#I dress like a homeless man and speak like a pirate | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rax-writes · 3 years

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Fandom: MCU Pairing: Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader Warnings: Sexual intercourse with a female-identifying person with a vagina + a bit of sugar daddy Zemo vibes at the end Notes: Y’all... don’t judge me. I have a power kink, and Marvel did me dirty by randomly deciding that Zemo is fifthly rich royalty. And my girl @henrysmorgan did me even dirtier by actively encouraging my attraction to this fucker. So, blame Marvel, and blame her. // This is kind of really fucking long, and I didn’t edit it much, because I wanted to get it posted before episode 4, in case that episode flips the script. So, potentially some editing issues, and slightly rushed writing. Hopefully it’s alright, but please let me know if I screwed up anywhere. // Lots and lots of TFAWS ep. 3 spoilers

When Bucky texted you to ask that you meet him in some dusty, old, abandoned-looking car garage, you certainly didn’t know what to expect. All you knew was that an old friend needed your help, so you intended to be there.

It had been a few months since you’d last seen him, and even longer since you’d participated in any sort of mission, but you suspected that was what you were walking into. Being exposed to the Mind Stone had granted you the power of telepathy, which meant that SHIELD was quite keen on persuading you to work for them. They trained you in martial arts and hand-to-hand combat, and you went on miscellaneous missions a handful of times. They put in a lot of effort to convince you that it was your moral obligation as an “enhanced individual” to help them with these missions, but you ultimately decided that that simply wasn’t the kind of life you wanted. Instead, after the Blip, you began working a desk job for SHIELD, which is when you crossed paths with Bucky, helping him with paperwork associated with his pardon, and the two of you formed a friendship. But SHIELD kept trying to coerce you to get back into the field, constantly badgering you about it and making it clear that you weren’t wanted if all you were doing was paperwork.

The truth is, you weren’t cut out to be a superhero, and you had no desire to be. It didn’t help that your entire country had been reduced to rubble several years prior, leaving you with a bottomless pit of homelessness in your heart. So, you left SHIELD, and started a life in Berlin, where you were content to live out your days as the owner of a small bakery, residing in the small apartment above your shop.

That is, until Bucky Barnes dragged you into a particularly sticky situation, with a certain Baron Helmut Zemo.

You knew that helping Bucky and Sam would throw a colossal wrench in the life you’d created for yourself in Berlin, but after they explained the situation with the super soldiers, coupled with Bucky’s puppy dog eyes, you found yourself refraining from storming out of the building the second you saw Helmut fucking Zemo.

“We need you to keep an eye on him. You don’t have to tap into his mind 24/7, we just want a heads up if he’s going to screw us over,” Bucky explained.

"Look, we really need him. We’re obviously scraping the bottom of the barrel here, otherwise he'd still be in that cell. And neither of us want to be packing a criminal around like a rich bitch's chihuahua, so we need you here to make sure we're not gonna get bit," Sam explained.

"Fine. But you both owe me," you relented, and they both took sighs of relief. You glanced at Zemo, locking eyes with him for several tense moments. He gave you a polite smile, giving off the impression that he had nothing to hide – which he didn't, as his thoughts showed his intentions were pure at the moment. "We're good for now. He just genuinely wants the opportunity to take down these new super soldiers."

Sam and Bucky nodded, visibly releasing tension from their shoulders as they moved to head out, now reassured that Zemo was truly on their side. Meanwhile, Zemo eyed you with curiosity and awe, murmuring, "Fascinating."

The four of you walked on the landing strip toward a private jet, owned by Zemo.

"So all this time you've been rich?"

"I was a Baron, Sam. My family was royalty before your friends destroyed my country," Zemo explained, before glancing at you with a small smile. "But you knew that already."

"Wait, how did she know that?" Sam asked, then turned to you. "How did you know that?"

"I am Sokovian myself. I was certainly not royalty, but I lived there for my entire life, until it was destroyed," you explained, stopping outside the jet as Zemo greeted the elderly butler, Oeznik, in your native language. It made you smile to yourself; it had been years since you'd heard it spoken. Zemo shot you a grin when he noticed, and when you took a peek into his mind, you saw that he understood exactly how you felt.

As the butler handed Zemo a flute of champagne after you all boarded the jet, the Baron smiled politely as Oeznik stated, “Apologies if that's a little warm. The fridge is out, but I will see if there is some good food in the galley.”

Zemo glanced as you sat across from him, then in Sokovian, Zemo told Oeznik, "Another flute for the lady, please. And if the food does not pass the smell test, give it to the gentlemen."

"It's good to have you back, sir!"

As the man retreated to the cockpit, also in Sokovian, you noted, "You are a mischievous man, even more so than in your infamously criminal ways."

"You will find that there is more to me than meets the eye, angel," he responded coolly, the Sokovian language rolling off his tongue like honey. Before you could respond, admittedly enjoying speaking Sokovian, Sam grew tired of everyone speaking a language he couldn't understand.

"Why don't you tell us about where we're going?"

After a tense exchange between Bucky and Zemo, followed by a discussion about Marvin Gaye, Zemo finally got to the point: Madripoor. You exhaled slowly, resting your forehead in your palm in exasperation.

“You couldn’t have invited me on a mission to Cancun? Or Paris? Why must it be Madripoor?” you asked Bucky, who shot you a tight-lipped, pitying smile, silently apologizing for what he was dragging you into.

“What’s up with Madripoor? You guys talk about it like it’s Skull Island.”

“It’s an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary back in the 1800s,” Bucky explained.

“And upon seeing it, you would see that times there haven’t changed one bit since then,” you added.

“It’s kept its lawless ways. But we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves. James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone,” Zemo said.

You frowned as you caught a glimpse of Bucky’s thoughts as he went silent. Fear. Anxiety. Disdain. Apprehension. You reached across to rest your hand on his shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. He shot you a small smile, then looked out the window.

Upon landing in Madripoor, one of Zemo’s contacts met you on the landing strip with a new wardrobe for you, Bucky, and Sam, and Zemo explained that each outfit was per his instruction, carefully chosen to fit the role each of you would be playing in Madripoor. One by one, you took the covered clothes hanger to the bathroom of the jet and changed. Bucky was first, stepping out in some sort of leather number, looking eerily similar to the Winter Soldier you’d seen in photos. Sam was next, donning a three-piece suit of burgundy and gold. He looked sharp, although he was immediately complaining about how ostentatious it was. And finally, you stepped into the room and closed the door behind you, unzipping the covering on the hanger and revealing your “carefully chosen” outfit.

“Ich werde dir im Schlaf die Eier abreißen, Zemo!”

Bucky choked on his water and Zemo chuckled under his breath, while Sam looked between the two in confusion.

“I don’t know what she said, but she sounded pissed,” he observed, eyeing Zemo suspiciously.

“She informed me that she intends to remove my testicles in my sleep.”

“And why is that?”

“Perhaps because he’s chosen to parade me around Madripoor like a cheap whore,” you said angrily, stepping out of the bathroom with your hands on your hips, glaring at Zemo.

“That dress is by Armani Prive, and your shoes are Louboutins – far from ‘cheap.’ And you do not look like a whore, the dress is merely more revealing than what you are used to,” Zemo argued, standing and walking over to survey your outfit. He seemed to be enjoying what he saw, judging from the way his eyes raked up and down your body, but you didn’t dare check his thoughts to confirm or deny it.

If you were honest with yourself, he was right. It was a very nice dress; plum purple, matching the color of Zemo’s turtleneck, with long, fitted sleeves, all of it made of the softest silk you had ever touched. It was fitted at the top but flowy from the hips down, with a low balconette-style neckline, showing more of your chest than you were accustomed to, although you pulled it off quite nicely. It ended just above your knees, which was fine, as you sometimes wore skirts of that length. Overall, the luxury of it and the low-cut neckline ensured that you were out of your comfort zone, but you looked stunning – and expensive, despite your spite-fueled initial claim.

“I thought the color would look nice on you, and I was right. And I knew that the flow of the fabric at the bottom would allow for this,” Zemo said, his hand gingerly trailing from your waist to your thigh, where he pulled up the hem of your dress slightly to reveal the edge of the Glock strapped into your thigh holster. He smirked as his suspicion was confirmed. He knew you’d find a way to arm yourself, regardless of what you wore.

In hindsight, the way Zemo touched your side and lifted your skirt was all far more intimate than you should have allowed, and yet… you couldn’t deny the way your breath caught in your throat when he touched you, or how his close proximity made your body temperature rise, as he gazed down at you with those intense brown eyes.

Christ, you needed to get laid. Soon. Before you further entertained the idea of jumping the bones of a highly wanted criminal.

“Touch me like that again, and I will kill you where you stand,” you informed him sternly, and Zemo immediately took a step backwards, looking apologetic. From the corner of your eye, you saw both Sam and Bucky visibly relax, tension leaving their shoulders. You had read their thoughts briefly, and they were both wondering why the hell you were so calm about getting cozy with Zemo. The absolute last thing you wanted was for them to know that you were, in fact, inexplicably drawn to being that close to the Baron.

As the four of you walked along a bridge in Madripoor, Sam was quick to resume his complaining.

“We have to do something about this. I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.”

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”

“He even has a bad nickname,” Sam grumbled, then looked at the phone Zemo handed him. “Hell, he does look like me, though.”

“And who am I supposed to be?” you inquired, glancing down at your clothing to see if you could guess who you were meant to be portraying. An heiress or socialite, perhaps.

“My fiancée,” Zemo answered simply, the faintest smile on his lips.

You barked out a crude laugh, “Oh, I think not.”

“There is no one involved with Madripoor who looks like you. And it is rare that there are newcomers to the island, especially not in the place we’re going. Pretending you are someone random would raise concerns about the intentions of your presence; you would be perceived as a potential threat, which would jeopardize our mission. It is far easier to simply pretend we are engaged, I assure you.”

You hesitated a moment, before arguing, “No one will believe that we are engaged.”

Zemo pulled something from the inside pocket of his jacket, took your left hand, and slipped it onto your ring finger. It was a solitaire diamond ring; not large enough to be gaudy, but enough to catch anyone’s eye.

“They will if you play your part well,” he told you, then addressed the rest of your party when he added, “No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There is no margin for error.”

The four of you reached a sleek black car, and climbed in, you in the back between Sam and Bucky. The ride to Low Town was tense and silent, as each of you mentally prepared for what lay ahead. When you arrived, Zemo offered you his hand as you exited the car, and the pointed look in his eyes told you that it was time to begin playing your part. You took his hand, and as you began walking into the heart of Low Town, he laced his fingers with yours. As the crowd drew near, Zemo wrapped his arm around your shoulders, gloved fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder. After reading his mind, you realized that it was both for the sake of protecting you, and showing possessiveness to make it believable that you were his girl – and because he simply enjoyed having your body close, although you suspected that he’d rather you have not known that.

Despite the fact that you had been on a few missions for SHIELD, you were not exactly incapable of fear; you did not possess nerves of steel. All of the missions you’d been on were low-profile, and you were mostly just there for the sake of gathering information from those reluctant to share it. Sure, you’d been in danger before, you’d had to fight your way out of several sticky situations, but this… this was different. You were in the crime capital of the world, a lawless place filled to the brim with crooks, thieves, and murderers. More than likely, any given person around could slit your throat and never bat an eye or give you a second thought. Swallowing your own pride in the face of fear prompted you to return Zemo’s gesture, wrapping your arm around his waist and sticking close to him, which earned a smile from the man.

When you arrived at your destination, Zemo approached the bar and leaned against it confidently on one arm, the other still wrapped firmly around your shoulders.

“Hello, gentleman,” the bartender greeted, before his eyes fell on you. “Who’s your new lady friend, Baron?”

“My fiancée,” Zemo answered, then turned to you and ran his finger along your jawline, as you looked at him in adoration. “Isn’t she lovely?”

“Very,” the bartender acknowledged, then turned to Sam. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby,” Zemo responded.

The bartender made ‘Smiling Tiger’ his usual drink, which apparently consisted of… something he cut out of a snake, and dropped in a shot glass with a bit of liquor. You shared a look with Bucky before he turned away to survey the room, and when you read his thoughts, you found that you both desperately wanted to laugh out loud at Sam’s ‘short end of the stick’ situation, but didn’t want to risk everyone’s lives for the sake of a chuckle. You returned your attention to Zemo, opting to sell the whole “fiancée” thing a bit more by turning into him and tracing patterns on his chest as you gazed at him affectionately, while the bartender handed you and Zemo each a shot glass of your own – sans snake organs, thankfully. You both downed yours, while Sam understandably struggled a bit more with his, but still managed it.

A random man approached Zemo then, and as Zemo turned to face him, he protectively moved you behind him a bit.

“I got word from on high. You ain’t welcome here.”

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…” Zemo countered, gesturing toward Bucky, who looked menacing as he pretended to be the Winter Soldier. “Or bring Selby for a chat.”

After a weary look in Bucky’s direction, the man walked away, and Zemo turned back around to face the bar, this time keeping you in between him in the bar, in case someone were to come up behind him – which they did a few moments later.

“Winter Soldier… attack,” Zemo commanded in Russian, as a different man came up and laid a hand on Zemo’s shoulder. With a pained look in his eye that quickly shifted to cold determination, Bucky grabbed the man’s hand with his vibranium arm, twisting it as he removed it from Zemo’s shoulder. Zemo took a step away from the bar to allow you room to turn and observe as Bucky beat the absolute shit out of various challengers. Zemo wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him as he noted, “Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.”

The unmistakable sound of numerous guns cocking drew your attention away from the altercation, and Zemo gently pushed you behind him as he surveyed the room to note all the weapons drawn. Sam grabbed Bucky’s bionic arm to stop him, but Zemo whispered, “Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.”

“Well done, soldier,” Zemo then said to Bucky in Russian, signaling for the ‘Winter Soldier’ to stop.

“Selby will see you now,” the bartender interjected, and Bucky released his grip on the random man’s throat.

“Thank you,” Zemo responded, walking off to find Selby, grabbing your hand to guide you, but not before you spared a sorrowful glance at Bucky as your friends followed closely behind.

As Zemo took a seat on a couch across from Selby, you sat close to him, crossing your legs gracefully as you leaned into him, your arm wrapped around his as he clasped his hands in his lap authoritatively. You watched his exchange with Selby in silence, as did Sam – and Bucky, of course, considering he was pretending to be the Winter Soldier.

“By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison,” Selby told Zemo, then smiled as she looked you up and down, before her eyes found the diamond ring. “And not engaged – to a woman far out of your league, I might add.”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo answered calmly, then looked over at you, staring into your eyes with warmth and adoration, and you smiled lovingly at him. “My beautiful fiancée was a guard at the prison. We fell in love over the years, and she helped me escape. Anyway, I’m sure you have already figured out what I’m here for.”

The conversation went relatively smoothly after that, until Sam’s goddamn phone rang and screwed the entire operation. In the blink of an eye, Selby was shot dead, you had shot two of the guards with the gun strapped to your thigh, and Sam and Bucky had each knocked out one, before Zemo suggested sneaking out of the bar as best you could, without any weapons. You secured your gun back in its holster, not missing the way Zemo watched as you hiked your dress up to do so, before making a break for it with the three of them.

Once you were on the streets of Madripoor, bounty hunters began to come out of the woodwork, and when they began shooting at you, Zemo abruptly grabbed your hand and ran down a nearby alleyway. As you were running, the heel of your stiletto caught on a grate, and you’d have fallen flat on your face if Zemo hadn’t caught you.

“Are you alright?” he asked hurriedly, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he supported you, before standing you back onto your feet. You nodded, and he glanced over your shoulder as he noticed a few men looking down the alley. “Forgive me.”

You were about to ask what he was talking about, but then Zemo abruptly grabbed you by the backs of your thighs and lifted you up, pinned you against the wall behind you, and kissed you.

The men at the end of the alleyway muttered something about “freaks who do it in public,” then their footsteps faded as they walked off, clearly thinking the two of you were some overly horny couple, not two of the people with an insane bounty on their heads. But you were barely paying them any attention, a bit preoccupied with the fact that Zemo was fucking kissing you, and much to your chagrin, you really fucking liked it.

Once there were no more voices and no more footsteps, Zemo broke the kiss and sat you down. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, before you heard more gunshots, and you broke into a run in the direction Bucky and Sam had gone, desperate to find your friends, and no time to process what the hell just happened.

As soon as you caught up with them, the two bounty hunters nearby were shot dead, and the four of you turned to see Sharon Carter emerging from the shadows.

An hour later, you found yourself in her swanky home in High Town, in a change of clothes, since the brick wall Zemo had held you up against ripped the back of your silk dress. You lied to Sam and Bucky, saying that it happened because you fell while running in your heels, and thankfully, they believed you. Sharon commanded the four of you to lay low and enjoy the party, which Sam and Bucky left her living room to go do, entrusting you with ‘Zemo watch.’

It seemed as though he was merely nursing his brandy in lieu of abandoning it for the party prior to finishing it off, but his eyes were on you most of the time. You didn't necessarily believe he could be plotting to overpower you and run off, but there is always that possibility, so you delved into his mind to check.

Expecting to find thoughts of strategy about how to defeat the super soldiers or travel plans, or even plots to escape you, Bucky, and Sam, you were astounded to find nothing but thoughts of you.

The way it felt to kiss you in that alleyway, and how he had monetarily debated just staying there, having his way with you against the brick wall before Sam and Bucky could locate you. The dress from the bar, and how it rested on your thighs, revealing just enough to have his mouth watering without being revealing to the point of immodesty. The way your necklace currently rested against your bare collarbone, and how desperately he craved to litter the area with love bites. The delicate skin of your throat, thinking of how it would look with his hand wrapped around it, just enough to cut off a bit of air but not enough harm you. How alluring your voice is, and how much he'd like to know what it would sound like to hear you scream his name. The softness and warmness of your skin when he had his arm around you in the bar, and when he held your hand as you fled the scene, and he wondered how soft and warm you were elsewhere.

"Your thoughts are filthy."

He bristled immediately, sitting straighter in his seat and eyes going slightly wide, either forgetting you can read minds or not realizing you'd be doing it right then. It only took a moment for him to regain his composure, before he took one long, last drink of his brandy and set the glass on the table in front of him. He turned his whole body to the side to face you, as you sat on the opposite end of the couch, wearing a small, somewhat mischievous smile.

"I suppose there is no sense in denying it, is there?"

"What game are you playing, Zemo?" you snapped. He was rattling you. As much as you hated to admit it, he was. For the entirety of the time you'd been around him, this wanted criminal had been flustering you, and goddammit it, you wanted to know if it was accidental, or for nefarious purposes. He could be using it as a tactic to throw you off your game, so that he could get away when it was just the two of you – like right now.

"There is no game, Liebling," he stated softly and sincerely, sensing your discomfort. Slowly, he scooted closer to you on the couch, so that the arm he had laid across the back of it was now behind you, as he stared intently into your eyes. "Merely the natural response of a man who has been widowed and then locked in a prison cell, and therefore has not known the touch of a woman in many years, sitting next to a woman of absolute ethereal beauty."

You said nothing, merely stared at him, sizing him up to see if he was toying with you or telling the truth. Zemo sensed your lack of belief in his words.

"If you doubt my true intentions, you are welcome to delve as deep into my mind as you'd like to find the truth."

In all honesty, you'd have done that already if you weren't trying to avoid being even more flustered by his thoughts about you – but you couldn't tell him that. So, you did as he bade you, and searched his mind to find any shred of malevolence towards you, but you came out empty-handed. Zemo genuinely just wanted you, craved you, like a starved man sitting in front of an endless buffet. He watched you carefully as you came to this conclusion, and although you said nothing further, he knew that you had found what you needed to know.

"Just say the word, and I will never approach the topic again, as well as attempt to quiet my thoughts about you. But if there is any part of you... deep inside you," Zemo paused, eyes grazing you up and down purposefully, before continuing, "that has any interest in being with me... I will do anything to bring that to fruition."

The ball was in your court now. You could tell him to get bent and never speak to you like this again… or you could get your rocks off, and maybe even get something more in return.

"Such as?"

"Name it, Schätzchen. Anything you want. A car, a mansion, jewels – say it and it's yours, if you will be mine," Zemo proposed earnestly, licking his lips quickly as he looked at you, visibly thrilled that he was getting somewhere with you.

You weren't the type to accept gifts from men you barely know, but… this was Zemo. A man who had done a great many terrible things, which soothed your guilty conscience. So, you said the first thing that came to mind.

"A car," you blurted out, then explained, "Mine broke down a week ago, and it's beyond repair, so… a car."

"Tell me the make and model of your preference and I'll have it delivered to your home within a week's time," Zemo said calmly, then brushed a lock of hair away from your face, before allowing his fingers to trail delicately along your cheek and jawline. "Is that all, Kätzchen?"

"No. One more thing," you replied, then looked at him sternly. "You must agree to never speak of this to Bucky or Sam."

"You have my word," he assured you, smiling in amusement.

"Then I'm yours."

Zemo's smile faded slowly, and he merely stared at you for a split second, before cupping your face in his hands and pulled you into a searing kiss, full of ferocity and sheer desperation. It shouldn't have been this easy, to kiss a man who's done such terrible things – yet here you were, melting into his embrace, allowing him to pull you into his lap and straddle him, your hands resting on his shoulders and gripping the black fabric of his turtleneck. His hands laid flat against your back as he kissed you in this new position, slowly gliding down, down your sides and to your hips. He kissed you in a way that was feverish and fast and hungry, as his fingers dug into your skin, holding you firmly against him as if he were fearful that this was all a dream and you'd disappear at any moment. Upon taking a peek into his mind, you realized that was actually exactly what he was thinking. Additionally, he mentally spoke to you directly, somehow knowing you were reading his thoughts at that moment.

"Tell me if I do anything that you do not like, and know that you have absolute freedom to end this at any given moment."

You pulled away slightly to nod in confirmation that you received his message, before resuming the kiss. Mind hazy and instincts taking over, you found yourself tugging his bottom lip between your teeth, earning a low groan from Zemo. One of his hands darted upwards to grab a fistful of your hair, right against your scalp at the base of your neck, and he pulled on it harshly, causing you to let out a wonton moan. He then laid that hand flat against the back of your neck, holding your lips firmly against his as he kissed you with even more fervor, and the other vacated its position on your hip to slide slowly up your torso, until he began palming your beast through your shirt. You moaned softly against his lips, but not as loudly as a moment ago.

Zemo wanted more, needed more; he longed to hear you loud and desperate. So he delved that hand at your neck back into your hair, gripping it tightly once more, and used it to pull your head backwards a bit, so that he could have better access to your neck. The action itself, and the tightness of his grip, earned an embarrassingly loud moan to escape your lips, and you felt him smile against your skin. He moved his hand to the middle of your back, supporting you as you leaned back a bit to grant him better access. As he littered your neck and décolletage with kisses, you felt him pull the neckline of your blouse down a little, then felt the sharp pain of a bite on your chest, above your breast. When you looked at him with narrowed eyes, he wore a cocky little grin.

"You should not be surprised, Liebling. I know you saw that I've been wanting to do that all day when you read my mind," he noted. "Wear a high neckline tomorrow, it will be fine."

Before you could respond, Zemo pulled you flush against his chest with that hand behind your back, and into another heated kiss. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and without thinking, you ground your hips down on the bulge resting against your core beneath your skirt. He groaned, both hands flying to your hips to push them down again, guiding them as you repeated the action. It only took a minute or two of this before Zemo had enough, abruptly grabbing you by the throat and throwing you down onto the couch beside him. He then loomed over you, one hand propping himself up and the other applying slight pressure to your throat, gazing at you with admiration in those searing eyes, pupils blown wide from lust. You looked right back at him, pupils undoubtedly dilated as well, eyes half-lidded, panting a little, and hair a bit of a mess.

"You are an absolute vision," Zemo praised softly, to which you smiled, then he released his grip on your neck to lean down and kiss you again. That only lasted a moment, before he broke the kiss to pull your blouse up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. Your bra joined it shortly after, then he moved to your skirt, fussing with the zipper for a moment, but it seemed to be caught on something, as it wouldn't budge. Before you could interject and state that you'd get the zipper yourself, Zemo ripped the seam apart with his hands, before tearing the article from your body and tossing it like he had with the blouse. A gasp escaped you, but you had no time to think much about his actions, before he was pulling off your panties and bra as well, dropping them somewhere beside the couch.

He was then looming over you again, kissing you breathless as he rested on one elbow while the other hand toyed with your nipple, his knee coming up to rest between your legs as he laid between your body and the back of the couch. You tangled your fingers in Zemo's hair, moaning against his lips as you sought friction against his leg. He smiled softly against your lips, before your hands wandered, finding the hem of his shirt and tugging it off of him. You had just managed to get his belt off before his hand left your breast, trailing downwards across your torso as he moved his knee further away from you, before delving between your hips and expertly locating your clit.

No longer capable of focusing on ridding Zemo of his clothes, your hands gripped his shoulders, and he hissed deliciously as your nails dug into his skin when he began rubbing small, methodical circles on your clit. Small moans fell from your lips as he watched the way your mouth hung open slightly, face relaxed and eyes closed as you enjoyed his work. But again, he wanted more, needed more. Still observing you, he delved his middle and ring fingers into your core, causing you to let out a loud gasp that faded into a long, low moan. Zemo smiled to himself. That was the reaction he was dying for.

He kissed you senseless, drinking in your moans and gasps of pleasure like wine, his free hand cradling the back of your head as your arms wrapped around his neck. It didn't take Zemo long to find that sweet spot, deep inside you – as he'd subtly alluded to earlier – that longed for his attention the most.

You couldn't help but moan loudly and cry out, "Fuck! Baron!" Zemo growled low in your ear, clearly a fan of your usage of his title as he picked up the pace, fucking you with his fingers with expert precision and speed, sending you hurtling over the edge with a string of curses in both Sokovian and English. By the time he removed his fingers from you and stood, you were seeing stars, breathing heavily as you laid flat against the couch. When your dazed gaze found him, he was naked from the waist down, and was just finishing rolling a condom over his length. You had no idea where he got it from, but you were way beyond giving a shit at this point. Zemo then rejoined you on the couch, roughly spreading your legs apart as he kneeled between them, looking at you with a primal, deep hunger in his eyes.

"You are certain that you want this?"

"Yes, please – fuck," you cut yourself off as he began rubbing your clit again.

"Yes please, what?" His voice was low, teasing, as he continued his work below. "I want to hear you say it again, Kätzchen."

"Yes, please, Baron."

"Good girl."

Zemo took your leg and rested your calf on his shoulder, before easing himself into you, agonizingly slow. You watched through half-lidded eyes as his brows furrowed together, his jaw went slack, and his eyes squeezed shut as he bottomed out. He was silent, but you very much preferred it when he was a bit vocal. So, you flexed your muscles down there, and he groaned, letting his forehead fall against your shoulder.

"Do not do that if you want this to last long," Zemo suggested through clenched teeth. You smiled to yourself, then said the magic word that you knew would get him going.

"Yes, Baron."

He growled again, right in your ear, then sat more upright to begin a harsh, quick pace of thrusting. His hips collided with your body each time, causing a delicious sort of pain, and he leaned down to lock you in a messy, deep kiss.

A few minutes later, Zemo moved your other calf to his shoulder as well, and the new position enabled him to get delectably deep inside you. You raked your nails down his chest, watching as a shudder ran down his spine, all the while releasing small, breathless moans and whimpers. When he opened his eyes again to gaze down at you, he licked his lips before delving both hands under your head and into your hair, and forcefully gripped two fitfuls of it at the base of your skull. The moan that tore its way from your throat was animalistic, as your nails dug into his forearms as you desperately gripped them from their positions on either side of your head. Just then, he hit a spot deep inside of you, and that familiar, tight coil in your lower belly began to form.

"Fuck! Right there, Baron, please, right there!"

"As you wish, Schätzchen."

Zemo began to thrust even faster, careful to maintain the same angle as he released his grip on your hair and leaned up a bit, so that he could resume rubbing your clit. Moans began to fall from your lips practically endlessly, and somehow, you still needed more. More, more, more. You took his free hand and laid it on your neck, and he instinctively wrapped his fingers around your throat, careful to apply pressure on the sides but not the front, as to avoid harming you. When he opened his eyes once again and looked down at you, he couldn't stop the moan that escaped him.

"You will be the death of me, mein Engel," Zemo whispered, seemingly more to himself. All you could do was moan in response.

"Baron, I'm going to – fuck – I'm —"

"Yes, come for me, Kätzchen. I want to feel you."

That was all the encouragement it took. Well, that plus how perfectly he was rubbing your bundle of nerves, and how his pace nor angle had faltered once since you had requested exactly that. You came undone again, legs shaking as your nails clawed at his shoulder blades, earning a series of groans from him. As you came down from your high, Zemo's hips began to falter, enthralled by the waterfall you had become, soaking the base of his cock as your walls squeezed around him. His hand at your wet heat abruptly moved to grip your hip, at the same moment his hand around your throat clutched at your hair again, and he met his end with a loud, gruff moan as he spoke a mantra of nonsensical praises and your name.

Zemo rested on his arms on either side of your head, and he let your legs fall to the sides of him, breathing hard against your neck as he occasionally peppered kisses there. He remained inside you for a few moments, savoring the feeling, before you chose to have a bit of extra fun by flexing your lower muscles and squeezing yourself around him again. With a sharp intake of breath, he pulled out of you, shooting you a glare.

In Sokovian, he murmured, "You are a naughty little thing."

"You adore it."

"That I do," Zemo conceded, then stood and walked off to the restroom. You heard the tap run, and a few moments later, he returned with a glass of water for you, sitting beside your feet on the couch and resting his heels on the coffee table. He was exceptionally handsome like this; still catching his breath, sweat glistening on his forehead and chest, a content look upon his face. You spent a minute or two admiring him, before he looked over to you, and a smile blossomed on his lips.

"I cannot thank you enough for that. I must admit, I spent countless nights alone in my cell, dreaming about getting to touch a woman like that again. Especially considering the fall of our country, I never could have imagined I would be lucky enough to lay with a stunning, intelligent Sokovian woman."

"In the spirit of confessions, it's been a while for me, too. My last boyfriend was about two years ago. And I'm not the one-night-stand type. So, do with that what you will," you stated, earning a small chuckle from Zemo. You sat up so that you were sitting beside him, instead of laying down, as you continued. "I fantasized about it a lot myself, but I never even dared to think my next time would be as good as this was."

Zemo smiled, a mix of pride and joy, then his smile softened as he leaned toward you, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. "This doesn't have to be our last time, you know. I would be honored to have you as often as you'd allow me to. And I assure you, I would make it worth your while. I will give you whichever vehicles your heart desires, more jewelry than you know what to do with, take you to the most beautiful places in the world, dine at only the finest restaurants – and above all, treat you like my queen. Take care of me, and I will take care of you, Liebling."

You allowed your curiosity to get the better of you, as usual when you feared that someone was lying to you. You searched his mind for any fraction of false pretenses, but there were none. The man simply found you intoxicating, and would do whatever it takes to keep drinking you in.

The arrangement wouldn't exactly be an easy one, nor would it be all that wise – nor morally correct, in all honesty. But he was undeniably sexy, and the danger and reprehensibility of it all made it that much more alluring. And besides all that – the way his power and wealth turned you on, how good he was capable of making you feel – most Sokovians were dead, and you missed home. Getting to speak your native tongue with him, chat about your country – it made you feel at home with him.

But you wouldn't give Zemo the satisfaction of agreeing to him that quickly.

“We'll see.”

—————

Part Two

1K notes · View notes

dreamescapeswriting · 3 years

Text

The Stowaway ~ SCB [M] [Request]

WORD COUNT: 7.6K

PAIRING: Captain Changbin x Stowaway Reader

GENRE: smut, pirate au, first time, angst, speaks of drowning, oral F receiving, romantic smut.

A/N: Set between 1720 and 1750

Panting heavily as you raced down the boat docks you did your best to try and avoid being seen by the men that were chasing you. All of this because you had stolen some small apple and a loaf of bread from a food stand. Which they were going to throw away anyway since it was the end of the night.

What were they really going to do with it? It was almost midnight and you were starving, you hadn't eaten in almost four days, you needed something.

“Where did she go!?” One of them yelled in a rough voice as they lost sight of you in the darkness. Pressing your back against one of the wooden boats you held your hand over your chest as if they would find you just from the sound of how hard it was beating. If they found you there was no question about it you would be dead on the spot. No one liked thieves let alone female thief who had no family and no means of paying them back. They'd find you, kill your or worse cut your fingers off and leave you to deal with the gangrene or dying through blood loss.

"She must have gone through one of the houses. This way!" The smaller male said as he stared around, they'd been on your tail for almost twenty minutes not once letting up.

You let out a small breath staying completely still until you knew for sure that the men were gone and it was safe to come out from your hiding spot.

It wasn't as if you enjoyed stealing but it was the only way you could stay alive. Not many places except the brothel were willing to hire someone that was homeless. Being on the run for almost 3 years had no benefits besides the one where you got away from your family. You would rather spend your life on the run than one more minute with them.

The longer you stood on the docks the heavier your eyes began to get but you couldn't run into town now. The men would still be on the lookout for you and most of the pubs were overrunning with pirates. Pirates from all over the world had sailed all day and night before sleeping in a real bed before heading out the next day. As a kid, you used to dream of being a pirate, setting sail to see the whole entire world but of course, the dream would never come true. Females on ships were forbidden, it was a sign of bad luck and a sure sign that a ship would sink.

Staring up at the boat you had been leaning against you checked to see if there was any sign of someone on board. It would only be for one night, it wasn't as though you were going to be a stowaway and go on an adventure with them. One night of peaceful sleep was all you wanted.

It was highly unlikely anyone was on board the ship anyway, most of the men loved to drink at night and would stay in the hotels and brothels. There were no candles left burning that you could see and the whole place appeared to be empty so you threw your small bag through one of the portholes and waited.

Waited to see if someone heard it and came running or if there was someone on the docks that would hear you but there was nothing. Finally somewhere comfy and somewhat safe that you could sleep for at least one night.

Stepping onto the deck you looked around for any signs that someone could still potentially be there but it was clear. The whole ship was a mess, the deck was covered with a thick layer of filth, clothes were left everywhere it was a wonder the captain even let his crew live like this. Who were you to complain when it was a free bed for the night? Somewhere peaceful for you to eat your bread and apple and lay your head for one night.

"Disgusting," You mumbled climbing down into the base of the ship to find it even more of a mess than the top. There were more clothes thrown over barrels, there was dust that covered everything down there that the clothes didn't touch. It was a wonder how anyone lived on the boat without going insane but you grabbed some of the blankets and began trying to make a make-shift bed on the floor. No use complaining about the filth when it was one of the warmest places you'd gotten to sleep in for a while.

As you laid there to yourself staring out of the window at the moon you couldn't remember the last time you had slept in a real bed...The last time you had gone to sleep without a weapon in your hand. It was going to be the first time in years you could sleep without someone yelling at you to get of their yard or that you couldn't sleep under a pub table. It was peaceful.

Taking in a large breath of the sea air Changbin smiled to himself, it almost the middle of the day and he and his crew had been sailing for a few hours now.

"Jisung!" He cried out as he looked over the state of the ship. This was supposed to be one of the most terrifying ships known to all pirates and men and yet it looked like the most revolting.

"I'm sick of this place looking so bad, we need to look after it." He told his right-hand man, Chan, as they stood at the wheel of the ship looking out at the vast amounts of nothing that surrounded them. There was nothing to be seen for miles on end, just waves, birds and the off piece of wood left from wreckages.

"Yes, Captain?" Jisung asked as he rushed over to Changbin looking up at him as he waited for further instructions.

"Go below deck and fetch the mop bucket, I want this place cleaned up before we reach Midscape," Jisung nodded before disappearing towards the hatch and Changbin continued to stare at everything in front of him. Midscape was going to be their big break, the kingdom of Quinnar was about to hold a large festival which meant there were going to be plenty of opportunities for them. Plenty of ships to steal from, the seaside towns would be too busy focusing on the partying to notice food and drinks going missing.

"The usual job? Go in, steal and get out?" Chan questioned as he noticed how hard Changbin seemed to be concentrating.

"Yeah, we'll need one of the boys on pickpocketing, we could get some jewels while we're there." Chan nodding along about to say something when Jisung came speeding over to the wheel, out of breath and as white as a sheet.

"Girl...Below...Deck." He panted out as he looked up at Changbin anxiously,

"What?"

"There's a girl, asleep below deck." The whole ship came to a standstill as they stared at Jisung, all that could be heard were the waves crashing against the side of the boat.

"What do you mean a girl? A little girl? A teenager? A woman?" Changbin pressured to answer him but he was taking far too long,

"Move." He grunted locking the wheel into place before heading towards the hatch of the boat.

Laying there was a girl Changbin had noticed the night before running through one of the pubs. You'd been clutching a loaf of bread and an apple the last time he saw you.

"What shall we do? Females are bad luck on ships." Seungmin muttered as he watched you sleeping, clutching a blanket around your body as your shivered.

"Throw her overboard, we don't need bad luck," Jisung grumbled watching as you laid your head on one of his shirts.

"Don't be stupid," Changbin hissed never taking his eyes off you. He'd seen people like this before, forced to sleep in rough places because they had nowhere else to go. Just from the state of your clothes, he knew you'd not had a real home for a while,

"She's a stowaway-"

"She clearly had nowhere else to go. I doubt she meant to sail along with us," Chan cut Hyunjin off as he looked at his captain. Changbin had still yet to say anything on the matter as he continued to watch you sleep.

"Let her sleep. When she wakes you tell her to come and see me in my cabin." With that he left, leaving the boys stunned as he walked away as if nothing had happened.

Waking up to seven sets of eyes staring down at you wasn't your idea of a wake-up call. You flinched clutching the sheets around your body as you stared at each of them. All of them looked as though they were angry at you, all except for one who was just sitting and holding some food.

"I bought some food in case you were hungry," The blonde with freckles said as he pushed a small wooden tray towards you but you didn't move.

"Our Captain wants to see you." Another one with dark hair and a mole under his right air said to you as you nodded. Completely in shock that you had woken up to them standing there,

"I didn't mean to sleep so much...I-I just needed to crash for-"

"Don't explain it to us. Explain to Captain Changbin." Fear radiated through your entire body as the curly-haired boy spoke of his name. The most feared pirate in most of the kingdoms.

"Changbin?" You stuttered out as you looked at each of the men. You hadn't even bothered looking for a ship name last night, you were too tired to care.

"Welcome aboard the Fae Rouge." The curly-haired man announced as he watched you stand up a little shakily.

"Felix. Show her to Changbin's cabin." He ordered as he began cleaning up the clothes you had been using as a bed for the night. Staring at you as you and Felix began to leave, heading up the stairs, Felix allowing you to go first while he looked away. You were dressed in wenches dress covered in holes and dirt from all of the times you had slept in the streets.

"We're on the water?!" You panicked looking around you as you saw nothing but sea, you were only meant to sleep until daylight.

"Judging by the panic I guess you didn't mean to become a stowaway?" Felix questioned softly as he began to lead you over the main deck floor towards the Captains cabin below the quarter deck.

"I just needed somewhere safe to sleep." You admitted as you waited outside the door of the cabin. A huge wooden door with a dragon knocker on the front of it.

"Come in." A voice grunted from inside, your stomach began to do flips as you were ushered inside by Felix only to have him leave when you were standing in front of a desk. There was a chair behind it face out of the windows staring at the ocean. The chair turned and sitting there was someone you had grown to know through stories and wanted posters. His face was no different to the drawings you had seen, he was handsome and charming. There was a purple bandana wrapped around his head and a scar on his eyebrow that stopped hairs from growing.

There were stories that he'd gotten the scar from fighting with palace guards in Atlantia when he was last there but other stories claimed it was nothing more than a birthmark.

"I'm sorry Captain Changbin! I didn't mean to, I just needed someone safe to lay my head for the night! I never would have climbed on board if I had known it was your ship," You spoke so quickly you'd barely had time to register what it was that you were saying to him. Doing your best to not be killed or thrown overboard to die.

"But you would have climbed on board if it was someone else's?" He questioned as he stared at you, impressed that you were so out-spoken with him.

"No...Yes but-" He cut you off before you could continue,

"Did you or did you not climb onto my ship without permission?"

"Yes-"

"Did you or did you not set sail with us?" He stood up and rested his hands on the desk in front of him glancing at the map and then up to you.

"Yes, but I didn't mean to..." As you were about to explain your plan for waking up he cut you off once again.

"You're a stowaway, whether you meant it or not."

"I had nowhere else to go! I couldn't sleep in the streets for one more night," You finally cried out, raising your voice just a little as you stared at him. Changbin was taken back by it, not once had anyone ever spoken back to him but it impressed him.

"You have no home? No family?" It wasn't a way of being mean it was a way of finding out the truth. If you truly had nowhere to go he was going to take pity on you but never show it.

"No one, sir...I have no one." The room fell into silence and he sighed sitting back down in his chair.

"Felix!" He bellowed out watching the door as Felix came through it, looking directly at his captain.

"She's the new cleaner. Show her the ropes, for god sake get her some clean clothes." He grumbled before turning to look back out of the windows.

"Thank you! Thank you so much!" You yelled out as Felix pulled you from the room, shutting the door and looking at you.

"I'll find something in the cabins you can wear until we reach Quinnar. Then we'll have to buy you something suitable." You ignored the looks you were gaining from the six other men that were now on the deck.

"I won't lie, they wanted to throw you overboard,"

"I don't blame them...Females on pirate ships always mean bad luck." You grumbled following him into another cabin to find seven beds lining one wall of the room, chests on the other.

"Here." Felix began rooting through one of his chests to pull out some black breeches with eight buttons on the front.

"Then I'm sure Chan won't mind if you wear one of his linen shirts," He pulled out a white long-sleeved shirt with the front dipped down, laces to keep from exposing the chest.

"I'll let you change and then I'll introduce you to them all. You're going to be here for a while you might as well learn our names." He chuckled softly leaving you to change out of your dirty rags and into the new clothes.

"Changbin asked her to clean, he wants her on the ship." You hear Felix telling the boys as you came out onto the main deck. The shirt had to be tucked in with how long it was but it was comfortable and felt nice to be in fresh clothing.

"We never learnt your name," Chan said as he watched you walking towards Felix, you stood beside the freckled boy.

"I never learnt yours." You countered back making Felix smirk from beside you. He'd heard you inside the Captains cabin talking back to Changbin whenever you got.

"I'm Bang Chan," The curly-haired man said as he looked at you,

"Hwang Hyunjin," The boy with the mole under his eye said as he smiled at you, all of them going in a line until it got to Jisung who just stared at you.

"She's not going to bite you." Felix hissed but he said nothing,

"I'm Y/n." The boys stared at you,

"No last name?" Felix frowned as he heard you only say a first name. It was uncommon for a female to go by just a first name unless they had been disowned or family killed off.

"No. Not anymore." You looked over at Jisung hoping that he would now say something to you.

"Han Jisung." He grumbled as he looked at Felix before storming off towards the wheel.

"Don't mind him, he's new to the crew and you're replacing him as the new guy." You nodded along and followed the boys as they began telling you what you could and couldn't clean around the ship.

It was a few days into your time with them all and you'd grown to know each of them on a personal level. Except for Changbin who spent most of his time in his cabin or manning the wheel. The boys had arranged for you to continue sleeping below deck, making you a bed out of old blankets and a spare pillow. Although it wasn't one of the best situations it was better than anything you'd had in the many years leading up to this moment. You were being fed two meals a day, given a warm place to sleep and all for cleaning the ship which was no hassle for you.

The only problem there was on the ship was Changbin, he seemed to have a problem with you but you put that down to being a stowaway on his ship. Whenever you would do a simple thing wrong he would yell at you for it, causing a scene or just being rude in general. Changbin would give you all of the harder tasks if you had finished your cleaning for the day but the boys would try to help if and when they could.

"Jisung! Put it down! Y/n is perfectly capable!" Changbin squawked from the Helm of the ship. Even if Jisung had a disliking to you at first he let up in the end, doing his best to help with some of your chores.

"Go and join the boys," You whispered as you continued washing the main deck. It involved using a single scrub brush to scrub each and every small wooden panel of the boat with soapy water.

"If you could not do this job you should never have climbed aboard." Changbin bellowed as you ignored him, scrubbing as hard as you could at the floor. This was one job that took everything out of you that you had to do every other day, spending almost your entire day going over the entire boat.

"When you're done the windows in my cabin need washing." Changbin was now standing over you, watching as you scrubbed harder and harder. Changbin admired how hard you were willing to work for him but he wasn't going to say it out loud and risk being seen as soft.

"Yes, Captain." You spoke as you looked up at him, he moved away from you before disappearing back into his cabin leaving Chan in charge of the wheel.

The floors were clean and there were still a few more hours of daylight left, Felix had called you out onto the main deck.

"We'll be arriving in Quinnar in two days. You better sharpen your skills." He threw a sword in your direction making you laugh as you caught it by the handle.

"Am I allowed on shore with you?" You questioned as he began to come towards you, holding the sword up as though he was ready to attack.

"I can't see why not, I'll find you some clothes and then I'll show you around." You remembered Felix had said he had lived in Quinnar almost all of his life until he ran away to join Changbin.

Watching you and Felix pretending to fight on the deck was beginning to irritate Changbin so he barged out of his room.

"Since you don't know how to follow simple directions," He grunted as he took the swords away from you both, throwing them to Jeongin who scrambled to put them away.

"I asked you to clean my windows since you want to learn to be a pirate instead...Show me what you've got." Frowning as you turned to look at Changbin you waited for him to explain what it was that he meant.

"I saw you stealing the night you left, show me what you've got...We'll see if we can put you to good use." Standing up straight you looked at him wondering how this was going to work when he had set you up to the task.

"You'll know because you're watching," He hummed at you,

"So it continues for the rest of the night...You'll steal from us and we'll see what you come back with at dinner." Nodding along with him you glanced over at Seungmin who was smirking.

"Bet we catch you," Smirking back over at him you shook your head.

"Bet you don't."

The end of the night came faster than you had been expecting it to and now all nine of you were crowded around a large table below deck.

"Well...You failed, I'm not missing anything." Changbin said smugly as he poured himself a glass of ale, you hummed standing up from the table.

"I think you'll find, you're wrong, Captain." Taking out a large sack from under the table you poured the contents onto the table. Revealing everything that was inside from jewels, food, clothes, money and even the compass that Changbin kept on him at all times.

"Impressive work." He complimented a small smile playing on his lips as he took the compass from the pile and turned it around in his fingers.

"How did you manage to swipe this?" He questioned, truly curious to know when it never left his inside pocket.

"You asked me to clean your windows. While I was cleaning them this afternoon I asked you to move from your desk and bumped into you." Thinking back on it Changbin smirked as he thought about the way your hand ever so slight brushed against his chest.

"Even if you don't want to swipe on Quinnar she could perform for other sailors...Distract them." Minho chuckled as he remembered catching you singing one day while you were cleaning.

"She can sing, dance and maybe she can read to them." He finished as he stuffed food into his mouth. You had been helping the boys learn to read and write while you were spending your time on the ship at night.

"You read?" Changbin questioned as you sat back down at the table, nodding your head.

"My mother taught me as a little girl. I can also write and read a map." The more he learnt about you the more interested he began to grow.

There would have been a time when Changbin never would have allowed you onto his ship but hearing that you had no one back home made him want to take a chance on you. No one deserved to be alone in the world and that was something he lived by. Taking in sailors that had no wives, family or means of living. It was how he had met most of the boys besides Jeongin who simply joined because he wanted to.

"You're just full of surprises," He hummed pouring you a glass of ale before going back to his food.

Although he had been hard on you through most of your time with him you couldn't hold it against him. He'd taken you in and cared for you even though he could have just as easily thrown you overboard and fed you to the sharks.

"We should get an early night. We'll be sailing all day tomorrow with little rest at night." Changbin digressed as he rose from his chair, your eyes on him the entire time as he retreated to his cabin for the rest of the night.

Quinnar was bright and loud as soon as you reached the docks, people were partying everywhere you turned to look.

"I'll take her to go and get some clothes, then we'll start on the west side of town," Felix explained to the boys as you waited for him. Practically bouncing up and down with excitement as you looked around, it was your first time being anywhere this far from home and it was starting to set in that you had sailed there.

"Follow me." Felix chuckled as he began to walk with you off the ship and down the wooden docks. Your eyes immediately went to the water it was crystal clear with white sand at the edges.

"Can we go to the water after?" You questioned as you began to walk through crowded streets. People were dressed in top hats, suits and some women were out in the street topless.

"They get excited about the festivals," Felix whispered as he noticed your gaze lingering on some of the groups that were getting louder and louder.

"You should see them when they've been drinking," He laughed softly pulling you towards a small clothing stand and looking over everything before settling on something.

"We'll take the black Bustier dress." He paid for the dress in full and an elderly woman took you by the hand. Eyeing you up when she noticed you in men's breeches and a shirt.

"Ran away to play pirates did you?" She questioned as she led you into a small bathroom, you smiled weakly as she began measuring you.

Coming out from the changing room you smiled as you reached Felix, doing a small turn to show off the black Bustier and lace dress that you'd put a white shirt underneath.

"Looks great, now you really are a pirate." He whispered in your ear pushing you back through the crowds to begin your work. Everyone was already standing on top of one another, they would rarely notice something going missing from their pockets.

Later in the night as Changbin was heading back to the ship he saw you just sitting in the sand on the beach. Your feet were sitting by the edge of the water and you looked peaceful, a small smile on your lips.

"Do I pay you to sit around all day?" He snapped when he reached you, brushing off your hands you looked up at him.

"It's almost midnight, the boys are all drinking I thought we had time off-"

"You thought wrong." You nodded before getting yourself up from the sand, dusting off your dress to follow him back to the ship but Changbin was taken by the bag of loot by your side.

"Busy day?" You nodded handing him the bag as you began to walk back to the docks.

"Felix and I hit the west and then we got bored so we joined Jisung and Seungmin in the south." You smirked remembering everything you had done that day and now you were truly exhausted from everything.

"There's one more thing I want you to do for me tonight," Changbin told you as he walked by your side. The two of you out alone as you headed towards the ship. As much as Changbin wanted to tell you how good a job you were doing for him he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Sure."

"Go and get the boys, we need to sail now before anyone realises we're the ones that stole their goods." Nodding at him you headed off back in the direction of the town.

All of the boys had gone to the black pearl for a drink so it was going to be easy to find them but not so easy getting them back to the boat.

"Captain wants you back, he wants to sail home." You mumbled as Minho threw an arm around your shoulder, dropping almost his whole body weight onto you as you attempted to drag him out of the bar.

"But we want to drink! CELEBRATE!" He screamed out as Jisung joined your side, helping you carry him a little while the rest of the boys - who were moderately sober - began to leave.

"We can celebrate on board," You told Minho who began singing loudly in the street,

"Soon may the Wellerman come To bring us sugar and tea and rum One day, when the tonguing is done We'll take our leave and go!" When he realised no one was joining in with him he began to get louder and louder, jabbing your side telling you to sing along. You had sung on the boat for him a couple of times but never in front of anyone else.

"She'd not been two weeks from shire when down on her a right a whale bore. The captain called all hands and swore he'd take that whale in tow!" He screamed as you sat on the main deck, Changbin had begun sailing out of the docks the moment you arrived back with everyone. The rest of the boys had gone to sleep in their beds while you looked after Minho,

"SING!" He screamed at you making you laugh softly as he threw up down the side of the boat. Rubbing his back softly you began to sing sweetly to him, not wanting to be as aggressive as his singing had been.

"Soon may the Wellerman come To bring us sugar and tea and rum One day, when the tonguing is done We'll take our leave and go..." You rubbed his back and he got back up, patting your back roughly as he left you there to got bed.

"SHIT!" You screamed out as he hit you a little too hard, sending you into the freezing water. Head flooding with thoughts as you forgot how to swim, waves sending you down to the water as soon as you got some form of air.

The water sent your body into shock as you tried to come up for air, flailing your arms around as though you were trying to climb rocks. Waves were crashing into your body knocking your back down whenever you got close to getting a piece of the precious air.

"For fucks sake," Changbin cried out when he realised no one else was going to come after you.

Dropping the anchors he began storming over to the side you'd gone overboard on, stripping from his shirt. Staring over to see if he could see any sign of you but it was pitch black. Climbing onto the railing he dove in after you swimming under the water when he saw you limply trying to reach for the water.

"Don't you dare die on me!" Changbin roared as he laid you down on the main deck, pushing down on your chest repeatedly before breathing air into your mouth.

"You're not allowed to leave," He hissed as he continued pushing against your chest. Your eyes were half open as you looked around you,

"Leave me alone...You hate me," You coughed up the saltwater spitting it down beside him on the floor.

"Do you think I want you dead?" He scoffed as he sat you up carefully, handing you a cup of freshwater.

"Would be an easy way to get rid of a woman on your ship,"

"And lose one of the best pirates I've come to meet?" He blushed looked down at you as you continued to sip on the freshwater, shivering as you sat on the deck soaked in water on a cold night.

"Let's go and get you warmed up." He mumbled helping you up onto your feet, wrapping his shirt around you as he walked you towards his cabin.

"You can sit in front of the fire." Sitting you down in a chair he added some more wood to the small fireplace in his cabin and went to grab you some dry clothes to change into. Settling on some of his baggy breeches and a large white shirt.

"Why are you being nice? It's freaking me out." You mumbled as he gave you a blanket to change underneath, still turning his back on you so you would feel comfortable.

"I've always been nice, I let you stay didn't I?" He countered as he looked at the windows in front of him, smirking a little as you spoke back to him with a little attitude.

"Begrudgingly I bet," You grumbled folding your arms over your chest as you finished changing into the clothes he had given to you.

"I was the one that opted to stop them throwing you overboard," He raised his eyebrow at you truly not understanding why you thought he hated you or wanted you dead.

"I gave you a job, I gave you shelter. If I really wanted to I could have put you out," You cleared your throat when it was clear for him to turn back and he wrapped you in a blanket to keep you from getting colder.

"I could have let you drown," He scoffed as he looked at you knowing that he would never actually let you drown.

"But you didn't...what was it you said...Best pirate?" You smirked up at him remembering what he had said out on the deck.

"Shut up, you were hallucinating," You hummed as you stared at the fireplace, enjoying the warmth as it spread through your entire body enjoying it as you sat there.

"Thank you though...For taking me in...letting me work for you." Your eyes were beginning to get heavy as you sat there,

"Like I said. The best pirate just don't tell the boys," He chuckled looking at you as he saw you beginning to nod off in the chair. It was rather adorable how you got so tired just from sitting in front of a fireplace.

"You should get some rest, sea air and water can take it out of you sometimes." You hummed as you got up, ready to leave his chambers when his hand came to rest on your shoulder. Pulling you to come back into the room, there was no way he was going to make you stay below deck when he knew it was colder down there than anywhere else on the ship. Any other night would have been fine but not when you'd just taken a swan dive into the ocean and almost drowned.

"Take my bed, it's comfier than the sheets you're on." You remembered seeing the bed when you were cleaning once. It was a large double bed covered in pillows and blankets that looked to be hand-sewn, fit enough for some kind of king to lay on.

Shivering and teeth chattering as you laid in bed you couldn't warm up despite the mound of blankets covering you. All of the warmth from the fire gone now that you were curled up on a bed,

"Relax. You need to relax your body," It was easy for Changbin to say as he laid on the floor in front of the fire taking most of the heat from you,

"Come up here," You stuttered out through gritted teeth, not caring if you were going to share a bed with someone. All you cared about was getting warm.

"Why?"

"Warm me up," You hissed looking at him with a serious look to prove you meant it and he got up, bringing one of the extra blankets with him and crawling in behind you.

"Sweet mother of pearl, you are freezing," He hissed when he felt your feet grace over his leg, he threw the blanket he had been using over your both.

"Hold...Hold me." You looked over your shoulder at him and he nodded, inching closer to you as he wrapped his arm around your waist.

"Tell me why you took pity on me...Why keep me? You didn't know I was a good pirate then," You stuttered out body still shivering uncontrollably as he continued to hold you in his arms.

"I saw you stealing the night before so I knew you were hungry and most likely tired...Then when you told me that you had no one-"

"You felt sorry for me?" You cut him off as you listened to him speaking to you,

"No. I knew what you were going through. I ran away from my family home as a teenager and I knew what kind of place you were in. No job. No home. You needed somewhere." Your body began to relax as you listened to him speaking to you so calmly and openly about himself. It was the first time you'd heard him speak of any kind of life before he was a pirate, none of the boys spoke about him before you only knew their stories.

"You ran away?" Concern leaked from your tone and he smiled weakly, it was the first time he told anyone this story. Even the boys thought he had been born into the pirate world.

"From Atlantia when I was 18." He chuckled weakly at the distant memory of his time there, everything was a first for him to speak about.

"I was a naughty kid, got into trouble too much, stole from people and was just a troubled kid. My family decided it was time to send me to work in a factory...I knew for a fact I didn't want to do I ran." Frowning as you listened to him you couldn't help but think about how much you had in common with one another, both running away from a life neither of you wanted.

"I took nothing, I just headed for the sailors and asked for a ride to the next Kingdom. Then from there, I worked on different ships until I found Fae Rouge. Abandoned and left to rot in some random harbour. I stole her." Rolling over to look up at him you stared at him in the candlelight, just listening to him speak was enough to relax you in his arms.

"I was hard on you when you first got here because I needed to know if you had a thick skin. Pirates need a thick skin if they're going to make it." He looked down at you not realising how close you were to one another until he could feel your breath on his lips.

"How did you get the scar?" You whispered running your hand up to his face, cupping it in your hand as you ran one finger along the scar on his eyebrow.

"When I was a kid, it's not a good idea to go up to a horse from behind." He smirked as he remembered getting thrown back against the wall but he knew the rumours about the scar and why you must have asked. You went to brush your hands through his hair when he took your wrist into his hand.

"Sorry." You whispered going to move away when his grip around your waist tightened and he held you in place.

"I never said I didn't like it," He whispered as he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours until you pushed them together. Gasping a little as you felt a jolt rush through your body, something you had only heard in stories from old people.

Soon the kiss became heated and he moved his lips to your neck, kissing up and down your exposed skin as your hands worked their way into his hair tugging softly.

The shock still hadn't worn off as Changbin stripped you down bare, himself included as he looked at you. Admiring your body as he ran his hand over your breasts playing with your hardened nipples,

"Changbin," You breathed as he continued to massage them, leaning down to take your left nipple into his mouth. Sucking softly while his hand pinches the right nipple,

"You like that?" He questioned a little cockily as he looked up at you, you hummed back at him. You'd never experienced anything like this it was all new to you.

Changbin continued as he kissed down your body looking up at you as you whimpered. You could feel how wet you were beginning to grow between your thighs just from the small kisses and touches he was giving to you.

When his head delved between your legs and tongue graced your clit making you whimper.

"Sweet little noises, has no one made you feel good before?" You shook your head and he pressed a kiss against your swollen bud, licking and sucking softly as he watched you. Enjoying the way your face scrunched up and moans left your mouth. Changbin went slow with you, running his tongue up and down your folds occasionally dipping inside of you to see what you enjoyed. Each of your moans grew louder each time which only encouraged him as he slicked up a finger in your juices.

"You might feel a pinch," He whispered slowly easing his finger into you feeling you clench around him tightly.

"O-Oh fuck you're tight," He moaned despite it being his finger inside of you, there was no way he would last with you that tight.

"C-Changbin." You whined when you felt a small pain,

"I know..." He pressed kissing on your clit,

"I know but it'll pass." He whispered as he continued to lap up your clit.

The pain began to subside as he began to move one finger in and out of you. Your head spinning a little at the new sensations you were experiencing, each thrust of his fingers making you whimper and moan.

"Changbin....S-Something-" Changbin smirked as he could feel you clenching faster around his finger with each thrust,

"It;'s okay, just let it go," He breathed out as he continued to thrust his fingers, watching as your head rolls back against the sheets and you let out a sinful cry of his name. Something had tightened inside of you and finally snapped free as waves of pleasure rushes through your body making you see white.

"What...What was that?" You whimpered as he kissed back up to your lips, looking at you with loving eyes.

"An orgasm," He chuckled watching you as you bit down on your lip,

"I-I want more." He nodded kissing your lips softly going to kiss down your body when you pulled him back up. Running your hand down to his crotch,

"I-I want you." You pleaded with him, looking down into his eyes. He nodded as he looked at you, kissing you sweetly as he towered above you.

Your legs were spread as the tip of Changbin's cock brushed through your folds, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you but he knew it was going to sting even for a little while.

"Please," You begged him as he lined the tip up with your entrance, sliding into you with a loud groan. His hand digging into your hips to still himself from moving too fast too soon but it felt good. You were so tight around him it was like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

"S-Shit," You hissed at the sudden sensation of fullness, biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Are you okay?!" He asked, his voice filled with panic as he looked down at you. Nodding at him you run your fingers down his chest,

"You can move," You told him as you reached to grab his shoulder, wrapping your legs around his waist not wanting to lose the sensation of him inside of you. All that clouded your thoughts was how badly you wanted him moving in and out of you just as his finger had been.

Changbin sank all the way into you and your eyes widened moaning out his name loudly as you clenched around him with each thrust.

"F-Fuck you have no idea how good that feels Y/n." He purred in your ear as he continued to pushing and out of you at a steady pace, the head of his cock hitting that one sensitive spot that made your head spin.

"C-Changbin, don't stop." Your head rolled back as he moved a little faster inside of you, reaching one hand down between you both to rub your clit.

"So good!" You cried out as your back arched away from the mattress the tightening sensation beginning to build up once again.

"T-That feeling is back," You warned him as your eyes shot open to stare up at him, he nodded rubbing your clit faster.

"That's okay, you can let go...L-Lord knows I will." He grunted as he timed his thrusts in time with his hand on your clit.

The warm sensation from before turned into molten lava as you felt yourself cumming around him, dragging your nails into his skin as you cried out his name. Changbin's fingers dug into your hips as he grunted, letting go inside of you as you whimpered feeling something seep out of you.

Holding onto you for the rest of the night Changbin promised to wash you off in the tub in the morning, if he did it now you would only get cold again. All you wanted to do was sleep beside him with him holding onto you but the door burst open revealing Minho who had finally come to realise what he had done.

"Minho! Knock!" Changbin roared out as he covered you with the sheets so that Minho couldn't see your naked body.

"I thought-"

"You knocked her overboard? You did. I got her...Go back to bed." Minho nodded backing out of the room without another word about it with bright red cheeks.

"This will be fun to explain in the morning," Changbin chuckled as he laid back down beside you, looking at you as you took his face into your hand.

"Even more fun in the future...Taking the seas together." You whispered as you leaned up to kiss him once again, wincing as you felt a pain rush through your body at the sudden movement.

"Get some sleep," He whispered as he wrapped an arm around you, letting you get comfortable before he attempted to.

King and Queen of the seas were what you were named in every town, drawings of the two of you strewn across every posted you came into contact with for the rest of your lives. It only made the adventures you had with him and the boys all the more fun.

Tagline: @minholuvs @taestannie @sw33tnight @acciocriativity @mwitsmejk @taeechwitaa @justbangtanthingz @stillwithlix

#skz #skz x reader #skz smut #skz imagine #skz imagines #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #seo changbin #changbin x reader #changbin smut #changbin imagine #changbin imagines #seo changbin x reader #seo changbin smut #seo changbin imagine #seo changbin imagines

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bring-it-all-down · 3 years

Text

When thinking about Eleanor Guthrie, I am continuously reminded of Audre Lorde’s essay, “The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle The Master’s House,” which she gave at a 1984 NYU conference on feminism. She notes in this essay that, though she was asked to be part of this conference, she is speaking on a largely white panel and to a largely white audience of liberal, feminist academic women. As a critique of white feminist academia, she states:

Those of us who stand outside the circle of this society's definition of acceptable women; those of us who have been forged in the crucibles of difference -- those of us who are poor, who are lesbians, who are Black, who are older -- know that survival is not an academic skill. It is learning how to take our differences and make them strengths. For the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house. They may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change. And this fact is only threatening to those women who still define the master's house as their only source of support.

This quotation, I think, perfectly summarizes Eleanor’s role in Black Sails.

The show immediately makes clear to us that Eleanor is different from the typical notion of “woman” that existed at the time, differentiating herself in terms of both gender presentation and sexuality. Her clothing occupies a space between masculine and feminine, matching her approach to wielding power. Because she is a woman, she has to constantly worry about men taking her power seriously, and she uses whatever tools she possesses to hang on to this power. When appropriate, she wields this authority in the same way as a man would: she reminds pirates time and again that she controls their economic security, and should they cross her, she has the power to cut them off entirely.

Because of her womanness, though, this assertion of power is not enough. It would fall apart if she didn’t continuously reinforce it with her sexuality. Indeed, it is only through getting Charles Vane to fall in love with her and thereby betray his mentor and father figure, Edward Teach, that Eleanor is able to obtain power in the first place. She returns to this trick time and again: whenever she is in trouble, she has sex with Vane to convince him to give her what she wants. He is the necessary male authority cementing her power. She eventually comes to do the same thing with Woodes Rogers, though she actually claims to love him.

The problem with Eleanor is that, in order for her authority to exist, she must in some way tether herself to the established order of civilization. Thus, the end for this type of authority is always subservience to society. There is always a time limit to this power, and it will always result in becoming the wife of the governor, in donning the dress and manners of civilization and in thereby allowing that initial level of authority to be worn away until it does not exist anymore.

Tied to this problem is that Eleanor only wants power for power’s sake. She wants to control Nassau because she thinks she is owed it due to being the daughter of its governor. In other words, she wants to be exactly like the male authority figures of England, only a woman; she constantly worries about her father’s return because he will supplant her rule, but she rests heavily on her last name as her claim to rule in the first place. There are no principles behind her rule, no greater efforts to advance women as a whole. It is an entirely selfish venture inspired by the very customs of civilization she believes from which she exists separately.

Her claim to authority, then, rests solely on her whiteness. She fails time and again to understand that assimilation is not liberation. She fails to liberate Max, the woman she supposedly loves, because leaving Nassau behind would cut her off from her power. In season 4, when she and Max reflect on that moment in season 1, Eleanor tells her, “I was so close to saying yes…[but] I had put so much of myself into this place, in that moment, I honestly didn't know where I ended and it began. There may be ways of severing oneself in that way...sacrificing one part to save the other. But in that moment...I honestly couldn't find something sharp enough to make the cut” (4.04). When Max asks her what would have been enough, she doesn’t answer, because nothing would have been enough to make that cut. For Eleanor, whatever relationships she has will always be secondary to her quest for power, and so she constantly justifies the harm she causes others, particularly the Black people to whom she is closest, on the basis of her quest for power being good and right.

This fact is made clearer in Eleanor’s conversation with Flint while he is imprisoned. After he tells her that Madi and the Maroon Queen are alive, Eleanor becomes angry over the fact that Mr. Scott would hide this knowledge from her. She says that the power she obtained was always done so “with a man behind me doing his damnedest to bend it all to his benefit. My father, Scott, Charles, you. So many goddamn men here. Too many goddamn men here” (4.05). To her, Mr. Scott is just like every other man, exerting his patriarchal control over her. There is no acknowledgement on her part that she and her family had enslaved him and thus he did not owe her any sort of allegiance or trust.

By the time Madi confronts her with the truth–– “My father didn't mistrust Flint. My father mistrusted all of you”––it is too late for Eleanor (4.06). For her entire life, she has obsessed over the fact that her womanness differentiated her from everyone around her and has not once stopped to think about how her whiteness supersedes all of those gender-based differences. She has staked her claim to authority on the perpetuation of the white supremacist system: using her last name, tying her control of Nassau to the continuation of its plantations, betraying everyone who questioned her claim to authority, sacrificing Max and Mr. Scott and Madi whenever doing so suited her.

Thus, the very thing she attempted to prevent––a second Rosario Raid––is what ends up killing her. Through her efforts to attach her legitimacy to the white supremacist, cisheteropatriarchy that is civilization, she sows the seeds of her own destruction, as well as the destruction of those she supposedly cares for. Her use of her master’s tools results only in building yet another house for her master while leaving everyone else homeless.

#black sails #eleanor guthrie #white feminism will never save you #Madi and Eleanor being mirrors of each other is so fascinating for endless reasons #One such reason is that Madi intentionally doesn't have a last name while Eleanor clings to hers until she marries Woodes Rogers

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aquamarineicecream · 4 years

Text

Rewind Sanders Sides Superhero AU - Chapter 2

Ao3 Link

>Chapter 1

>Chapter 3

Buying discount Halloween candy at five A.M. was always a good idea, especially when you hadn’t slept at all in the past twenty-four hours. The surprise on the cashier’s face was evident, but Remus disregarded it as he dumped the armful of candy he had been holding onto the checkout counter with a mischievous grin. That grin only grew as he watched the cashier take in his appearance, from the worn black pirate hat on his head to the machine gun strapped to his back.

“So, how much will it be?” Remus asked, moving the dark gray mask covering his eyes up to just beneath the brim of the large feathered hat. The teen behind the cash register just stared at him for a moment, still taken aback by all the weapons Remus had on him. Remus assumed the boy could only hope they were fake. It was only when Remus cocked his head slightly to the right and his expression turned impatient that the teenager quickly started scanning and bagging the candy in front of him.

“Since most of it is 50% off it’ll be, um - ” The boy paused to read the number on the screen in front of him - “$167.93.” Remus didn’t look fazed by the high cost as he pulled five fifty dollar bills out one of the four pouches on his belt and dropped them on the counter without even checking to make sure it was the right amount. He picked up the bags and turned on his heel to leave as the cashier scrambled to get the correct amount of change from the drawer. “Wait, sir - ” the teen started, attempting to call out to the customer before he made it out of the store.

“Keep the change!” Remus interrupted, shifting the six bags full of candy he had bought to one arm so he could wave goodbye to the perplexed boy behind him before pushing out of the convenience store’s glass doors. Remus adjusted the bags so he was once again carrying three bags on each arm as he marched out into the crisp autumn night. He loved the feeling of the cool breeze on his face. Remus decided that since it was never too early to start the day, he’d go to the park for a while to relax and enjoy his first meal of the day.

As Remus walked the short way to the park, he contemplated what he was going to tell the people who had hired him for his current mission. He had known the mission was cursed from the start, of course. No one ever paid that much money for his services unless they seriously meant business. Then again, it was hard not to mean business when you ordered a hitman to take out your enemies. Although he knew that logically he should be suspicious of the rich strangers, he never had lived a life led by logic, had he? And furthermore, he always enjoyed a good challenge; it was what kept his job interesting, after all.

Remus plopped down on a lone bench under an old willow tree once he reached the park. He didn’t particularly care that a middle aged man who appeared to be homeless had already been sitting there. Remus had no qualms about setting down the bags in the space on the opposite side of the man. He lowered the black cloth covering his mouth before talking.

“You changed, little bro,” Remus addressed the man in the thin, torn coat next to him while he started looking through one of the plastic bags holding the different containers of candy. The man glanced at him in confusion before Remus took out a bag of 3 Musketeers and tossed it into the tired man’s lap. “Here, eat up. I got your favorite.” The man frowned as he opened the large bag and took out one of the individually wrapped chocolates before speaking in a rough voice.

“I don’t know you.”

Remus cackled in response. “Oh c’mon, admit it. I know it’s you. I always know it’s you. I mean,” Remus paused mid-sentence to laugh again, “I may be getting a little crazy around the edges but ever since we were kids you couldn’t fool me.” Remus grinned at the ground for a minute before getting his candy of choice from the bag. The other man just unhappily unwrapped his candy before eating it. He didn’t respond until after Remus had eaten a few sour gummy worms, but this time his voice was much livelier and more arrogant than before.

“You do know that technically even though you’re twelve minutes older than me, we’re still twins, right? So it’s not fair for you to call me your little brother,” the man said, through a mouth full of chocolate. Remus turned to face his brother and smirked when he saw the young man was dressed in his usual outfit of a white suit that strongly resembled a prince, save for the bright red cape that had a large gold ‘C’ on the back.

“Twelve minutes still counts as older, Ro.”

“What are you doing here? What time is it even? And more importantly, how much money did you spend on just candy?”

“Hey quit scolding me! You’re gonna sound like your nerd friend soon. He always has something to say about me, too. I only spend a hundred something dollars. And it’s sometime after four, I think,” Remus said, as he gave up on the gummy worms, choosing to start attacking the candy corn instead.

“A hundred dollars only on candy?!”

“It was on sale, Ro, what else was I supposed to do? God, when did you get so booooring?” Remus rolled his eyes and ended up deciding to wrap a gummy worm around a candy corn before eating it so he would have an excuse not to pay attention to Roman’s noise of offense. “Oh yeah, it was when you decided to get all high and mighty. All princely.” Remus scoffed and ate his combination of candy.

“I can’t believe you’re still bitter, Remus. It’s been literal years!” Roman crossed his arms, looking annoyed. “And you still haven’t answered my first question, though I bet I already know the answer.”

“You’ve gotta remind me what that question was cause you know how bad I am at remembering stuff.” Remus was still smirking to himself as he treated himself to more of the delectable treats before him while Roman glared in his direction.

“You’re going after Virgil Messana, aren’t you?” Roman’s tone was accusatory but Remus didn’t bother looking up from the mixed Hershey's bag he was rifling through.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Remus.” Roman had stopped glaring for the moment and instead had taken to getting out another piece of candy. He missed the frown on Remus’s face as Remus finally looked up from his own bag.

“What gave me away? I was so careful that he wouldn’t see me.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Roman started sarcastically, “Maybe the fact that you hit me with a car while I was going after him!” Roman turned to glare fiercely at his brother.

“Wait, that was today?” Remus responded lightly. “Oops. My bad, Ro. But I guess you’re right. I am after him. I was hired by some shady fellas to get rid of him. I still don’t get why though. He’s just some skinny kid our age.” The container of Lemonheads on his lap was forgotten momentarily as Remus fidgeted with the edges of his fingerless black leather gloves.

“It’s weird to think that we have the same target again. And not a good kind of weird.” Roman ate another piece of chocolate before continuing, “But the good part about doing this my way is that I got to read Messana’s case file.” Remus looked intrigued before Roman had even finished speaking.

“What does it say? Who is this Mr. Nobody from Nowhere that everyone wants dead?” Remus looked borderline desperate, as though his life hinged on getting the answers to his burning questions. Roman, on the other hand, looked almost smug to have the upper hand over his twin.

“It’s getting late. I should really get going, Remus. The others will be worried if I don’t get back soon.” Roman flashed Remus his signature grin before grabbing a handful of chocolate and slipping it in a hidden pocket in his suit. He moved the bag from his lap to the bench beside him before standing up and dusting off his knee length cape. Remus grabbed Roman’s hand, looking at him like a child trying to convince his parents to buy him ice cream. Roman, however, simply pulled out of his grasp. “I really do need to go. I’d hate for Logan to wake up and see that Pat and Dee and I are all still gone. I’ll see you around. And you know I’d wish you good luck if we weren’t after the same target.” Roman hesitated for a moment before adding in a much softer tone than with which he usually spoke, “Take care of yourself, brother.” It was clear Remus hadn’t been paying attention or cared enough to acknowledge it though, so Roman turned around with a sigh, his sad expression only lasting for a second before it morphed into what felt like someone else’s face entirely.

“Ro, wait!” Remus called after Roman, after the former had already walked a bit away. Roman instantly froze in place, waiting with bated breath to hear what Remus had to say. “At least tell me why Messana is so important!” Remus shouted, causing Roman to release his breath. Roman should’ve known to expect another question about their target. After all, he had taught himself by now not to expect anything even vaguely reminiscent of fraternal concern nor caring remarks from his brother.

“They said that if he lived, this guy Virgil would change everything,” was Roman’s only response. Remus stayed silent, for once at a loss for what to say. The beaten down, middle aged man in the weathered brown coat walked out of the park without another word, disappearing in the light of the sunrise.

Next Chapter>>

Tag list: (let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@milomeepit , @captainhadeslover , @yep-another-fander , @pattson , @lala-the-rebel , @artistictaurean , @ironwoman359 , @ab-artist , @wicked-rosie , @starsinger , @superarrowholockian , @shapoodle , @virgil-the-virgin , @fun-with-colors , @theloveliestsweetspongy , @anastasialestina , @inferablossom , @confused-pat , @midnighteclipse98 , @silversmith-91 , @pattons-second-cookie , @harboring-hatred , @creativenostalgiastuff , @sadb0tt , @today-only-happens-once , @thelogicalloganipus , @the-shark-boi , @mantha-has-fallen , @averaillisa , @emochechirecat , @camillenicole , @thedukeofdeodorant-main, @time-out-for-thee , @sandersstuffsblog , @letsmoonkid , @iampengwing , @5150brotherbear , @approximately12lbs-of-ducks , @bexxbeauty , @elvis-has-been-dug , @ollyollyoxinfree , @magsnine , @littlewolf432 , @logical-princey

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ckret2 · 5 years

Text

Tedium

Fandom: Borderlands, pre-canon Characters: Zer0, an OC invented to play off Zer0, and a smidge of Mordecai at the end. Words: 5600 Summary: Blue Collar said he called him "Seventeen" because of his little speech quirk, expressing himself in exactly seventeen syllables at a time. But the other reason was that Blue Collar had the deeply uncomfortable sense that the spindly amateur killer in front of him was just some kid, around seventeen years old, in deep over his head without even understanding how fast he was sinking. "Don't know about other planets, but that's how hitmen work around here: we don't interfere with each other, we don't hunt each other, but we don't help each other, either. It's a lonely profession. I don't want it to be lonely for you." Notes: Zer0's called "he" when the narration is from the perspective of someone who would make that assumption and hasn't been told otherwise, and "they" when the narration is from their own perspective. Warnings: Canon-typical violence & character death.

###

"Don't listen to anyone who tries to hype up Dahl. They're amateurs who like to think carrying a gun with camo on it makes them a soldier instead of a thug. A real professional hitman uses Tediore." Waving his hot sauce-coated chopsticks at Seventeen as he spoke, Blue Collar leaned across the sticky fast food restaurant table, warming up to the topic. "Quietest guns on the market. Easy to make impossible to trace. Break the gun's digistruct chip and toss your pistol in a trash can and boom, the murder weapon no longer exists. There's a hundred places on the ECHOnet that'll teach you how to corrupt a Tediore gun's serial number so it isn't printed on the bullets, in case you're worried the cops'll use it to track down the gun's registered owner—which probably won't be you anyway, since they're a dime a dozen to get second-hand. If you really wanna go incognito, get a five-dollar digistruct chip from the nearest corner store and pirate a Tediore gun. You can even download some with Maliwan barrels if you wanna shock a shield off someone."

Seventeen shifted on the cheap vinyl seat, as if to speak, and Blue Collar lifted a hand placatingly. "I know, you're not a fan of Maliwan, I'm just saying. Now, the only exception to Tediore is rifles. That's when you wanna go Dahl."

Seventeen snorted derisively. "For sniper rifles? That's a waste of good ammo. One bullet, one death."

Sarcastically, Blue Collar asked, "Oh, and I suppose you get a lot of jobs that pay so bad you can't afford to buy four bullets?"

"Yeah."

Blue Collar had no idea if that was supposed to be a joke, but he went for it like it was serious. "Then you're taking the wrong jobs. No wonder you're so scrawny." He jabbed a meaty finger in the direction of Seventeen's chest. Seventeen swirled a straw in a cup of bubble tea in feigned indifference.

"What you call a 'waste of ammo,' a smart killer calls 'double tapping to be sure.' There's a reason a snake has two fangs. You know how many stories there are about freak cases of people surviving a bullet through the heart? There's a lot less about people surviving two bullets." Blue Collar sat back, scooped up some fried rice, and talked through the mouthful. "Your pride at taking some sap out with one bullet isn't half as important as the assurance that he's dead. That's what being a professional is about. You double tap; you hit 'em while they're unaware; and you don't waste a second between kills. Dahl for rifles, and Tediore for everything else."

"But I like Jakobs," Seventeen protested. "I like the way firing feels—"

"That's called 'recoil' and it's a con, not a pro."

Seventeen flicked a balled-up straw wrapper at Blue Collar. "—and I like headshots." Hands pressed to masked head, then expanding outward, pantomiming a brain exploding from a smashed skull: "Pshoooo."

Blue Collar shook his head, equal parts exasperated and charmed. "Yeah, yeah. I know you do. Damn."

They were an odd pair, sitting together with a couple plates of fried rice and egg rolls between them. Blue Collar was a grizzled, heavyset man, dressed like he could be anything from a factory worker to a mechanic to a janitor, depending on what tool belt he slapped on; hence his professional name. He dressed to blend in with a crowd, hid his gun in a tool bag slung over a shoulder or in a pocket if the pistol was small enough, and was never noticed.

Seventeen didn't blend in. Gangly, spindly; perpetually dressed in all black; combat boots and gloves; ski mask and goggles with reflective red lenses. If Blue Collar had said it once, he'd said it a hundred times: stealth wasn't about dressing like some kinda wannabe urban ninja. It was about dressing like the most uninteresting person on the street. His advice went in one ear and out the other—assuming Seventeen had ears.

What Seventeen didn't have was an identity. Never offered a name, not even a professional name—never so much as offered a gender, although Seventeen used a voice modulator set to such a hilariously low pitch that Blue Collar couldn't help but read it as cartoonishly masculine. Calling Seventeen a "he" was only an educated guess, although a guess that Seventeen himself didn't dispute; just like he didn't dispute when Blue Collar started calling him "Seventeen," just to have something to call him.

Blue Collar told Seventeen that it was because of his little speech quirk, expressing himself in exactly seventeen syllables at a time. That was part of the reason, sure.

The rest of it was that Blue Collar had the deeply uncomfortable sense that the spindly amateur killer in front of him—sticking the straw of his bubble tea under a bandana around his face and noisily slurping up the boba left at the bottom—was just some kid, around seventeen years old, in deep over his head without even understanding how fast he was sinking.

He rarely had more than thirty bucks at any given time—and Blue Collar knew he wasn't squirreling away savings anywhere. He slept on couches, benches, and homeless shelters, where anyone trying to track him down after a job would easily be able to identify the tall scrawny kid covered head to toe in black and kill him in his sleep. He didn't know how to market himself, how to make his name known—didn't have a name to make known—didn't know how to make one successful job lead to another, better one. He wasn't building a career, just doing one lousy bloody job after another. Sometimes, Blue Collar saw him wobbling on his feet, like a skyscraper swaying in an earthquake, unsteady with hunger.

And still—still—he talked about challenging, interesting, fun kills; about how burst fire made things "too easy"; about how he thought, if he was missing half of his shots at 200 meters, then he should be trying to shoot from 200 meters more often, not moving to 100 meters where he knew he could hit the target. He was still a cocky kid who didn't get it. Wetwork wasn't about being cool, about making the most impressive trick shots: it was about paying the bills and buying the groceries.

Blue Collar really got the feeling that Seventeen thought, if he got deep enough into the bloody underworld of assassins, normal people problems like taxes and hunger would just disappear.

"What?" Seventeen said, defensively.

Blue Collar looked down at his food, and scooped up a final decent mouthful of fried rice. He'd been staring at the kid, worriedly, a moment too long—trying to figure out if he'd put on any weight at all under that baggy windbreaker in the few months since Blue Collar had taken him under his wing. "Nothing. Just marveling at how you get that straw under your baby bib."

Seventeen huffed and tugged at his bandana self-consciously.

"Jakobs is fine," Blue Collar said, grudgingly. "And it's important that whatever guns you use feel natural to you. But they're a lot harder to work with. High recoil, low firing speed, incredibly noisy..."

"Kills in one shot."

"When you're lucky. And when you aren't, it's that much harder to get the second shot off." Seventeen moved as if to retort, and Blue Collar waved him off. "But if you're committed, you're committed. I get it—some guns feel right. Just know that it's gonna make some jobs harder than they have to be—and be ready to compensate for that."

"I like a challenge." Seventeen picked up an egg roll in one hand and used it to point. "You know I do, Blue Collar. I'm gonna be fine." He held the tip of his bandana out of the way with his free hand, and took a bite.

Blue Collar shook his head. "Edgy little shit," he said affectionately. Seventeen flipped him off.

Blue Collar reached into one of his many pockets, tossed a few bucks on the table, and pulled out a pen. "Listen, I know you don't have your own ECHO unit." He smoothed out his discarded chopsticks wrapper and scribbled a frequency along the length of it. "But if anything happens to you, you find one, and you call me, all right?" He pushes the wrapper over. "This isn't normal in our line, I want you to know. Don't know about other planets, but that's how hitmen work around here: we don't interfere with each other, we don't hunt each other, but we don't help each other, either. It's a lonely profession."

Seventeen picked up the wrapper and looked at it.

"I don't want it to be lonely for you."

Seventeen looked up at him.

"Listen." Blue Collar leaned forward, voice hushed, looking Seventeen in the goggles. "You're new at this. And I like you. I kinda see you like a..." He wrestled with whether "little brother" was fitting, decided "little sister" was straight out, and settled on "... a younger sibling, to me. I wanna help you out when I can." He smiled tiredly. "I'm not gonna be in this business much longer—might be nice to pass on what I know before I quit."

Seventeen looked down at the wrapper again. And then said, so quietly and low that his voice modulator almost distorted the words out of recognition, "Thank you."

###

It was about one in the morning when Blue Collar was stirred by his ECHO unit's buzzing. He groaned, slapped at his bedside table until he picked it up, and stared at it.

Unknown number, no name, just a one word text message:

«Run.»

He stared at it, tried and failed to recognize the number, then let his head drop back on his pillow.

Then bolted out of bed. You work in a dangerous business, somebody you don't know tells you to run, you do it. He had on his coveralls, a work boot, and a random tool belt before he even thought to wonder who'd messaged him.

It was probably Seventeen. Not many other people had his private frequency, and all of them he knew the numbers of. (Didn't have them saved in his ECHO unit—didn't want somebody to get a hold of it and start hunting down the few people he liked—but he'd recognize the numbers by sight.) Seventeen was the only one who might call him from an unknown frequency.

Even though Blue Collar had given him the number in case of emergency, all these weeks he'd expected that if he got a call, it'd be because Seventeen was the one in trouble. Not that he minded the head's up. He was gonna have to thank the kid, once he shook whatever was coming for him.

With a small Tediore pistol in one of his larger pockets and a Pangolin shield weighing heavily on his back, he climbed out the window onto the fire escape with a grunt of exertion and started climbing down.

It was raining heavily. Some high-end Pangolins could keep the rain out along with the bullets. Blue Collar could afford one, but hadn't wanted to make himself so conspicuous, with each raindrop bouncing off and illuminating the invisible shield in electric blue snowflake patterns, so he used a cheaper model. He was glad he had, now, with who-knew-who—police? a corporate assassin?—hunting him in the dark; but he was already soaked and cold by the time he reached the ground. One way, towards a main street, he could see huge sprays of water being kicked up in the lamplight by nighttime truckers. He went the other way, deeper into the darkness.

He felt like he was being followed. Was he, or was that just paranoia? How close was whatever he was supposed to be running from? He checked his ECHO unit, but there was no new info. Just Seventeen's warning. Damn, where was Seventeen? Was he okay?

He'd prepared his escape routes years ago, as soon as he'd moved into this apartment. It's harder to kill in a crowd; harder to find your target, harder to separate and eliminate them. A couple blocks away was a dance club, near it was a bus stop; if he could get into the club, he could stay there until it closed, then slip onto the three a.m. bus with the other tired clubbers going home. The bus would take him to a hub where he could grab a train heading out of town in a random direction.

The ATM near the club only let him take out $1500. That and the hundred bucks in his pocket would have to hold him; he didn't know how sophisticated the people after him were, whether they could track his spending or withdrawals. He'd be working in cash for a while.

There was a short line to get into the club, huddled up against the front wall for the meager shelter of the roof's slight overhang. Cargo trucks came down this street less often than the street in front of Blue Collar's apartment, but every time they did, a pair of kids in a miniskirt and skintight pleather jeans squealed as they were sprayed with water. Blue Collar just shuddered with cold. He kept his back to the club's front wall, squinting, looking for any odd shapes moving in the night shadows.

A thick door opened for the pair in front, and Blue Collar caught a few seconds of throbbing dubstep before it swung shut. Sounded like a remix of a lawnmower. He stepped up to the bouncer.

The bouncer was a massive muscled man dressed in the same mix of matte black and slick neon as the clubbers coming in, but his hair was thinning and he looked closer to Blue Collar's age than to the pleather-clad kids who went in before him. He looked Blue Collar's soggy work clothes up and down, clasped his hands together in front of his belt, and said, "I'm not sure this place is your scene, man."

"I just need a roof over my head for a few minutes," he said, smiling a well-practiced smile, like a mild-mannered salt-of-the-earth construction-and/or-factory worker. "It's pouring out here."

"There's a cover."

"I know, that's fine," Blue Collar said; and then, when the bouncer still looked skeptical, he lowered his voice. "Listen. I'm being followed. I just need to get out of the open."

The bouncer tipped his head up slightly in understanding; then unfolded one of his hands, palm up. Blue Collar shoved fifty dollars in. "I'll give you another if I get out of here alive." Just to head off anyone else trying to bribe the bouncer.

"No worries. It's my job to stop fights." He stuffed the money in one pocket and pushed open the door. "Come on in." His words were almost lost under the thudding bass.

Blue Collar paid his cover and wandered into the darkness and flashing colored lights. A few strobe lights pointed straight in his face, and he blinked hard, trying to clear the spots from his eyes so he could see in the club.

His dark brown coveralls and salt-and-pepper hair didn't exactly fit in with the crowd; but they didn't stand out across the room, either. The crowd was made up of rainbow neon hair—every hue from pitch black to lightning white. Dark clothes with colorful strips designed to reflect the lights and dazzle the eye. Flashing LED-like pictures blinked on and off in front of the faces and over the heads of the dancers, :) and <3 and ☆ and 愛, in green and red and blue, courtesy of prosthetic optical implants or temporary body mods stickers that could be slapped on your forehead. Anyone who wasn't making an effort to stand out would blend into the shadows. Blue Collar waded onto the dance floor, found a narrow gap between a few clustered circles of dancers where he wouldn't get in their way but wouldn't visibly stand out as on his own, and grit his teeth against the garbage disposal roar of music as he tried to figure out what to do next.

It would help if he had the slightest idea what was after him. If it was somebody pissed over a kill, someone's grieving family, he might need to move a town over—or maybe only get a hotel out of town for a few days until the funeral was over. If somebody was getting paid to find him, though, they'd keep coming; he might need to get off planet. If only Seventeen had sent him more info...

One song ended, and the next began: something with a light drum machine and synthesized instruments and an artificially high-pitched singer, repetitive but much easier to think through. Dammit, Seventeen—that was a factor Blue Collar hadn't even considered. He was probably tangled up in this somehow—how had he found out there was something Blue Collar needed to run from? What if they'd taken him hostage? Or were trying to get info out of him? He couldn't leave town without making sure Seventeen was okay. How was he going to check Seventeen's usual haunts while avoiding being seen by anyone expecting him to do just that?

Blue Collar didn't consciously notice that the music sounded like it was building toward something, the singing halting and the drums speeding up, until suddenly it paused and the whole club seemed to hang in anticipation; and then the bass slammed down like a bomb dropping. Something whizzed through the air beside Blue Collar's temple. In front of him, he saw the back of a dancer's head explode, and the body pitched forward.

He'd automatically crouched down before he figured out what he'd seen. Shit! They were audacious, whoever they were. He turned, peering between backs and upper arms in search of anyone who stood out, looking up at the crowds at the bar and tables that circled the room a few steps higher than the dance floor. The bouncer wouldn't have let someone in who looked suspicious, right? Or maybe they'd offered the bouncer more than fifty bucks. Or maybe the bouncer was dead. The first screams started up behind Blue Collar, where the dancer had been shot. He zigzagged through the crowd, heading toward the front, unwilling to exit through a back door and risk getting trapped in a dead end, hoping he could escape ahead of the crowd and the hitman.

He wasn't the first out the door, but he was close. He glanced back as people trickled and then poured screaming out of the club, looking for anyone who stood out—fingering the pistol in his pocket as he did. Nothing but kids in black clothes and flashes of color. He backed away from the door, watching as he went, heading toward the safe shadows of another alleyway.

Blue Collar had scanned over the same figure in the crowd three times, before recognition hit him: he knew those reflective red goggles, and the ski mask around them, and the black windbreaker beneath. His heart leaped into his throat and his stomach dropped. Oh, please no. Not Seventeen.

He was looking at Blue Collar. He flipped up his windbreaker's hood against the rain, and stalked through the panicked crowd, unnoticed, toward Blue Collar.

Blue Collar turned and ran.

Hitmen don't hunt hitmen. Not on this planet, anyway—not unless they're in a corporation's pocket. Had Seventeen gotten a job with a big biz? Even now, running panting through the pouring rain, Blue Collar hoped for Seventeen that he had—corporate assassination was steady work, the kind that came with benefits and could carry you through to retirement if you weren't executed during a merger—but why would they send him after Blue Collar? He made a point to only take personal jobs, rarely political ones; he never messed with business. Why—?

A midnight trucker with a malfunctioning muffler roared past, thunderously loud; a bullet slammed into the back of his head, pounding on his shield. The shield spread the shock of the impact across his entire upper back, but it was enough to bring him to his knees, one hand landing just past the curb in wrist-deep water. He couldn't get up before a heavy combat boot kicked his back, knocking him to the ground as it ripped his shield off. The Pangolin clattered into the road.

"Disappointing."

Blue Collar rolled onto his back, huffing, and looked up at Seventeen. "What the hell are you doing?"

"My job." He pulled out a Jakobs revolver, a cheap thing with the faux wood paneling on the barrel already rubbing off the corners.

"Who?" Blue Collar demanded. "Who hired you, kid? How much?"

He jerked one shoulder in a shrug. "Somebody's cousin. Job you did a month ago. Couple hundred bucks?"

That was all Blue Collar's life was worth to Seventeen? He laughed wheezily. "Damn, kid, you're never gonna make it big taking high-risk low-pay jobs like that. Lord..." He reached slowly into a pocket; Seventeen's aim jerked to follow his hand, but Blue Collar waved him off, grumbling, "You know that's my wallet pocket." Seventeen lowered the Jakobs, but only slightly. Blue Collar pulled out his wallet, pushed himself up with one hand, and held the wallet up to Seventeen. "Here. Damn. I've got fifteen hundred on me."

Seventeen made a disgusted noise. He'd set his dumb voice modulator so low it sounded like a dog growling. "I don't want money."

"No, I know you don't, but you need it." Seventeen didn't move. Blue Collar shook the wallet. "Take it even if you're gonna shoot me. What am I gonna do with it?"

Seventeen hesitated. Then crouched down, snatched the wallet angrily from Blue Collar, and stuffed it in his back pocket. "Moron."

Blue Collar sank back to the wet concrete, holding himself up with both elbows, fingers of one hand dragging in the water below the curb. "You don't wanna do this."

"I do," Seventeen said, sullenly.

"You don't. I know you don't. You wouldn't have sent me that text if you really wanted to finish the job," Blue Collar said. "You couldn't bring yourself to turn down the job but you couldn't bring yourself to do it clean and quick like you should." He smiled shakily. "Don't do something you're gonna regret. You want me to escape."

"I want a challenge." He snarled it so emphatically that he lurched forward with the word. "I wanted to make this hard! I wanted a hunt!"

Blue Collar's stomach dropped again, the way it had when he'd first seen Seventeen in the crowd. Suddenly, sinkingly, he felt like he'd deeply misunderstood his gaunt young protégé. "Wha—Why? Why?"

"Because you're a pro, you're supposed to be badass. You should be a threat!" Anguished, desperate, water flying off the barrel of his revolver as he waved it, vocal modulator fritzing with static, Seventeen cried, "I'm bored, Blue Collar! Every job's so damn easy! I need a challenge!"

Blue Collar had misjudged him. Seventeen wasn't out there making tricky one shot kills out of pride, taking high-risk jobs out of arrogance; he was a junkie. He had the skinniness of a guy who gave up on food in search of a fix; he was trembling, right now, in front of Blue Collar, like he was going into withdrawal without enough stimulation to get his adrenaline pumping.

No wonder all Blue Collar's talk of Tediore, talk of safe and stable and secure, had flown right over him. He didn't want any of that. He didn't want the money. He didn't want to make a living. He wanted all the jobs he could get.

Blue Collar could hear a truck approaching from behind him. Seventeen glanced at it, then held up the Jakobs again, pointed it at Blue Collar's head. Seventeen had taken his advice, about how damn loud those Jakobs guns were; he was using the noise around him to cover up his shots.

"I'm really sorry." Seventeen's eyes weren't on Blue Collar as he prepared to kill him. Blue Collar saw the reflection of the truck's headlights in his goggles. "This was supposed to be hard. You should've fought back."

A moment before the truck passed, Blue Collar swept his hand through the water beside the curb, sending a spray into Seventeen's face. Seventeen reeled back, sputtering and rubbing his goggles on one sleeve; Blue Collar kicked one of Seventeen's feet out from under him, knocking him sprawling headfirst in the street. Blue Collar rolled over, stood, and ran as the truck honked and swerved. He didn't stop to see whether it hit Seventeen.

He crossed the street, waved at another cargo truck coming his way, standing directly in its path; it slammed the breaks, but kept skidding in the rain, and Blue Collar had to dive to the sidewalk to avoid being hit. The driver banged the cab door open and circled around the truck. "The hell do you think you're doing?!" she bellowed. She was waving a knife, a four-inch glowing blue digistructed blade extending from a solid handle, that sizzled where the rain hit it. "Middle of the night, pouring rain, I coulda—" Blue Collar pointed his Tediore at her before he'd even gotten to his feet. She stopped in the middle of the street. "Whoa—okay, buddy, look—I didn't mean to almost hit you, let's be..."

"Back in the truck," he said hoarsely. With some difficulty, he got to his feet. "I need a ride."

He didn't say another word except "Knife, down," until the truck was moving again, heading down the street and picking up speed. "I'm sorry about this, ma'am," he said tersely. "There's a guy back there trying to kill me. Didn't have time to call a cab."

Her gaze flicked to a side mirror, then back to Blue Collar's gun, then forward again. "Would this have to do with the truck that was stopped in the middle of the road back there?"

Blue Collar nodded grimly. "With any luck, he's under its tires." It stung his heart to say that.

She nodded. "Okay. I get it. I'm sympathetic to that." She glanced at Blue Collar. "Now that we're all on the same side—do you mind pointing that somewhere else?"

He hesitated. "You're not going to go for that knife?" Its handle was in a cup holder in the center console between their seats.

"I'm not stupid."

He lowered the gun to point at his footwell. "Yeah. All right." He flopped his head back against his seat, and sighed.

Something crashed into the truck from the driver's side. The trucker swore and swerved.

Blue Collar fell sideways over the cup holder. "What the hell—"

A second impact. Blue Collar braced one arm against the driver's seat, the other hand fumbled on the center console for something to grab onto, and he looked out her window. "Oh, my god." Slowly pulling level with them was another truck—with Seventeen crouched on the hood, one hand on the roof of the cab and the other pointing his revolver through the window.

Blue Collar didn't have time to warn the trucker, didn't have time to do anything but gasp. The first bullet hit his shoulder, and the arm supporting him collapsed; two more shots, a pained scream; the truck veered off the road. When it crashed, Blue Collar's back slammed into the windshield, shattering it, and he tumbled down the hood to land on the ground. The rain poured on his face. He heard the other truck skid and crash a moment later.

He could hear Seventeen laugh—harsh, breathless, exhilarated.

Seventeen took his time coming to Blue Collar's side. When he was in view, Blue Collar could see why; he was limping, one arm wrapped tight around his chest, moving gingerly with pain. "Five shots on one job." He checked the ammo in his cylinder, then clicked it back in place. "Only one left for your head." He dropped uncoordinatedly to his knees and held the revolver to Blue Collar's forehead, apparently too unsteady to feel confident of making the shot from a distance. "Can one-fanged snakes kill?"

With a roar, Blue Collar lunged up, activated the trucker's digistruct knife, and slammed the blade through Seventeen's left goggle lens.

He didn't scream when he fell back. He just sucked in a breath, like he was shocked—maybe scared. Blue Collar hated the sound of it. Damn stupid, ungrateful, self-destructive kid. If Blue Collar had realized sooner what it was he was looking for, what desperation was gripping him—maybe he could've helped him out better, maybe they could have found a way to get him whatever it was he needed.

Voice tight with pain, Seventeen croaked, "Well-fought, badass." He raised his revolver one last time.

The Jakobs was the loudest thing Blue Collar had ever heard.

###

"God, no, I don't actually enjoy Maliwan snipers." Mordecai waved off the suggestion with one arm, briefly startling Talon off his perch on his shoulder. "Sorry." He waved at Talon, calling him back down, then settled back slouching in his rickety folding chair overlooking the rolling Highlands below. "I just like 'em for the utility. There's nothing more satisfying than a headshot with a Jakobs—"

"Yes," Zer0 said emphatically, their back ramrod straight where they sat on the ground beside Mordecai. "Exactly."

"See, you get it!" Mordecai laughed. "But when you're working fast—and me, Lil, and Brick, sometimes we've gotta work fast—most efficient thing to do is have a guy out of the line of fire to slag targets as fast as possible so the guys on the ground can pick them off. And the only guy in our group with that skill..." He pointed a thumb at himself. "Seen you hauling around some Maliwan rifles, too. Same reason?"

Zer0 sighed in frustratin, nodding. "Our skills are wasted," they said. "Anyone can slag and spray. One shot kills are art."

"Yeah?" Mordecai grinned crookedly. "You think so? Me, an artist, huh."

"Mm." Zer0 nodded, inordinately pleased to have gotten that smile out of the more experienced sniper.

They'd been told, years and years ago, that assassination was a lonely profession. Blue Collar had been right. Small interludes like this, when Zer0 could get out of their own head—break the monotonous cycle of long waits and unsatisfying jobs between the rare real thrill kills—were a blessing and a relief. Almost enough to keep them sane.

"Hey, we should hang more," Mordecai said, clapping a hand on Zer0's shoulder. Zer0 stiffened, but found they minded the uninvited contact much less than they expected to. "Don't get a lot of other good snipers around here—or even folks that appreciate me as a sniper instead of just 'the support guy with the slag.' What do you think? I know some good spires in the Dust that let you see for miles around. We can pick off spiderants—I wanna see how far you can really shoot."

An LED red smiley flashed out of their prosthetic left eye. "Sounds fun."

Mordecai got to his feet, considered the folding chair, then decided either nobody would steal it or it wasn't worth preserving. "I'm heading back to Sanctuary. You coming?"

"Later," Zer0 said. "Gotta drive around."

###

Once every few days, when they didn't have enough to shoot and found themself walking along the roofs of Sanctuary on windy days just for the meager thrill of trying not to fall, Zer0 took their technical on a long circuit through Pandora, checking out every single bounty board they could find. They bounced over hard tundra roads and unevenly packed sandy highways so fast it physically hurt, using the speed to distract them from the itch for something to do.

They were bored, god they were bored. It was the kind of boredom that crushed you, suffocated you, like a heavy weight pinning down your chest while you writhed and clawed at the dirt trying to get out from under it. They could feel the boredom sucking on the inside of their chest, threatening to form a black hole in the pit of their abdomen. Their hands shook and their feet bounced, trying to shake off the boredom. It didn't abate. In their heart, Zer0 knew that this boredom was going to kill them someday.

They circled from one bounty board to the next, like a junkie looking for a dealer, looking for a fix to stave off the boredom. Anything, anything—exterminate a skag den, deliver a package, go to a birthday party—anything.

Finally, at the Happy Pig bounty board, Zer0 found an illuminated yellow sign. They pushed down the gas, although they were already going as fast as they could, and leaped out of the technical before it stopped rolling. It crashed into the motel room with the weird altar for human sacrifices. The cultists would have to set up a new firepit.

They flipped through the offered jobs—package delivery, package pickup, take down a local bandit—and then stopped. And they stared.

They felt cold.

«Reward for anybody who brings down the cheating S.O.B. known as Mordecai. Originally from Artemis, last seen with a pack of vault-hunting bandits on Pandora...»

They couldn't move. They re-read the bounty, hoping that the name would change.

It didn't.

They thought of shooting contests in the desert, of long debates about rifle features and sniping techniques, of how the hours melted by comfortably and steadily in friendly company. They thought of Mordecai's breathtakingly infallible aim. They thought of their modest home in Sanctuary—and of Sanctuary's defenses. They thought of the people they considered mutual friends—the powerful people, so very powerful, who would come to Mordecai's defense. They thought of what it would be like to lose those friends—they thought of what it would be like to gain them as opponents.

They thought about the boredom sucking them inside out.

They stared hard at the bounty, until the letters swam together and the reward was a string of digits.

Then they turned to look at Sanctuary.

###

Comments/reblogs are welcome! If you want to leave a tip or like the fic on AO3, the links are in my description!

#zer0 #borderlands #fanfic #my writing

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charbax · 5 years

Text

Wintersend’s Exchange

A gift for @dovabunny in the Fenders Wintersend Exchange! They requested:

Homeless Fen and doctor/nurse Anders who always tries to feed and dress warmly his elf. Fenris doesnt want or trust charity, he wants to be seen as a man - not a project.

also available on my AO3

It started in the winter. A winter’s night, precisely, when Anders is locking the clinic’s door after a day of treating injuries, maladies, and general complaining from late stragglers. Luckily, his Maker-sent secretary was more than happy to handle the last part (read: forcibly showing them the door by social convention or force) and when the patient line dwindled to none, he sent her home. That had been hours ago. Now, it was late, and Anders was more than ready to flip the sign from open to closed and head upstairs for some well-deserved rest.

No sooner than his fingers brushed against the card than someone rapped against the door. Anders sighed, debated turning the sign over fully like the asshole he was, then decided against it since the person technically did come before the clinic was truly closed. He opened the door with a heavy heart. “Can I help you with-” He started, then stopped.

“Yes.” Fenris replied, arms wrapped around himself and his threadbare clothing, the very picture of a shivering wreck. “You can help me out of this cold.”

Anders was too stunned to do more than step back and let Fenris inside. Fenris made a beeline for one of the waiting chairs and collapsed onto it. It was only then that Anders noticed the goosebumps rippling on his skin, the shaking in Fenris’ body, the way his fingers trembled even as he tried to hide them underneath his armpits. Anders sighed again, pinching the space between his brows. “What made you think in here would be better than out there? Or anywhere else for that matter?”

“Hawke is...indisposed.” Fenris answered carefully. “And it’s too late for anyone else.”

“But apparently, not late enough for the hard-working doctor, who’s spent all day holed up in a clinic treating people as their last line of healthcare. What, the walk back home not good enough for you?”

At least Fenris had the decency to look ashamed. Well, as ashamed as a prickly elf could look. “I don’t trust home at the moment.”

Anders’ long face grew longer. For all of his bad blood with Fenris, even he saw the cruelty in shutting the door in a runaway’s face. “Fine.” He relented. “Stay for the night, but I expect you to be out first thing in the morning.”

Fenris nodded mutely and curled up on himself – almost like a cat. As soon as the comparison made its way into his head, it took root and refused to move from Anders’ mind, following him all the way to the supplies closet, where he grabbed the least threadbare blanket and pillow, and back to where Fenris was huddling. “Here.” Anders said, tossing the items at him. “At least crash here properly, for Maker’s sake.”

A person with less than perfect reflexes might have been slapped face-first with bedding, but Fenris only caught the items with a raised eyebrow. Anders had already turned away to finally prepare for sleep, he heard a quiet-

“Thank you.”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. Fenris had already wrapped himself up in the blanket and curled into the pillow, stuffing his head under the cover until only the tips of his ears were peeking out. In that moment, he looked like any other elf refugee trying to stay warm in a none-too comfortable chair (and Anders can attest to that uncomfortable thing after an ill-advised nap during a quiet hour in the clinic). That image was a real, tangible proof of his care - even if it took form of a ball of blanket and silvery hair - and it reminded Anders why he treated people, or ran a clinic, or let in mage-hating runways.

He didn’t smile, but his steps going up the back staircase were much lighter than before.

His next time off was spent at the Hanged Man with Hawke and (proclaimed) merry band of misfits. It was certainly fitting considering the company currently present at their usual table – a set of twins, a police officer, the co-manager of the Hanged Man, a doctor (Anders), a runaway actor, an internet pirate, and a Dalish student.

And of course, Hawke himself, who was guffawing about something Varric said. Anders wouldn’t know since he was too busy losing at Wicked Grace badly.

“Well...at least all the cards are different this time. I really like how unique all of them are.” Merrill said as she peered over his hand.

“That’s not a good thing sweetness.” Isabela pointed out, laying out her completed set of suits, then appraised Anders with a smile playing at the corner of her lips. “You really do have the worst luck. Can’t be helped really.” On his right, Bethany patted his arm sympathetically as she laid down her own modest hand.

Anders frowned at Isabela. “As opposed to cheating?”

Isabela shrugged, not-so-coincidentally jostling a naughty card nesting in her cleavage (much to the poorly hidden delight of Carver). “It’s not cheating if you don’t get caught.”

Hawke chose that moment to tune into the conversation and gasped. “Isabela would never cheat!” He exclaimed indignantly. Knowing him, he was 100% serious. Varric and Isabela exchanged smiles, then Varric patted Hawke’s bicep.

“We believe you Hawke.”

“It’s not the matter of believing me, but believing in Isabela.” He turned to her. “I believe in you.”

Isabela’s face contorted in a strange mix between amused and touched, which ended up making her look extremely seasick. Fenris stifled a laugh behind his hand, turning his expression to the closest person next to him, and found himself looking at an equally humorous Anders. There was a moment when their eyes met, a moment when Fenris wasn’t feeling the usual hostility and it was just him and Anders sharing a common laugh.

Then Anders turned his head, breaking the connection. Fenris returned his gaze to the table as the conversation moved on. It seemed only minutes before Aveline said regretfully, “Well, I have the morning shift tomorrow, so I should get going.”

Isabela took one look at Merrill covering her yawn with a hand and stood. “I better get kitten home too. Don’t get into too much trouble boys. At least, not without me.”

With Hawke’s innocent, “We won’t Isabela!” sent her way, Isabela put an arm around Merrill’s shoulders, dropped money onto the table, and left with her. Following their example, Varric and Hawke put their heads together to figure out how to pay for their night in the bar (“Put it on my tab.” Was Varric’s usual reply, to Hawke trio’s indignation, which then started a one-versus-three of who would get to pay it back).

As Fenris reached into his own pocket to draw out the lone bills he had, Anders’ hand slapped in front of him, startling him. Anders withdrew his hand without another word and stalked out, leaving behind a few bills where his hand had been. It was more than enough to cover his own split bill.

“Anders-” Fenris started, but the mage was already gone. He frowned. Despite his feelings on Anders’ ideals, he recognises altruism when he sees it, in the man who chooses to sleep in his own clinic. It’s not cheap to run the service that Anders does, and for as long as Fenris has known him, he not the type to spend frivolously when he’s saving for the endless costs of the clinic.

And yet. Fenris would not deny that Anders was not the only one who had been counting pennies, so to speak. His had pride dictated that he would not accept any of the charity money offered by his friends, but there was clearly enough money for both his and Anders’ meals. How did the mage know that would he would be short for the evening?

No matter. Varric was already grudgingly accepting the Hawkes’ payment, as well as sweeping the bills off the table and into his hand. There was nothing else he could do about it, in terms of paying.

It still left an unsettling pit in his stomach.

It was only more ‘kindness’ since then, disguised as inconveniences for Anders and often riding along the coattails of excuses. ‘I needed to get rid of some of the older blankets, take this one. There’s no holes in it, at least.’ ‘A patient made a pie as a thankyou, but what do you know, I’m allergic to blueberries!’ ‘Someone kindly donated a hand-made beanie and scarf. Unfortunately, grey’s just not my colour.’

Not that Fenris hasn’t been trying to refuse them, with the keyword being ‘trying’. Being in the middle of an unusually harsh winter and dry season for jobs, it would make sense to accept the help. But just because it was logical didn’t mean that Fenris liked it very much. It felt too close to the small acts of mercy Danarius would give to him, akin to throwing a bone to a very beaten dog after a whole day of posing and remembering lines and pushing himself to exhaustion, which Fenris was ashamed to admit to have lapped up as a sign of favouritism. Delicious meals, fine clothes. He might as well have been a glorified pet with a lyrium collar back then.

When Anders dumped a pair of earmuffs on him – elongated for long tipped elven ears – Fenris finally confronted him. “Why all of this?”

Anders fixed him a confused look. “I’m very sure elven biology is enough similar to humans that they both feel the cold somewhat similarly. Unless your prickly sensibilities chose not to feel cold in the air?”

“I mean why all these...gifts.”

“...I needed someone to dump them off? Lirene only accepts cash donations and there’s only so many mismatched scarves and beanies I can own before I would have to give them away as well. Not to mention I’m trying to watch my weight, so food’s the least of my problems-”

Fenris knew stalling when he heard it. “Then cease it. I’m not a charity case, nor a project. If you feel nothing more than pity for me, then I would prefer how we were at the start.”

Hurt flashed across Anders’ face, for a moment, then it was wiped away with a frown. “This wasn’t- this isn’t a- I wasn’t doing it to try to, Maker forbid, change you Fenris. Are you a prickly bastard? Yes. Do I think that you should be a little more sympathetic to the plight of mages because they’re so similar to your own problems? Also yes. Do I still think of you as a friend? Well, I do, unless it’s not been mutual this entire time, which I guess makes me an idiot.”

Fenris knew stalling when he heard it. “Get on with it, Anders.”

“I was, I was. Look. If I was trying to change you – which I’m not! - I would put a lot more effort into shaping you into a specific person, don’t you think?”

Logic warred with suspicion. “And what if you are only bribing me?”

“That’s assuming there’s anything you can give me.”

That stung more than it should. Fenris shook his head. “Then there is no sense to keep giving me things when I have nothing to give back. I do not want to be indebted to you, and I am not yours to shape as you see fit.”

“For the last time, I’m not trying to lord this over you. But I’ll stop it if that’s what you, honest-to-Andraste, believe is the logical thing to do.”

Yes. Fenris was convinced it was.

So the gifts stopped, and with it, so did whatever little camadrie there had been. The next time they met as a group, Anders barely acknowledged him. But Fenris had meant what he said, so he forced himself to swallow the bitter taste of seeing Anders’ eyes pass over him with a neutral glance. At the one after that, Anders chose not to turn up at all, citing a busy clinic as his excuse. Fenris didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed.

A few days of this apathy passed without fanfare, only for Hawke to pull Fenris and quietly asked if he had a fight with Anders.

“We had a discussion and cleared the air. Nothing else happened.” Fenris answered, if a bit testily.

Hawke levelled a stare at him. “Anders has been throwing himself into his work. He hasn’t been coming to the last three Wicked Grace nights, and he loves Wicked Grace. Either flu season was terrible, or you two are trying to avoid each other.”

“I am not avoiding him.”

“Yes you are. You two seemed to getting along so well with all the presents Anders was giving you.”

Fenris scowled, reminded of the reason why he was in a bad mood in the first place. Hawke continued, oblivious. “When I asked Anders, all he said was that he was giving you space. Did he do something Fenris? Should I be more worried? Were the presents themselves really that bad?”

...the meals may have been warm, but not the creations of a gourmet kitchen, and the clothes, clearly hand-me-downs despite their well-cared for appearance. “No.” Fenris said. “They were passable.”

“They must’ve sure been something if you didn’t want them anymore.”

They were hardly the rewards Danarius would shower him during the sponsorship, especially the ones Danarius gave when he was feeling more whimsical than demanding. But Danarius always had the ulterior motive of keeping Fenris docile and controlled. Anders just did it because he felt like it.

“Thank you, I suppose, for giving me something to think about it.”

Hawke clapped his shoulder, taking that as a sign that the problem was solved. “Not a problem. I’m always here if you need me.”

People to depend on. Those were rare. Maybe Fenris could do with one more.

This time, it was Fenris who was pacing in front of Anders clinic just before closing time. His earlier resolve had crumbled, and he tried in vain to gather its remains. He jumped when the front door opened, but it was only a lone dwarven couple ferrying a sleepy child out. He held the door open respectfully and stepped inside before the door swung shut.

As Fenris’ eyes adjusted to the dark, he could make out the surprise in Ander’s face from behind the receptionist desk. “Fenris?” Anders rose out of his chair, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Really? I was under the impression that you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“I opposed your pity gifts. The company was…less than terrible, truth be told.”

Anders narrowed his eyes at him. “Why do I feel like you’re lying.”

Anders, as much as Fenris would hate to admit, had a point – here he was, after weeks of avoiding Anders like he had the Blight, and now, trying to make contact like he wasn’t the one who cut off Anders in the first place. The mage deserved honesty.

“I am not. I needed time to make sense of what I was feeling. I am not the best at words.”

Anders tipped his head at Fenris’ statement. At least he wasn’t making a smart remark. The fact that Fenris could predict a good Anders sentence and an irritated Anders sentence was an indicator that he probably knew Anders more than he had originally thought.

“What I said back then is still true. I do not like being in the debt of others. When I was. underneath Danarius’ contract, everything I received was something that could be used against me later. I cannot just shake this suspicion for it has saved me often. But one day, I would like to know what it would be like to walk freely, without distrust in every interaction. All I ask for is time and a chance to try existing outside that sponsorship.”

Anders stared at him for a long moment. Fenris willed himself to stare back, not defiantly, but in hope that his look would convey his sincerity. Finally, Anders spoke. “I will admit, it stung when you didn’t my goodwill. But that makes sense. I may be an advocate for mage rights, but even I can admit that bastard belongs in the Deep Roads, so it’s no wonder you don’t want anything to do with him.”

That’s all Fenris wanted and hoped for. He had nothing else to mention, so he nodded and turned to the door.”

“Wait.” Anders called out. “Do you somewhere to sleep tonight?”

Fenris faltered. He hadn’t been planning very far apart from hoping Hawke would answer his door. “I was thinking of asking Hawke, if he is awake at this time.”

“It’s very, very late so he’s probably not. Do you want to stay for the night? I promise, no doing this for bragging rights.”

Just as he reasoned on the first night, there could be worst places than an undocumented doctor’s clinic to sleep in. When Fenris nodded, Anders disappeared in the back, just as he did before, however, he returned with seemingly more items in his hand than the last time – another pillow, a fuzzier blanket, and something dangling off a lanyard on his wrist. Anders dumped them on the chair nearby chair, but held onto the lanyard.

“So I went through a few days of thinking in the span of a few minutes while I was getting these – I can think fast if I have to, don’t look at me like that – and I can’t blame you for thinking like you have to be suspicious of everything. Considering what you just told me, it would be like getting mad at pounce-a-lot for taking down the Wintersend tree.

“So this time, I’m going to give you something else: a choice. Happy Wintersend.”

He held out the lanyard, finally showing the small key hanging on the end. Fenris stared at it. “I don’t understand what this is Anders.”

“It’s one of the spare keys for the clinic – one of the only three in the world, I might add. The only people who have this is me and Lirene. So know that I’m not offering this lightly. This is a...job offer, I guess? I can’t pay you anything other than food, maybe a bit of the stipend if I beg Lirene enough to spare some of the weekly change. I’m sure I can convert one of the rooms upstairs to another bedroom if you want somewhere to board as well. There’s also a contract to read over, but we can do that together. Probably with someone else if you like. Hawke?”

It was good that Fenris was already sitting on the chair. It gave him a measure of support as the full implication hit him. This was Ander’s life, the home of his hopes and dreams, a sanctuary for those who had no-where else – or those without insurance. The previous gifts did not carry the weight of that disarmingly small key, but Fenris could feel its weight off the lanyard.

“I...would need some time. Maybe. I can’t promise anything now.” Fenris said, relishing the way maybe rolled off his tongue. The choice to say so. The feeling only flared when Anders nodded his head.

“I understand. Well, the waiting room is yours until morning.” Anders disappeared to staircase, his steps echoing in the stairwell, until they too faded away. The chairs were just as uncomfortable as they had been the first time Fenris had slept in them, but as Fenris buried himself deeper in them, his mind became cotton-heavy with the incoming sleep.

The last though Fenris had before he drifted off was the speculation of working in a place like the clinic. He had no skills has a medical professional, but there had to be just as honest work there. Fenris smiled to himself. He would let Anders know his answer in the morning.

#fendersassoc #fenders #fenders dragon age #charwriting #fender modern au #fenris ( dragon age )#anders ( dragon age )#secondary:#the kirwall crew ( dragon age )#im too lazy to tag everyone #dragon age #dovabunny #modern au #i already published this ages ago on ao3 i just wanted to do it here as well

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queenofchildren · 7 years

Text

Take what you can, give nothing back

aka the Bellarke Pirate AU no one asked for. For maximum pirate-y-ness, pair with this song.

[also on ao3]

While some folks row way up to heaven I'm gonna sing The Pirate's Gospel I'm gonna sow these feet for dancin' I'm gonna keep my eyes wide open

Clarke Griffin learned about the cruelty of life at the tender age of 18. After a childhood that was adventurous and perhaps a little unusual, but during which she had been loved unconditionally by her parents and sheltered to the best of their ability, Clarke found out, suddenly and brutally, that life rarely turned out as expected.

After all, she had not expected her father to decide, after years of sailing the world, mapping and exploring and marvelling at its wonders, to plant their family in Southern soil and expect them to take root there when she was barely eighteen, in a colonial trading port that was small enough to be considered provincial, but just big enough to come with the trappings of civilised life that Clarke quickly came to despise; parties and gossip and talk of dowries.

Nor had she expected that, shortly after the move, both her parents would go missing on a routine trip to a neighbouring island, and that she would be left all alone in the world. As the Governor informed her, his inquiries had yielded no family willing to take her in back home in England, but that he and his son would be willing to take her in as their ward, and to treat her like a daughter and a sister until such a time as a suitable husband could be found. Clarke had no doubt that it had not been her desperate situation, but rather her name, rank and fortune that had softened the heart of the island's governor.

But given her dire circumstances and the fact that she had no way to access her inheritance without a man to do it for her, Clarke saw no choice but to stay with the Wallaces until she could come up with some kind of plan - or find some gullible man who fit the Wallaces' criteria for a suitable husband while letting her do as she pleased. The deciding factors for determining such suitability were not specified to her, but Clarke had no doubt they would be more heavily determined by Governor Wallace's wishes than by her own.

For now, she was altogether run aground.

And just when she had found a friend in her unwanted new home, someone to confide in and lean on, Clarke found that the Wallaces cruelty extended much further than she has previously assumed. For it was not just her the Wallaces seemed to want to make a profit off: She caught young Master Wallace speaking to one of the slave traders in the market while looking surreptitiously at her friend Wells. The son of a reputable merchant, Wells had been born free and received a proper education, and due to his knack for numbers, he was often at the house to help the Wallaces balance their books. Given the greedy look in the young Master's eyes, however, Clarke had begun to fear that one day, her friend would enter the house a free man and leave it in chains - but that, needless to say, would not happen under her watch.

So Clarke devised a way for him to escape the island.

And as if the Good Lord wanted to tell her he approved of her decision, it was on the very day she made this decision that she first heard the rumours of the Persephone: a mysterious pirate ship that had evaded Governor Wallace's ships for months as it attacked incoming merchant ships - preferably those that carried human cargo. “She's chasin' death“, the townspeople whispered about the mysterious ship, “and she'll get a kiss for her trouble when she finds him.“

But for now, Captain Blake and his Persephone were still sailing, and still terrorising the crews of any ship in these waters.

And they, Clarke decided, were going to be the means to her salvation.

The first thing she did was procure allies: Such as the blacksmith's apprentice, a spirited woman named Raven whom Wells had long harboured a tender admiration for – a feeling that seemed to be returned, judging by the woman's face when she told her of Wallace's plans. Gripping a half-cooled scabbard in one hand and a hammer in the other, she looked like she was about to storm up to the house on the hill and end Cage Wallace right this second.

Instead, Raven paused momentarily in her rhythmic hammering to look at her determinedly.

"I can get a message to Captain Blake, if you can make sure coming here will be worth his time."

"I will."

Raven looked at her doubtfully. "And a few pieces of pretty jewelry will not suffice."

"I'm not going to give him jewelry," Clarke declared, a little too loud perhaps for the quiet blacksmith's shop, deserted save for a few dust motes dancing in the drowsy afternoon light. "I'm going to give him Port Arkadia."

Thus began the scheming.

Finding the city plans and blueprints to the fort in Governor Wallace's study was easy enough, and insight into the guards' roster could be gleaned from an ambitious officer who was all too easily won over by her sweet smile and her connection to the Governor.

Wells and Raven each did their part, having access to very different circles in town, and soon Clarke knew which merchant expected valuable cargo in the coming weeks and which soldiers were particularly prone to be distracted by rum and harlots. Pooling their intelligence, they soon had a plan between the three of them.

It was to be set into motion at the next new moon, and all Clarke needed was reassurance that the Persephone's captain would come for their offerings, which Raven was certain he would.

"He'll not say no when there's rich spoils to be earned," Raven reassured her. "He's feeding half of Tortuga's poor out his own pocket, he can use any gold he can get his hands on." She returned her attention once more to her work, and Clarke almost missed it when she quietly but fondly muttered: "The sentimental fool."

It was not the first time the blacksmith had said something along these lines, and Clarke had come to the conclusion that the dark-haired woman seemed to have a very different impression of the Persephone's mysterious captain than most everyone around.

The townspeoples' stories, picked up and carried on from survivors of the pirate's attacks, made the captain out to be a nightmarish monster, cruel and unforgiving, with a crew as greedy as they were bloodthirsty. Had she not been so desperate, Clarke would never even consider putting Well's life in his hands. But Raven seemed to know a different Captain Blake, one who raised his sister from infancy when their mother died, who took in the orphaned and homeless like strays off the streets, and who plundered ships only to give away their riches.

She wondered which man she'd get to meet.

She also wondered, of course, how Raven knew these things. But like the injury that caused her limp and the chronic pain, Clarke knew better than to ask about the origin of the story, and so Raven's past and Captain Blake's true nature remained equally shrouded in mystery - for now.

***

Now, so close to the day of reckoning, however, Clarke felt doubts rise within her for the first time. Having always been more rationally inclined than was generally assumed of her sex, Clarke increasingly felt a desire to have some sort of tangible proof of Captain Blake's trustworthiness. But when she asked Raven why she trusted the Persephone's captain, the woman only smiled enigmatically.

"Because this is just the kind of situation he cannot resist. Offer him riches and he'll be tempted. But offer him riches and the chance to save someone from an injustice? Hell or high water won't keep him away."

Raven smiled almost wistfully, but soon her expression grew apprehensive again.

“I suggest you place your trust in him too, for you may soon have no other choice - the Wallaces will figure out you're behind this, and they will find some way to punish you even if they don't dare to throw you in jail. You should get your self off this island too.”

Clarke nodded grimly - she had been thinking along similar lines before, even when her plans had been first and foremost focused on getting Wells out of the Wallace's reach. But perhaps she had wanted to leave the island with him from the first moment the plan occured to her – a wish born in that dark corner of her mind that still felt the sway of a ship beneath her when she slept, still missed the harsh caress of an ocean's gale when the tropical heat and her heavy dresses threatened to stifle her.

And so, while Clarke spent her days plotting and planning, she spent her evenings in her room, keeping her hands busy with that most becoming of a lady's accomplishments as she painstakingly sewed every piece of her jewellery into the seam of her best dress.

Once that was done, she told Raven to add another item to her accord with Captain Blake: In exchange for entry to Port Arkadia, he would have to grant safe passage to Wells, Raven - and herself.

The captain agreed, the moon kept waning in the sky, and Clarke kept trying to decide if she was ready to leave Port Arkadia with all her belongings sewn into her clothing.

And once the night was darkest, their plan was set into motion.

Convincing the Wallaces to invite all higher-ranking officers from the garrison to the Governor's mansion for an evening of music and cards was easy as soon as Clarke implied that a husband might be found at the occasion. Additionally, a few allusions to their reputation and local standing convinced the stingy Governor and his son to send a barrel of wine to the garrison so that the soldiers could partake in the merriment as well. Clarke personally oversaw its transport, but no one saw when she slipped more than a few drops of Laudanum into it. By the time the night-watchman called the stroke of midnight, most of the garrison was fast asleep.

Raven, meanwhile, was running late in delivering a few freshly repaired swords and cutlasses to the garrison, and had to be let in even though the gate to the fort had already closed for the night. When she left again, the strain of her heavy burden forced her to sit down just inside the gate for a moment to catch her breath, and the guards, used to the young blacksmith, let her rest for as long as she needed.

When she had fully recovered, the gate, once closed, would not open again without some time and effort.

Wells, meanwhile, had met some merchants down at the port, to give advice on their books and learn the latest of the London stock exchange. Port wine was offered to him freely and repeatedly, and no one took a second glance when he leaned over the harbour wall and lost the contents of his stomach on the way back into town, heaving again and again for an awfully long time.

And just like the fort would not be opened anytime soon, the chain blocking the entrance to the harbour would not be lowered.

Port Arkadia was ready for Captain Blake and his Persephone.

With one glaring exception: Up at the Governor's mansion, the festivities showed no sign of ending. Clarke herself was a gracious and elegant hostess, sending the sweetest smiles at her guests and making sure they never suffered an empty glass. Unfortunately, it was this talent that almost turned out to be her undoing. For while she had counted on charming her guests into their cups and out of their wits, she had most certainly not planned on charming one of them a whole lot more - but that was precisely what happened.

Under the guise of sending for some more wine, Clarke was just about to slip away when footsteps followed her out of the dining-room and her guardian called out her name.

"Miss Clarke? There's someone here who would like to have a word with you." Slowly, forcing herself to breathe in and out deeply as she frantically wondered if her plot had been discovered, Clarke turned around - to find herself faced with the very guest who had bestowed his attention on her so eagerly before.

He bowed elegantly. "Your guardian has been so kind as to allow me a moment to speak to you alone, if you allow it."

Governor Wallace smiled benignly, and it began to dawn on Clarke what Mister Collins might like to speak to her about. She should have known there was a hidden motive behind the Governor's willingness to let her entertain so lavishly in his house, and it now became clear what it was: While she had planned for the evening to provide a distraction as she made her escape, Governor Wallace had meant for it to draw the attention of the island's eligible bachelors - and in Mister Collins, the son of one of the wealthiest merchant families in the city, had succeeded in his plan.

Clarke stopped herself just short of sending a murderous glare at the Governor - it would not do to make him suspicious now. So, as much as she would rather do anything else, Clarke did allow it, and let her admirer lead her into Lord Wallace's study.

He began his suit by complimenting her on the successful evening, which Clarke graciously accepted, before moving on to extol a number of other virtues of her person and character, which Clarke did not listen to as she was busy plotting her escape. She'd have to wait only long enough to gently turn him down, then disappear.

Sadly, that plan was crossed before she could set it into motion: For her suitor had barely managed to stammer out a proposal for her to decline when the door to the study was flung open and both Wallaces came in, smiling as if there was anything to celebrate about this day.

"Ah, what a joyous occasion to see two young people forming a tender bond," Governor Wallace exclaimed, then addressed Clarke specifically. "I have already told Mister Collins that I will not oppose his suit, so you may answer him without fear of any obstruction."

The meaning behind the words was clear: that no protest from her would be accepted. Her engagement, it seemed, was a foregone conclusion, and very much inescapable.

Clarke felt ready to despair. This was to be the night of her triumphant escape - but instead, she felt the noose draw ever tighter around her neck.

Hiding behind a facade of blushing coquettishness, Clarke racked her brain for something to say, anything to get out of this.

She considered making up an illness, highly contagious and likely to be fatal only after a long period of unpleasant suffering.

She briefly entertained the notion of making up some suitor with earlier claims to her hand, someone even richer and more tempting to the Wallaces.

She even attempted fainting, but found she could not hold her breath for long enough.

And in that very moment, the French doors behind her burst into pieces with an almighty crash – and in came flying a man.

He was clad in all black save for an indigo sash around his waist, and holding a pair of duelling pistols - a real life pirate, whose appearance, under any other circumstances, would have made her blood run cold with terror.

No sooner had the apparition landed on his feet that the pistols were pointed at the men gathered before her, triggers cocking loudly and signalling to everyone in the room that this man, despite his theatrical entrance, was not someone to be trifled with.

"I hate to intrude on this joyous moment," he started with unexpected politeness, then bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile, "but I'm told there's still booty to be had up here."

Knowing that she was in no danger here, Clarke bit back a disdainful laugh at the ridiculous exclamation. She nonetheless drew the robber's attention, however, and his eyes fixed on her, an exaggerated leer distorting his otherwise handsome features.

"And here she is, I assume - the jewel of this magnificent island."

At his address, Mister Collins moved slightly in her direction, and for a moment Clarke was afraid that he would try and shield her from the pirate in a fit of heroism.

Luckily, the pirate Captain - for the man, it was clear from his trademark garb and duelling pistols, was none other than the infamous Captain Blake himself – intervened before Mister Collins could decide whether or not he wanted to rush to her aid: he grabbed her by the hips and swung her, abruptly and with the utmost ease, over his shoulder.

With her head dangling downward and her thighs and stomach pressed against the pirate's hard chest and broad shoulders, Clarke reflected that this was a position she had thankfully never found herself in and vowed never to be in again. But for the sake of her freedom, she would suffer it with dignity.

But while Clarke thought her bravery and composure were commendable, her would-be kidnapper seemed set on robbing her of them. With a loud crack, his free hand found her elevated backside, and while Clarke was still in shock about this abuse, the slap was followed by a rough, lusty squeeze of her buttock.

Clarke screamed, or rather, shrieked, in dismay and outrage and finally struggled to free herself from his grip.

But the pirate held on tight, turned, and ran out onto the balcony. Built in the latest French fashion, it wrapped once around the back of the house, with stairs leading down into the gardens below on each end.

These stairs he took, and they were swallowed up by the darkened maze of the gardens just as Clarke heard the first sounds of pursuit – no doubt it had taken a moment to rouse the guards, whom she had made sure had received a carafe of wine as well.

At the back of the garden, where the wall had received some damage when a tree fell onto it, the pirate stopped, adjusted his grip on her, and brought her back around to his front. With surprising gentleness, he set her down atop the garden wall, then climbed across it with swift, athletic movements. Once on solid footing, he held out his arms for her to jump down into, an unexpectedly chivalrous gesture for someone who had lewdly fondled her backside just minutes ago. For a moment Clarke wanted to decline the offer and make it down on her own. But the ground was uneven, and her silken shoes much less suited to athletic pursuits than his sturdy boots.

So she jumped, was safely caught by a pair of strong arms, and set down on the ground. He held on to her waist until she had found her footing on the slippery ground, but as soon as she had, Clarke made sure to put a safe distance between them - a move he clearly noticed, and interpreted correctly.

"There's no need to worry, I don't make it a habit to accost my hostages. You simply seemed much too calm at the prospect of being kidnapped by a pirate." Again he flashed that cocky grin. "It would be bad for my reputation if genteel folks like you suddenly stopped abhorring me."

Clarke bristled at his open amusement. Perhaps she ought not to expect manners from a man like him. But surely an apology for his manhandling was not too much to ask?

But the pirate already started striding down the muddy path along the mansion's garden wall, and Clarke had no choice but to follow if she wanted to keep up with his brisk pace.

"I take it Wells told you how to get in and out of the Governor's mansion?" She inquired in between puffs of laboured breath - she had not had much occasion for exercise lately, and the tightly laced corset of her fine dress did not help.

"Aye. Him and Raven refused to leave without you, even though you weren't at the meeting-point."

Well, she thought peevishly, for a pirate he was certainly not very good at handling a spontaneous change of plans.

"I was a little busy up at the mansion."

"I saw that," he replied, and out of the corner of her eyes she saw another one of those irritating smirks.

But before she could come up with a retort to what he was no doubt implying, she found herself yanked behind a little wooden lean-on shed between two houses, and a hand pressed over her mouth.

The instinct to struggle came to her more easily this time, but just as quickly, she found that it was altogether useless. His grip on her was unshakeable, and with her body trapped between his body and the wall at her back, she was barred from escape. She was about to bite into the hand pressed over her mouth to put up at least some form of resistance when she heard it: the quick, rhythmic footsteps of a guard batallion, passing right by their shady hiding-place.

Even through the darkness of their little nook, she could see him raise a smug eyebrow. Then he leaned closer to explain, his warm breath rushing past her neck and making her shiver despite the tropical warmth of the night.

"Guards. You're welcome, your highness."

"They'll have passed by in a moment," she hissed back.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that."

Before she could ask what he meant by that, all hell broke loose out on the street: shouts, grunts, bangs, the clanging of swords and the ringing shots of pistols.

"I've ordered some of my crew to draw the guards away from the mansion. I expect that's what they're doing."

"Their distraction is anything but timely. And now we're trapped behind the guard."

"Is there some other way out of here?"

Clarke pondered the question. They had made it far enough into town for the houses to be close together, and the little alleyways behind them were blocked by fences and backyards. Unless they wanted to return to the mansion and trudge all the way around it, their only way down to the water was on the other side of that guard batallion currently locked into battle with Captain Blake's crew.

"There's one alleyway that leads to the cliffs, but it branches off at about the place where your companions have so helpfully intervened."

"Then I guess we're stuck here for the moment." He seemed completely unperturbed by this predicament.

"How can you be so calm about this situation? We are boxed in on the wrong side of this battle, within shouting distance of the very people chasing us, and with no way to get to the shore - which I assume we'll have to eventually, if we want to leave on your ship."

"You'll just have to be patient,” he said, still infuriatingly calm, and she wondered if he derived pleasure from riling her up like this.

He was right, unfortunately, and Clarke had never been a particularly patient person. An undeterminable but torturously long amount of time later, they were still stuck in this cramped space, which, from the smell of it, had been recently used as a pig pen. Outside their hiding place, the fighting continued unabated, and though the racket sounded a little fainter after a while, when Captain Blake peered out on the street once more, he still did not declare it safe to leave their shelter.

Instead, apparently settling in for a longer waiting period, he struck up a conversation.

"So, why is Port Arkadia's princess so eager to leave? It seems like you could live a comfortable life up at the mansion." He reached out to playfully tug at her earlobe, and the diamond-encrusted earring dangling from it. The motion sent a flare of something through her body, a sensation that reminded her, oddly, of the time she had found an electrical eel splashing about in the shallows and touched it curiously.

She slapped away his hand.

"I have my reasons."

"I assume so. I just find it hard to figure them out. You have everything you could want or need, and a husband to boot, if I understood tonight's events correctly."

"Of course, if I have a husband, I could not possibly wish for anything else," Clarke snapped, venom lacing her words. "You know, it seems you are not so different from the good folks of Port Arkadia."

The lines around his mouth deepened, she noted with satisfaction - he did not like that comparison.

"I would not be surprised if I found you trying to ransom me back to the Wallaces. But I can tell you right now you won't see a penny from them. They took me in expecting to make money off me, not lose it."

The Captain's face did not indicate whether or not he believed her - but there was a trace of anger on it that made her wonder. Was he vexed at the idea of not getting rid of her in exchange for good money? Or was it the implication that he would try to do so that had him riled up?

Whatever it was, he did not let his thought show, preferring instead to keep teasing her.

"What of young Mister Collins? Surely he would not let his beloved fall in the hands of cruel pirates."

"I believe Mister Collins' love for me is as measurable as my dowry. The price of a ransom, I fear, would be too great a test." She lifted her head a little, just to make sure he knew the only one negotiating the price of her life would be herself.

He apparently needed a moment to digest this information, for he simply looked at her with his head slightly tilted before he spoke again.

"You can rest easy, Princess - we are not in the business of selling people." His voice was teasing, but there was a hard edge to it. Apparently, this pirate was willing to own up to a lot of grievous crimes - but she had found out where he drew the line.

It was an interesting discovery, and one that made her feel a whole lot better about entrusting her own and the lives of her friends to him.

Still, it could not hurt to remind him of the advantages of helping her. "I'm glad to hear it. Besides, judging by your men's happy plundering and pillaging, I do believe I've paid enough for my passage."

He looked at her once more, once again with that piercing, calculating look. Then he finally spoke.

"That you have." He leaned back to look around the corner and, apparently finding the street finally deserted, took her hand and pulled her out of the nook. "You'll have to do one more thing to earn your freedom though."

With those alarming words, he started pulling her down the street - in the opposite direction of the harbour, where she expected his boats to be waiting for them. The moment she realised that he was veering off course, Clarke dug her heels in the ground.

"Where are you going? The harbour's the other way."

"And that is where all of the Governor's remaining forces are headed now. So we'll choose a different path. My crew will draw them to the harbour during their retreat, and our way to the boats will still be blocked. We'll catch them off the cliffs."

And indeed, she realised now, that was exactly where he was taking her: up the narrow path to the oldest building in town, and the one highest point above it too. Clarke could only hope that he had some means of escape prepared there – a rope ladder perhaps, or a trusted man with knowledge of a secret path down.

He had no such thing. In fact, he barely had a plan, and what little he had could be explained in one word – a word he uttered, terrifyingly, after coming to a stop right at the edge of the high, steep cliffs.

"Jump."

"Have you gone mad?"

"It's our only way out of the city. Thanks to your little romantic entanglement, we've already stayed too long. The guards have been slowed down, yes, but they still have decades of Navy discipline drilled into them. They will be restoring the city's defenses as we speak."

Clarke gingerly stepped forward to the edge and looked down where the rock dropped out from under them, down and down and down to the hard, smooth surface of the water. It was deep here, with no treacherous rocks hiding beneath the surface, and the town's young men dared each other to do the jump on a regular basis. It was possible to survive it. The question was: would she find the courage for that last, deciding step?

"Are Wells and Raven out of the city?"

"I assume so. They got into a boat as soon as we breached the city walls."

"Then that's all that matters. You can save yourself."

"What of your reasons? And the Wallaces?"

"They will not harm me. I'll tell them you simply robbed me of my jewelry and let me go."

She thought she had convinced him – until he asked: "Can you swim?"

She nodded, dumbly. It was not the swimming she was worried about.

"And do you want to be free of the Wallaces, make your own path in life?"

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Clarke stared at the sea deep beneath her, trying to decide if she had the courage to jump, and possibly leave behind not just her unwanted life here but the burden of her mortal existence altogether. But then, her pirate saviour seemed convinced that it was survivable – and for some reason, she thought as she looked at him, she trusted the man.

A soft breeze from the ocean ruffled her hair, gently as if beckoning her closer, and Clarke nodded.

"Yes."

"Good."

He held out his hand, and without a sign of her former hesitation, she took it, and gripped it tight as they leapt over the edge of the cliffs together.

Despite her terror, there was something seductive in the fall, in the contrast between the airy nothing around her and the solid hand in hers, and without meaning to, Clarke laughed out loud.

Then she hit the water, hard, and all the air was pressed out of her lungs.

She knew how to swim, her father having taught her before she ever set foot on a ship, but no matter how Clarke tread and struggled against the pull of the water, still she kept sinking, much faster than she ought to and even faster than her pirate companion, whose much bulkier form she was quickly leaving behind. Clarke kicked her feet, desperate to get some leverage towards the orange glow that indicated the way to the surface, and the glorious air above it. But her feet got tangled s in the voluminous folds of her dress, which wrapped around her ever more tightly and heavily, and she could do nothing but sink, and sink, as what little air had been left in her lungs bubbled out and the water around her turned ever darker and colder.

The last thing she saw was Captain Blake, swimming towards her with a dagger between his teeth.

Then everything went dark.

***

She returned to consciousness to find herself looking at that very same face, but the dark look on it had been replaced by a worried one, and there was no dagger in sight. Captain Blake was leaning over her, water dripping from his curly hair onto her, his hand cradling the back of her head. Behind him, she could make out the dark hull of a ship and, even further up above, a sky full of brilliantly twinkling stars.

Which, her mind managed to pierce together now, meant that she was lying on her back.

She sat up so quickly she almost bumped her head into Captain Blake's.

“What happened?“

“You passed out. Your dress was too heavy, and much too tightly laced.“

She could feel her cheeks heat up at the idea of discussing something so intimate as her corset with him. Then, wondering how he had dealt with the problem of her dress, Clarke lowered her eyes to her chest – and gasped in horror: Both dress and corset were gone, leaving her in only her shift and petticoat.

”I had to cut the dress off. It was pulling you under.“

Clarke barely listened to his explanation as something occurred to her.

“Everything I own was in this dress! My jewelry, anything I could potentially sell to live off... I convinced Wells and Raven this was a good idea, and now we're all going to starve.”

And somehow, after narrowly escaping the Wallaces, jumping off a cliff and almost drowning, this realisation was the thing that threatened to undo the composure she had tried so hard to hold on to.

“Chin up,” she suddenly heard, and a surprisingly gentle hand came to her chin to help her do just that until she looked into Captain Blake's dark eyes. “No one on my ship will ever have to starve. We'll figure out some way to keep you and your friends alive.”

With that, he got to his feet, rocking the boat as he did so and then holding out a hand to help her up.

“Now come on – your friends are waiting, and my crew are impatient to set sail.”

As if to suppport this statement, there was an unintelligible yell from high above them, and something dropped down the side of the ship's hull – a rope ladder.

Captain Blake gripped its end with one hand and pointed towards it with the other.

“Your ship awaits, your Highness.”

Climbing up the rope ladder was a shaky and taxing endeavour, but eventually, she set foot on board the Persephone, and was immediately engulfed in a hug by Raven, to her great surprise. She had not known the woman to be fond of such displays of friendship, but apparently, conspiring with pirates had created a bond between them, and Clarke found that she too was glad to see the other woman well and safe aboard the vessel.

Wells was standing next to her, holding out a blanket he had procured from somewhere and immediately wrapping her up in it.

“You made it,” he exclaimed, dazed as if finding the fact hard to believe, and Clarke gripped his hands and squeezed them tightly.

“We made it.”

For a moment, all three of them simply stood clutching each other's hands, hardly able to believe that they had really succeeded in their daring endeavour. Around them, the pirate crew was bustling and flitting about, hoisting sails and fastening lines, and with the next strong wind, the sails above them filled out and the ship set into motion, gliding swiftly away from the island Clarke would now never have to try and call her home.

Looking around, she spotted Captain Blake, bellowing commands from the quarterdeck. Watching him easily control the chaos all around was fascinating, and Clarke found herself inching closer while Raven was distracted by some mechanism on the crane by the cargo hold and Wells tried to keep her from falling down as she inspected it.

Clarke wove her way swiftly through the pirates, most of whom barely spared her more than a glance or a quick joke at her sodden and dishevelled appearance, and made it to the quarterdeck just in time to see the Captain moving on to the furthest and highest deck of the ship, where the view back to Port Arkadia was unhindered.

Stepping up beside him, she followed his gaze back to the island. Even though it was rapidly disappearing in the distance, she could still spot the orange glow of the fires raging through the town, the thick plumes of smoke wafting above it. But she had no doubt the people of Port Arkadia were working to douse the fire and put it out soon. Despite the hard hit it had taken today, the fort would soon be repaired, the harbour chain unstuck and the town's flotilla ready to sail. Clarke had no doubt the Governor would want to avenge the damage Port Arkadia had suffered tonight, and Clarke felt guilty for bringing that kind of violent wrath over Captain Blake's crew.

“They will come after us with all their might.”

She looked at him now, expecting to see worry or anger, but he only shrugged. Turning sideways, he abandoned the distant sight of Port Arkadia to look out at the open sea to the East, where the ship was currently headed. Before them, the water stretched on to the far horizon, all the way to the sliver of pale golden light announcing the waiting sunrise.

“Let them,” he said lightly as he looked at her once more, and smiled. And suddenly, Clarke felt sure that, even in those tempestuous times, she'd always be safe here, with him and the Persephone. “It's a great big world, and we've got a fast ship."

#bellarke #bellarke ff #bellarke fanfiction #bellarke AU #pirate AU #pirate!Bellamy #I feel like it was only a matter of time until he happened tbh #adventure #slytherin clarke #my writing

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