unnoticed by Belphegor.

It does.

What he does notice, however, is the frustration that holds tight to the edges of your sentences. The frustration is not directed at him, no. You would be yelling if that were the case, and maybe that would be easier for him to hear. No, this frustration is directed at yourself. You’ve been trying so hard, and all Belphegor has been doing is running away. His teeth dig so hard into his bottom lip, trying desperately not to show any anger he feels at himself, that he tastes iron.

“And then we became all buddy-buddy, you know? Like I was never lied to, or used, or manipulated, or-- or--”

Belphegor is torn from his self-pity when you continue, and he almost wishes you’d stop speaking. The thought that you might break him with your words has him shaking, and a feeling similar to fear courses heavily through his veins. Please, stop. He wants to go back to running away.

But you continue, as you always have.

“And I’m left not knowing how to feel. I’m so mad at myself for being such a coward and not being able to just get over it like everyone else, and I’m so fucking pissed that I can’t just exist around you like I do for everyone else. I mean, I used to be terrified of Lucifer, too.” Another fragile laugh, and you sweep the hair from your eyes with a shaky hand. Belphegor swallows hard.

“But I… I can’t pretend like nothing happened. As much as I want to be near you, and hug you, and take naps and play pranks on Luci with you… I can’t. I can’t act as if what I feel isn’t real, and what you did didn’t happen. It’s so hard, Belphegor.” You sigh, and finally look at him once more. He can’t meet your gaze, slumped over himself and hugging his pillow so tight to his chest it seems as if he wishes to disappear into it. “Especially because I really, truly want to understand why everyone loves you so much. And I want to love you, too. I want to know why Beel smiles every time you’re brought up in conversation, and I want to smile just the same. But… But right now, I can’t.”

Talking has gotten easier. The words that used to escape you have become accustomed to being used again, and confidence has restored in your gut. You sit a bit straighter as you watch Belphegor carefully, a sad smile lifting your cheeks.

Belphegor knows that this is when he should swoop in, say something so intellectual that you’re caught off guard, and he can save you from… himself. This knowledge does nothing to save him from himself. He can’t even open his mouth to mime a sentence, let alone actually speak. The thought of how pathetic he must look settles under Belphegor’s skin, and he can feel his irritation rising. Not at you though, never at you. Not even when… When it all happened. His anger was misplaced, but he has never been angry at you.

Finally, when the quiet becomes too much, he forces himself to meet your gaze. The way you look at him, just as vulnerable and bare and scared as he is… he feels safe. He knows, even though your words sear his heart, that you never mean to hurt him, especially now. You’re being honest, and simply expect the same from him.

Belphegor inhales a deep breath, before willing himself to speak.

“I thought--” he croaks, and quickly clears his throat. Fuck. “I thought that if… if I could pretend that nothing happened, then I wouldn’t have to face any consequences.”

He curses audibly. Just how pathetic can he sound? Belphegor’s voice is hoarse and quivering, and weak. “Weak” is never a word that he would have used to describe himself, but now it echoes hauntingly against the confines of his skull. One of the most powerful demons in existence, and he finds himself quaking before a mere human. He cares for you, though, and he cares for you viciously. Something in Belphegor knows that he’s never going to be able to prove that to you unless he pushes his way through this.

So he forces himself to continue, even with every cell in his body desperately screaming at him to stop.

“I did what I did out of a place of guilt… and regret. I couldn’t stand the fact that it was because of me, that it was my fault, that I’m the reason that Lilith--”

Belphegor stumbles over his own words, and he sets down his pillow before he accidentally tears a hole through it. Instead he braces himself on the cool floor, in need of something steady to hold onto. This whole conversation shook him to the core. He can hardly believe he’s talking about his sister. She’s a topic that he’s avoided even around Beelzebub…

But if Belphegor ever wants even the possibility that you’ll forgive him, he knows he has to. Everything is on the line. His blunt nails press against the tiles and he focuses on steadying his voice.

“I couldn’t accept that it was my fault.” A newfound steadiness weaves its way around his words, and he finds himself sitting a bit straighter. “I’m the one who introduced her to the human world, and kept bringing her back. I’m the reason she suffered, and why the war started, and why we fell, and why she…” Belphegor coughs. “In the end, I couldn’t accept that I’m the one who killed her.

Your heart yearns to tell him that no, he’s wrong, it’s not all his fault. You know it won’t help right now, though, and that it isn’t your time to speak. Settling back a bit, you let your blanket fall from your shoulders.

Belphegor’s heart stutters, and pounds so hard that he feels like it's trying to tear through his chest. Even so, he doesn’t miss the way your hand reaches out to smooth over his own, and for a moment he feels himself wanting to melt just from the simple touch.

Belphegor pulls away. He doesn’t deserve your comfort, not yet.

“So… So when you said that you’re a descendant of Lilith, I-- I couldn’t help myself. I jumped at the chance to get to know you, learn about what makes you similar and what makes you different. Her blood flows through your veins, and I was quick to ignore what I did in favour of getting to know you, and… and inevitably, becoming just as fond of you as my brothers… but that can’t erase what I did.”

The feeling of understanding floods you and you find yourself nodding at his words. To be completely honest, even now, you’re scared. Your heart beats for many reasons, fear one of them, but you don’t run away. Not anymore. You couldn’t bring yourself to even if you wanted to.

Your hand, abandoned next to Belphegor’s, lay dormant. The need to comfort wills you to once again place your hand on his, but you don’t move. When he’s ready, if he ever is, you’ll be there.

Just as he’ll be there for you.

“I killed you, MC. And in doing that, I killed Lilith. Again.”

Countless emotions storm their way through Belphegor’s conscience, despair clawing at his throat, regret snapping his back, and guilt slowly crushing him under its weight. How is it that one can feel so empty, and yet so filled to the brim with misery?

“And not only that, but if I succeeded… I would have completely missed out on getting to know you, and caring about you as much as I do now. It would have been a loss that I never would have understood, but know for a fact that I would have felt. Even… Even when I was proud,” he spits out the word as if it’s poison, “of what I’d done, watching my brothers’ hearts break at the sight of your body… Even then, I felt it. The ache. It’s so fucking stupid.”

His tone, now bubbling with anger, stills you. It’s not directed at you, and you know this, but despite yourself, you freeze. Belphegor notices, and quickly clears his throat, relaxing his shoulders. He allows your heart a moment to slow as he regains his composure, and you find yourself breathing again.

“I know that me saying sorry is never going to cut it.” Belphegor turns his body to fully face you. He’s no longer running from his feelings, or from you. He knows he can’t anymore. Hesitantly, he lifts his trembling hand to place over yours. The muscles in your fingers tense, and he pauses to gauge your reaction. When you slowly nod your head once, he delicately places his hand on yours, using his thumb to gently begin massaging the tension away. “And I know that even if I do everything right from here on out, that there’s a chance that you won’t ever forgive me. And I understand why.”

Your heart sinks at his expression, his gaze locked on your joined hands. As aloof as he normally is, you can see none of that on his face now. When you turn over your hand he quickly pulls away, but your shaky movements to bring his hand back and intertwine your fingers urges him to go on.

“But I want to try. And really try this time. I want you to be honest with how you feel, whether I’m frustrating you or scaring you or anything like that, and… and I want to be honest with you too. I…”

Belphegor trails off, but you squeeze his hand. He draws in a slow breath.

“No matter what happens, no matter how you feel, we’re stuck together for the next few months. I want to spend that time getting to know you, and I want us to be as close as you are with any of my brothers… but I also want you to know that you shouldn’t feel forced. If it’s ever too much, I need you to tell me, and I promise I’ll back off.”

The smallest of smiles makes its way onto your face as you quietly agree. Belphegor doesn’t allow himself to try and figure out if it's genuine, out of pity, or sadness, but in spite of everything, it makes him feel a bit lighter. Just a bit.

“This won’t fix everything right away,” you say, and he now knows that your smile is a combination of the three. Along with this, though, Belphegor also knows the small sparkle in your eyes is hope, and he’s willing to take that hope and nurture it for however long he must.

“I know,” he sighs, but even he can feel the small tilt of a smile on his face, “but I’m willing to take as much time as you need to decide how you feel about me. And… And if you decide you hate me, which is fair, and that you never want to even be in the same room as me, I’ll respect your wishes.

Until then...Until you decide that you really, truly hate me, I won’t stop trying.”

There’s no way of telling how long his words linger in the air around the two of you, circling around your heads and making their way through your body. Even so, Belphegor diligently watches you, wanting to make sure he’s not overstepping his bounds. He even contemplates letting go of you, but is reassured when slowly, almost unnoticeably, you begin smoothing out the lines on the back of his hand with your thumb.

As much as you want to tell him that you could never hate him, you also know you can’t promise anything. Still, for now, just as much as him, you’re willing to try. You stay in silence, more comfortable than you’ve ever been in his presence, gently caressing the hand held in your own.

Eventually, Belphegor clears his throat once more. The vulnerability has made him tense and rendered his voice weak.

“Can… can you hug me?” He all but whispers, fragility making his body quiver once more. He was completely open about his feelings for the first time in a lifetime, and the intensity of it left him craving affection. He knows how unfair this is to you, but he can’t help himself. He wishes to be held, for his fears to be quelled by someone so much stronger than him. “If you don’t want to,” he falters, speaking quickly, insecurely, “I won't even touch you. I-If you do, I promise I can keep my hands behind my back, and I won’t even--”

His words end abruptly as he feels you release his hand, and his heart sinks. He debates running away again, until he hears you moving towards him, and he finds he’s frozen in place. Slowly, but surely, with more courage circulating through your veins than you’ve had all night, you make your way over the blankets that divide you and position yourself right next to Belphegor, pulling him into your chest. Even now, he can feel how quickly, persistently your heart races, and yet you stay. True to his word, Belphegor rests his hands on the ground behind his back, but he doesn’t stop himself from nuzzling into your chest… and he cries. The complete, uninhibited release of his emotions hit him like a truck, and he sobs heavily into you, tears slowly but surely staining your shirt. You adjust yourself so you can hold him closer, slowly and reassuringly rubbing his back as he lets go of everything he’s been holding on to for longer than you can even imagine. This is a man who’s run from his emotions for centuries, and the fact that he’s willing to face them for your sake comforts you, cradles your heart and presses gentle kisses against the cracks. You know that you’re not going to wake up tomorrow with everything okay, but for now… for now you’re comfortable with his touch. Heaving in a deep, steadying breath, you reach down just enough to take Belphegor’s arms, and guide them to rest his hands on your hips. At this silent permission, he slowly, delicately wraps his arms around your waist, despite craving your body closer, wanting to hold you tight and never let go. He cradles you like you’re made of the most brittle glass, and you smile. The gesture touches your heart, and… and you feel safe. You know that all he wants to do is embrace you as tight as he can, but he doesn’t, even with permission.

Here, in Belphegor’s arms, you feel safe. Here, where Belphegor’s grip on you is so gentle that it wouldn’t even crumple paper, you feel loved. As he cries into your chest, holding you as if you were an antique, hope slowly fills your heart.

Everything is far from perfect, but it’s still on the right track, here in the quiet planetarium.

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thewakingcloak · 3 years

Text

Debugblog: Darn Diagonals

I love and hate debugging. It’s frustrating to have a problem and have to work it out before you can continue being creative. On the other hand, it’s a puzzle, and I like puzzles. Working them out feels really good. Like beating that boss.

Anyway I don’t know if this is helpful to y’all, but I decided to write up a blog on my debugging process. (Maybe I’ll do more in the future under the “Debugblog” series??)

So here’s the issue.

In this gif, I’m ONLY pressing one key at a time: left, right, up, or down. But the player is moving at an angle somehow.

The weirdest part: this doesn’t happen all the time, and it only happens in daytime. This is baffling.

So the first step in debugging is we need to replicate the issue. When I initially found this bug, it was only happening on a random screen and just slightly so. I ignored it for a while. When I saw it happen again, I started making mental notes of the conditions in which it occurred.

Eventually I found a place where I could reproduce the issue consistently (in the gif above). This will be invaluable when testing! If the issue is hard to replicate, it’s harder to test and harder to check when it’s working.

The next step is usually the biggest one: finding the cause of the bug. Usually you want to isolate the issue, which you’ll see come up a lot as I move forward...

So anyway, the bug is with movement. I have two “movement” scripts. One that takes into account various environmental variables and modifies velocity--move_actor()--and one that actually moves the object and factors in collision--movement_and_collision().

I figured the first place I should go is my move_actor() script. I want to know if the extra variable in movement is being added to the velocity before movement_and_collision() is called.

One of the most common ways to debug is using a breakpoint. I could use a breakpoint here, but the issue is that this line runs every single frame I’m moving, so that makes movement difficult. Instead, I’m going to use show_debug_message() (I created console_log() as shorthand which also shows time and frame information).

(Full disclosure, I actually was looking at the code in the “else” block first, and the velocity was always being logged as 0,0 lol... because that only runs when the player isn’t moving. It’s okay to make mistakes!)

So I played the game and duplicated the issue. My guess was that there would be an extra y value added here, but lo and behold, there wasn’t. Check out some of the debug output:

[14:51:34.16493] x: -1.20, y: 0

[14:51:34.16511] x: -1.20, y: 0

[14:51:34.16527] x: -1.20, y: 0

[14:51:34.16543] x: -1.20, y: 0

[14:51:34.16560] x: -1.20, y: 0

This is what we’d expect: the player is moving left at 1.2 pixels per frame and y movement is 0. However, I am still seeing extra y movement in game. Unfortunately this means we did not find our issue yet, but it also means we can discount everything in move_actor() and before! Basically this extra movement is almost certainly in movement_and_collision().

Okay, so let’s clean up move_actor() and move into movement_and_collision(). This is an asset I bought from Pixelated Pope, so I won’t show you the whole thing (not that I was showing you all of move_actor() either), but I’ll show you the important stuff. This is near the end:

Yeah, so this never gets hit, lol. Let’s try earlier in the script.

Uhh... sorry this is hard to read (tumblr is not great for posting code). I’m logging lengthdir_x and lengthdir_y in the initial tile_and_place_meeting_3d() check.

Alright, so here are some logs. Yep. Here’s our unwanted diagonal movement.

[15:05:12.10597] x: 1.17, y: -0.24

[15:05:13.10613] x: 1.17, y: -0.24

[15:05:13.10630] x: 1.17, y: -0.24

Okay, so this script actually does have some recursiveness built in (it calls itself under certain conditions). That’ll make debugging this a little bit trickier. Let’s figure out which “recursion” this is being called on. In other words, I want to know if this is happening on the first run of the script every frame, or when the script calls itself. Luckily, this recursion functions via a “count” variable (which stops the script from infinitely calling itself lol). I’ll add that into my console_log().

I forgot to add a space, but that’s okay, we can still read it. it looks like it’s occurring when it calls itself (count is “2”).

[15:13:40.11644] count: 2x: -1.17, y: 0.24

[15:13:40.11661] count: 2x: -1.17, y: 0.24

[15:13:40.11677] count: 2x: -1.17, y: 0.24

I’m actually going to move this outside of the if block and see if it occurs during all calls or just on the second. Here are the logs.

[15:17:38.12612] count: 1, x: -1.20, y: 0

[15:17:38.12612] count: 2, x: -1.17, y: -0.24

[15:17:38.12628] count: 1, x: -1.20, y: 0

[15:17:38.12628] count: 2, x: -1.17, y: 0.24

Okay, we’ve confirmed it’s occurring only when the script calls itself. However, I think this is actually “correct” behavior. The movement_and_collision() script is doing something called “angle sweeps” for its collision checking. If it can’t find an opening (i.e. runs into a wall), it tries again at a slightly different angle. This allows the player to move along diagonal collision walls.

That means the issue seems to actually be in the collision check. It’s finding a collision where there should not be any, meaning the angle sweep gets triggered!

Okay, so the issue seems to be in tile_and_place_meeting_3d. This is my tile_and_place_meeting_3d() script:

There’s a lot of ground to cover, so I’m going to actually break this up so I can figure it out easier. Basically we want to narrow down to exactly where the issue is occurring. Isolating the issue.

The output of this is weird as heck, but yeah, it’s occurring in tile_meeting_precise(). I’m not colliding with any tiles--or shouldn’t be.

[15:36:49.45138] tile: 0, instance: 0

[15:36:49.45139] tile: 1, instance: 0

[15:36:49.45154] tile: 1, instance: 0

[15:36:49.45155] tile: 0, instance: 0

[15:36:49.45155] tile: 1, instance: 0

[15:36:49.45171] tile: 1, instance: 0

[15:36:49.45171] tile: 0, instance: 0

[15:36:49.45172] tile: 1, instance: 0

[15:36:49.45188] tile: 1, instance: 0

Okay, I could debug further, but we know which script the issue is in. I happen to know I’ve made a few recent changes to this script, so first I want to share the magic of version control!

I use git and store my code on a private github repository. This means I can go back and see a history of all changes made to this file.

Okay yeah, so what I’m gonna try first is to just take the old version and put it in GameMaker and see if that fixes the issue. I do need the changes from the new version, but if I can pinpoint the issue as having been part of this specific change, I can rework it (probably).

You can usually do this via a revert but I was dumb and copy+pasted the old version and deleted the new version. Way jankier, BUT the old version fixed the issue! That means some change I introduced in the new version is causing the issue.

The next step is to redo the new changes one by one until we figure out which one is the culprit.

I recreated all my changes and the issue only occurs when I enable “SD tile collision checking”. How exactly SD collision works isn’t important to this debug process, but it’s essentially the opposite of “HD tile collision checking”, which is for the player so they can slide smoothly along walls. HD tile collision can be smooth because it uses enlarged colliders (the reason for this is a long story).

However, logging shows that the player object never hits SD collision checking. Interesting, right? Why would the player have a collision only when SD collision checking is added but the player never hits it? Well, I think the answer goes back to some of our initial discoveries when replicating the bug: it only happens in the day. Now, nothing changes for the player physics/movement between day and night, but other objects do call this script that are affected by day and night.

I quickly added a log to print out object names to see what other objects use this. It’s easier than doing a search all files for the script name because that could end up with all sorts of results, some of them not directly being called by the objects. [Note: I later found this actually is what is happening; an object is calling this script indirectly via another script] Anyway, here’s the log:

show_debug_message(object_get_name(object_index)); is a super handy way to print out the names of objects calling a script.

The logs showed a handful of items are checking collision: keys, heart containers, teleporters, etc. I want to start with the teleporters, though, since so far those always seem to be present where the weirdness is happening. Just a hunch.

Oh and guess what? Teleporter_obj is calling tlie_meeting_ground() in the daytime only. We know the issue only occurs in daytime. And tile_meeting_ground() seems like it could easily be related to tile_meeting_precise() right?

So the quick and easy check here is to comment out lines 8 and 9. And guess what? No more weird player collision! So now we have the culprit. But we do actually need this code. So... why is this interfering with the player?

First, I confirmed that it was indeed the tile_meeting_ground() script by removing it. Then I put it back and did some more digging. Interestingly, this script never calls tile_and_place_meeting_3d() (remember, that’s the script I modified and is causing the issue). So that’s a bit baffling. This is all it does.

I need to narrow this down more. I started by returning early if the object was a teleporter. I first did this on line 59 before calling tile_get_at_point(), then on line 60, etc.

Eventually I broke out each individual check and tested returning after each one so I could pinpoint which part of this script was causing the issue. Turns out it’s ground_z_get().

ground_z_get() determines... well, where the ground is. And guess what? It does call tile_meeting_precise(). AHA! Another mistake on my part. But we’ve established that’s okay. :)

The ground_z_get() code is not pleasant to post here, so suffice it to say, I changed the part where it calls tile_meeting_precise() to skip when it’s the teleporter calling.

This is definitely the problem.

Now we know where obj_teleporter is calling tile_meeting_precise() and this is starting to make more sense. When I was confused about the tile_meeting_ground() code not being related to the tile_meeting_precise() code, I was wrong, because tile_meeting_ground() indirectly calls it. And we already knew that obj_teleporter called tile_meeting_precise() somehow (otherwise it wouldn’t have shown up in the output log). This is it.

Okay but that’s a patch, not a true fix. I’m going to undo it, roll up my sleeves, and dive back into tile_meeting_precise(), the source of all our woes.

Looking at this script further, I think I may know vaguely what’s going on here. It creates a checker object that matches tile collision. Now, this is a local variable, and when place_meeting() is called, it’s against the instance id, not against all obj_precise_tile_checker. But just for kicks, I’m going to destroy the instance before the script returns to see if this is the issue.

This worked!!!

As to why, I was a bit confused at first. This is all local variables, right? One object calling this script will have local variables that should not ever affect another object calling this script with its own local variables.

But the secret is up here:

A bit of optimization so that we’re not constantly creating a bunch of collision checkers every single frame. What is happening is the first time this script is run (say an SD one), it creates a tile checker and sets the size (later in the script). Then when another object comes in (say the player with HD/smooth checking), it sees that a checker object is already created and does not create an appropriately scaled one.

I’ve got a better idea than using instance_destroy()... I’ll create an SD and an HD tile checker object. That way we can create both and they can exist at the same time without interfering with each other.

Here we’re just creating an HD checker if we wanna use HD collision checking (just the player right now lol) and SD checker if we wanna use SD checking. Boom. I removed the instance_destroy() from this script and here we go...

That fixed it!

And the final step: test everything! Of course you should be testing after each incremental change so you know exactly what fixes or causes the issue (which we did). And I already tested walking. But let’s make sure our teleporters still work. :)

I tested a bunch of ‘em, but here’s everything working as expected!

Yay!

I hope this was helpful to you!

Peace

#gamedev #devlog #devblog #debugging #debugblog

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sandalaris · 3 years

Note

send your a character impression asks: Seth and Kate if you don't have those already, and Jeff Winger and Annie Edison! ❤❤❤

Seth Gecko

First impression: I think I loved him right off the bat. He’s snarky and quick witted and those are usually the characters I like first.

Impression now: Not much has changed. I suppose I have more of an understanding for how he handled his demons now compared to my initial reaction to his heroin use. And I definitely think he’s at his healthiest in season three.

Favorite moment: Oh jeeze, he has so many good ones! I suppose I rather like him in Shady Glen. Just like his whole taking charge of the group and his awkwardly trying to smooth things over when he and Richie busted in guns drawn on that woman and her son. Reminded me of the convo between him and the Dew Drop Inn clerk.

Idea for a story: Nothing new, but I’ve got anther tUA-inspired AU snippet brewing that touches more on Seth’s Bad Ass Normal superpower though.

Unpopular opinion: I don’t know that it’s all that unpopular, but I’m not convinced Seth used again after season two. I’m not convinced he didn’t either, but it’s never been a personal headcanon or something that I’ve felt was a given or anything. I mostly feel that he went back to popping prescription pain pills and probably mixing them with alcohol (not smart) when he was feeling particularly shitty.

Favorite relationship: Probably him and Richie (although he and Kate are a close second.) Their relationship is pretty much the heart of the show and I don’t think I would’ve loved it nearly so much had it not been.

Favorite headcanon: It’s a tie between Seth getting a cross tattoo to represent Kate after season three, and that Seth started questioning his faith after the blood-transfusion-that-shouldn’t’ve-worked. And as a tie into the second one, that he and Kate do not have compatible blood types, something Seth learned after the fact.

Kate Fuller

First impression: That she was a typical, albeit a bit on the mature side, teenage girl, lol. At least for most of season one. I think I probably stereotyped her a bit, because I remember not realizing just how quickly Kate grew unafraid/immune to the Gecko Brothers until my first rewatch.

Impression now: She is so much a “there’s bravery in remaining soft”/”world’s nicest badass”/”do not mistake my kindness for ignorance” character. She has this quiet strength and is unwavering in who she is at her core.

Favorite moment: Pretty much anytime Kate meets someone new and they inevitably get attached and decide to go to the ends of the earth for her (or they’re evil and decide they want to possess her *cough*Malvado,Tanner,Oculto*cough*)

Idea for a story: I’ve been wanting to write a fairytale!AU, particularly with my favorite fairytale, but it doesn’t fit SethKate all that well. Maybe I’ll just expand on that crack!ficlet I wrote...? Idk. I’ve got too many wips anyway.

Unpopular opinion: I can’t think of one I haven’t named before. I suppose with the increase in purity culture here on Tumblr the fact that I really don’t mind the age gap between Seth and Kate nor do I think it makes any difference if Kate’s underage or legally an adult would count.

Favorite relationship: In show it’s probably her and the Gecko Brothers, but in those inbetween moments I really love her and Scott.

Favorite headcanon: Currently I’m think about how I headcanon that Kate has some lingering muscle memory about swordsmanship from Amaru. Its nothing too exciting, especially since Amaru’s pre-Earth memories -and therefore her memories of learning to use a sword- are fuzzy at best, but her body practiced with one enough during those six months that it falls into place easy enough when she picks up a blade.

Jeff Winger

First impression: Like Seth, he’s that brand of snarky and quick witted that I immediately like.

Impression now: I don’t know that it’s changed much. I love how the show let Jeff grow but also let him slip back into old habits. People don’t change overnight, and while Jeff didn’t need each lesson hammered over his head repeatedly, he did need to learn not to fall back into his default mode whenever he could.

Favorite moment: Anytime Jeff shows genuine excitement to hang out with the study group. Like when he showed up early to the apartment for the wedding.

Idea for a story: I’ve had this idea for a while where Jeff never got caught and is an even worse version of himself than he was circa the pilot. And he somehow meets a few (maybe all?) of the study group only they don’t make him a better person so much as he manipulates them into being part of his life as he unwantingly grows attached to each of them. It’s kind of dark for a Community fic, not counting some of the darkest timeline fics, but the idea entered my head one day and has been living rent free there ever sense.

Unpopular opinion: Its mostly unpopular among Jeff/Annie shippers, but I rather like how the Jeff/Britta storyline played out. It makes sense to me that they became friends with benefits and that the sexual tension between them faded as they got to know each other on a deeper level since they were incompatible. Plus, I really like their friendship.

Favorite relationship: I really loved his and Abed’s dynamic at the beginning of the series, but for the bulk of the show it’s a tie between him and Annie (romantic) and him and Britta (platonic)

Favorite headcanon: I fully believe Jeff is demiromantic. Its why he doesn’t think romantic love is real, he so rarely experiences it and only after getting close to someone, something he actively avoids doing, and why he figured that having a friend he gets along with and is sexually attracted to is all that was needed for a romantic relationship.

Annie Edison

First impression: Mainly I just remember not liking her crush on Troy in the first season, lol. I’ve never been that into ships where one side is super obvious and kind of desperate while the other is oblivious and/or sees them as just friends. I was really proud of her when she decided to not let Troy use her grandmother’s blanket (which is coincidentally also the episode I started to ship her and Jeff, albeit mildly at the time) and their friendship later on was wonderful.

Impression now: She’s one of my favorite characters on the show, although on Community I love them all so that’s not saying much, lol. Troy says it best when he says that Annie expects everyone to be better than they are and for herself to be better than everyone.

Favorite moment: I can’t just pick one moment, grr. Fine, the first thing that popped into my head was Annie saying the line about “a C? Why don’t I just get pregnant at a gas station?!” or something like that. Just her absolute insistence that anything less than perfection in herself is some kind of a epic failure in life is just amusing to me.

Idea for a story: I don’t think I really have any off the top of my head that aren’t Community as a whole fics. I’d love to write an AU for the show someday, it lends itself to the concept so well that just about any sort of AU would do. An I still have the FDtD crossover fic that is sitting all messy in my wip folder.

Unpopular opinion: I don’t really care where they went with her character in seasons five and six (I particularly don’t like how it was played for laughs that she started taking pills again between seasons 4 and 5). Her storylines are mostly fine, but I prefer the way her character went in the seasons that came before.

Favorite relationship: I was trying to think of someone besides Jeff, but even not looking at them as a ship I really did love their dynamic throughout the show.

Favorite headcanon: Annie’s parents where the ones who got her hooked on Adderall, telling her what to say to her doctor to get a prescription or maybe bringing home a bottle themselves, so that she could keep up her perfect grades and do all the right afterschool activities to get into an Ivy League school and make them proud. They were mostly embarrassed that Annie “couldn’t handle it” and tried to quit, saying she needed to try harder and “really, Annie, stop being so dramatic” when she OD’d.

#seth gecko #kate fuller #fdtd #jeff winger #annie edison #community

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leo-gold-hotchner · 4 years

Text

The Sinner -2

Any criticism on spelling/grammar mistakes, character description (trying my best to describe them in characters), facts (especially region, I’ve never been to America before), etc. are all welcome! Though, be lenient on me :)

I had to change ‘mate’ to ‘pal’ lol...

Criminal Minds BAU x Reader

Warning: Explicit description of blood, death, mutilation, swearing etc.

Word Count: 3.1k

Previous parts: 1

“A glutton lives to eat instead of eating to live.” – African Proverb

Tik tok. Tik tok.

The large man cried as the silent room filled with the clock ticking. He wanted to stop the clock, wanted to smash it. But it will never happen, that's what the abductor said to him. He’ll never see the daylight while alive, and it scared him. Regretting ever joining the club.

The figure appeared without light, its face covered in a black mask, and a hood. He begged for the mercy, but the figure held out a red bloodied pliers without hesitation. Soon, painful screams filled the dark room along a sound of something being forcefully torn. Both predator and prey knew the pitiful scream can’t be heard from the outside.

2nd Day

Detective Lee was already at the scene, covering his mouth while yawning. It was a freezing morning of November. The detective greeted the BAU kindly, explaining they were waiting for the CSI to be arrived. The team decided to wait for the CSI too, trying to wake fully from drowsiness. They were at the National Park, where everything looked peaceful except for the bloody body found on the large rock near the small waterfall. The Sun was rising slowly over the dawn sky while Lee explained the situation after scribbling something on his note.

“The forest ranger found the body while patrolling the area,” the detective nodded towards a young ranger who looked very ill. “He stated there was no one except him when he found the body. The driver’s license says the victim’s name is Benedict Lewis, 46-year-old. Whoever did this, drove a long way to dump a body,” he cringed, “’gula’ is written on the body.”

“Which is gluttony, just like lust, it’s the Seven Deadly Sins.” Rossi informed the detective.

“So, the killer is really on an extreme religious mission or something?” Lee asked incredulously. During his 5 years of detective life, he’s never seen such murders before.

“Maybe,” Reid replied. “Does the victim have any unusual thing other than the word?” His pocketed hand playing with the sobriety coin. The young genius was actually glad he was called in the early morning as he was having a nightmare. The nightmare where Tobias Hankel drugged him.

“If you mean by a large rat, frog, snake shoved in his mouth, yeah. Is this also the Seven Deadly Sins thing?” the detective asked when Reid’s eyes sparked in realisation, pushing his nightmare to the back of his mind.

“Yes, actually gluttony is punished by eating rats, snakes, toads eternally.”

“Gross,” Prentiss frowned along with JJ and Morgan.

“Prentiss and Morgan, check out the area, if there’s anything call me. Reid and JJ, talk to the ranger. Rossi and I’ll wait for the CSI here with Detective Lee.” After Hotch ordered his team, he called Garcia -who was asleep- to look up the victim.

---BAU---

Just after the agents were dispatched, an SUV parked near the scene. A person with several protections including a face covering mask walked towards them with large rectangular containers in hands.

“Don’t they at least have courtesy to kill in the daylight?” The person said in an irritated tone with a yawning.

“F/N?” The detective’s jaw hung up in surprise. “What the hell are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on leave?”

“I’ve been resting for two months, Leon. Fucking two months!” F/N held two fingers to the detective with frustration. “And it drove me crazy!”

“What happened to Harrison?”

“Apparently, our newbie is sick since he saw the ‘luxuria’ bodies.” The forensic scientist sighed deeply, shaking head. “Anyways, I’ll need your time of arrival and names. Did you touch anything?”

“Yeah, I already wrote that, you drilled me too much it became a habit.” Detective shrugged as he showed his friend his note. “Had to touch to find his identity, but other than that I was really careful not to touch anything.”

The scientist just walked into the scene, placing the containers far from the body and the scene. With gloves on, F/N looked through the scene, quickly theorising what to gather first. The scientist quickly but efficiently started to prepare by photographing the scene and the body, scribbling on the note.

“That’s F/N L/N, one of the best forensic scientists we have. Sorry about the manner, F/N is usually polite.” Lee gave the two agents a sheepish smile.

“Something happened?” Hotch asked, watching the scientist working, barking orders not to step closer to a young officer. Rossi raised his brows at the younger man, but Hotch ignored Rossi. The BAU leader could sense something from the scientist, but he wasn’t sure what was making him stare at the person. But his gut told him he had to know about what happened to this scientist.

“Well,” the detective shoved his hands in his suit jacket, sighing deeply. “My partner, he was F/N’s husband. Has been on leave since Nick’s been shot, I’ve never thought F/N would suddenly appear here.” He checked on his watch. “Do you want coffee? I think we have time till F/N finishes the job.” Lee glanced at the scientist who was taking tweezers out from the equipment box.

“Perhaps later,” Rossi replied pleasantly as he saw JJ and Reid returning from interviewing the forest ranger.

“The ranger found the body around 5:40, he remembers clearly because he was texting his friend.” JJ informed them.

“He didn’t see any vehicles while patrolling before he found the body. The UnSub probably visited the park before,” Reid said. “But he said he hasn’t seen anyone at night.”

“Did you get when and where he patrols the park?” Rossi asked, looking at the pale ranger who was talking to an officer.

“I asked him to draw on the map, and estimated time.” Reid showed the checked park map. Rossi noticed the trembled writings of the ranger and wondered if anyone can read that.

Hotch’s phone suddenly rang, and he could hear the scientist curse along with the detective’s. Rossi coughed drily to hide his laugh, but Hotch could see the veteran profiler was amused that the phone call startled them.

“Garcia, you’re on the speaker,” Hotch replied quickly before the technical analyst say something to embarrass herself from the detective.

“Hotch, sir,” Garcia said, her voice still covered in sleep, “Lewis was a newspaper reporter before he changed his career to a food blog writer. He was a single, and there are no known connections between the first victim.”

“Did he write criticisms on food?” JJ asked.

“Yes, apparently,” Garcia paused for a moment, “a few restaurants closed due to his harsh reviews.”

“Are the owners still live here?”

“No, they all moved to other states and never returned to Philly.”

“Thank you, Garcia.” Hotch ended the call, knowing Garcia will fall asleep as soon as he ends the call. “The UnSub associated the victims’ careers and the Sins, but we don’t know why the UnSub chose these people.” He frowned deeply. “What does UnSub want to tell us?” He saw Prentiss and Morgan returning, briefly informed what Garcia told them.

“The area is just perfect for family picnics,” Prentiss shrugged, “there’s a wedding mansion, nothing much.”

“This area is open space; the UnSub knew the body would be found easily.” Morgan said. “The mansion was locked tight, so I don’t think the UnSub used the facility, no hint of forced entry too.”

“The UnSub could’ve been using some kind of transport. The victim has a large physique, moving the body here would’ve been difficult even for a muscular man,” Rossi hummed.

“About that, Prentiss and I found tyre marks over there.” The muscular agent pointed over the crime scene.

The detective went to the forensic scientist and told about the tyre mark and the scientist lazily walked to the scene to take several photos.

---BAU---

“Hey, can we enter now?” Lee yelled impatiently, checking an hour has passed. He shouldn’t urge his friend, but the scientist looked finished from his view, if not he’d just apologise to his friend and will be gladly yelled by the scientist for urging the work. But, without a word, the scientist only gestured to okay to come.

“Not many insects and the body didn’t even reach bloating stage yet. So, you can say it’s rather fresh. But, you never know in this bitchy winter. I’ll send the traces and the animals to the lab as soon as I arrive.”

“You finished real quick today, not much?”

“I’m wondering this guy maybe learned from Dexter or something and thinks himself Dante or what.” L/N rolled eyes, shivering from the cold winter. “I hate winter,” the scientist muttered, “I’ll be in the lab if you need me.”

“That’s it,” Reid exclaimed as he stared at the scientist’s back. “It’s Dante’s Inferno. In Inferno, after the first circle of Limbo, Dante visits the second circle where Lust is punished by devils. Then, Gluttony, Greed, Wrath, Heresy, Violence, Fraud, Treachery. It’s rather fitting because this victim’s name is Benedict and in Inferno, Pope Boniface VIII is punished due to gluttony and his name was Benedetto which is equivalent to the English name, Benedict.” The young doctor talked fast which the detective watched the agent with his mouth ajar.

“If the UnSub is killing according to Inferno, then it’s not about the seven sins?” Lee asked with a confused frown, he heard about the classic but never read. “I, I’m not sure about that.” Reid stuttered. “The Seven Deadly Sins are consisting of Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, Pride. So we can’t be sure what the UnSub is imitating until the killings reach to either Wrath or Sloth.”

“Let’s hope we catch the UnSub before that stage,” Hotch mused rubbing his chin. “Rossi and Morgan, could you go and check Lewis’ home?”

“You drive,” Rossi threw the car key to the muscular man who caught it easily.

“I’m going to read Dante again,” Reid shrugged. “There might be hints.”

“I’ll be visiting the M.E., JJ and Prentiss are you going to the station?” Hotch asked.

“I thought about calling the victims’ family and friends,” JJ informed the unit chief. “Emily and I can split the job if that’s okay?” Prentiss nodded next to the blond agent.

“Alright, let’s get going.” Hotch nodded towards his team and everyone was ready for another long day.

---BAU---

“Our victim knew how to clean,” Rossi looked around the small apartment. Lewis’ apartment was very clean, everything in order.

“Hey, Rossi, look at this,” Morgan called the older man from the bedroom. Rossi saw the expensive watches in the drawer. “I wonder where he’d got money.”

“They’re authentic,” Rossi examined one of the watches. “With salary of reporter or food writer he could’ve afford one or two, but not all of these.”

“Maybe he was part of something?”

“It’s possibility. We need to know if the first victims had anything like this, maybe that might be a connection between the victims.”

“That might be, but the first two earned more than Lewis,” Morgan reminded the veteran agent. “They could’ve afforded as much as this if they wanted to.”

“Perhaps that’s why they could get clients who’d pay them handsomely. If Lewis was payed for being a part of organisation, Smith and Olson may have introduced to their clients.”

“Urg, if that’s right, maybe that’s why both of them didn’t have any information on their clients.” Morgan huffed, thinking there was no information to gather the first two victims’ clients at all. No memo, no digital logs, none.

“But, let’s focus on Lewis’ life style shall we?” Rossi clasped his hands.

---BAU---

Hotch saw the forensic scientist talking with Doctor Bear when he entered the pathologist lab. Surprisingly, the scientist was sitting on the metal table for corpses, and the M.E. was leaning back to another table where a white sheet covered a body on it. The place seemed to be grotesquely peaceful.

“Agent Hotchner,” the doctor greeted the stoic agent. The forensic scientist just nodded to Hotch, but said nothing. “I sent the toxicology and autopsy report to Detective Lee.” The doctor shrugged before Hotch could reply, “but, I’m sure you’re here to see the body for yourself.”

“Yes, I wanted examine the body before reading the report.” The doctor hummed.

“Where’s that young man? He was rather interesting to talk to,” the doctor good-heartedly laughed uncovering the white sheet from the body.

“I’m going, have fun,” the scientist said sarcastically before exiting the lab.

“Ah well, F/N is still angry.” Bear said like he was talking to himself.

Hotch stopped observing the Lewis’ body, and asked why the scientist was angry.

“We still didn’t catch Nick’s shooter.” Bear frowned deeply. “Nick’s F/N’s husband, and he was a good man and friend.”

Hotch nodded, but he took a mental note of that. He didn’t know why, but it felt important to know both Hotch and L/N lost their spouse to criminals. But for now, it was time to focus on the doctor’s explanation.

---BAU---

JJ was staring at the board with crossed arms over her chest and Reid was reading Dante’s Inferno with his usual reading pace. Prentiss was pressing her chin on the brown desk, wrapping her head with her arms as she stared at a black phone blankly. It’s only been second day, and everyone could feel this case will take a long time to solve. The BAU knew they will catch the UnSub eventually as they usually did, but nonetheless it was a hard process to find any lead on this UnSub.

“The family couldn’t find anything strange, or found anything from their homes,” the brunette groaned as she muttered about the first victims’ possessions.

‘Expensive possession’ was circled and a red question mark was drawn next to it where the white board was filled with words and photos by the agents.

“Only connection we currently have is, MO.” JJ tilted her head as if she was about to burn the word ‘torture’ on the board with her eyes. “So much anger, but on what?”

“Smith and Olson’s families say they didn’t have any enemies, and Lewis was a loner, no family, no close friends.” Prentiss tapped her finger on her the desk. The young man closed his book and looked up. “Finished?”

“Yes,” the genius replied dully. “I don’t think there’s any hint in the literature yet.”

“We need a break, coffee?” JJ whirled around and asked.

---BAU---

Detective Lee sighed as he threw his jacket off. The BAU was here, but the case wasn’t really cracking as he thought. But it’s only been second day no need to rush. The killer left literally nothing other than the body. Whoever it was, the guy knew how to hide evidence. But still, not even one single hair or fibre? It was so frustrating, killer among people, looking for next victim. It made his skin crawl and wanted to catch this bastard as soon as possible.

“Tired day?” Morgan asked from behind where he and Rossi returned from Lewis’ place.

Rossi entered the BAU room, throwing his empty coffee cup into the bin where the younger three agents whined about not having coffee yet to the older man. Morgan quickly smirked at the scene but turned his attention to the detective.

“Yeah,” the detective replied casually. “I still have other cases to solve. You guys are just like rain during drought for me to help catch this guy.”

“Hey, we’ll catch this guy,” Morgan encouraged the younger man. “That’s why we’re here, to help you catch this guy.”

“Thanks, pal.” Lee quickly grabbed several files from this desk and handed to the FBI agent. “Here’s the copies of reports for the autopsy and toxicology of Lewis.”

“Thanks.” Morgan thanked. “By the way,” he then stopped and asked, “Any recommendation for coffees?”

“Two blocks right when you exit the station, you see one small café.” Lee used his thumb to point the direction. “If you need a hand, I’ll probably be here till late.”

Morgan thanked the polite detective and joined his team. “Hey, Lee told me there’s a good café here. Let’s grab some coffee.”

“I’m in,” Prentiss replied quickly as she grabbed her coat. “You two wanna stay here?” She asked JJ and Reid.

“I need some air,” JJ followed the brunette and turned to Reid expectantly.

“Could you grab me a coffee, I still want to see if there’s anything I missed.” Reid asked.

“If Hotch comes, tell him we’ll get his coffee too,” JJ told Rossi and Reid who nodded.

---BAU---

The BAU unit chief’s eyes swiftly turned to the captain’s office where Detective Lee was having a conversation with the Captain. His eyes met with the Captain’s eyes, the Captain stiffly nodded towards Hotch, but soon he blinded his office. It was none of his business whether the boss and his subordinate to have a talk, but Hotch felt the talk was about this case. This case was something big. He didn’t know why but he was having this strange feeling about this case. It was as if in deep down, he knew why the UnSub was killing these people. But he didn’t know. It was irking him, frustrating him to no end. His sense was telling him most of important pieces of the puzzle were already gathered.

The team greeted him as he entered the room, Prentiss handed his coffee that was still warm enough to drink.

“Have you found something?” Reid asked the leader.

“No,” Hotch leaned back on the wall. “But, Lewis was less tortured than Smith and Olson. Unlike the other two, Lewis’ death was due to blunt force trauma on the back of his head.”

“Maybe the UnSub is looking for information about potential victims. Torture is the method the UnSub is using to extract information, and Lewis maybe gave the UnSub that information easily without retaliating further.” JJ suggested, thinking back when she was deployed in a secret mission in Afghanistan.

“That’d be plausible after Rossi and Morgan found expensive watches Lewis couldn’t afford,” Reid nodded.

“So the UnSub may be annihilating members of this secret group.” Prentiss quickly scribbled ‘group’ on the white board, arrows pointing from the victims’ photos.

“For now that’s the best theory,” Rossi leaned front, “but we have to be careful not to focus on this theory. We have to be flexible.” Rossi reminded the team.

Hotch checked his watch that was already pointing 6pm.

“Let’s grab dinner, and you can work or rest at your room for today.”

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #bau #bau x reader #aaron #aaron hotchner x reader #david rossi #spencer reid #jj #Jennifer Jareau #emily prentiss #The Sinner Series

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savnofilter · 3 years

Text

no nuance november!

a/n: which is basically you have a bunch of opinions and dont explain any of em' and let your followers discuss them (much more suited for tiktok sjsnj). i'll be doing it since it compiles with many topics like fandom, racism, lgbtq+, politics and etc. i highly encourage people to do this simply because why not? feel free to send your own opinions n stuff, i wanna know what my followers think!!

disclaimer!! ⚠️ all of these are broad, not pin pointing certain people or situations. even though these are my opinions these were all in fun and have been collected over the years and will change as time goes on. nothing is sugar-coated so thread carefully. feel free to agree or disagree. :)

warning(s): mentions of racism, p*do micro aggression, fetishizing, toxicity, abuse, politics, labelling, mental health, cancelling, fandoms, ages.

key:

iswis = i said what i said, no explanation to that one.

whe = will happily explain.

stop sexualizing gay/m|m/yaoi relationships. it's not only demonizing to the males, it's also very fetishizing. (iswis)

most times /10 yall root for "feminine men" when you really mean white boys and fetishised asian men on social media. (whe)

bullying someone isnt educating. you either cant cope with the fact people have different opinions from you or you have a struggle with things either always never going your way or the opposite. (iswis)

straight people will never have a say in lgbtq+ issues. stop inserting yourself. (iswis)

white people will never have a say in poc issues. stop inserting yourself. (iswis)

poc will never have a say in black people issues. stop inserting yourself. (vice versa but im black and it happens more often to us lol) (iswis)

using the defense, "but black lives matter, right?" when one black person does something bad isnt facts, youre racist. (iswis)

fandom adults need to stop gatekeeping the target audience (demographics) to animes/shows. (iswis)

poc people can be racist. (whe)

even if a certain site was adult doesnt mean that every adult wants to see your porn. either keep it to yourself or tag properly. (iswis)

saying shit like, "im more xyz than you and im not even xyz" is not only disrespectful but disgusting. just because you believe in a popular opinion of a group does NOT suddenly make you a person in it, get over yourself. (iswis)

dont hate on people for the same things you have done at a young age. (ex: writing fanfic, seggs, etc) (iswis)

blaming a minor/someone mentally unstable for being abused is not only victim blaming, but it enables the notion that people who go those things that they wanted it. (iswis)

going off of that last point, if you do victim blame for situations and been in them yourself you either still havent coped with what you went through and still think it was your fault when it wasnt. (whe)

it's stupid people hate minors for being undeveloped when adults are the reason as to why people get traumas, abused and quite literally are destroying the world right now. (iswis)

gen z is white as fuck. (iswis)

early 2000s kids are equivalent to 90s kids who use to post, "only 90s kids under this" and post something that 2000-5 experienced. (iswis)

dear 2005+ kids, abusing harmful substances and having sex doesnt make you grown. stop it. (iswis)

adults, being able to post porn doesnt make you grown or mature, stop believing that it does. (iswis)

just because it's a coping mechanism doesnt mean it's healthy. (iswis)

avoiding conflict doesnt mean youre mature. if there is an active problem and you know ignoring it will only benefit you and not the actual problem at hand that is selfish. (iswis)

black women generate clout for everyone. when we're hated the person gets patted on the back, someone appreciates black girls they are praised, and people of many groups repeatedly steal from our culture. (iswis)

YES THERE IS A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN BEING BLACK AND AFRICAN AMERICAN. (whe)

if youre black you do not have to be democrat OR republican, there are many other parties. (whe)

i do not trust either parties, no minority should. (whe)

this 2020 election was not a win for poc people no matter who won. (iswis)

we do not decide whether or not what to do on columbus day. it is up to the natives themselves. (whe)

pointing out other countries (current) faults is not racist. although the issue can be misconstrued, if proper research is done it safe to say it's an educated observation or opinion. (whe)

privilege heavily varies; ex, americans are seen as privileged, while the people who live in it experience a disadvantage because of the societal standards. within the country itself. (whe)

americans, stop saying that america is the worst country and there are other countries who are suffering much worse than we are. yes sometimes it sucks but do not label it as the worst. (iswis + whe)

white people are privileged and will always be until we break the racist issues deep rooted in EVERY community. (iswis)

9/10 when marginalized groups like (women, lgbt) are mostly focused on white people and never address the poc counter parts. using the excuse "well idk much about that" is not good enough and just promotes pseudo-white supremecy. (iswis + whe)

do not use aave. (iswis)

aave is not gen z language, stop calling it that. (iswis)

gay men (white especially) use black women and get praised for the things we do that are called ghetto. (iswis)

yes it is offensive if you touch a black persons hair with or without permission. we are not your pets nor zoo animals. (iswis)

and yes it is offensive if you see a black women with beautiful hair and assume it's fake or ask, "is it yours?" "is it real?" (iswis)

using jailbait as an excuse to lewd minors is just as disgusting. (iswis)

beauty standards for women is rooted from pedophilia. (iswis)

using other pedophilic relationships as an excuse to ship yours is disturbing and you shouldnt be near children at any capacity. (iswis)

everything doesnt need a label. (iswis)

the fact that gangs have been criminalized while mafias havent is racist and feeds the stereotypes that poc are criminals. (iswis)

people are more forgiving to white predators than to poc (neither are good but people let white off the hook more often). (iswis)

if youre okay with your friends being racists, creeps, abusers you are just as bad. (iswis)

although you can like what you like, making dark content shouldnt be as glorified as much as it is. (iswis)

some kinks do deserve to be kink shamed. (iswis)

adults need to be more held accountable when held in situations with minors. (iswis + whe)

everyone perceives the world differently, many people will see the same things you see differently. (iswis)

calling people crazy for questioning the things around them doesnt make them crazy, youre just asleep. (iswis)

the human body can function without a soul. (iswis)

stop disrespecting christianity. you wouldnt do the same with hinduism, islam and etc. (iswis)

the bible was altered by white men and the true meanings have been misconstrued. (iswis + whe)

bullying someone who you THINK is problematic is not excuse to be hateful. youre just scum and feel the need to justify your actions. (iswis)

not everyone has to like you and dont need a reason. (iswis)

just because you dont like someone doesnt mean you have to make a show of it. be mature and move along. (iswis)

yes callouts/cancelling has its place but it's never done right. (iswis)

"cancel culture" wasnt a thing till white people joined in. (iswis)

dont cancel someone for stuff they did years ago. bringing it up is important but not allowing them to understand, reflect, and apologize is not only bullying it defeats the purpose of bringing awareness. (iswis)

big writers need to stop complaining when one fic or a few dont do good. not only does it rub in small writers faces, it shows that if you need people's validation to write you probably shouldnt be writing. some works will be popular and some will flop, get over it. (iswis)

stop witch hunting & crucifying people for shit you have done or your friends have done and going "uwu sorry" when you get caught. (iswis)

90% people believe content creators with bigger audiences. (iswis)

people spontaneously posting, "uwu take care of your mental health" doesnt mean that they actually care. (iswis)

people are always quick to judge people with real mental health such as depression, anxiety, adhd, and etc are always the one to turn and pretend to be exactly what they just mocked. (iswis)

dont have kids if youre not going to take care of them. (iswis)

stop baiting baby otakus (people freshly getting into anime) into watching cp like yarichin bitch club or boku no pico. they are minors, it's not funny, stop it. (iswis)

stop being protective & toxic over anime characters. if they were real they probably wouldnt even like you. (iswis)

just because someone is your friend doesnt mean that they arent toxic or abusive. (iswis)

start believing when people show their true traits. (iswis)

trauma happens in different forms, stop saying something didnt happen because it didnt go the way that has commonly happened or the way it occurred to you. (iswis)

stop saying minors should "know" while also being the loudest to say that our brains arent even developed till 25. (iswis)

the adult age should be raised to 20 years old. (iswis + whe)

tos should be raised to 16 years old. (iswis + whe)

minors take "18+" & "minors dni" out of your bio. (iswis)

yelling at minors for finding the content you freely put out without any care is your fault not theirs. (iswis)

there are plenty of adult sites that are more confined for adults but you guys ignore them because youd rather get popular on writing erotica on a popular social media platform. (iswis)

trying to cancel someone over one mistake and or blowing said things out of proportion is toxic and stupid. (iswis)

if you take someone saying they need to distance themselves for mental health reasons personally and make them feel bad for it youre an actual shitty person. (iswis)

if someone disrespects you, you have the right to say whatever you want in response. (iswis + whe)

stop hypersexualizing everything (adults especially). (iswis)

the excuses of, "they look grown" "i mentally think xyz" "theyre fake" is creepy and weird and yall should come up with a better excuse. (iswis)

yes i do believe minors should be writing for minors only, but i will not give a shit if an adult does if said characters are aged up in every work sfw or not. (iswis)

stop saying teens cant go through traumatic things and cant experience mental illnesses. it just shows that you werent cared for as a child and never get the therapy for it. (iswis)

gen z has a very colonized idea of activism. (iswis)

feminism was never for all women until the rest of us forced ourselves in. and even now it's still an issue whether or not people realize it or not. (iswis)

poc solidarity doesnt exist as much as we try to make it happen. (iswis)

colorism is an issue, and no you will not tell me otherwise. (iswis)

the hot cheeto girl is offensive and demeans black & hispanic culture. (iswis)

stop bashing minors for breathing, just say youre mad youre not young anymore and move on. (iswis)

black men are the white people of black people. (iswis)

there is no reason as to why you anyone would refer to black people as "blacks". nor should you (non-black people) be arguing whether or not to say nigga even with the hard r. (iswis)

if you (pertains to white people) think white privilege doesnt exist but go on to make fun of or ignore minority problems you are the living and breathing example of what we are talking about. (iswis)

loli/shotas are fucking disgusting and people who like it deserve to be tortured for eternity. (iswis)

seriously, stop using theyre "fake" as an excuse. (iswis)

if youre comfortable with being hateful to someone but still consider yourself a nice person because you do the hate minimum to be a decent human, youre either a narcissist or have a god complex. (iswis)

coons have no say in black issues. (iswis)

people need to stop blaming the "home wrecker" for ruining the relationship when it was the s/o's fault as well. there is no home to enter without an owner. (iswis)

stop saying any asian man yo see reminds you of a haikyuu character and or any anime character. it's racist. (iswis)

stop saying any asian person looks like a kpop idol, it's racist. (iswis)

stop downplaying and invalidating when black women go through traumatic things. not only does it promote that we have to be strong and save everyone else's problems, it says that we dont have emotions and cant be a victim which is disgusting. (iswis)

if you say shit like "minors curate your own experience" then go and turn around to say you REFUSE TO TAG YOUR SHIT YOU ARE LITERALLY MAKING THE PROCESS OF CENSORING HARD! (iswis)

white women are just as much of a problem as white men. only difference is sex keeping them apart. (iswis)

stop saying kpop is racist. expecting artists from a different political progression to understand that things can be offensive is bland. (iswis)

people accept boy groups fuck-ups more than they accept girl groups. and most times out of ten, the males are worse. (iswis)

if you engage in nsfw conversation with a minor, it is your fault they responded. (iswis)

anyone can be abused. (iswis)

stop coddling adults and bullying minors. (iswis)

most of you females have internalized misogyny and dont even know it. (iswis)

you can callout issues without having to drag a group of people. same with uplifting. (iswis)

if youre fine with being a sheep unfollow me. (iswis)

seven deadly sins is not a good anime. (iswis)

there is a difference between boku no hero academia fans based on if they call it "bnha" or "mha". (iswis)

ships literally are not serious stop harassing people over ships. (iswis)

do not harass creators of series because they do something with THEIR story. make your own. (iswis)

stop saying horikoshi sexualizes his women too much/mineta is the worst when you guys enjoy shows like one piece, hunter x hunter, naruto and etc. (iswis)

minors often or not are sheeps (heres your sign you dont have to agree with everything other people say). (iswis)

just because minors can be mature doesnt mean that they are adults. stop treating them as such. (iswis)

we should give more voice actors in the asmr (idk what to call it) community more recognition instead of just one. (iswis)

writers are the ones that send hate to other writers. anon hate is so corny and if you do it that goes to show that you are truly a toxic person wearing a fake mask of kindness when youre not on anonymous. (iswis)

stop being mean to smaller writers because they did not have as much luck as you. (iswis)

stop blaming your readers because one story flopped. (iswis)

ignoring someone's shitty actions encourages them to do it more. (iswis)

going to school and getting a job is much harder now than it was before. (iswis)

being an adult doesnt automatically make you mature. just because youre older doesnt mean youre better or you opinion is more valuable. it just shows that you werent heard when you were younger. (iswis)

there should be no reason as to why someone of the age of 18 should be having any romantic relationship with someone who is a minor. (iswis)

hawks is a shitty character. (iswis)

bakudeku isnt toxic. (iswis)

just because bakugo is in a ship, doesnt mean it's toxic. (iswis)

stop shipping male characters together simply because they have screen time together. it's creepy. (iswis)

almost all of 1-a students have ptsd and anything close to the after effects of being traumatized. (iswis)

no, editing characters to be poc is not racist. youre just mad they arent "white" when they never were. theyre asian and come in many colors as well. (iswis)

wanting to only be with a different race to get a mixed baby is fucking disgusting. (iswis)

stop ignoring pedo relationships between older women and younger boys and or with older women in general. (iswis)

males can be abused, stop telling them to suck it up or that they cant go through things. (iswis)

shaming young females about things they cant control is misogynistic and is damaging to their identity and shouldnt be excused. (iswis + whe)

not all females have to shave. (iswis)

what you dont like in someone is the projections you see of yourself on other people that you dont like about yourself. (whe)

popular bl stories extremely misrepresent gay relationships and frankly it's disgusting that theyre boosted as much as they are. (iswis)

jjba isnt ugly, you just watch animes to sexualize the characters. (iswis)

it's shitty that anime and kpop only became cool once white people stated to like it and made it mainstream. go gatekeep family guy or something. (iswis)

if you have been anime fan for a long time you were with bullied/teased for just generally liking it or you were a weirdo who recreated shit from it. (iswis)

weaboo and weeb were bad terms till we made them positive?? literally otaku is the word for it but we use weeb instead lol. (whe)

normalize and promote educating someone without going straight to bullying them. (whe)

haikyuu isnt really a good manga/anime nor is the art style the best but the characters make up for it. (iswis)

stop misusing terms and stop nitpicking definitions to manipulate your narrative. (iswis)

toxic positivity is manipulative and if you have to make it back handed you are not as nice as you like to make it seem. (iswis)

studying a major doesnt mean youre actually good in the subject. (iswis)

normalize people realizing their past mistakes and growing from it. (iswis)

do not self diagnos unless you actually feel like you may have that issue and would like to seek help. mental health is not a personality trait. (iswis)

stop projecting onto people. (iswis)

stop misusing terms and stop nitpicking definitions to fit your narrative. (iswis)

stealing any type of work should not be tolerated. (iswis)

constantly trying to trigger someone to go back to their old ways (being toxic, abusive, addiction, suicidal etc) after changing is toxic and manipulative. (iswis)

if you make jokes about hurting kids and or feel the need speak badly about them i do not want to speak to you. (iswis)

the human brain wasnt developed to understand complex ideas such as death or the universe. (iswis)

we will never truly know what is beyond our skies. (iswis)

thats all, thanks for sifting!

#opinions #hot takes #three t's for the week #read at your own discretion #no nuance november #d dabbles

16 notes · View notes

staywhelmedbatfam · 4 years

Text

Sticky Notes (1/4)

~Bruce Wayne/Reader~

Summary: Soulmate AU where you’re given 100 sticky notes that will appear somewhere in your soulmate’s line of sight after you write on them. To keep everyone from immediately finding out who their soulmate is, you can’t write your name until the very last note.

Part One (You’re Here) / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

By the way, I picked this picture because it’s pretty much the vision I had in my head for one of the scenes near the end of this part. I actually had to go through Son of Batman to find this particular scene and take a screenshot lol.

***

Some people get lucky and meet their soulmates before they receive their sticky notes. Others don’t care and throw theirs away. Then there are the people that use them up and have either met or gotten one step closer to meeting their soulmate. You, however, were in none of those categories.

For years, you’ve looked forward to your eighteenth birthday just because that’s when you would receive your sticky notes. A couple of months before that day, though, you made a mistake. A mistake that ended with you coming home from a doctor’s appointment that forever changed your life.

You had grabbed the mail on the way inside and found the small package addressed to you. Sighing, you opened it and found a stack of a hundred (f/c) sticky notes. Tossing the packaging into the trash, you went straight into your bedroom and opened one of your dresser drawers. Digging to the very back, you put the notes inside and covered them with the clothes you had in that drawer. Those sticky notes were the last thing you wanted to think about. After seeing them, there was only one thought running through your mind. What man would want to be soulmates with someone that was pregnant with another man’s child?

***

Nearly ten years later, you’d long since moved out of your parent’s house and rented an apartment for you and your daughter. The last time you’d ever thought about those stupid notes was when you put them away in the apartment after the move. Not once have you had a sticky note appear from your soulmate anyway.

It was a Saturday afternoon. Currently, you were doing laundry as (D/N) colored in the living room. She ran into the laundry room, prepared to show you her latest creation. At first glance, you saw ‘I love you, Mommy’ in her handwriting with a little heart at the end of it and smiled. All you needed was another second to process what you saw to know that she had found your sticky notes.

You followed after her back into the living room and kneeled beside her. “(D/N), you can’t write or draw on these. These are Mommy’s special sticky notes.” She knew what that meant. Some of her friends at school had talked about their parents using them and, once you told her that the one she had just written on was yours, big crocodile tears welled up in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mommy! I didn’t mean to!”

Engulfing her in a hug, you tried to calm her down. “It’s okay, sweetie. You didn’t know. I’ll go grab you some regular paper that you can use, alright?”

“Okay…” She was sniffling, but there wasn’t any evidence that she would be shedding any more tears. In a last attempt to make her realize that everything really was fine, you kissed the top of her head.

***

Later that night after (D/N) had gone to bed, you were putting dishes away and something caught you by surprise. When you had opened a drawer to put away a spatula, there was a black sticky note with writing in what appeared to be silver permanent marker.

‘I never imagined that would be the first thing I read from my soulmate.’ Your eyes widened. For what seemed like ages, you stared down at the little piece of paper. This was your first contact with your soulmate. What do you do? Should you just ignore it like it never happened? Or write back? What would you even write? You decided to leave it be for the time being and go to bed.

A few days later, you still hadn’t replied nor received any more notes from your soulmate. Until now, that is. Another of the black sticky notes laid on your desk when you returned from your lunch break at work. ‘Are you ever going to respond? Before I got that first note, I thought I just didn’t have a soulmate.’

This time, the note caught your attention and you narrowed your eyes at the written words. You knew just the response and once you got home from work, you grabbed your sticky note stack and a pen.

‘That’s a two-way street, you know. You could’ve written before now too.’

For some unknown reason, you couldn’t fall asleep tonight to save your life. All you did was toss and turn. With a huff, you sat up in your bed and turned on the lamp that sat on your nightstand. A note was stuck to the lamp.

‘So, you are alive…’

A second later, you were grabbing your sticky notes and writing back. If you weren’t going to get any sleep, you might as well keep yourself occupied.

‘Look, the only reason I never wrote was that I didn’t think anyone would want to be my soulmate when I’ve got a kid that’s not theirs.’

This time, the response was a lot quicker. Apparently, your soulmate wasn’t sleeping either.

‘I’ve got three adopted sons and one biological son.’ Your eyes widened in surprise.

‘I… take it back then. Assuming that you do want to be my soulmate.’

‘It’s not like I had any say in who my soulmate is.’

‘Ok, wise guy. I told you why I didn’t write, now it’s your turn.’

There was a lag in getting the next note. You waited for about ten minutes before the next one showed up.

‘I always thought my soulmate would be better off without me and my baggage. So, when I thought that the universe just didn’t have a soulmate for me, I didn’t think about it anymore.’

A confused look formed on your face. ‘You’re calling your sons baggage?’

‘No. This began before them.’

‘So… what then? A bad relationship or something?’

‘Or something. It’s complicated.’ You raised an eyebrow at the response but didn’t press the issue further. That kind of answer typically means that it’s a touchy topic someone doesn’t want to talk about.

Glancing at the digital clock that sat next to the lamp, you couldn’t believe that it was one in the morning. Even though you still didn’t feel like you could fall asleep, you would just have to force yourself to lay in bed with your eyes closed until you drift off.

Before you did that though, you sent one last note. ‘I have to be at work early, so I’m going to bed. Goodnight.’ You added a smiley face at the end of your note and immediately regretted it, but it was too late now.

‘Goodnight,’ came the immediate reply and you finally turned the lamp off.

***

Two weeks have gone by since that night you couldn’t sleep. You’ve exchanged many more notes with your soulmate – fifty-two to be exact – and you haven’t had a sleepless night since. For some reason, you decided to keep track of how many notes you’d used.

Maybe it’s because you could finally tell him your name when you got to the last one. So many people have tried to write their names, but they end up wasting a sticky note. Any time you write your name before the hundredth note, it doesn’t appear when it reaches your soulmate. Even something that would give the slightest clue as to who you were wouldn’t appear. In the end, you’re better off not even trying and being patient.

Most of the replies you get come during the day and, once the evening rolls around, they’re pretty limited. This makes you think that he has more free time in the middle of the day. Perhaps he works at night? Even if your guess is right or wrong, it doesn’t stop you from writing on your sticky notes at any time.

Sitting at your designated work desk, you had just gotten back from your lunch break and resumed working. As you typed along on your keyboard, one of your fingers felt paper where your number pad was supposed to be. Pausing, you looked down to find a sticky note and a smile formed on your face.

‘I hope your day is going better than mine. I’m stuck in meetings all day.’

You plucked the note from its spot and admired it. Your soulmate had elegant handwriting. Reading the words on the small piece of paper again, you got lost in a daze. At least until you could hear your boss’ voice get closer to your desk. Quickly, you tucked the note underneath your keyboard and resumed your work. It’s like you were back in school – passing notes during class.

Before you knew it, your boss stood a couple of feet away from you. Stealing a quick glance, it looked like he was giving a tour to a few men, one of whom you recognized as the billionaire Bruce Wayne. Said billionaire looked in your direction and you immediately averted your eyes back to your computer screen.

In your haste to continue working and returning your gaze to the document you were currently filling out, your keyboard shifted just enough to expose a small amount of the silver writing on the black sticky note. You noticed rather quickly and fixed the keyboard to cover it. Your boss didn’t seem to notice, so you believed yourself to be in the clear. It didn’t even cross your mind that anyone else might have noticed.

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#soulmate au #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman x reader

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kyvir · 4 years

Text

Sincerely Yours

Sarada loves her job, and lost an opportunity because the President gave it to his son, Boruto. Why did Boruto take it? Because he heard there was a feisty manager on the team. Watch them fight, argue, tease, flirt, “accidentally” fall in love, and deny it to the bitter end.

Rating: M Pairing: BoruSara

Collaboration with @kairi-chan!

Chapter Three

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Sarada woke up with a massive headache. Blinking her eyes open, she struggled to get up and realized she was back in her room. How… did she get back in her room? Trying to recall was making her headache worse, so she stopped that immediately. A quick look at her clock told her it was time to get up and get ready for work.

Work. Fuck. Did she really have to?

She groaned but pushed herself to get in the shower, and tried her best to get her back in shape. Despite it only being Wednesday, Sarada decided to dress down a bit, but still looking professional. She opted for black pants and a white button-down shirt, and low heels today. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail and applied little makeup. Maybe today, she’ll go get coffee first before even entering the office.

As she entered Ninbucks, the baristas greeted her cheerfully and did her best to smile. She ordered a bigger cup this time and an extra shot of espresso.

“Ooh,” The barista commented. “Long day?”

Sarada chuckled. “You have no idea. I don’t even remember what happened last night.”

The barista laughed. “Then that means it was great.”

“Surely,” Sarada smirked. She would have to ask Inojin what happened. If he was already there. It was only 9:23 am. Still early.

Sarada collected her coffee and made her way into their office and to her desk. The two weren’t there yet. The previous night must have been wilder than she expected. But what caught her attention was that she already had an email sent that morning from Boruto, and the lights in his office were already on.

Did he… get there before she did? What the hell.

Taking a seat and looking at the papers on her desk, Sarada tried to ignore the emails Boruto sent in, but another came in, this time, on their office chat platform.

Shikadai: You in the office already?

Sarada lifted her brow and replied.

Sarada: Yes, I am. Why?

Shikadai: Damn, you clean up fast. You were dead before nine, you know? Lol.

Sarada: I know I got drunk, okay? Ugh. Who brought me home?

Shikadai: Boruto carried you to Chocho’s car. You guys left around ten. Too early. You can’t drink as much as you used to!

Sarada growled. She was out cold, and her boss had to carry her? This was insane.

Sarada: No, he didn’t. I wasn’t that drunk. I could walk just fine.

Shikadai then sent her a photo, it was blurry but clear enough for Sarada to see that Boruto was carrying her in the parking lot, following Chocho.

Shikadai: Inojin rode with you two. He can tell you what happened.

Sarada’s cheeks burned. Oh my fucking god. This was not happening. This. Was. Not. Happening.

Reaching for her coffee, Sarada downed half of its contents in one go and reread the messages. Nope. they were still holding the same contents.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. How embarrassing! She had to apologize. This was his first week of work and he had already seen her drunk and had to carry her!

Quickly, she opened the email from Boruto. It was nothing urgent, he was just asking for a follow up on the numbers he requested the day before, with some extra instructions added. She found it weird, she never had to make a report like that before. But still… Quickly, she sent an email to Wasabi to ask for the details and then closed her laptop.

Did she have to go to his office now? She was still so embarrassed. Well… better now when the two weren’t there yet, right?

Sarada stood and then walked towards his office. She noticed someone had just scampered out of it, looking a little distressed and… scared. That was… odd. Anyway, she still knocked on his door.

“What is it?” He asked.

Sarada wanted to jump away from the door, but opened it anyway, taking a peek inside. “Good morning… it’s me.”

Boruto was sitting at his desk, glaring at his computer with half-lidded eyes and pouty lips. After a few seconds, he looked over at her and grunted, “Mornin’.”

For a moment, his grouchy greeting made her want to sass him, but seeing that he had dark circles under his eyes, she bit her lip and stopped herself. She came here to apologize, not ruin his day.

“I just wanted to… thank you for last night. And also apologize.” Her eyes looked everywhere except for his face. She noticed he had put up some new things in his office. A new map was placed on the wall behind him, a pencil holder with a peculiar, sunflower pen, and a few picture frames. One caught her eye in particular.

It was a photo of him in his graduation toga, with his arms wrapped around a girl with long black hair and blue eyes.

Did he have a girlfriend? Sarada looked at the sunflower pen, and found it was the only thing “girly” enough in his office. It was from her. It had to be.

Her hands clenched by her sides and her eyebrows twitched. Well. Isn’t that typical? He’s already taken. How this guy was taken, she wouldn’t know. Sure, he was handsome and had a really really cute smile but come on. This was his first job! What, was that girl still studying or something?

Oh my god.

What if he’s into younger girls?

Sarada quickly took a look at the frame again, the girl was more than a foot shorter than him, and not wearing a toga, too.

Fuck. Confirmed it. She was younger. Definitely younger. Oh my god.

That’s just… disgusting. Liking younger girls! Sarada gritted her teeth. But she looked to only be a few years younger… definitely in the legal range.

Why was she even getting so worked up about this? It’s not like she cared who he dated, right? Sarada huffed and crossed her arms across her chest before looking at him, her eyes were hard, and she had forgotten why she was even here in the first place.

“Can I go now?” She huffed again.

“Jeez, what’s with the sudden attitude?” Boruto grumbled, lips poking out in a more profound pout. “I thought you were sorry and thanking me and all that?”

Sarada looked at him and felt her jaw slack by the tiniest bit. The way he was pouting made him look like such a baby. He looked so… cute. Sarada felt her cheeks fill with heat and recalled what exactly her business was doing here.

“Umm yeah, I wanted to apologize for last night. I… didn’t know what was going on anymore. I totally blacked out.” Shit. Why did he have to keep looking at her like that? He was too cute, and she forgot why she was fuming in the first place.

“Don’t worry about it. It happens.” His voice was lower than usual and he was speaking so quietly as if raising his voice would be too much for him to handle. “Did you get that report for me?”

Sarada replied, “Yes. I requested the numbers but haven’t gotten them yet. Is it okay to submit it after lunch?”

“Yeah,” Boruto muttered and then sighed loudly in comparison to every word he spoke. “Whenever. I don’t care.”

Her lips pursed and she studied his face. He looked tired and drained. Did he not sleep right last night? After all of those shots, she would have thought he would sleep like a baby. Unless… “Are you… hungover?”

“I’m sorry?” Boruto looked at her, brows raised and eyes narrowed.

Whoops. Looks like she poked a nerve. “Sorry, you’re just not as… happy as usual. If you’ve got a headache, I’ve got some aspirin in my bag.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m happy.” He scowled.

That scowl seriously convinced her otherwise, though. “Of course,” she giggled. “My bad. I’ll go get your report ready.”

“Wait.” Boruto groaned. “The aspirin?”

Sarada looked over her shoulder with a warm smile on her face. “I’ll bring it right over.”

With that, she left his office and walked back to her desk, rummaging through her bag and pulled out two pieces of aspirin. She then went to the pantry to get a glass and filled it with water, too. Right before she brought it over, she went back to her desk to get a post-it and scribbled a note on it. She stuck it on the glass and then went to his office. Sarada placed the pills and glass down without a word and left, not wanting to be around when he read the note.

“Have some ramen for lunch, it helps. :)”

As soon as Sarada got to the desk, she plugged on her earphones and got to work. There were a number of promotions that were left hanging and she needed to wrap them up to get Boruto’s approval for the budget before sending it over to finance. After sending a few emails to settle things, she printed out the papers for his signature and then left them on a pile by her left.

Inojin was out on field duty today, doing a product shoot for their new ramen line, and Chocho was out meeting suppliers and agencies. She was getting texts from them, asking for quick decisions and approvals for the content they were going to sign off on. This, on top of finishing the report Boruto wanted. Even if the latter wasn’t urgent—or so he claimed—she wanted to have it done first, so she could have fewer worries as she scrolled through the proposals that Chocho and Inojin quickly sent over.

To say it was overwhelming was an understatement. She didn’t even realize she skipped lunch, as she went through the report and told Inojin to wait and talk to her the following day before approving another product shoot and the concept he wanted to go with. Chocho was fighting him for another idea, and Sarada really didn’t want to play referee right now. It was so much easier when they all reported to the director, as he had to make all the important decisions and defend it to the board if they ever made a mistake.

But now… it was all on Sarada.

The promotions with bigger reach, of course, needed the director’s approval. As well as designs for billboards and commercial times and prices. But social media content, as well as their online campaigns? Trivial things that the director shouldn’t be worrying about. Product shoots and point of sales designs? Nu uh. It was now on Sarada’s turf and being the perfectionist she was, didn’t make things easier for her to decide.

At one point, she told the two to prepare some slides to justify their own ideas and present them to her after lunch the next day. The two complained, naturally. When did they ever need to convince Sarada? Well, now they did. She was their boss and responsible for them and the brand.

She only tore her gaze away from her screen when Namida came by her desk. “Hey, Sarada,” She grinned. “Here are the numbers you wanted. Oh, and I added your Job Orders there. Apparently, they need approval from the director to proceed.”

“What?” Sarada asked, completely at a shock. “The previous one didn’t need to!”

“Yeah but…” Namida shifted her gaze away. “We found that some numbers didn’t add up last time. And well… we just want to make sure this time around instead of digging up for things.” She looked back at her with an apologetic smile. “Sorry…”

She sighed and removed her glasses. “No, no. Don’t be sorry. It’s okay. I’ll have them approved. Just… give me a sec.”

Namida held up her hands. “It’s okay, you can give them to me at four. I won’t be leaving until later. I’ll have them processed ASAP so you can get your money.”

Sarada smiled tiredly at her. “Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it!” Namida grinned before leaving her desk.

These reimbursements were meals with suppliers, as well as some trivial approvals like gas and Uber rides. They all happened more than a month ago and she was irritated that they had only brought it up now. Well… there was no point in waiting.

She looked at the clock and realized it was already well passed two, and she hadn’t even eaten yet. “Shit.” Debating whether she should eat first or go to Boruto’s office to have a million things signed took her a good minute. But gave up and decided to have it approved and over with. Her report wasn’t even ready yet…

Oh well. He said it wasn’t urgent.

She gathered up all the papers and walked to Boruto’s office, knocking before opening the door to take a peek inside. “Sir?”

Boruto looked from his computer to her, looking a little more alert than he did earlier. “Come in.”

She walked in and held a pile of papers in her hands. “I need these for your approval.”

“Alright.” He grumbled before muttering a string of unintelligible curses.

She pretended not to hear them and handed the papers over, waiting for him to look through them for a while before asking, “would you want me to come back? One is for the billboard, the other for a commercial and the next two are campaigns for the new line.”

“Yeah, just give me an hour,” Boruto told her as he studied the papers on his desk.

“Okay…” Sarada left his office and plopped back on her desk. She looked at her inbox, and there were more emails. A quick alt-tab and her report was only halfway done.

“Later…” she muttered to herself and went through her purse to get her phone and wallet, making a quick run to Ninbucks for a sandwich. Perhaps some iced coffee, too. She deserved it. The day was going by way too fast, and she needed to get more work done.

After ordering, she took a seat and scrolled through her phone. Replying to her father, asking how her day was going and if she was still going to stay at their house for the weekend. Sarada replied quickly and asked him to ask her mom which cake she wanted for her to bring. As she got her order from the counter, she sat back down and found he already replied.

“The chocolate one with strawberries,” Sasuke replied.

Sarada giggled. “Which one? The one with white cream or black?”

She watched the three dots jump around a few times before getting a response.

“The one you always get…”

“I get mama both.”

“Just one.” He replied instantly.

“Then white or black?”

“I don’t know.”

Sarada laughed and replied that she would ask her mother instead. Sasuke thanked her and she finished up her sandwich. Checking her watch, she had only been gone for fifteen minutes. Not bad. Sarada picked up her things and sipped on her coffee, feeling so much better that she finally had something in her tummy, and the coffee was an added, yet welcome, bonus.

Their area was still empty, Chocho and Inojin probably didn’t want to go back to the office anymore. It was getting pretty late, anyway. She shrugged it off and got back to her computer, ready to face her emails again.

After a few emails sent, she went back to the report, and started fixing the numbers up, formatting and color-coding the cells and tabs, making it all the more readable. Sarada prided herself with organized and functional files, and the finance team often asked her why she didn’t opt to become an accountant instead.

Numbers were good, but she loved being in marketing more. Besides, she still got to crunch some numbers, but also got to write and be around some art-related things. It was cool. And she did it well.

Finally finishing the report, she typed up a quick email to Boruto, explaining how the file worked, what the colors meant, and which tab he can find the information he needed on.

Hi Boruto,

Attached is the monthly sales report. If you have any questions, I’m at your disposal.

Warm regards,

Sarada

Finally. She could breathe again. The big tasks she set for her day were done, and it was only three-thirty. Maybe she could go home early today, get some groceries done and curl up to watch Ninflix.

Maybe.

The idea of resting got her excited but remembered she had to text her mother about which cake she wanted her to bring for the weekend. As she was engrossed in her texting she didn’t realize someone was standing in front of her desk.

“Taking it easy?” Boruto asked and then dropped the stack of papers on her desk.

Sarada gasped, nearly jumping out of her skin and dropped her phone on her desk as the papers landed. She looked up, ready to give whoever it was a piece of her mind. Her brows furrowed more to see her boss grinning from ear to ear.

“Hardly,” she replied, barely containing the anger in her voice. She took a quick look at the papers, all signed with some post-its on it for extra instructions. “Did you see my report, too?”

“I was just finishing up when you sent it, I’m heading back to read it over now.” He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “While you get back to your texting.” Boruto snorted and looked annoyingly smug as he walked off, going back to his office.

Sarada glared after him and stuck out her tongue when he wasn’t looking. “I will go back to texting,” she muttered under her breath. “One that you disturbed!!!” She gritted her teeth and typed quickly, finished her text to her mother followed by, “MAMA I HATE HIIIIM” with angry and crying emojis after.

She put her phone down and took some deep breaths to calm down, and it wasn’t long until she received another text from her papa.

“Tell me to come and I will.”

Sarada giggled. Her mama was quick to forward that message. She replied she was fine and she’ll tell them all about it on Saturday instead.

She tossed her phone back in her bag and went back to her emails, cleaning them out and making sure to flag those that needed a reply the following day. Opening her drawer, she pulled out more post-it’s and started writing tasks on different colored ones and stuck them on her table, arranging them according to urgency.

It was already five-thirty, and still no email from Boruto about her report. Just a little more and she could call it a day, hoping that he wouldn’t bother sending her another task or a follow up for anything else.

After she arranged her desk and cleaned up, right before she could turn her laptop off, she got an email from Boruto. Sarada groaned and read it.

Hi Sarada,

Thanks for sending the report. The numbers are looking good, keep this up and we will hit the target in no time.

Make sure to add the projection for the campaigns next month and then align with Supply for the added stock for the next three months to support the demand.

Nice format. I like the colors. :)

Cheers,

Boruto.

Sarada smiled at seeing he added an emoji but rolled her eyes at his signature. Who uses “cheers”?

Chaotic people. That’s who.

Oh well. He seemed like the type anyway.

Sarada flagged his email and then scribbled on another post-it to write Shikadai an email, and set a meeting with him to finalize the following day.

With that, she turned her laptop off and gathered her belongings. Time to call it a day.

Sarada exited the office and headed towards the elevator, a little shocked to see that Boruto was already there, waiting, and playing with his car keys. He noticed her approach and turned to look at her, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Finally finished?”

Sarada smiled back and nodded. “Yup. Finally!”

“Heading straight home?” He asked casually and then the elevator arrived and the doors slid open. “After you.”

Impressed with his gentlemanly tone and gesture, she entered the elevator and waited for him to enter before pushing the button for the ground floor, and Boruto pushed the button for the sixth.

“I have some grocery shopping to do, and then yes, go home.” Noticing the floor he pushed, she asked, “You drive to work?”

“I do. What about you?” He asked, blue eyes peeking at her.

Sarada couldn’t help but look at his eyes. Even in the dim elevator light, they looked so bright. “I take the train,” she replied before looking away, turning her attention to the screen, indicating what floor they were on. Anything to keep her from looking at his eyes. They were so… alluring.

“The train? That must suck.” His nose scrunched as if he couldn’t fathom the idea. “I could give you a ride if you want.”

Her dark eyes widened. Getting a ride home would be nice, but no. She didn’t want to intrude. “Oh no, it’s okay,” Sarada held her hands up. “I have to stop by the grocery, and besides, I don’t want to trouble you.”

Boruto chuckled softly and played with his keys again. “It’s no trouble, really. I don’t mind.”

She bit her lower lip. It was tempting. The train would be cramped around this time, and she didn’t really need to do the groceries… “no, really. It’s okay. You look like you need to rest a little more today, boss.” She grinned cheekily at him, hoping he wouldn’t mind being teased. At least, today, she learned he was a grumpy little baby when he was hungover.

“Fine. Your loss.” He shrugged, smirking. “Do you live nearby?”

“Yeah, I live by Eleventh Avenue, near the convenience store. You?”

“Oh, really? I live on Fifth. Not too far.” Knowing this only seemed to make him smugger.

Sarada rolled her eyes and the elevator dinged, opening up to the parking lot. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you then.” Boruto nodded, still smiling as he walked out.

Sarada waved at him with a small smile on her face as the elevator doors closed. The elevator felt a little lonelier now that he was gone, but Sarada brushed it off and got out as soon as she reached the ground floor.

The walk to the station was nice. The air was cool and the crowd wasn’t as bad yet. A quick stop at the grocery made her mood lift, choosing some fresh vegetables and crackers, along with a cheap bottle of wine and chips. Tonight, she would have a salad for dinner, but reward herself with wine and chips as she watched a few episodes on Ninflix before bed.

The night was looking good.

xxx

#cheers #chaotic people club #borusara #borusara fanfiction #borusara multichapter #boruto and sarada #Sincerely Yours #kairi chan #ss-tyytyy #borusara office au #chapter three #borutoxsarada

31 notes · View notes

jaeminlore · 6 years

Text

Always Return | Jeno

summary: it sparks up the fire, a flame that still burns. Oh, it's to you i'll always return. [inspired by this post by @jenobyeol] words: 13k+ category: pirate!jeno x fem!pirate!reader, fluff, angst, adventure warnings: alcohol, blood, blades, fighting, the word "bastard" appears a lot lol, jealousy, mention of past abuse, minor character death

You are eight years old and your father sets you down in a nunnery just before he and his crew begin their raid. It's a precautionary decision he's made with this town in particular, one that keeps both you and the nuns safe. They protect the only child of the most terrifying pirate on the sea, and in return the crew does not steal from the convent.

You are eight years old when a new crew of pirates trample upon your father's territory. It's frightful, watching so many buildings burn and men slaughtered. You aren't sure how they managed to find your father— he's usually so stealthy. You aren't sure why anyone would try to defeat the great man whose entire reputation was built upon the bodies of the innocent.

Yes, he was a terrible, terrible man, but you were protected from everyone else while under his care.

There's a nun whose name you've forgotten who runs out into the courtyard and pulls you closer to the door. "They could climb the hill," she warns, "it's best we stay out of sight."

The doors lock with a loud click behind you, and as you walk the woman puts out each torch along the way. "We mustn't make a peep. If they've come all the way here then they must want something."

You can't remember where you've landed, but you're too frightened to ask. You wish your father had let you stay on the ship, where your small sword was. Here, you are weaponless and alone, a mere child in the sight of God.

The convent is silent for some time, enough to make you want to fall asleep. However, a terrified shout comes from the east yard, and you watch as a few nuns scurry outside, lighting torches as they do. "It's a child!" One of them call. "Open the doors! Let him in!"

As the west door opens wide against the dark and chilly night, you can easily see the sisters' mistake. There's a crew of men standing on the other side, and it doesn't take long before everyone — including yourself — is tied up and held hostage as the entire convent is looted for its goods and offerings.

One of the women sputter. "You're stealing from God!"

Another prays loudly, an unsteady flow in her voice.

You try to wriggle free.

It takes nearly an hour before your father's crew arrives, and there's great blood shed upon those stone floors. You wonder if the convent is cursed now; filled with the angry spirits of pirates who died far too early. Surely the convent will be removed, or cleansed by the priests that established it here years ago.

Once you are back on your father's ship, safe from harm and out at sea once again, you creep into the captain's quarters. Your sleeping shirt drags across the splintered wood. "Father? Who were those people?"

The captain picks you up and sets you on his knee. You notice the tiredness of his face as he rubs the space between his brows. "Seems this new captain has a son willing to trick innocent nuns. Jeno... a kingly name for a bastard. I'll train you to kill him. You must fight as hard as me now, for two pirates are after our loot; our crew. If they find the siren's treasure before we do, it's over. My life's work is nothing."

You have nightmares of burning crosses and desperate prayers that night.

You are ten years old and Jeno offers you a horse figurine to play with. You've been captured on his father's ship; held for ransom of whatever sum you can't add up yet.

The captain locks you in his quarters with Jeno, and the two of you find yourselves at a loss for how to speak to each other.

"I'm Y/n," you say quietly, wondering if you're even allowed to talk to the boy. "My father says I'm not supposed to be friends with you."

Jeno smiles, and it makes his eyes curl up into little crescents. He doesn't look very scary at all. "I'm Jeno. My father says I'm not supposed to be friends with you, either."

You walk the horse figurine over to him, where he had a wooden knight grasped between his fingers. "We can still play together, though."

Jeno giggles when you make the horse nudge the knight. "Sure!"

You are twelve years old when you have your first proper fight with Jeno.

You are at a marketplace, just a few stalls from the shabby inn you were staying at while your father and his crew traded in a few goods.

You meet Jeno there, practicing his swordsmanship in the courtyard square, away from the curious eyes of merchants and pirates alike. "Your feet should be pointed toward your opponent, not outwards like you have them positioned."

As if to prove your point, Jeno topples over and just barely manages to catch himself before he face plants into the cobblestone. He turns to glare at whoever interrupted him, and then stops and raises his eyebrows once he sees who it is. "Oh. It's you."

"It is me," you say haughtily, "and I'm offering you good advice, so you should take it."

Jeno ignores you and turns back around, jabbing his rapier at an unseen force. His feet have suspiciously been drawn inward, as per your instructions. "Father says I'm not supposed to talk to you."

"Then don't talk," you roll your eyes, "just defeat me."

Jeno grunts in surprise when you leap forward and draw your own sword to match his speed. The sound of steel resounds through the courtyard as you pelt Jeno with blow after blow.

After awhile, you begin to shout instructions at him, and in the heat of the fight, he listens. Suddenly his footwork is better, and he realizes that looking into your eyes will help him catch your next move. It's a proper fight now, you realize with glee, lips drawing into a smile.

Jeno is zealous in his fighting. It matches your enthusiasm evenly, so that the fight goes on for what seems like hours before you are finally disarmed.

You huff. Reaching to pick up your weapon, you address Jeno. "You only won because I'm such a good teacher."

"No way," Jeno relents. He sheaths his own sword and glares at your defiant smirk. "I could've killed you just then."

"Why didn't you?" You say hotly, friendly competition disregarded as blood heats up your ears. "That's what our father's want, huh? For us to try and have at each other? Just kill me if you're so good."

Jeno backs down. His gaze flits to his boots. "I-I can't say I want to take it that far."

There's a gentleness in his voice that makes you angry. He wasn't raised to back down from a fight, and neither were you. "Don't be such a coward," you spit. "One of us will have to do it one of these days, if we want to be in our fathers' good wishes."

You walk back to the inn, angry at yourself for letting him go. Your father would've been so proud of you for bringing him Jeno's sword. For taking away the boy's life.

You'd never admit it to Jeno, afraid of being called a coward yourself, but you didn't want to take it that far either.

You are fourteen years old and have bargained your way to riches. Every month you come back to the trade market with an item worth more than the last, and a spirit that wanes under no pressure.

You are fourteen years old and Jeno argues that he's made more money than you. Often the two of you will see each other, especially at trading posts where your fathers trusted only their children to trade their best goods for all they're worth.

It had become somewhat of a tradition to wait at the trading posts until you saw the lonesome boy. Then the bargaining would begin, and you'd get a secret thrill at the way even Jeno seemed compelled to give you his items.

Today it's a sword; one of old that has a king's seal on it. Your father found it in an abandoned tomb, and told you not to take any less than five thousand shillings for it.

You reckon you can get ten thousand.

You're prideful at the marketplace. It's not hard to figure out that this is where you shine in your adolescence. You know better than anyone here how to cheat a man of his goods.

Only Jeno can compete with your skill, and that's because he often uses his father's name to scare men into forking over Jeno's required amount.

You meet him at the dock, a sack of clanking goods heaved over your shoulder, identical to his. "Jeno."

He gives you no emotion, only staring you down with a straightness in his posture. He should loosen up a bit, you think. "Y/n."

Your laughter rings through the docks as the two of you walk towards the trading grounds. His foot falls heavier than yours, in longer strides, but you manage to keep up with the quickness of your feet. "My father said you had some earrings rumored to be from Atlantis. I want them."

Jeno turns to you, a sardonic reply at the top of his tongue. His own golden earrings catch the glare of the morning sun. "Fat chance. I've got three women from the brothel willing to give up their entire wages for these things."

"The brothel?" You scoff. "What have they? Pieces of eight? Sell to the merchants at least but don't sell yourself short."

"How much do you reckon they're worth?" He says it carefully, like he's trying to keep a secret. But Jeno is as obvious as the great ship his father sails upon, so you know he's trying to get you to admit bargaining secrets.

"I'd pay triple what anyone here offered," you let the lie slip easily off your tongue. "If the pearls are truly from Atlantis as the legends say, they are priceless. Sirens could've worn these as they pulled men to their demise." There's a quick suggestion in your speech that you're sure Jeno doesn't catch.

His eyebrows furrow at the obvious change in tone. "Are you suggesting dragging me to my demise?"

Your smile is quick. "Of course not, sweetheart."

His lips quirk up into a little smile at the name. It seems to have the opposite effect of what you had originally aimed for: to annoy him. Instead, he seems rather pleased at your formality. "Would you like to see them?"

You hold to your intimidating gaze, but Jeno only ignores it as he pulls a small wooden box out of his bag. Upon opening them, you can see the shine of mismatched pearls: one pink and one white. They're beautiful and unique, and even you feel as if they would've once belonged to a siren. To royalty of Atlantis. "How much?" It almost sounds desperate, nothing like your normal bargaining voice, but right now you feel drawn to the treasure.

"It's siren magic," Jeno says in awe, supplying a reason for the way you're feeling. "I'll use that to my advantage and get a ton of money for it."

You wonder if Jeno is playing dumb or if he truly doesn't know that these earrings could bring him closer to the siren's treasure. You need them before he sells them off to some stupid merchant who has no idea what magic that jewelry possesses.

"Or..." he smirks, "You can give me all your earnings today for them."

You feel like he has something up your sleeve, but you can't be bothered to care. Those earrings will get you and your father ahead. They could be your true saving grace. Now it's only a game of outsmarting Jeno. Beating him to your father on the other side of the shore, away from his own rival.

You left him at the docks and began your bargaining with the ugly men of the market. They give in easily, and you use your father's name to get more gold than necessary. Two can play a game of threatening.

By sundown, Jeno is found outside of an inn, his still-high voice bribing the bartender for a sip of rum. "I've got the money."

You drop the noisy bag of coins onto the bar.

Jeno turns his attention to you, and the bartender takes this time to replace his mug of rum with cider. "Great," he grabs the bag and stands up. "Goodnight, Y/n."

Your hand goes to your sword hilt. "You aren't giving me the earrings, are you?"

Jeno leans forward, till his lips are centimeters from your ear. His lips feel warm, as does your stomach, but you can't fathom why. "My father is just upstairs, love. Should I upset him by ruining our best chance at the sirens? And can you risk your own reputation by drawing your weapon at an inn? I doubt it."

You want to scream and yell and fight, for your father won't take this news well. Neither will you. But Jeno is right; even as a known pirate, the marketplace is a place of peace. These people are bandits and thieves just the same, and they'll kill you without a second look for threatening their business. So you walk out and find the place your father told you to stay until his crew can come to get you.

It's a small hut hidden behind the blacksmith's forge. They let you sleep there as long as your father gives them business whenever they visit.

You don't think Jeno knows anything about it.

Which is why you are so surprised to see a small burlap bundle under your pillow. Inside are the two pearl earrings, pink and white.

You are fifteen years old, and Jeno never told you that he had replicas made so that his father would think he had the real earrings.

You've thought about him a lot in the past year. Mostly, every time you put on those pearl earrings. You think of what kind of sacrifice Jeno made, for you of all people. It makes you wonder why. It makes you want to ask him.

There's a pink silk gown covering your body, draped over the petticoat and corset your father coaxed you into wearing. If you can sneak into this royal ball, you can open one of the back entrances for a small raid. You can get some royal memorabilia that would gain trunkfuls of gold from the market.

"Remember," you father says, eyes meeting yours through the dirty looking glass that hangs on the ship's walls. "Be as inconspicuous as possible. But if a noble takes interest in you, don't be afraid to follow them deeper into the castle. You could loot a few bedrooms up there."

You press your tinted lips in a thin line. Your father seems to forget that you are just a child, not a woman fit for a royal party, and certainly not a woman who follows a nobleman up to his room. But you should know better than anyone that your father cares about nothing but collecting and hoarding gold like some sort of dragon elder from the mountains.

He doesn't know about the earrings, because you haven't told him. Something tells you it'd make matters worse, make the fighting worse, make your missions harder and scarier.

Besides, your father had to give someone up to the sirens if he wanted to entire their territory, wouldn't he? You wouldn't put it past him to offer you up.

The crew sneers and whistles at you when you leave the boat. You cover your face with a parasol and keep walking until you blend in with the crowd that moves towards the castle.

You purse your lips anxiously. You aren't even sure where you are, much less the names of any royals here. All you can hope for is that no one asks any questions.

Getting inside the ballroom is easier than you thought it would be. The grandiose of everything is so different in contrast to your father's dirty ship — it makes you imagine a life as a princess with no worries. How they must live life in luxury with their beautiful gowns and delicious foods.

You glance at one of the servers as they walk past you, glasses of champagne balanced on a tray. "Would you care for a drink, Madame?"

His voice is familiar. The accent is not. "Jeno?"

The boy in question looks up, eyes wide like he's been caught red-handed. "Huh. Small world."

You place you hands on your hips and follow him as he offers drinks to random guests. "If you think for a second your father is going to get the loot my father has been planning for then you are sorely mistaken."

Jeno places the tray on a table and steals a silver spoon off of the table in the same movement. He holds it up and glances at his reflection. "Wonder if they'll catch the shine through the window."

You snatch the spoon out of Jeno's hand, placing it back on the table as the boy laughs. "Lee Jeno, this is serious. My father will be angry if he doesn't get this loot."

Jeno scoffs. "You think you're the only one with daddy issues? Think again."

You sigh and look around. The party is in full swing, and the live band is distracting everyone from one of the back entryways. You get an idea. "If we both signal them at the same time, but on opposite sides of the castle, they won't know about each other until they get inside. It won't be our fault."

Jeno's eyebrows lift as he catches on. "We must be docked on different sides of the harbor anyway, considering neither of us knew the other would be here."

"Right!" You say, "So we'll signal them and meet up at a rendezvous spot."

"The balcony? In the left wing? We can wait until they get back to the ship, and pretend we got caught up fighting each other!"

"Yes!" You grab Jeno's wrists in the excitement, only to quickly release them once you realized what had happened. "Uh, sorry."

Jeno licked his lips and smiled that same dumb crescent-eyed smile that he had when you were kids. "It's okay. We aren't fighting until we get to the balcony anyway, right?"

"Right," you say, feeling a tingle in your heart.

Jeno is fifteen years old and he can't figure out why you look so mesmerizing compared to everyone else in the room. It's been a mystery he's been struggling to solve all night, but the more he thinks about it the more stumped he gets.

And then you're standing across from him on the left wing balcony, hands pressed against the railing as you watch the far away sea start with quiet activity. "My father's crew are on their way."

Jeno pulls a pocket watch — albeit rusty and unreliable — out of his pocket and checks the time. "It's nearly midnight. Mine will be on their way too."

The sound of you tapping the railing fills Jeno's ears, and he tries to focus on that instead of the way you look so much more grown up than the last time he saw you.

He's trying to focus on anything but the stray curl that falls onto your forehead, brushing your nose and making you scrunch your face in discontentment.

"Here," he mutters softly, wondering if his touch will scare you away. He's only fifteen after all; he's not exactly sure what he's doing.

He takes the stray curl and tucks it behind your ear. He does it slowly, because he likes how warm your skin feels, and the way you're looking at him makes his own skin feel just as hot. "I- uh- there you go."

"Thank you, Jeno." There seems to be a tone of embarrassment to your voice, and Jeno thinks maybe he isn't the only one affected tonight.

"No problem."

You are sixteen years old and Jeno doesn't tell you that his father is sick, and wants to find the siren's treasure before influenza takes him.

You are sixteen years old and Jeno doesn't know where you are, only that his father intends to kill yours, and there no way of warning you.

He sees your ship, laden with panicked men as they head to the canons. And you, in the crow's best, watching everything with fearful eyes. Your sword is drawn, and when you lock eyes with Jeno, he feels almost compelled to put his sword down.

But Jeno's fear of his father is much stronger than his strange fondness for you, so he covers his relieved sigh with a cough and gestures for his father's men to protect the ship as best they can.

It's the first battle of the many you and Jeno will command. Rain clouds gather in the sky, perhaps to watch a downfall of two great captains — two feared captains — both overcome with natural sickness.

You blame the rats onboard. Jeno blames the wind.

You want more than anything to be with your father, instead of outside in the pouring rain, calling out for orders and throwing fallen crew members overboard. Your heart stings painfully as your sword blade clinks against Jeno's.

He doesn't look like a boy anymore. He looks like a true captain, ready to command his ship at his father's sudden illness.

In return, you feel weak and sick and wonder briefly how on earth you'd ever captain a ship on your own. If mutiny came upon your ship, what would you do? Where would you go?

Jeno grunts as you nick his arm with your rapier, "My father is dying. As is yours. Perhaps this is the day we make peace."

He says it as he jabs his sword at your side.

You dodge the blade and glare at him. "Perhaps. It'd be fruitless though, and I do not wish to be haunted by my own father for not following with postmortem wishes. I doubt even you would like to face the wrath of an angry spirit. No, I'll find the siren's treasure myself and kill your entire crew."

"And me?" Jeno huffs, backing away from your blade. His footwork is quick, almost like a dance. "What will you do with me?"

You think of your father, sick and dying. You wonder what he'd say. "I'll tie you to the prow and let the mermaids have you."

"What?" There's sweat running down Jeno's face. He wipes it off and continues to parry your strikes, looking exhausted but determined, and slightly intrigued.

"Didn't your father tell you? Sirens often require a sacrifice if you want to escape their waters. Once I find the treasure, I'll offer you up to them. They don't take kindly to men anyways."

You say it out loud, but you don't feel it in your chest, only in the pit of your stomach where it sits like fermented cider. It's distasteful and strange.

Jeno almost notices. Instead he smirks. "Then I call a truce for tonight. We have captains to bury and strategies to form."

He doesn't sound very happy about anything he's just said.

You think you know exactly how he feels.

You are seventeen years old, and the siren's treasure is heavy on your mind. Jeno is also heavy on your mind, though it's hard to figure out just why you think about him so much.

In your father's absence, your crew has gotten dirtier and tougher in their way of talk and action. No longer do they fear your father's blade, so they openly talk about him as if his spirit doesn't haunt the ship. You hear angry words shared about him, but also about Jeno.

One of them makes your blood boil far great than the other.

The next time you see Jeno, he's sitting in a tavern. His eyes are bloodshot from what looks like lack of sleep, and his nose crinkles every now and again from the smoke of his mate's pipe.

You're in a trading town, letting your crew take the week off of water to trade their own goods and invest in some homes or businesses. Some have families to visit.

You don't have anything to trade or anyone to visit, so you stay in the tavern, where an inn is located in just the floor above.

Seeing Jeno is sort of a blessing in disguise, and you gesture for him to follow you as soon as he catches your eye.

The room you've bought is small, but the cotton sheets and clean wash bin are certainly welcomed after months at sea.

Jeno follows you in and slumps down onto the bed. His vest slips off his narrow shoulders as he leans his arms back to hold himself up. "Long time, no see."

His voice is quiet, a murmur that spreads through your veins like warm cider on a cold night. You aren't sure why you've missed it so much. Perhaps the familiarity of it all. Yes, that's it.

"How are you fairing?"

Jeno shrugs. "The crew is more or less cooperative with me. Things could be worse. I'm ready to sleep for the night without forty men snoring right beside me, though."

"Haven't you got a captain's quarters?"

Jeno shrugs. "I don't really like sleeping in my father's old room."

"Stay with me," you blurt out, eyes wide at your own daring words. "I mean, it'll save money. And I don't snore, by the way."

Jeno stands up and smiles softly just before walking over to his carpetbag and taking out what looks like nightclothes. "Well, that's a relief. I'd have to kick you off the bed."

You gasp, "But I'm paying for the room!"

Jeno pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the floor. The sudden glimpse at his torso makes your mouth feel dry, so you lick your lips and avert your gaze. "Besides," you continue, ignoring Jeno's knowing smirk. "No one else knows you're in here. If you kicked me off the bed, I'd have a perfectly valid reason to kill you."

When you turn back around, Jeno is fully clothed again. He crawls into bed and burrows himself under the covers until only his forehead is peaking out.

It's quite endearing.

You turn out the light and slip under the covers as well, finding that it's a much tighter fit than it looked before. You can't rest comfortably without your shoulder touching Jeno.

He doesn't seem to mind. Instead, it seems to be the opposite. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close to him, to that your face is against the crook of his neck.

You feel something soft against your forehead, and your mind just registers it to be Jeno's lips before you slip into a deep sleep.

You are eighteen years old, and have shed your fair share of blood. No longer do the screams haunt you at night; no longer are you afraid. You feel like an immortal spirit, shedding blood to protect your youth.

You are eighteen years old, and Jeno mocks you for your unadulterated courage.

He has become more subdued since his father's death: deadly in the most graceful way, while you are unlawful in your charges, unwilling to give anyone a second chance.

Even your crew begins to fear you and your bloodlust. It isn't that you love to kill, but the more you do, the more numb you become to it all.

The crew wouldn't really understand anyway. They can't hear your father's voice like you can; a spirit passing through your soul and leaving nothing but a chill in it's wake. They can't hear him get louder and louder every day until you're begging him to be silent.

They don't see the visions you have at night, not of innocent victims but of your own father, berating you for letting his ship sink; for letting his crew fall; for losing the treasure he gave his life for. They'll never know why you wake up screaming in the night, fear blanketing you in a thin layer of sweat.

And, oh, how you hate the sunrise. You've come to look at it every day, heartbeat still stuttering in panic from your reoccurring dreams. You wonder briefly if any of your crew cares that you seem to be in pain every night.

You already know the answer. It doesn't really come as a surprise when mutiny is declared, and you're suddenly on a rowboat in the middle of the ocean.

You hate the sunrise, but Jeno loves it. That's why he's the first to see you — not that he knows it's you yet — laying low and unnoticeable at the bottom of the rowboat.

You don't stir or move, and it makes Jeno feel fear. "Hey, we got a straggler! Get the ropes!"

The first mate looks down from atop the crow's nest. "I've got eyes. Drop the anchor and get that person onto the deck. Someone bring food and dry clothes!"

Everyone gets into place, and Jeno leans over the side of the ship as a few members of his crew row out to help the stranger.

There's a bit of commotion down at the boat and Jeno finds himself shouting, "What's wrong? Are they dead? Bring them up!"

One of the crew members snort and shout back. "Like hell. That's the cap't of the golden ship. Let the devil rot like her father before her!"

Jeno snaps his head towards the boat and notices for the first time your hair peaking out from under your purple bandana. "There's no threat! Seriously, let Y/n up."

It's difficult to get the entire crew to listen, but Jeno finally manages to get you aboard. Your skin is ashen, lips chapped and pale from dehydration. "We need water!"

The crew all murmur their disagreements before someone finally hands Jeno a leather flask.

"C'mon, Y/n," he whispers. He places the mouth of the flask to your lips. "C'mon, you'll be okay."

You cough once, twice, three times before lulling your head against Jeno's chest. "I... I can't... I'm dead..."

"You aren't dead," Jeno says.

"I am." You blink and look up, eyes catching on his. "Mutiny, you see."

Jeno places his hand over your mouth and hisses, "Don't let my crew hear, okay? We'll figure this out... I'll help you."

You nod, obviously still delirious. "Sure, Jeno."

Jeno tethers you to the base of the mast, because nothing else would appease his crew. Hands tied above your head and torso pressed against the splintered wood, you growl at anyone whose eyes linger too long.

Jeno finds comfort in the fact that you haven't lost your bite. He nurses you back to health himself, ignoring your jests. "You're sunburnt," he mumbles quietly, dipping his fingers in a bowl of aloe vera. "This should help."

"Just let me go at the next port," you say, ignoring the pain that strikes your peeling skin.

"Hush," Jeno chides. He presses his fingers against your lips and brushes the aloe across the expanse of the reddened surface. "The more you talk, the longer it takes to heal."

You sigh through your lips — most likely in frustration — but Jeno only feels your hot breath on his fingers. He glances up, wondering if you can sense what he's feeling. After all, your faces are pretty close, and he can't help but lean in whenever he applies more balm to your skin.

You kick him in the shin. "Are you done or do I have to keep looking at your big nose?"

Jeno balks. "It's not big."

He listens pleasantly when a laugh escapes you. Your shoulders shake and you hide your face in your overhanging arm, wincing at the obvious pain of smiling through your sunburn. "You look like a child, Jeno. Don't get so defensive over cosmetics."

Jeno wants to argue with you. Mostly because it's the only way you'll talk to him. He would gladly let you point out all of his flaws if it made you smile like you are now. He wants to think he could make you smile under other circumstances.

"Are you that offended?" you say tauntingly, noting Jeno's change in behavior.

He could thank Poseidon right now for your poor people-reading skills. After all, if you knew anything about reading people, you'd know that Jeno likes you, and has for years now.

You'd realize that's he's risking mutiny himself for taking you in and taking care of you.

You'd realize that he's been on your side all along.

Jeno is eighteen years old when he decides you're more important than the sea. It makes sense once he sits down and thinks about it — actually thinks about it and doesn't brush his feelings under the rug like his father always told him to.

Once his father left, Jeno was surprised to find that he didn't grieve much at all. If anything, relief filled his chest at the realization that he was finally free to choose his destiny, whether it be the siren's treasure itself... or just you.

You've always been there, in the back of Jeno's mind. Like an immortal song, passed down through the ages and never forgotten— treasured even.

Still you are like that. You're untouchable. Jeno knows that even at eight years old, you knew what you were doing. You knew how to fight. And even now, when years of death and money should be clouding your vision and turning you into your savage father, you were fighting. Perhaps a different fight than your father wanted, but Jeno thinks it's admirable. He's fighting the same fight to somehow keep his morality despite the blood on his hands and demons in his mind. He knows it's hard, and it would be so much easier to give in.

But he doesn't, and neither do you. Jeno is proud of you, and he's proud of himself.

He scratches his wrist and sits up in his bed. The branded P on his arm still hurts sometimes, though he reckons it's more of a phantom pain than anything else. He wonders if he'd ever be free from it; this strange life. The brand wouldn't get him far on land. They'd hang him before he could recount his loyalty to the sea. Not that he would.

You have the brand too. Jeno notices it when he sneaks on deck in the night to relieve your arms for a bit. "It must be hell to have them up for so long."

He's eyeing the stark white P that was pressed into your skin long ago. His eyes trail down your arms, and scan your face. Your lips are pale and chapped, so he tells himself to bring you water.

Your scowl turns into a whimper when you yank your arms down too quickly. "You bastard," the curse escapes you in a cough.

Jeno's lips lift into a smile. "Do you ever worry that your hard feelings towards me will one day backfire? I don't have to help you, you know."

"Ah," you grin, "but you certainly wouldn't leave an old friend to die, so I'll risk it."

"Hold on, and I'll get you water," Jeno mumbles, wondering if he'll ever get anywhere with you and your stubborn heart.

You guzzle the water down quickly, till it escapes the mouth of the canteen and drips down your chin. Jeno wants to tell you to slow down — you'll get a stomachache — but sunlight is only hours away and he needs to talk to you now. "What's this about mutiny? They've let you live?"

You let the canteen fall into your lap and wipe your mouth with the back of your shackled hands. "They told me I was turning into my own father. Which is true, I suppose, and once you're that scared, I reckon leaving the sea to do your job isn't a bad deal."

There are tear trails breaking through the dirt on your cheeks. Jeno doesn't mention it. He pulls a semi-clean handkerchief out of his belt and gently wipes your face. "You think you're like your father?"

"What else can I be?" you whisper, eyes wide. Your lower lip quivers and you bite it, perhaps to still the motion. Jeno can't really look away, no matter the reason.

"His spirit haunts the ship. I know it does, because I've never wanted to fight and raid and pillage so badly. I... more blood has been spilled these few years than ever in my life, Jeno. I'm a monster, alright? I carry my father's memory— I carry his violent traits..."

"No, you—"

You don't seem to hear him as you continue. "He was nice to me, of course, always nice to me. But the crew was never safe. You had to be on your toes around my father, you see. I never had to— I got out scotch free every time. The crew hated me for it then and they still hate me now. Once I became captain it was okay for a bit, but maybe I let his spirit take me. Maybe I became him. That's why they booted me off my own ship. They didn't want another captain like my father."

You're silent after that, so Jeno takes the time to wipe whatever tears escaped through your story. He shushes you when new tears flow. "Hey, you're okay. Your secret is safe here. As far as my crew knows, you escaped from the west port after the townspeople tried to hang you for piracy. Alright? Don't talk to anyone on my crew unless I am with you. We'll get out next trading port."

"Wait," you sniff, "What?"

Jeno tries to smile, he really does. "You know, my father wasn't a good man either. Only he took his frustrations out on me, and he let the crew take their frustrations out on me as well. You think I'm captain of this ship, but in reality my entire crew is trying to find a way to get me killed."

"You have something over their heads," you whisper. "They would've killed you already if you didn't."

Jeno reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ears, so that the glittering pearl earring can catch the light of the moon. "I'm the only one who knows you have the real ones. So, in a way, we're keeping each other alive. How interesting."

"Indeed," you murmur, eyes fluttering shut as Jeno's fingertips trace down your jaw.

Your senses awaken when his calloused thumb presses against your bottom lip. "You're really pretty, Y/n."

You blink. Jeno's face is close to yours now, so your breath catches in your throat. "W-Why would you say that?"

"Because I don't think you've ever been told properly," Jeno says, just an inch away from you, "And you deserve to know."

He mumbles the final word against your lips, and then his fingers are gently threading through your hair, as tangled and dirty as it is. He catches your bottom lip between his own and presses so close that your head is now against the mast. You gasp in surprise, barely registering Jeno's hurried apology before his lips are back on yours again, his warm mouth open in a slow and drawn out kiss that has your mind blanking for a moment.

You realize you aren't moving when he grunts in frustration and begins to pull away. You stop him; your hands pull at his shirt, drawing his body closer to yours, maybe to keep you warm, or maybe just to feel him against you.

He's kissing you in a way that makes you feel like he's wanted this for a long time. It's slow, the way he gently nips at your lips and then runs his tongue along the aggravated surface right after.

You press your palms flat against his taunt stomach and sigh at the feeling. Jeno's always been beautiful, always been wonderful and attentive and sweet, always been just two steps out of reach, but now he's here, and he's giving you all of his attention.

It feels like for once, the two of you can agree on something.

So you kiss him back more fervently and try to memorize the feeling of his hot mouth on yours.

He sighs your name just as your teeth graze his bottom lip. It's less of a sigh and more of a whine, so your cheeks heat up and you feel warmth pool at the bottom of your stomach.

You clear your throat and turn your face to the side. Jeno's lips brush against your cheek and it makes your heartbeat quicken. You want this so badly, but this isn't the time or place. "We shouldn't, Jeno. We're already in danger. Add in... whatever this is, and we'll never get off this ship alive."

Jeno hangs his head. It's silent for a moment, and the waves that lap against the ship seem to roar against your eardrums as you wait for an answer. "I shouldn't have tried anything. That was stupid— sorry."

"Don't be," you say softly, still willing your heartbeat to calm down. "Just... we need to be careful on this ship if we're going to get out alive."

"I have to tie your hands up again," Jeno says apologetically. "It's nearly sunrise."

"I understand." You still wince when your arms go up. "See you tomorrow?"

Jeno chuckles when you kick at his shin. "Yeah. I'll bring you an extra orange around lunch."

The time to escape comes a week later, and it's the middle of the night again. Jeno wakes you up and unties you. "I'm sorry," he says quickly, saddened at the rope burn around your arms.

"'S okay," you say, still half-asleep. "What's wrong?"

"We're leaving now," he says, grabbing your hand. "I don't think they'll go looking for us once they notice we're gone, but we need the distance just in case."

You notice then that Jeno is dressed up. He has an extra layer over his coat despite the warmth of the night. You assume it's for you once you both get on land.

Jeno lets the rowboat sink as soon as the two of you are on the dock. Better no one in the town knows there's any new villagers for the night, especially ones who came from the sea. "Here." He pulls off the second coat and wraps it around your shoulder. "Pull the sleeves over your wrist. Then hold my hand. Our brands will be harder to notice."

The town is dark, lit by lanterns and the scattered guard. You freeze. "They'll notice. Jeno, we'll be hanged."

"Just let me do the talking," he whispers, giving your hand a squeeze. His hand is warm and rough. Then, "Sir!"

The guard turns and looks at the two of you suspiciously, "It's a bit late for a young couple like you, isn't it?"

Jeno smiles at you, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He's acting. "Yes, well, me and my wife thought we'd go for a midnight stroll, you see. We got married just a town over and wished to explore. Only we've gotten lost, and we're hoping there's an inn nearby to wash up and rest. Just before we return in the morning?"

The guard nodded, "Yes, there's an inn just down the way. Go quickly. It's cold out, and there's an unknown ship spotted by our watchmen. Better to stay inside tonight."

"Yes," Jeno nods. He pulls a shilling out of his pocket and hands it to the guard. "Thank you for your time, then."

The two of you walk for a time till eventually you reach the inn. "In here," he whispers, opening the door for you and pushing you in.

It's not a nice inn at all, lit by torches and ruined with the smell of rum and vomit. Jeno pays the keeper for a room close to the back entryway just in case a quick escape is needed.

"Shouldn't we keep traveling?" you hiss, shutting the room door behind you as Jeno lights a candle.

"It's no use right now. With the ship in their sights the entire town will be on high alerts for suspicious activity. We'll have to change our clothes and leave under the same clause from whence we came."

"Married," you say, "Oh, what a turn our lives have given us."

"Yes." Jeno presses his lips together. "Well, it's hard to suspect a young couple in love, isn't it? At most, they'll think us clueless. Stupid, even. It'll protect us. By the way, give no one our names."

"What shall we go by?"

"The Blacks. That's our last name. Any first name is no ones business, but if you give one, let me know. Our lies need to match up or they'll suspect."

"Perfect," you say. You shrug out of your jacket and tighten your belt around your waist. "Then I'll go find us some clothes. There has to be some drunken couple who left their door unlocked."

"Y/n," Jeno calls just before you open the door.

"What?"

"Be safe, please. Come back before the hour's over."

"I will," you say before leaving.

You are eighteen years old when you leave Jeno there in the inn and head out for the open air.

You twist the pearl earrings still secure in your ears and sigh. You're a lot more like your father than Jeno thinks.

You are nineteen years old and you've met a boy named Na Jaemin. He's tall and chatty and seems to fill the entire room with his presence. He owns a shabby tavern that balances between the eastern and southern border. You fled there soon after leaving Jeno, and he was kind enough to give you a job in your emotional state.

He thinks it's cool that you are a pirate, and he makes you promise to add him to your crew once you find a boat. You tell him he'll be outcasted; he says he already is, but that's all he has to say on the matter.

You tell him about the siren's treasure. The two of you could find a new life out on an island somewhere— some port of call where P doesn't mean pirate and no one will give either of you a second look.

You tell him about Jeno too, and how you often wonder where he is. "He probably hates you," Jaemin says casually, wiping down a pint with a rag. "After leaving him and all that. Stupid decision, leaving a pirate friend like that. Who's to say you didn't make a new enemy."

"I don't care, okay? Jeno wanted a different life. He didn't want to be a pirate anymore. I can't settle down like that." You grab a rag and begin to clean a glass.

"You loved him though, yeah?"

The glass in your hand breaks. You curse and wipe the glass off of the counter with your rag. "It's none of your business, really. We've just been through a lot, okay? Let's put it at that."

"Do you regret leaving him?" Jaemin asks, this time with a softer tone to his voice.

You sigh, and your mind goes immediately to the feeling of Jeno's hand in yours, and the adrenaline you felt when he sighed your name against your lips. "Yes, I do. But my story with him is over now. He's probably off and married by now, looking for a job as a sailor. He wouldn't give up the sea for good."

"Maybe we'll see him one day," Jaemin remarks, "At one of our stops."

"You aren't joining my crew, Jaemin."

"I absolutely am! How else do you think you're gonna find enough money to get a ship?"

You give him a long stare. "What do you mean?"

Jaemin always looks like he has something up his sleeve, but now he looks even more mischievous, and it gets on your nerves. "I'm saying we sell the tavern and get out of here. Let's get that siren's treasure."

You ignore it until that night, when you are getting ready for bed.

Jaemin has his face close to a looking glass, drawing a razor-blade down his chin. "Have you thought about what ship you'd like? Personally, I think that the Peribat is a good choice."

"Jaemin, what are you doing?"

Jaemin takes a circular brush and dips it in a white foam. "I'm shaving, Y/n, haven't you ever seen a razor before?"

You try to think back to your crew of men with scratchy beards and dark arm hair. "No..."

Jaemin grins and his eyes meet yours through the looking glass. "Well, here it is! I have to keep a smooth face for all the ladies that visit the tavern."

He wiggles his eyebrows and you find yourself giggling. "None of them are sober enough to care what you look like, Jaemin."

He goes about drying his face, and it leaves you with your thoughts. They drift to Jeno, and you try to remember if he ever had any stubble on his face. You wonder, if you ever saw him again, if he'd have a bit of scruff on his cheeks, just enough for you to feel when you held his face in your hands.

Your skin heats up and you look away. "Let's, uh, go to sleep. We can talk about this tomorrow."

Tomorrow comes drearily, blanketing the town in cold rain and a dark atmosphere. Townsfolk find solace in the lantern light of the tavern, causing you and Jaemin to constantly pour more mead and rum to heat up their chilly bones.

You rub your eyes with your sleeve as you listen to a man — too drunk for mid-afternoon — sing an old shanty that brings back memories of an old crew your father used to vehemently hate. They'd sing the song to alert their enemies of their arrival, mostly to mock them.

Your eyes snap open at the realization. "Jaemin, get down."

Before he can question you, you grab the boy's sleeve, pull him behind the counter and press him against the wooden beam. "Keep quiet," you hiss. "Don't let anyone know you're back here."

Jaemin's eyes widen. His lips tremble, not from fear, but from the cold chill that has just seeped into the tavern thanks to someone swinging the door open. "What's happening?"

"It's a raid," you say.

There are heavy footsteps approaching the counter. With one last warning look towards Jaemin, you shoot up and lean your elbows on the counter. "Gentlemen! Long time no see, aye?"

The captain isn't the same as the one when you were a child. This man is younger, but much bigger, with intimidating muscles and a long black beard strung with beads and braids and what looks like a little dried blood. There's a strange mark under his eye; it looks like an "x", and for some reason it frightens you. You don't know who this man is. The crew is somewhat recognizable; a bunch of drifters you've seen in and out of crews. Irresponsible men who can't stay loyal.

You see a few from Jeno's old crew and your heart jumps. You crane your head around and try to see if he is there. Maybe this is just an intervention. Maybe Jeno's been looking for you.

"Where are they?" The pirate's voice is gruff and almost echoes in the silence of the tavern. Your customers are frozen in fear, hoping to get out unscathed. Knowing that there hasn't been a raid in this town for years, and only now is there danger because of you, makes you feel overprotective of the people.

However, you still have the heart of a pirate, and there's still business to attend to.

Thunder booms overhead. One of the maidens shrieks at the sudden noise. You remain calm. "I don't have them anymore."

"You have to," he says. The sound of steel resounds through the air as he unsheathes his sword and presses it against the center of your neck. "Or tell us who you gave them to."

"I can't remember," you say steely, looking him in the eye. You can't remember feeling so hyped on adrenaline. If only you had your sword; you'd surely start a fight in the middle of the tavern.

The captain swings back his sword. You don't flinch, knowing the tactic well. He'll act like he's going to kill you in the hopes of you blurting out your secret. Your father used the tactic all the time. But you're the only one with knowledge to the whereabouts of the earrings, so you will be kept alive.

You don't flinch.

Jaemin does. He bolts upwards and pushes you out of the way. "Wait! Don't hurt her. I'll do anything."

You close your eyes and sigh. May Davy Jones curse Jaemin and his need to play the savior. "You idiot," you hiss.

The captain only smirks. "Take them both to the ship," he commands his crew. "And hurry, before another crew tries to take what is ours."

You roll your eyes and growl when one of the men grabs your arm too tightly. "I'm going, you bastard."

Jaemin doesn't look too afraid, if anything, he looks curious and almost excited. You feel like punching him.

Your boots are permeated with sludge-filled rainwater. It soils your shoelaces and emits a sound of disgust from your lips as your socks squelch inside your shoes.

Jaemin giggles from his spot beside the porthole. Rainwater belts his clear face for a brief moment, but it doesn't take his joyful expression away. "At least they're good singers."

He's referring to the loud and drunken voices of the crew as they search through whatever loot they've raided from your town. They've been drinking and sifting through chests of junk for hours now, trying to find any remnants of the earrings you refuse to open up about.

They'd never find them; they were hidden in plain sight. Even the holder of them had no idea where they were. He'd never know.

Jaemin shivers and draws his coat closer to him. "So... reckon we can escape while they're drunk?"

You nudge him aside and glance out the porthole. "We're still docked, which means the captain must still be out. The entire ship can't be drunk if there's still the threat of land."

"Well we can't escape at sea," Jaemin says.

"I know," you mumble. "Just... let me think of a plan. And button your coat; it's getting colder down here."

Jaemin does what you say just as a shout is heard overhead. "We're leaving," he guesses.

You groan in frustration and kick the wall of the ship. "New plan. We escape at the next port or try to flee ship if there's a battle. Just be ready. And be careful about your health. It can take weeks or even months to see land again."

The two of you push a few barrels together and sit atop them. You take off your boots and tie them 'round your neck, upside down so the water will drip out as you sleep.

Jaemin does the same and then pulls your body close to him, shivering. "This is quite fun," he whispers teasingly. "Being pirates and all that."

You roll your eyes and elbow him. "Go to sleep."

Secretly, you're quite happy to share a cell with someone, even if it is Na Jaemin.

You awaken to the sound of a cannon firing. This time it's Jaemin who pulls you down to the floor. Your shoulder hits the shallow pool of water from last night's previous storm. Shrapnel flies overhead as a cannonball shoots through the wooden planks.

Jaemin laughs against the shell of your ear. His arms are right around your middle. "That was quick."

You push him away and get on your knees, "We can escape to the other ship. C'mon."

The cell is still intact. The large padlock hasn't moved even with the commotion and attack on the deck above. You curse and shake the bars, hoping to weaken whatever hinges are there. "C'mon," you say, straining, "This boat has got to be old, right?"

When the chains don't budge, you curse and turn around, glaring out the porthole for any sign of the rival ship. "It must be on the other side."

The chain jingles, followed by Jaemin's gasp. "You're letting us go?"

You whip around. There's a man with a key, working his way through the lock. His face is covered by the captain's hat, but he's a lot smaller than the captain, so you balk. Taking a captain's hat is disrespectful. This man must be from the other ship. You walk up to the cell door and hold onto the bars. "Listen, if you think for a second we are going to follow you to your ship just to become your prisoners, you've got another thing coming."

The man looks up and smiles. It's a familiar smile you'd know anywhere. "Still as feisty as ever, I see."

"J-Jeno?" You step back, studying the boy. He looks the same, though maybe a bit older. His eyes are sharper, the brown of them magnified by smudged black kohl under his eyes. There's a cut atop his cheekbones that causes a surge of anger through your veins. Your gaze hardens. "Who are we fighting?"

"He calls himself and his ship Mortem." Jeno says, glancing from you to Jaemin. He stares at Jaemin for a lingering moment and then shakes his head, as if getting rid of a thought. "You have some explaining to do, but we need to get to my ship first."

He sounds upset, but you can't blame him for it— not after the way you left him.

He hands you a dagger and passes a knife to Jaemin. "Find your way to my ship and show them your weapons. They'll take you to my quarters."

You do as Jeno says, and Jaemin surprisingly holds his own as the two of you fight your way to the top. He's a bit clumsy with his knife work, and you know he'll have hell to pay with his sore muscles tomorrow morning, but he isn't useless. That's a good sign.

On the deck of Jeno's ship — a small one you've never seen before named The Amare — the crew is filled with men you've never seen before. Their kind smiles startle you, as does the black cat the suddenly winds itself around your soggy socks. Your boots are still around your neck. You hold out your dagger. "Er, Jen—Captain Jeno said to show you these."

The fight dwindles down until the man called Mortem is left with nothing but his ship in flames. Jeno and a few other men swim to The Amare and are let up on ropes.

You stare at the captain as he walks towards you and the remaining crew.

Jeno eyes Jaemin. "Take the boy below deck and treat his wounds. I need to discuss something with Y/n in the map room."

You follow him to the small room just beside the captain's quarters. "Who is that? The boy with you?"

He says "boy" with such disdain that it makes you think he realizes that Jaemin is around his age, he just doesn't care.

"That's Jaemin. He owns a tavern back ho— in the town I was docked at."

"You were going to say home," Jeno's jaw clenches. He takes off the tattered hat and tosses it onto the old map that stretches along a mahogany table. "So you left me to live on land with someone else? Not even to continue being a pirate?"

"That's not it," you roll your eyes. "Jaemin had offered me work at the tavern so I could save up for a ship."

Jeno licks his lips. "You don't understand how angry I am at you right now."

"I was saving up for a ship!" You argue. "You wanted a life on land and I didn't! What else is there to discuss?"

Jeno steps forward until he meets your eyes. You have to tilt your chin up to look at him, and the defiant fire in your eyes almost makes him back down. You can tell by the way his shoulder flinches.

But his glare only gets darker, and you think he's finally learned something about being out at sea. "You could've talked to me. You know we could've talked about it."

"I didn't want to talk about it," you finally say through gritted teeth. "I knew you'd be a pansy and follow me wherever I wanted to go. I wanted you to make your own decision for once."

Jeno narrows his eyes. "Don't call me that."

You know you're pushing him, you know you're hurting him, but you just want him to finally snap and fight back. You want him to remember that his father is dead. He can finally do what he wants. He doesn't have to be under anyone's command anymore. So you push him a little harder. "Call you what? A pansy?"

Jeno pushes you against the wall and grabs your waist, keeping you in place. Before you can tease him any further, his hot mouth is on yours in an open-mouthed kiss. He's not holding back his anger at all, and it shows in the way he nips at your bottom lip. You feel his hands come up to your hair, and he's twirling the tangled strands through his fingers and tugging them until you're gasping, mouth open just enough for him to press his tongue against the roof of your mouth and out again.

You hold onto his face and pull him closer until the kiss is heated and messy. There's saliva on your jaw but you can't push him away because you haven't been near Jeno in a year, and now that you have him you don't want to let him go.

You can feel the stubble on his cheeks. It's hard and scratchy and nothing like you thought it would feel like, but you find yourself liking the way it scrapes against your own smooth skin.

Jeno takes his lips off of yours to press a kiss just behind your ear. He bites your skin hesitantly; you feel him smirk when you gasp out his name and reach for the strings of his shirt in an effort to untie the knots and feel his skin against your palms.

And then the smirk is gone, and the kisses are gone, and Jeno is standing back. He presses you against the wall still, but this time it feels like he's trying to keep you away from him. "I can't— I cant do this."

"Jeno, I'm back. It's okay." You say, reaching up for his face again.

Jeno flinches and moves back. "No! It's not okay! You left me, Y/n!"

"I was scared," you argue, but it feels wrong coming out of your mouth.

"Scared? Ha!" Jeno steps back and runs his fingers through his hair. He steps towards the table and leans atop his palms so that his back is facing you. You can see the tension in his muscles as he struggles to speak. "You think I wasn't scared the moment I realized you weren't coming back? You think I wasn't scared when I walked out into the village alone and asked around for my "wife"? You think I wasn't scared when I thought that maybe you had tricked me off of my own ship to take it over? How do you think I felt, Y/n, when we promised each other we'd work together and you broke it as soon as you had your doubts? You think I wasn't scared? Terrified, even?" His voice cracks then, "And this is almost worse! You've been in a tavern with a boy, doing exactly what you and I had planned. So what is it? Does he fight better than me? Does he kiss better than me? Does he treat you better?"

"Jeno—"

He doesn't seem to hear you. "And I'm not a pansy. I don't do everything everyone tells me to. You were different because I love you, and I'd give up the sea or the land to be with you, Y/n. I thought you knew that."

He looks angry with himself for revealing so much, but he turns around anyways and waits for your reply.

"Jeno, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay?"

Jeno growls under his breath. "I don't want to hear it. Not anymore. Not until you mean it."

"So what? You're going to ignore me?" You cross your arms over your chest. "That hardly seems productive."

Jeno snaps his gaze to you. The kohl under his eyes is smudged by a few stray tears. "Let's put it this way: until I can talk to you and not feel the pain of heartbreak, yeah, I'm ignoring you."

The door bursts open. "Captain, the boy's injuries have been tended to. Shall I get our guests a change of clothes?"

Jeno sighs. "Yes. Thank you. And put them on belowdeck duties. I want them out of my sight until further notice."

You wrinkle your nose and follow the unnamed man out of the room. "Captain Jeno isn't as nice as the Jeno I used to know."

The man shrugs. "He's a morose man. I wonder what he was like when you knew him?"

"Doesn't matter," you say, and a painful reality hits you. "I stripped that away from him when I left."

So far, Jeno has snapped at three different crew members, and it had only happened when you came on deck for some air. You resolve to stay below deck because of it, as does Jaemin. Though, he has no real problem with it because he's found a friend in the ship's cook and has a great time playing cook's apprentice.

You, however, feel like a prisoner again and find yourself longing to be on deck, where the sea spray can kiss your face. A bigger part of you just wants to see Jeno again.

You know you need to apologize, you just don't know how. How do you tell someone you care about that you thought they could do better? That you thought you'd become like your father, and he'd grow to hate you?

When you talk to Jaemin about it that evening, he pulls out a bottle of rum from who-knows-where and offers it to you.

You don't drink more than a few gulps, but Jaemin is chugging the wood-tinted drink like it's his last day on earth. "Slow down!" you warn, taking the bottle from him.

"Sorry," he whispers, drawing out his words slowly, as if you wouldn't understand them otherwise. "I just feel bad. I didn't mean to make you and Jeno fight."

You have a hard time explaining to him that your fight is much bigger than jealousy, and Jeno knows you weren't lying when you said you weren't in relations with Jaemin.

In the end, you drag the boy up to the deck in the hopes that a few gulps of fresh air will help him sober up enough to sleep soundly. "Here, sit against the mast."

Jaemin ignores you and decides to lay spread eagle on the deck floor. "The sky 's pretty. 've never seen it like this before."

"Yes," you say, "look at the sky, Jaemin. Just for a few minutes and then we'll head back down."

You decide to lay beside him and focus on the sky as well. Your breath catches at the beauty of the twinkling stars. You had almost forgotten how clear they appear to be at sea. The constellations seem to be smiling at you— cheering you on.

"What's going on?" Or maybe not.

You sigh and close your eyes. "Nothing, Jeno. Jaemin is drunk so I brought him out for some fresh air." You crane your head back to see the captain dressed down in a maroon cotton shirt and brown pants. He's rubbing his eyes; maybe you woke him up. "Come look at the stars with us. They're really pretty tonight."

Jeno looks like he wants to go back into his quarters.

"Jeno, please?"

He groans and lays on the deck, shoulder a few inches from yours. "Oh," he says softly, "they are quiet bright tonight, aren't they?"

Jaemin giggles from your other side. "Jeno, you rhymed, like, thrice."

A chuckle escapes Jeno's lips at the younger's words before he turns his head to face you. "He isn't... I mean... not that you can't choose him over me, but just to be clear..."

You slip your fingers in between Jeno's and look straight into his eyes. "Just to be clear, I choose you."

There's a ruddiness to Jeno's complexion that wasn't there before, and it makes you think that maybe things will work out on their own.

Jeno is nineteen years old and he finds it hard to fall out of love with you.

Maybe it's because he's spent every day of the past year hoping and praying that you'd find your way back to him, like you always have before. Maybe it's because he was only angry at himself for making you think you ever had to choose between him and your love for the sea.

Maybe he would've succeeded if you hadn't returned soaked to the bone, in a holding cell with a boy far too pretty to be a pirate.

Jeno knows Jaemin means nothing to you romantically, but he can't forget the surge of fear that shot through his veins when he realized that you might've chosen someone else. He thinks of your shocked but somewhat ecstatic expression when you first saw him. It makes him think you missed him too.

He feels his lips tingle every now and again with the feeling of yours pressed so harshly against his. He remembers the curves of your body and the quietness of your voice as you tried not to give him the satisfaction of making you moan.

He knows you're the one he wants, forever and ever until the sea takes him to his watery grave. He knows that he'd gladly stay beside you on land if you ever chose to settle down. Heck, he'd find a home in the stars if you asked him to.

Jeno's eyes water suddenly, and a sneeze pulls him out of his thoughts. "Is it the cat?" he asks, half-delirious.

He's been sick for days now; fevered dreams pull him in and out of consciousness. He thinks about you mostly, and it's embarrassing to admit when you're the one trying to nurse him back to health.

"You're still sick, Jeno," he hears your voice say. You press a wet rag against his forehead and dab away at the sweat that continues to form. "Go back to sleep, okay? Maybe you can break this fever."

There's a shakiness in your voice, like you're scared. Jeno knows there's something you aren't telling him, but his brain feels foggy and it's hard to concentrate on anything but the feeling of your hand brushing his hair off his sweaty forehead.

"Stay with me for tonight?" he asks, because that's what you do with the person you love, right? He knows the two of you are fighting about something, but he can't quite focus on anything right now other than your body sliding under the covers and pressing against his.

He's almost asleep again when he feels kisses being pressed against his jaw, down his neck, and across his shoulder. Small kisses that make him feel like he should smile, but he's too tired to do it right now. Maybe tomorrow.

"Jeno, I love you," you say, and Jeno wants to say it back, only the words feel heavy on his tongue and sleep feels thick behind his eyes.

He loves you, too.

Jeno's eyelids feel sticky when he wakes up, and it takes a few tries before he can open them fully. He groans at how utterly gross he feels, soaked in sweat that's turning cold the longer he is clothed in it.

"Jeno?" You walk into the room then, and Jeno is surprised to see tears of relief pool in your eyes. "I'm so glad you're okay."

You don't seem to mind that Jeno is covered in sweat because you wrap your arms around his waist and pull him closer to you. "I'll draw you a bath, okay? You'll feel more clean. I'll change your blankets, too. There has to be some spares around this blasted ship—"

Jeno catches your hand in his and successfully stops your rambling. "Y/n, slow down. I'm alive. You aren't getting rid of me that easily, okay?"

You nod, and that smile Jeno loves so much graces your lips. "Okay. Good."

Jeno is let out on deck three days later, after you figure he's definitely not contagious to the rest of the crew anymore. Jeno worries briefly about your own health until you remind him that you're docking soon, and there will be doctors if you come down with anything.

Jaemin asked to be let off at the same port he and you were taken from. Something about a ship called Peribat and a crew to find. Jeno jokes that Jaemin is going to become a better captain than he is. Jaemin shrugs and says he's only in it for the adventure.

You go to the dock with Jaemin and watch him purchase the ship he's lusted after for so long. Jaemin turns to you with a bright smile and hugs you tightly, saying this is all he's ever wanted.

"Go find your adventure," you say, chuckling fondly at the boy. "Oh, and before I forget, don't trade that coat, okay? I have a feeling you'll need it one day."

Jaemin looks confused for a moment, glancing down at his black coat, but nods. "Alright. I won't."

Then you're back on The Amare, eyes locking with Jeno's just before he heads into his quarters.

You follow him to see that he's getting ready for bed, slipping off his leather vest and unstrapping his gun holster.

"It's nice of you to see him off."

"Jealous?" You wrap your arms around his waist and press your face between his shoulder blades. "Because it's you I love."

He turns around in your hold, eyes tracing over the features of your face so fondly that you aren't sure how to bring up the (literal) sorry subject. "Can you stay with me? Just for tonight?"

You agree, and the anxiety is pushed down until you can barely feel it anymore, too occupied by the sound of Jeno's heartbeat against your ear.

The ship is still anchored a week later, and the crew goes out to trade a few items while Jeno convinces you to stay on the ship with him.

He knows you like the back of his hand. He knows you well enough to know that you've been trying to bring up the fight to him for awhile now.

So when you tug on his hand and lead him to the map room where it all happened, he feels a nervous ache in his chest.

"I'm sorry," you blurt out unceremoniously. "I'm sorry I let my own insecurities get the best of me. I'm sorry I ever doubted your affections for me. I'm sorry I broke your heart and then thought coming back would automatically fix everything. I know I have a lot to work on and I want you to know that I'm sorry I never realized any of this sooner. Also, if you want to kick me off the crew and never se me again, I completely understand."

Jeno blinks in disbelief. "Are you kidding? Did you think I didn't mean it when I said you wouldn't get rid of me that easily? You're stuck here forever, darling, or for as long as you'll have me. I love you."

You kiss Jeno then, and the action is so soft compared to your last shared kiss that he almost finds himself melting against your hold. He closes his eyes, furrows his brows, and when his breath hitches he grabs your waist to try and steady himself.

His lips move languidly against yours, and as your tongue licks along the seams of his lips, Jeno whines and pulls you closer against him. Your skin is warm through your thin shirt and Jeno decides he wants to touch it. He bunches up your shirt and lets his fingers explore your skin, feeling satisfaction bloom in his chest when you sigh at his touch.

"Can we be co-captains? Like, together?" He asks rather breathlessly against your lips.

You brush your nose against his and smile softly. "Sure. But we'll have to catch up with Jaemin if we want to get the siren's treasure."

Jeno furrows his eyebrows in confusion. "Wait, why?"

"Because I turned the earrings into cufflinks, and they're on Jaemin's coat as we speak."

"Huh," Jeno marvels. He slowly rocks from side to side, fingers still pressing into your skin absentmindedly. "I don't know. Maybe that's an adventure better fit for a new pirate. Maybe we should just stick to looting like we're used to."

You feel something soft press against your ankles, so you look down and see that same black cat, peering up at you.

Jeno scrunches his nose, "That's—" Sneeze! "Onyx—" Sneeze!

You giggle as Jeno struggles to fight against his allergies and hug him, pressing your nose against his neck. "Hey. Thanks for finding me."

Jeno's arms feel strong around you. Safe. "I have a feeling we'll always return to each other."

#pirate!jeno #always return au #nct fluff #nct angst #nct scenarios #nct au #jeno fluff #jeno angst #jeno scenarios #jeno au #destwrites

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kaekiro · 5 years

Text

Open Mind, Open Heart

Pairing: Eren/Mikasa II Rating: T (?) II Words: 3095 II [AO3] Warnings: tidbits of soft porn don't look at me A/N: This is for a request I received from AO3 user TheMoonThatKissedTheSun almost (and I am very ashamed to admit this) two years ago, asking for a sequel to chapter 24, "Foolish." I'm so sorry that it took me so long to come around. If by any chance you're still in the fandom and you see this, I hope you can forgive me and that you like what I wrote. It's the longest thing I've written in a while sjdfljd. This is for EreMika White Day: Non Traditional/Free I’m not sure if I’m early or late lol

—

Shaking fingers trace his script as she looks over the letter one more time, the usual steady drum of her heart taking on a loud, sporadic rhythm when she reads, ‘I’m coming home by the way.’ At first, she half-snorted at the sentence as if it were another one of his tasteless jokes before she paused, using the wobbly mailbox for support as she strung each word together and actually processed their meaning. How very Eren of him to deliver the news so casually, to end his letter with the very words she’s longed to see ever since she found out he was accepting a job that would take him away.

A sudden thought has her turning on her heal, feet stumbling over each other in her hurry to tell Carla the news, but something at the very bottom of the page anchors her step, has her adjusting the sheet to make sure she’s not seeing imaginary things. She brings the paper closer for inspection, wondering how she almost missed the tiniest of arrows pointing at the bottom corner. Curious, she turns the page over, finding another message that had been hidden within the back folds of the letter.

I can’t wait to marry you.

—

“Mikasa,” he mumbles against her mouth, and then he’s chuckling, the sound deep and so rich that she ignores the rushed murmur of her name and pulls him close again, fingers unintentionally ruining the hair he’s tied back. Though his voice has taken a new depth and his hair a longer length, she finds that not much has changed in his absence. She took relief in it, having missed his weak, silly attempts at making her laugh, the conversations that could keep them up all night, his summer-like presence. And in his own way, he lets her know that he’s missed her exactly the same.

His hands are restless, pushing her arms up and helping adjust them securely around his neck, weakly grasping the fabric at her lower back, smoothing over the pleated skirt bunched at her knees until they press against her cheeks in another attempt to get her attention. He’s barely gotten out the first syllable of her name before she boldly pushes her tongue past his lips the moment they part, satisfied at the strangled noise she draws out.

“S-stop, wait a minute,”

She listens this time, pulling back and fixing her gaze on his rudy blush as their sighs mingle into one warm breath, filling the space between them.

“You want me to stop?”

“No. Yes. I mean,” a frustrated groan softly rasps from his throat before he clears it, frowning at her teasing smile. “I have something for you.”

She respires slow and heavily, blinking away the haze from her eyes. “For me?”

He hums, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “Give me a second.”

He doesn’t leave any more room for question, already standing at his full height and as his footsteps recede, she slumps back on her bed (or rather what used to be his old one), dizzy from the attention he’s lavishing her with. Each breath she takes cools her skin from his heated touch, the muscles in her face aching and not used to all the smiles. In fact, she’s not used to any of it; loving and being loved like this. She keeps discovering new things about him, about herself and though the unfamiliarity of their intimacy makes her nervous, it also sparks an excitement that ignites the desire for more.

She doesn’t remember closing her eyes, only realizing that she’s fallen half asleep when Eren tugs at her sleeve, pushing aside the bangs that are tangled in her lashes. Her arms push her upright, the mattress dipping as he sits. “Eren? What… where did you go?”

His cheeks redden. “I, uh, was having trouble finding what I was looking for. Sorry I took so long.” Again, he adds in an afterthought, snorting. She huffs in their mutual amusement, shaking her head.

“It’s okay,” she says softly, the small package in his hand catching her attention. “What’s that?”

He snaps into a straight posture like he’s already forgotten about the item, quickly shoving it onto her lap. Settling against the headboard, she carefully undoes the simple knot binding the box, looking at him one last time before lifting the cover. Inside is a key, unique in shape and she holds it between her fingers, unsure how to react and shrinking somewhat under his expectant eyes. Is it a souvenir of sorts? What is it supposed to mean?

“Um…” she laughs a little, thinking herself dumb for her next question. “What’s this for?”

He gladly elaborates, taking the hand holding the key into his own. “While I was away, I found this really nice house… and well, that the key to that house. It could definitely use some work, but since we’re starting a new chapter of our lives, I thought it’d be nice to… what?”

“You… bought another house?”

“Yeah…?” he slowly ascertains, as if he’s trying to guess the right answer. “Well, I didn’t exactly buy it. I put down some money on it, and I’m going to pay it off in installments.”

“When? What about this house? What about Carla? Why didn’t you talk to me first before buying it? Where -”

“Woah, wait Mikasa one question at a time. I just…” he winces, slow and confused. “I wanted to surprise you with something nice.”

Inside, she softens at his sincerity in his voice, can see the good intention behind it, but -- “Eren, you can’t just make big decisions like that without asking. Does Carla even know?”

“I mean… I was getting around to telling her -”

She scoffs, the sound almost inaudible yet his ears manage to pick up on it and just like that, both of their moods turn sour. They spend the next hour pacing around the room and around each other as they argue. It ends when they stay silent for a few minutes too long and Eren wordlessly leaves the room, going somewhere to blow off steam she’s sure. A part of her wishes to call out as he walks away, to tell him and come back so they can make up for the time he’s been gone, just like they were earlier. But by the time she’s willing to put her pride aside, he’s already gone. She stares at the key they set aside on her dresser, and without much reason, she puts it back inside its box and fixes it the same way it was given to her.

—

In the morning when she wakes, Eren isn’t home.

It’s Carla who tells her of his whereabouts after she asks; even if she’s upset with him, it doesn’t ever stop her from worrying.

“All he told me is that he’s going to be gone for a few hours, maybe longer. He wasn’t sure. I couldn’t even ask where he was off to! He was already walking out.”

Her face falls, fingers wrapping tighter around her cup. “I see.”

Sensing something off, Carla sits across from her, reaching over the small table to squeeze her wrist. “Dear, what’s wrong? What happened between you two?”

Talking about it was probably one of the last things she wanted at the moment, but if anyone could understand, it’s Auntie. She goes on to explain the argument she had with Eren, and as she relays the heated words he threw at her and she at him, something like guilt and regret starts to coil in her gut, the look on Carla’s face anything but reassuring.

“You know,” she starts after a minute, taking a sip of her drink, “When I married Eren’s father, we had hardly been together for a year, but I knew I loved him and at the moment it just felt right. Back then, my mistake was thinking that marriage would be easy. Grisha and I disagreed and argued about a lot of things. Having Eren made things harder because it was no longer just about me and his father, we had to think about him too. We almost split when Eren was still a toddler. It wasn’t what I wanted, though. Not for me, and most certainly not for our son.”

The short story comes as a shock to her because as long as she has known the Yeagers, they never seemed to have any issues of the sort. It makes her wonder if her own parents had something similar happen to them. “How did you fix it?”

Carla smiles sadly, sighing a sigh that spoke her grief for the husband that vanished without any explanation. She comforts her this time, resting a hand on Carla’s worn one. “It didn’t happen right away. But eventually, we learned to work together and compromise, set boundaries that were not to be crossed. We still had our disagreements here and there, but it’s like that with every type of relationship. The point of this, Mikasa, is to tell you what I wished someone would have told me when I was about to get married: disagreements and arguments will and are bound to happen between you and Eren. Part of being together means that you have to learn how to communicate and work as a team instead of against each other.”

She contemplates this and reflects on last night, taking a lot of fault for the situation turning into an argument when they could’ve talked it out. Reacting the way she did though... she wasn’t sure it could’ve been helped.

“Eren is like me when I was his age. He’s still a bit carefree and sometimes does things on a whim, though I’m sure you already know that. I think what he did, getting that house, was him being spontaneous and trying to make you happy.” Amber eyes don’t miss her melancholic reaction, so she continues. “That doesn’t mean that he did it the right way, though. Like you said, he should’ve talked to you first. You both are going to make mistakes in the future and as you work through them, you learn something and become better. Just talk to him, Mikasa. These things take a lot of patience and understanding, but if it’s you two… it will be alright. Eren may not make the wisest decisions all the time, but I think one of his best ones is choosing to marry you.”

—

Later at night, when everything is still and she’s certain Carla is asleep, she tiptoes to her old room, pushing the door open until she can fit through and then closing it behind her. If he’s awake she isn’t sure, but she walks over nonetheless, tucking some hair behind his ear and leaning down to kiss his cheek. She doesn’t pull away entirely when he stirs, watching as foggy eyes open halfway and peer up into hers.

“Mikasa?”

She hums, lips brushing against his temple. “I’m not dreaming?” Smiling against his skin, she shakes her head.

“No, you aren’t.”

Lifting the blanket, she motions for him to make room and sighs as she settles against the heat of his body, palm smoothing over his chest. He is stiff and audibly swallows before his arm cautiously pulls her close, fingers curling around her shoulder. They stay like that for a bit, his gentle touches and her kisses conveying their apologies until the tension leaves their muscles and they sink comfortably into the bed.

“I left earlier to find that seller and tell him I wasn’t going to keep that house.”

He sounds sad as he tells her, and she scolds herself for getting upset and thinking only about her feelings. Sure, she would’ve liked to know beforehand, but Carla’s advice echoes in her ears, making her mindful of her selfishness. He is adventurous, always looking for the next new thing and always so eager to give. She knew this, saw how happy he looked at the thought of starting their life somewhere new. And yet she gave in to her own fear of change and made him go through all that trouble. Eren breathes out, clearly tired.

“It was hard, but in the end, he understood. What I forgot, though, was to bring the key with me to hand back,” he laughs emptily. “You think you could give me the key tomorrow? I need to return it as soon as possible.”

He turns his head towards her, waiting for an answer. She puts a finger to her chin for a moment, feigning deep thought before settling against his shoulder once more. “No, I don’t think I can give it back.”

She can sense his eyes on her and she resumes tracing his collarbone, trying to calm the slight tremble of her fingers. “Wha… what do you mean you can’t?”

“I don’t want you to give the house away.”

He shifts, leaning on a forearm to look down at her. “But you said -”

“Nevermind what I said. I was wrong. I know how much this means to you, so we’re keeping it.”

“Mikasa,” he whispers, pushing aside her bangs. “If that’s how you feel now, then why do you look scared?”

“Because I am,” she admits, almost unwillingly. “I’ve lived in this town all my life, it’s all I’ve known. And - I know I’ve only been here at this house for a few years, but…” her words trail off and she shyly looks up at him, immediately noticing the concern creasing his face and trying to smooth it out with her thumbs. She shakes off the thought, firming her words. “I wouldn’t mind starting our life somewhere new. If it’s with you, I think I can do it.”

Though it’s unexpected in the seriousness of the moment, she welcomes the ferocity of his kiss by tugging him closer, bodies shuffling and tangling until she feels his weight settle between her thighs.

“Eren,” she whispers harshly, pushing at his arms yet tilting her head back as his lips traverse the length of her throat. “Your mother is down the h-” Her moan escapes her lips in muffled fragments as he grinds his body against hers, calloused hands squeezing her bare thighs when they move to bunch her gown at her hips.

“I’m - serious,” she manages to gasp out, gripping his hands and pulling them from beneath her clothes, breathless with how quick things are escalating. “Wait a minute…!”

He licks his lips, the glint in his eyes mischevious. “You want me to stop?” She raises a brow at his mocking tone, and it takes only a moment for her to remember saying the same thing to him the day before. She buries her face in her hands, unresponsive to her name and turning bright red. She eventually looks at him between the gaps of her fingers, answering his question with an annoyed yes.

“Fine,” he sighs, slumping next to her, playfully disappointed. “I’ll wait till our wedding night then.” How shameless, she thinks, throwing a pillow over her face and ignoring his laughter.

“Hey Mikasa?”

She lowers the pillow when he tugs at her arm, peaking an eye out.

“I can’t wait to marry you.”

—

There’s a different kind of buzz in the air on the morning of her wedding, all the women she knows coming to the house and fussing over her appearance. Though she wants to be annoyed (because really, it’s only a small ceremony), she learns to appreciate the help, knowing that there was no way she’d be able to do all of this on her own. The local seamstress puts the final touches on her gown, making her tear up at the small mentions of her mother, how much they look alike and how proud she insists her mother would be of her today. Sasha puts on some light makeup, adding color to her otherwise pale skin as Carla does her hair, weaving the long strands into intricate braids and bringing them together in a neat bun. When the last of many small flowers are placed in her hair and Auntie finishes adjusting the veil, all the women in the room step back and shower her in compliments, making her face and the inside of her chest warm.

“Wow,” a familiar voice whistles, “You look so beautiful, Mikasa. How did someone like Eren get you to marry him?”

“I’m still not sure myself, Armin,” Auntie jokes, laughing.

She shakes her head and smiles, moving through the small crowd to reach one of her best friends. “Thank you, Armin. I’m so glad you came to see me before the ceremony.”

“Of course,” he grins, embracing her.

“It feels like it was just yesterday the three of you were half my height and chasing each other around my yard,” Carla sniffles, looking over them fondly. “Stop growing up so fast, I can’t keep up.” They both pull her into their embrace, swept up in their shared nostalgia.

“Mikasa,” a woman calls from the door, grabbing everyone’s attention. “The officiator is here. Are you ready?”

The room fills with excited murmurs and she swallows, fiddling with her ring anxiously. This is it. Carla grabs her shoulder lightly, her gaze soft and knowing and she nods, both at Auntie and the woman. “Yes, I’m ready.”

—

It takes quite a bit for her to be moved to tears and even more to make her laugh, but she finds herself caught in both acts as he stutters over his vows, mouthing an explicative and doing his best to ignore the embarrassment and vulnerability he feels. She squeezes his fingers reassuringly, understandingly, and it’s enough to help him finish before she takes her turn. After a single, shaky breath, she repeats the words she’s rehearsed so many times, the rough yet gentle swipe of his thumbs over her skin comforting, inspiring more confidence in her. His smile reaches his eyes, making them so bright and warm that she melts into his hand, punctuating her promises with a kiss to the center of it.

And though she had told him that she wanted Carla’s ring and nothing else, he surprises her with another one anyway, the piece of jewelry bearing stones with cuts she’s never seen before, nearly every edge of it glittering as he slips it above the simple band she’s grown attached to. It’s far too beautiful for it to belong to her and she whispers as much, but he simply tells her to shut up, twining his fingers between the braids in her hair and kissing her, making everyone around them cheer and whoop wildly.

#eremika #eremika art #writing #requests #emwhiteday #i'll probably post the other oneshot tuesday #fingers crossed #kaleidoscopes

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