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turtletaubwrites · 2 months

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A Good Catch ~ Part 1

✨600 Followers Fic Celebration!✨

I am so grateful for all of you! This has been such a wonderful time, and having all of you around to nerd out with, and to share my writing with is the best! Shanks won the poll for the next x Reader fic, and I hope you enjoy it!

Pairings: Shanks x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4367

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (End)

Ao3 Link

Summary: You are an unlucky fisherwoman having a bad day, until a red haired pirate captain offers to help you out. You're pretty sure he only makes it worse.

Rating/Warnings: 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Angst, Teasing, Flirting, I feel like there's some romance tropes I could tag, but I usually just write smut, so please let me know what silly tropes I have in here 😅

A/N: I am having so much fun with this one! I'm doing my best to keep it to 3 parts, so wish me luck 😅 Please enjoy this fluffy first chapter!

“Now I’m gonna get murdered by pirates,” you grumbled to yourself as the ship crept ever closer. “Just fucking perfect.”

The windless sea was no challenge for the massive pirate ship. All you could do was sit with your pile of fish, jealous of the huge oars guiding the threat to you.

Dread loomed as that jolly roger closed the distance, like an animal baring its fangs before it strikes. Crossed blades, and a sinister skull with red stripes over its left eye socket.

You didn’t pay enough attention to the gossip and wanted posters to remember who was headed your way.

Not that it matters. They’re pirates.

It was too much to hope that they’d pass you by.

A few voices carried over from the deck, until a tall man leaned over the side. His bright, red hair hung still against this stupidly windless sky.

“Hey, friend,” he called, the sun at your back giving you a glimpse of his wide smile, even from so high above you.

“We’re not friends,” you countered, crossing your arms to keep him from noticing your shaky hands.

“I suppose not. You seem like you’re in a spot of trouble though, and we’re happy to help.”

His deep voice sounded so friendly. Genuine. Charming.

He’s just trying to lure me into his trap. Who knows what they’d do to me on that ship…

“The sun’s getting pretty low for a small boat to be all the way out here,” he judged, trying to block the glare as he looked down at you. “I don’t think we’ll be getting much more wind today.”

“Thank you, I’ll be fine.”

His pause made your skin itch, wishing he would stop looking at you.

“We can bring your boat with us. I’m assuming you’re from that village a ways to the west?”

It must have been a trick of your eyes, it couldn’t happen so quickly. But you swore the day inched closer to night faster with every second. You watched the light grow golden as it lit up the red haired man, and his pirate ship.

Fuck.

“I refuse to be rescued,” you choked out, nails digging into your arms.

“Okay,” he said in an annoyingly teasing tone, “if you insi–”

“I’ll pay you for the service! I had a great haul before…”

“Sounds good to me,” he laughed, deep and hearty. As if he were truly happy.

You had thought pirates would seem scarier. Maybe this is worse.

You barely heard his shouts as men started to lower ropes down, prepping to save you.

“You should know I’m armed,” you yelled up at the back of his head, continuing when he faced you again. “Anyone touches me, and they’ll lose a hand.”

“I’ll be on my guard then. I’ve been running out of those.”

You didn’t understand, or appreciate his teasing while you waited.

“Welcome aboard!”

Pirates echoed the red haired man’s welcome, and you assumed he was the captain as the rest busied themselves about. He sat on deck, calm as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Now that you were so close, you couldn’t help but notice the rippled muscles of his chest and stomach between his mostly open shirt.

Besides the cloak over his shoulders, he didn’t seem to wear anything that could mark him as captain. Unless his red hair, and three scars over his left eye…

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he asked, moving to stand beside you.

“The jolly roger,” you pointed to the menacing skull. “You must be the captain.”

“Good eye,” he leaned in with a smile.

His smile should have a completely different word. The sight from your boat was nothing compared to seeing the way this man's lips curled slowly, the left side starting first as it grew, as if he was enjoying the act of smiling itself. And his eyes…

His eyes were way too close to you.

“Are you alright?”

Concern broke that smile, and he called for someone to bring water.

Your face flushed, hot to the tips of your ears. You realized that you hadn’t heard what the pirate had said because you were too busy swooning over his pretty eyes.

The water was welcome, and you gulped half of it down, suddenly embarrassed about how fucking fishy you must smell with your day’s catch beside you.

“Is there anything else you need, miss…”

Trying to catch your eyes, the pirate leaned toward you. He reached for your shoulder, and you jumped back, spilling water down your chest.

“I’m so sorry, love. I forgot about your warning.”

His soothing voice felt real as he went to a knee in front of you.

“I do hope you will spare me my fate, I swear that no one on this boat will forget it again.”

He’s really too charming. He’s either the sweetest person in the world, or some sort of demon with powers of seduction.

You nodded. It wasn’t like you could truly defend yourself anyway. The fear of being at their mercy kept you hyper aware of all the moving bodies around you.

“How long until we’re at the village?”

The sun was almost gone from the sky now, and you just wanted to be home. To scrub this stupid day away, and pass out.

“It should be about three days from now.”

“Three,” you choked out, dropping the now empty mug of water, which he caught without taking his eyes off of yours.

“We’ve got some business on the other side of the island. We'll be stopping by the village to restock supplies before we head out.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” you snapped, voice louder than you meant it.

He just smirked, tilting his head.

“Sorry, love. Would you like us to toss you overboard? I don’t think you had many rescuers lined up.”

For some reason, you couldn’t get your mouth to remember that these men could kill you as you growled back at him.

“You didn’t rescue me. I paid you for a trip back to the village.”

His lips quirked as if he was fighting not to smile again. He looked down at your haul, fish still flapping in the net.

“That is a really nice haul, miss. Afraid it’s not enough for a direct trip, though.”

Pirates came to take your fish away, and it broke the spell his irritating eyes had on you.

“Please, save this one! You can have it, just… Make sure you cook it well.”

The two men with the net followed your gesture to that fish, assuring you they would obey before taking it away.

“Why’s that one special?”

The weight of this long ass day hit you, a heavy sigh leaving your lips before you looked back at that pretty captain.

“It was a good catch.”

He huffed a laugh, the clear amusement he got from your words making you simultaneously annoyed, and pleased. You were mentally smacking yourself for that.

Don’t be attracted to pirates, dumbass.

“I’m Shanks. I don’t know if you heard me before, but…”

Your skin flushed again, and he seemed to notice, a warm, evil smile slowly forming on his lips.

“What’s your name?”

“You don’t need to know it.”

He gave a real laugh then, loud, and infectious. You had to remind yourself that he was laughing at you.

“What would you like us to call you then, huh? “Fish Girl?” Maybe “Fail Boat?” Or how about “Damsel in Distress?” I think I like that–”

You ripped your hand back as soon as you’d realized what you’d done.

But it was too late.

Your idiotic, suicidal hand had shot out and smacked him, hard, right in the center of that gorgeous chest of his.

The deck roared with laughter while you shook with horror. Shanks had looked down at his chest, and when he lifted his face to yours he looked stunned. If you hadn’t just signed your own death warrant, you might have thought his face comical, brows raised high, with his mouth and eyes wide.

“Go easy on the girl, captain,” teased a tall man with gray hair, shaking his head at Shanks.

“Yeah, come on, captain! What kinda hospitality are you giving, insulting our guest like that?”

A whole group of pirates crowded around him, reprimanding him, and giving him a few gentle punches and shoves.

Your mouth hung open. The sight of these pirates being so playfully disrespectful toward their captain didn’t fit in your brain. None of this made sense with what pirates were supposed to be like.

“Fine. Fine! I’m sorry, miss…”

He’d broken away from his men, leaning toward you with that question.

“Y/N.”

He hit you with a new grin to outshine all the others, making your breath hitch.

“What a beautiful name for a damsel in distress.”

You didn’t need to hit him this time, as pirates did the job for you, even throwing things at him from across the deck.

Maybe it was the overwhelm, the fatigue. Maybe you’d gone insane.

But laughter built in your stomach, growing through your body, until you were shaking with it. You had your hands on your knees as it took you over, and the pirates around you joined in.

How can pirates be laughing and smiling like this with me? How can it be genuine?

Amidst the continued roars of his men, Shanks shook his head, gesturing for you to follow him.

“Where are we going?”

“I’ll show you.”

Frowning at the back of his head, you followed through the wooden halls until he opened a large door, gesturing for you to go inside.

He rolled his eyes when you hesitated, before going in first.

The large room was tiled, with lockers and showers, and there he stood in the center, grinning like a creep.

“I’ll pass,” you deadpanned, backing out the door.

“Come on, fish girl,” he taunted, “you stink, and I think you’ll be easier to clean than the blankets you’ll sleep in tonight.”

Blood rushing to your face again, your mouth opened and closed as anger and embarrassment fought to take over.

Shanks laughed again, but tried to stifle it.

“Sorry, you’re just,” he motioned to his lips, mimicking your movements. “You’re a fish girl.”

“Shut up,” you seethed, leaning toward him. “I’m not taking a shower on a pirate ship when anyone can–”

“I’ll guard the door for you, okay,” he assured, finally seeming to take something seriously. “I’ll make sure no one comes in.”

Now his stupid smile was soft, small, and sweet. You hated it.

“Oh right,” you scoffed, “like I'd trust a pirate captain. Who’s gonna stop you from coming in?”

“What makes you think this pirate captain would even want to come in here, huh?”

“Fuck you,” you breathed, turning to leave.

He was so fast. You jumped back as he blocked the door. He saw your wide eyes, and moved out of the doorway so he wouldn’t block your exit, but he still leaned close.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Really, okay? I promise I will sit right outside this door, and not let a single person come inside until you’re done. There’s fresh clothes for you over there too. Whatever you need.”

A very fine trembling worked its way around your body as you studied him. It seemed like such a bad idea to trust him.

But you were exhausted.

“You’ll sit in front of the door?”

He straightened up, a look of relief brightening that serious face.

“I will.”

“Will you wear a blindfold?”

“If that’s what it takes,” he agreed with a smirk.

“And let me tie your hands behind your back?”

Shanks sucked his teeth as he leaned back. You had a second of fear as he started taking his clothes off.

But all he removed was his heavy cloak, revealing that he was missing his left arm.

Guilt hit you, apologies about to pour out, but he held his palm out.

“Afraid I can’t do that, but I promise I’ll do the rest. Is that alright, Y/N?”

This is really nice soap.

Still on edge, your body started to relax a bit with the delicious smelling soap on your skin.

But every time you felt a moment of relaxation, you’d remember the pirate on the other side of the door.

“You’ve gotta make it tighter, sweetie. Otherwise it won’t work.”

That fucking sentence kept tearing through your brain. The way he’d run his fingers across yours while you adjusted the cloth to blindfold him. The way his hair and skin had felt and smelled as you moved it into place. The way he’d rasped those words while he grabbed your wrist to guide you, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting his fingers trail down your skin.

The way you had let him touch you without arguing. His fingers had taken advantage of the moment, but it had felt almost electric to let him.

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself.

“Y/N, is everything alright?”

“Uh, yeah. Thank you.”

How did he hear that over the shower?

“What the hell is this?”

“Sorry, love, I'm afraid I can't see what you– ow, hold on!”

You definitely had a few red hairs between your fingers after ripping his blindfold off.

The pirate captain got to his feet to meet your eyes, and fucking snorted.

“What is wrong with you,” you fumed, tossing the blindfold at his face.

The fact that he caught it before it hit him only pissed you off more.

“There has to be something else I can wear,” you demanded, pulling at the frilly lavender dress he stuck you with. You looked like some creepy porcelain doll.

His face was going as red as his hair as he tried not to laugh.

“I’m sorry, no one’s– we don’t have anyone your size,” he choked out, clearing his throat before continuing. “We have a few more dresses like this, though. They were supposed to be a gift for a princess, so you should feel honored!”

“Fuck you.”

His lips were fucking quivering as he fought his laughter. His eyes flicked down to your clenched fists, and he relented.

“Right, sorry, okay! You can have some of my clothes, you’ll just have to roll them up, alright?”

Very judgmentally looking him up and down, you raised your brows at him.

“Do you have any shirts that actually button up all the way? Or do you expect me to let my tits hang out like yours.”

Shanks cackled then, catching himself on the wall, his eyes even tearing up a little.

You kicked yourself for saying something so sexual in front of a fucking pirate.

“You’re a funny one, fish girl,” he teased between hiccupped laughs, “but you definitely look like a damsel in that dress.”

You kicked the pirate for being such a dick.

“Fuck, sorry,” he huffed, wincing as he rubbed his shin where you’d kicked it.

“Follow me. I definitely wanna get you outta that dress– I mean into different clothes,” he almost yelled, warding off a slap with his arm. “So you stop hurting me!”

Practically boiling with a mix of anger, embarrassment, and fear, you let yourself be guided along. The lantern lit halls were roomier than you would have expected, and you could hear the distant voices of the crew.

“Here we go,” he said gently, opening another large door. He went in first again, and you entered what had to be his quarters.

Of course. We’re getting his clothes.

It was full of rich, dark woods, red blankets, a desk that seemed to have more bottles of alcohol than anything work related on it, and a delightful, almost spicy scent filling the air.

The room was a bit messy, and you felt out of place standing there in that frilly dress while he dug through his wardrobe, tossing clothes to the ground as he searched.

“Here, love, how about these?”

“Do you have a belt?”

Managing to roll, buckle, and tuck at his clothes, you were mostly satisfied as you checked the mirror.

Even with all the buttons done up, you still had to tie his shirt to keep your chest from popping out like his does.

“You almost finished? The party’s star…”

Those pretty eyes brightened when you opened the door. His little smirk made you frown, and he held his hand up.

“You were right, Y/N. This definitely suits you better.”

He offered that hand to you, and even in the warm glow of the lanterns, you could see scars, callouses, and thick veins that made your breath hitch for a moment.

Your hand had almost reached his when he pulled away.

“Almost forgot,” he teased, his voice somehow lower than normal as he stepped out of the doorway for you. “I’ll lose my only hand if I touch you, right?”

“I…”

“Well, I definitely won’t risk that.”

He stepped further back, letting you follow him into the hallway.

Your brain seemed to stutter, unable to join the moment as it flew through conflicting emotions.

Like why it upset you that he wouldn’t risk it.

Shanks moved in close, his spicy scent filling your lungs as you looked up at him.

“Just let me know if that ever changes.”

He turned away after a subtle wink that made your brain short circuit.

“You comin’? I’m hungry.”

Still barefoot without your fishy shoes, you chased that red hair down the hallway.

He really is some sort of seduction demon.

“Hey, girly. Is this jackass treating you alright?”

“This is how you talk about your captain?”

The older man with long, gray hair ignored Shanks’ protests as he looked you over.

“You should be more worried about him,” you grumbled, narrowing your eyes at the captain.

“Ha, I’m sure you’re right.”

He grinned down at you, before motioning toward the fire.

“Come on, the food’s almost done.”

The crew had found a remote beach, and set up camp. Their camp supplies seemed to be mostly alcohol.

Shanks had said they had business here, and that they’d go to the village in about three days.

What kind of business are pirates getting up to on my island?

The thought was pushed aside as Shanks called for you. Most of the pirates were holding their plates, or using boulders or crates while they ate. Captain Shanks had a dingy little table by the fire, and was waving you over.

“Come on, love. Let’s eat, and find out why that fish of yours is so special.”

The day's events hit you again, but you joined him in a mismatched chair, and grabbed a fork.

It smelled good.

“Here,” Shanks demanded, shoving a mug of some kind of alcohol into your hand, before standing and lifting his own to address the crew. “Here’s to our luck! We found an unlucky fisherwoman, and now we’ve got good eats. To Y/N!”

The sheer volume of their enthusiasm made your eyes go wide as you faked a sip.

“So tell me, fish girl,” he leaned toward you, the small table not leaving much space between you. “Why is this fish so special?”

Ignoring him, you focused on your plate. The way it looked and smelled was perfect, but you had to know.

He watched your movements, following along as you pierced into the flesh, bringing the first bite to your lips.

It was perfect. Whoever had cooked it had treated it right. The tender meat and the subtle flavor were given just the amount of spice to balance it out.

It would have sold well. After all it took to get it, you were grateful that it didn’t go to waste, and tasting it yourself was wonderful.

Even if you were sharing it with a pirate.

“This is incredible, Y/N. You really are a fish girl.”

Letting out a sigh, you dug in, trying to enjoy the meal that had put you in this situation. The night was filled with the sounds of music, laughter, and endless calls for cheers, the clanging of metal mugs like the shifting heartbeat of this joyful crew.

“So, I had someone take a look at your boat, in case we could help fix it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my boat,” you spat out, wishing you could have enjoyed your meal in peace. Without this too fucking handsome and annoying pirate captain.

Shanks tapped his fingers on the table, a smirk playing at his lips.

“That was the report,” he said softly, the teasing tone building slowly in his voice. “They did say that one of the oars is missing.”

“Thanks for the report,” you grumbled, watching the fire now.

“Come on, just tell me what happened. How’d you get stranded out there?”

“It’s none of your business.”

Your face felt hot, the fire not close enough for the burning in your skin.

“Consider it payment then. For my clothes, and for my company,” he taunted, his voice dipping low.

“I could do without the latter.”

“You wound me, sweet damsel.”

He put his hand to his heart, chuckling at your frown before chugging whatever was in his mug.

“It was a really good catch,” you mumbled, giving in. He scooted even closer to you, excitement in those lovely eyes, mixing with the light of the fire.

Shanks kept that beautiful mouth shut, just tilting his head toward yours as he waited.

“My grandma used to talk about her best catch. That was it,” you said flatly, gesturing to your empty plate. “She made me promise that if I ever caught a fish like that, I had to eat it myself, eat it with friends.”

“Don’t waste a fish like that on berry, sugar. It’s a gift.”

He raised his mug as you mimicked your grandma’s voice, and you brought yours up with a sigh, still just pretending to drink.

“I’m honored, then. Your grandma was right, that fish was amazing.”

Memories of her seemed to join you at the table, bittersweet, and heavier than you’d like.

“Sorry, Y/N. You, uh… You doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” you coughed, a hint of anger back in your voice as you fought against the prickling in your eyes.

“Well,” he drawled out, extending the word for way too long, “you still didn’t tell me how you got stranded out there with nothing but the perfect fish.”

Groaning, you put your forehead on the dingy table and blurted it out, as if you could make it not true if you said it fast enough.

“I caught the fish. I saw what it was. It started to slip through my hands. I knew it’d sell well, so I didn’t want to lose it. I ended up tripping over one of the oars. I should have let it go, I could have grabbed the oar if I’d seen it slipping. But I was greedy. I wanted to sell that stupid fish instead of eating it, and now grandma’s probably cussing at me from the afterlife.”

Shanks at least had the decency to shove his knuckles between his teeth before he started laughing.

“Oh, fuck you,” you huffed, standing to leave the captain’s dingy table.

“Wait, please,” he called, catching your fingers in his, and pulling you back toward him. Only to drop your hand as if he’d been burned when you met his eyes.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean–”

Whatever you might have said was lost in a wave of too many things at once. Humiliation over the whole thing, fear that these pirates could still hurt you, especially if you fell asleep, and the burning in your stupid cheeks because this gorgeous asshole held your hand.

What the fuck is wrong with me today?

The moon was mostly full, so there was plenty of light on the sand as you walked away from the camp. They were so fucking noisy, but the ocean beckoned for you to sit, gentle waves like your grandmother’s sweet voice.

When she wasn’t giving me shit, you thought with a laugh, digging your toes in the sand.

“The ocean makes me feel better too.”

His deep voice annoyed you more than it startled you.

Shanks sat beside you, but not too close.

Ignoring him did not make him go away.

“What do you want?”

“I wanna make your shitty day better. How can I do that?”

“Take me home.”

“Three days on that one, love. Anything more immediate?”

Your plan to stay up all night was already failing, exhaustion dragging you down.

His eyes were so soft under the moon, the hint of a smile brightening his face.

“I don’t want to sleep out in the open with everyone. Is there somewhere… safe where I can sleep?”

Shanks nodded, looking down as he cleared his throat.

“Of course, let me take you now.”

The ship itself seemed to be sleeping, so quiet with only a handful of crew watching it as the rest camped on the island.

Red hair under lantern light guided you through those wood paneled halls again, until he led you to the guest quarters.

“Here’s the key, and you’re welcome to shove this chair under the door knob as well. Breakfast will be at the beach in the morning,” he laughed, running his fingers through his hair. “It’ll probably be the afternoon depending on the hangovers, but you– Are you alright?”

He knelt at your feet, looking you over as you slumped onto the bed.

“How long were you out there today? Have you been drinking water? Are you…”

This charming pirate stopped himself from touching your forehead, and some insane, fatigued part of you reached out, grabbing his hand with both of yours.

“I lied,” you confessed, voice quiet and close, his pretty eyes on your lips. “I can’t cut your hand off. I’m not armed.”

The slow smile he gave you now was your favorite, somehow making the light in his eyes shine brighter. Your hands reluctantly let go of him as he shifted, but instead of moving away, Shanks touched his calloused fingers to your cheek.

“Your secret’s safe with me, sweetheart.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: I am obsessed with these two now. What the heck. I need Shanks to make fun of me like that 😅

Tag List: @shewrites02

Part 2

#shanks x reader #red haired shanks #x reader #reader insert #fem!reader #one piece x reader #one piece fics #turtletaub fics #follower celebration #fic requests #mine #fluff #one piece fluff #shanks fluff #shanks fics

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heartpiratedrabbles · 4 months

Text

Kids Anger Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 ~ Part 4

Kid X Fem Reader X Killer

Kid hasn’t been the same since finding you. He hasn’t even been his normal angry self. It’s like he’s become a shell of who he was and Killer can’t seem to snap him out of it. Killer was the one to break down you cell door and pick up your limp body, yelling at Kid the entire time to snap out of it. It wasn’t until the room was empty and Kid had realized he was staring at the stained floor that he started moving again.

The cell was clearly your torture chamber, the thought of someone hurting you sent him into a blinding rage. He knew Killer had taken you so he could wreck as much havoc as he wanted without care. He doesn’t remember much of what happened after Killer had taken you away, but he does know that the entire crews Bounties had gone up after they had left the island.

Killer gripping you limp body on the other hand rushed to get you back to the ship, there was no way anyone on this island would dare to treat you, especially not after hearing the destruction that had started behind him. The Navy base had been made of metal and steel and he could hear Kid using his power to decimate the area. But that wasn’t his concern right now, you had started to turn cold.

Jumping back onto the ship he ran towards the room they deemed the infirmary. Killer had thought it overkill to have an entire room dedicated to medicine and first aid when you had first come aboard but he couldn’t be more glad that you had been insistent on the semi-sterilized room. He passed Hip on his way in who had quickly followed them to help with whatever injuries you had.

No one on board was a skilled doctor, everyone knew basic first aid and a couple knew how to stitch or tourniquets a limb good enough. Hip by far was the most qualified to be called the ships doctor but even that was a stretch, sure she had been the one to cauterize Kids arm when it had been ripped off but it was still a far cry from being knowledge or skilled.

None the Less she gets to work closing up your wounds, she starts by stopping blood flow to your shoulder, a tight tourniquet, to make sure the infection doesn’t spread further. Taking her time to slowly look at the wound before she realizes the Bullets still in and goes to fish it out.

Your body, while cold, was covered in sweat and every movement and prod made you face slightly contort, a good sign in Killers mind as he got more supplies out to be used. He quickly walked out to inform everyone to be prepared to leave the second Kid gets back before going back in to assist Hip.

As he walks in he sees her pour whiskey into the wound and sees you flinch violently at the sudden pain. Despite being on the verge of death it seems you still have some fight left in you. Hip demands Killer help flip you over and without a thought he does so. Hip gasps at the deep gashes littering you back, and what skin left stained a deep purple almost black. Killer is the first one to start treating your back as Hip gets her bearings again, grabbing a needle and some thread to go in after Killer disinfects the wounds.

~~~

Kid had come back after night had fallen, passing out the second he gets on deck, and just as soon as he passes out the rest of the crew is working at leaving the hidden cove. Killer could feel the vessel move and he was almost glad it had taken Kid this long to get back, there were more injuries than he had thought and it had been a couple hours since they started working on you.

It was only once the night became the darkest that they had finished bandaging you up, your breathing shallow still. The rest of the crew seemed relieved that Kid and Killers mission to retrieve you had been a success but it became all the more worrisome when Hip came out of the room covered in blood and exhausted.

She’s the one that set up a schedule to make sure you were never alone. And as much as Killer wanted to move you to an actual bed, he was afraid to move you. He muttered under his breathe, begging you to just wake up, this had been hard enough when he went through it with Kid. But he didn’t have the reassurance he had back then, he believed Kid would make it through his ordeal, he was only missing an arm, you on the other hand… You were weaker than them, and your injuries seemed so much more severe.

As he’s leaning over you, not even daring to hold your hand in fear of harming you more, the door opens and shuts. A small huff and creaking of chairs lets the blonde man know that the other was finally there. “She’s alive” Kid whispers, his voice slightly wavering. Killer feels the red-head shake slightly and leans on him.

“Hip thinks we should amputate her arm” Killer says, his voice weak and dry, “She. The infection, she thinks its too much” The bandages on you were already slightly dirty, and no doubt they’d be changing them again soon.

Kid lets out a weak chuckle, “We could twin.” Killer also seemed to let out an amused huff at the idea. Neither of them looked at each other and silence feel upon them as they both watched you chest slightly move with your labored breathing.

~~~

It’s been a week and you didn’t show signs of getting better, but you also didn’t show signs of getting worse. You were on the constant edge of Life and Death but for the most part you had seemed stable. Kid spent his days silent, unusual for how he normally was. His only direction given to the crew was to go someplace where there was a doctor, any other interaction was from the rambunctious crew checking to make sure he was alright himself, and eating.

Killer had taken it upon himself to be in charge of changing your bandages, taking extra time to check every wound and using more alcohol to disinfect anything he deemed dirty, lightly dabbing at anything that had continued to bleed or somehow re-opened. Kid could barely watch, he hated this, he hated you, he hated how weak you had become. Where was his feisty little mouse? The one that wasn’t afraid to hit him even if you knew it would hurt him. Laying in front of him was an empty shell that he was terrified to touch, he just wanted you back.

At some point through out the week Kid had convinced Killer to move you to an actual bed, to their bed. It didn’t matter that they’d have to change sheets often to keep them clean for you, nor did it matter that it meant neither of them had a bed to lay on, both of them would rather sleep on the floor before making you any more uncomfortable.

Quincy would come often enough with fluids and somehow got you to drink by holding your nose shut, the first time she had done it Kid nearly attacked her, thinking she was trying to suffocate you. But once the misunderstanding was resolved He’d reluctantly sit back and watch you swallow in order to gasp for air. Killer had assumed it was a good sign.

It wasn’t until Kid had finally decided to lightly grip your hand that a moan had left your lips. Killer had jumped from his chair hearing it and joined you two on the other side of the bed. A small squeeze to Kids hand had made him reinvigorated and nearly screaming for you to wake up only for Killer to hit his head to be more quiet.

But just as quickly as you had given them both hope, you had sent them over the edge when you broke out into a fever. Your brows furrowing as you took a turn for the worse. Kid had gotten a part of his soul back and went running out, demanding they reach an island by the morning and Killer took to work to wipe you down of sweat, changing your bandages as often as the sweat soaked through them.

Despite it all the two had become exhausted and it was Hip who had decided to lock them out of their own room, demanding they get some sleep as she looked over you for the night. Begrudgingly, they both agreed, opting to not break the door open and instead heading to the rec room where there were some hammocks and a couch.

As they both got situated, Killer on the couch and Kid in a hammock, a foot placed on the ground the silence overwhelmed them. “What if.” Kid started, staring at the ceiling, “What if she doesn’t wake up?” Killer could hear how broken Kid was, “All because I couldn’t shut myself up-“ Silence filled the air as Kid refused to let a sob out, “and didn’t realize when our mouse was hurt.”

Killer stayed silent, not wanting to reveal his own emotions, but instead got up and somehow squeezed himself into the already occupied hammock. Kid seemed to breathe in, holding his breathe for a second before laughing a bit, “We’re not kids anymore Killer- We don’t fit like this” Moving slightly to try and get more comfortable.

“I can leave if you wan-“

“Don’t you dare leave me,” Kid's voice was demanding yet weak as he placed his head on Killer's chest.

#Kid x Reader X Killer #One Piece #Kid #Killer #Angst #Part 3 #One Piece X Reader

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pedroshotwifey · 7 months

Text

Lesson

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Tags/Warnings: NO use of Y/N, dom!reader, sub!din djarin, extreme over-stimulation, pregnant reader (not mentioned until the end), reader is a badass and we love her, restraints, aftercare, fluffy fluff, slight bdsm, Din whimpers bc I want to see Din whimper, im sure im forgetting stuff but oh well

Summary: Din chooses to put himself in danger by changing plans during a mission, and you decide it's about time he learns a lesson.

A/N: Hello lovely people! Hope you enjoy some subby Din for a while. I don't really have much to say this time, so just ignore my rambling I suppose. As always, requests are wide open and reposts, comments, and likes are very much appreciated! <3

***

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

You’re absolutely furious. In all the years that you’ve been with Mando, he’s never made a mistake this detrimental. Not only did he almost lose the bounty with his random change of plan, but he also put himself right into the path of danger. This shouldn’t have been a dangerous mission, but somehow, Din found a way to make it life-threatening.

The bounty the two of you were after had been hiding out in an old, abandoned ship on an old, abandoned planet. The main objective was to get the target outside of the ship to capture him in case there was any kind of fuel left in the corroding ship.

You thought you were both stationed in your respective positions, the bait set to lead the bounty out, when you had noticed something was missing. Din. Din was missing. You curse under your breath as you stand up to get a better look at his empty post. Fucking bastard.

You spot a gleam of beskar in your peripheral and turn to follow it. He’s too far away from you for you to yell at him or try to grab him, practically at the opening at the ship already. There's nothing for you to do but wait and see how everything plays out. You groan as you crouch back down behind the rock you had been hiding behind.

Then you hear a deafeningly loud bang.

Your heart drops to your stomach as you shoot back up to your feet.

“MANDO!” You hear yourself scream his name but you don’t remember making an attempt to do so.

You immediately know what had happened as you get closer to the ruined ship. The first thing you see is the absolute wreckage laying around where the ship used to be, some of it still smoldering. The second thing you see is fucking Mando emerging from the smoke, target in hand.

His armor is coated in a black film, likely from being so close to the tank when he fucking shot it and blew it up. You stand in place and let him walk to you, keeping a firm expression the entire time. You can tell the moment he sees the way you’re seething. His movement falters and he lowers his head ever so slightly, continuing toward you with his tail tucked.

You wait until he is a few feet away from you before turning on your heel and starting the way back to the Crest. You know he’ll follow, so you don’t look back or say a word until you reach your shared ship.

When you climb aboard, you wordlessly signal for Mando to put the bounty in carbonite before you climb up to get the ship into the air. Once you’re out of the atmosphere, you climb back down the ladder to find Mando standing in the middle of the hull.

He doesn’t say a word to you, just stands there awaiting your orders. Smart. You point to the bedroom and wait for him to start walking before you trail behind him, still fuming. He stops in front of the bed and watches you walk past him and into the closet. You throw a single word his way as you start digging for the restraints.

“Strip.”

He shudders at your tone but does as he’s told.

***

“Please, Cyar’ika, please!”

The sob that slips from his mouth is delicious even though it’s a bit muffled by his vocoder. You chuckle darkly as you look down at him, The Mandalorian, clad in nothing but his helm and the binders around his wrists and ankles that secure him to the corners of the bunk.

His cock, throbbingly hard and flushed almost purple at the tip, jumps as you speak. The twitch is overstimulating enough to have his whole body try to curl into itself, but it doesn’t budge with the way he’s binded.

“Aww, you poor, sweet boy,” you say with a mock sympathy as you fold your hand to rub your knuckles along the inside of his thigh. “Want to come so bad, don’t you?”

You both know the answer to that question. You’ve been going at this for hours now. You denied him at first, bringing him to the edge and then denying him as soon as you felt him about to bust. You lost count at about nine times—around the same time Din started to cry. After close to an hour of that, you did let him come, just like he wanted. But then you didn’t stop.

The last hour and a half or so have been spent working him up just softly enough to get him hard and leaking again, and then edging him for a while before letting him come. Each time, he grows more sensitive, and each time, it becomes more fun for you.

You know your panties are ruined with your arousal at this point, but you don’t pay too much attention to the fact. This is about Din right now, about teaching your Mandalorian a lesson. You want to rip his helmet from his head so you can see the way his tears streak down his ruddy cheeks, so you can hear his whines for mercy without the modulator warping his voice. But you don’t, not yet at least. You want him to feel humiliated by the way he is being punished and violated while still in his beskar.

He begs you to stop, but you know he doesn’t mean it. You have a specific code for these types of things—if he really wants to, all he has to do is say the word and you’d have him out of the binders and in your gentle embrace within seconds. He hasn’t said the word yet, though. He’s too stubborn to let you win completely, but that's okay, you don’t plan to break him. You just want to make him think that you will.

He tilts his head back and whimpers in response to your taunting question and you take the opportunity to grab his cock. Din’s head comes back up with lightning speed as he shouts at the contact that causes his body to shake once again. Though he orgasms, not much trickles out. A small dribble of cum escapes the tip of his cock and leaks down his softening shaft.

He’s a whining, whimpering mess beneath you, and you can’t get enough.

“Think you’ve learned your lesson, sweet boy?” You pet his flaccid cock, making him sob as you ask him the question. He nods to the best of his ability and you tut down at him. “Use your words for me, baby.”

“Y-yes, I’ve learned my lesson,” he tries to keep his voice unwavering but fails miserably.

“Yes, what, honey?”

“Yes m-ma’am, I’ve l-learned my lesson, I’m s-sorry.”

You hum in consideration for a moment before speaking again. “Good boy. I think you deserve a reward for that, don’t you?”

He nods and you figure you’ll accept it this time.

“Okay, baby, I’ll be right back.”

With that, you sit up from where you had been perched on the side of the bed and stride into the closet. As soon as you go through the threshold, you hear Din let out a shuddering breath. Poor thing must be exhausted. You smile at the thought. He’s not done yet.

You open a drawer and dig around until you find what you’re looking for. Once you have the wand in your grasp, you walk back out into the bedroom. You hold the object behind your back so he can’t see while you sit back in your original position. He’s quiet as he waits for you to speak.

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” you start, trying to hold your smile back. “I’m going to help you with a little toy, and you’re going to tell me why you’re so sorry.” You wait a moment to watch the way he tilts his head back in defeat. When you hear a small blubber of regret slip from his lips, you continue.

“If you can give me the right answer, I’m going to be generous and let you come, and then we’ll be done. If you can’t… well I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, pretty boy. How does that sound?”

“S-sounds fair, ma’am.”

You nod at him and reach your hands up to his helmet. “Can I take this off, sweetie?” He hesitates but gives you a small nod after a moment. He doesn’t want you to see the mess of tears staining his face.

You release the airlocks and lift up, slowly revealing his pouty lips, his prominent nose, his beautiful, begging eyes, and finally his soft, brown curls. He looks up at you slightly parted lips as you set his helmet to the side.

“There’s my pretty boy,” you say before leaning down to place a gentle kiss to his lips. You don’t wait any longer to move down the bed to where his swollen cock lays against his stomach. You smirk and take the vibrator you picked out into your hand, flipping the switch to turn it onto a low setting. Din flinches at the sound.

“Okay, honey, I want you to keep your eyes on me while you speak, just so I know you’re not lying to me.” A tear slides down his cheek and you can see him gulp down his anxiety. “Yes, ma’am,” he says after a moment.

Bending down, you place a kiss to the tip of his dick, and he tries his best to get away from the contact. When you look up, he’s staring at the ceiling. You lightly slap his cock, making him shout. “Look at me, baby, I’m not gonna tell you again.”

Once his glossy eyes are on you, you bring the vibrator to the tip of his dick. He immediately bucks his hips away and starts to whimper and pant. “Now tell me, what did you do wrong today?”

Mando is too busy gritting his teeth through the blinding overstimulation to answer your question, and you turn the wand up to a higher setting. It’s a fair warning, you think. He screams and thrashes in his restraints.

“I’m sorry, Gods, I’m sorry, p-please!”

“Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry I went ag-ah-against the plan, Gods, I’m s-sorry,” he tries his best to ignore the way the sobs muddle his speech.

You run the vibrator up and down his shaft before bringing it to the tip and applying pressure.

“Good boy… Are you going to do it again?”

“No, no, please!”

You smile and figure that he probably means it. If he ever pulled a stunt like that again, you’d have him chained to the bed for days. His beautiful brown eyes stay on you the whole time.

“Okay, baby, I believe you.” Even though he’s still squirming beneath you, he looks visibly more relaxed at the knowledge that this is almost over. “I want you to beg for it baby, beg me to let you come.” As humiliating as it is, he doesn’t have to be told twice.

“Please let me come, p-please! I’ve been so good for you! Been s-so good!”

You chuckle at the desperation in his voice as you lean down one more time. Keeping the vibrator on the tip of his cock, you turn it up to the max setting and take one of his balls into your mouth, sucking harshly.

He lets out the loudest shout of the night as he comes. He shakes and sobs underneath you as you prolong it as best you can. You hear him speaking, but it’s so slurred through his cries that you’re not sure what he’s trying to say.

Once he’s done orgasming, you lift up and turn the wand off before casting it to the side. When you look at his face, Din has his bottom lip between his teeth as he tries to keep his tears from falling from his closed eyes. Taking pity on him, you decide to wrap it up quickly.

You look down at his belly, covered in his own cum. You take two fingers, being careful to avoid his poor cock, and swipe up a glob of it. Bringing it up to Din’s lips, you tell him to open up, and he does so, licking his own spend off of your fingers.

“What do you say, baby?”

“T-thank you,” his words are breathless but filled with relief at the same time. You bring your forehead down to touch his before kissing him one more time. He gladly reciprocates, chasing your lips once you sit up again.

You tell him to wait just a second as you work at the restraints. Once free, Mando lets his limbs fall into comfortable positions. You smooth his hair down in a soothing motion as you assure him he did good. You stay there with him for a moment before getting up again to get him a glass of water and a fresh set of sheets. You turn the shower on while you’re at it.

Once he’s in the fresher, you change the sheets and grab some snacks for when he comes back. When he does, you’re waiting in the clean bed with open arms. He smiles warmly at you and crawls in, letting you wrap yourself around him. The two of you lay there like that for a while before you break the silence.

“I hope you know I genuinely want you to be safer, baby, that wasn’t just for show.” You know he knows, you just want to be sure.

“I know… I’m sorry I did what I did today.” You can hear the guilt in his voice and you turn to look into his eyes.

“It’s okay, Din… I just…” you trail off as you try to find the right words. “I don’t think I could live with myself if something ever happened to you.” You can feel tears stinging your eyes at the thought of it.

“And now, with the baby on the way…” you trail off, looking at your distended stomach. “ I don’t want our baby to grow up without a buir, Din.”

“I know, my sweet riduur,” he says before placing a soft kiss to your head. You can see the guilt in his eyes as he looks at you. “I never mean to put myself in the way of danger, I don’t know what I was thinking.” You stay silent, but he knows that you’ve accepted his apology.

“And for the record,” he continues, shyly. “I enjoyed what you did tonight.” You look at him and can’t help but giggle at the smirk on his face. It’s not often you take charge in the bedroom, so you were glad to have the confirmation that he liked it just as much as you.

“I love you, Din,” you say softly as you turn off the light and then snuggle into him. He laughs and hugs you closer.

“I love you too, cyare.”

#pedro pascal #fan fiction #smut #ao3 #pedro pascal smut #the mandalorian #din djarin #sub!din djarin #dom reader #sub character #pregnant reader

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hongism · 7 months

Text

mists of celeste ➻ 50

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 17.1k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language ➻ summary: Months into your stay aboard The Horizon, it becomes apparent that things are not as cut and dry as you thought, and that you might have bitten off more than you could chew with this crew.

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──────────── act seven ➻ part two

The transport can barely hold the entirety of your crew as it stands now — your extra guests included — and it makes for a rather cramped setting. Part of that feeling could be due to how San stands close to you still, his hand overlapping yours on the handle hanging down from the ceiling of the vehicle as you stick to the edges where it gives you a clear view out the windows. Hongjoong’s figure lingers in your peripherals, seated not far from where you’ve parked yourself, but as the rest of the crew fidgets to make themselves comfortable, San shifts to block your line of sight with the captain. You turn to the right and look across the transport. Mirroring you on the opposite end stands both Berserkers, but it’s Mingi who you make direct eye contact with. In a movement that’s invisible to all but prying eyes, he shakes his head every so slightly left and right.

It’s a pointless gesture, as you had already settled to resign yourself to the fate Hongjoong laid out for you in this mission. Maybe he’s simply warning you against fighting back again. Maybe he’s answering some unknown question you haven’t even thought to ask yet. He knows more than he lets on, that much is true, and now you know it for certain given his presence at the pinnacle of your humiliation thus far.

You’ve been asking yourself what your defiance is for a great many times since sharing that conversation with him, however, for better or for worse. The answer is always the same anyway.

The transport lurches as it moves off the dock. Far below, the waters running through the gorge glisten with the sunshine reflecting off its surface. Though a vibrant bright green, the color appears more milky than it is clear even at this distance, and thick tendrils of fog paint the darker corners of the base of the gorge. A far cry from the beauty you saw waiting across the dock, what lies below doesn’t look at all inviting.

Beside you, San is picking at a loose thread on his form-fitting top, and you lightly swat his hand away from the spot before he pulls a hole in the fabric.

“Hey,” he murmurs just quietly enough to avoid prying ears.

“Hey,” you echo back. Silently, you push your body closer to his until you’re close enough to feel his breath on your skin.

“Nervous?”

“A bit.”

San presses his cheek against the side of your head.

“Just like any other mission. You’ve got this.”

“One without you. And Seonghwa.”

San tuts gently as he leans further down to your ear. “But with Jongho and Mingi.” He passes you as reassuring a smile as he can manage, and it does little to ease the bundle of nerves coiling in your gut. Your brief time in the open air on this planet was enough to make your skin crawl and itch. “I would go if I could,” he continues, and his gaze flits like he wants to look back over his shoulder at his captain but thinks better of it at the last second.

The barge lurches to a halt, and you lay a hand against San’s jacket to keep yourself steady when your body threatens to throw you backward. He covers your fingers with his own, remaining that way until everyone has filed out of the transport. A man stands beside the doors, though he isn’t much of a friendly face with the way a scowl seems to be permanently etched into his features. He shoves something into your hands and then into San’s before slapping the side of the transport to signal for the doors to shut.

“Remember protocol unless you’re looking to be outta your damn minds!” he yells across the small crowd that forms your crew. One glance down shows you that he’s handed you a gas mask, and everyone around you bears a matching one. He wears one similar, bound around his neck with a clasp that must be like the one attached to the back of yours. San silently takes it from your grasp and brings it up and around your neck — a crude echo of a romantic gesture one might do with a real necklace. “Masks up when the church bell rings three times at night, no later than that. Kid’ll need a smaller one from one of the stalls in the market, so be sure to get ‘im one before nightfall. As for where you stay at night, be sure to find some reputable spot with air filters. Otherwise, you’ll be wanting to wear them masks while you sleep too.”

“Gas masks and air filters…” you mutter as you thumb over the item now attached to your neck. “What’s up with this place?” San hums and steps to your side. He falls into step alongside you, and in that same moment, Yeosang deigns to turn where he stands and look you over.

“Natural hallucinogens in the air. They come up from the water below. When the sun is out, you will be unaffected because the heat from the sunlight prevents the toxins from spreading beyond the water so much, but once the sun sets, it becomes potent enough to enter your bloodstream and settle in your system. At that point, you wouldn’t be able to tell reality from whatever fantasy your mind conjures up for you.”

Your fingers tighten around the gas mask.

"What a lovely vacation spot for us then," San grumbles.

However, despite that inherent danger now looming over your head, the town ahead is quite visually stunning, and its intrigue only grows as you walk into the streets alongside the crew. Hongjoong, of course, hangs near the front as both your captain and the one who knows where you're all headed. Jongho and Yunho drift back to where you and San walk close enough to touch hands, but neither one of you makes the move to do so. It's sharply contrasted to how Wooyoung walks beside Yeosang a few steps away, with such little space between them that their shoulders overlap and Wooyoung's feet threaten to collide with Yeosang's at every step. Cute, in a sense, and a welcome sight given the falling out you had witnessed some time ago now, but it still lingers in your memory every time you look at them interacting. Off to your right, Mingi has found a place beside Luca, and on the other side stand the other three recent additions to your crew. It only leaves one unaccounted for, but the soft sounds of footsteps behind you give you a clear enough idea as to where Seonghwa is.

You've been refused the pleasure of sensing his emotions since your more explosive fight. Though you haven't done the same to him in return; if anything, you hope that he can feel the sharp edges of your anger each time you look at him.

You must be scowling now at the mere thought of the man because San’s fingers dance across your knuckles before securing his index finger around your pinky — a display of affection discreet enough to hide from prying eyes.

“I don’t like the vibes of this place,” Yunho mutters from a few steps ahead of you. He coughs as you pass by a pillared torch that burns purple flames and opaque smoke across the streets. Given their multitude on either side of the cobbled roads, you’d make the safe assumption that these are meant to be street lamps to light the streets, minus the electricity, and it would make a good amount of sense for the atmosphere to shift the color of the flames in some manner. Though there hardly seems any need for the lights when you were so adamantly warned against setting foot outside after dark, unless the natives ignore such warnings for themselves.

“This is where we’ll be staying for the duration of our stay here!” Hongjoong’s voice booms back across the group, and when he turns around to face his crew, your eyes glance across each other for a split second before they fall to the man behind you. “You’re welcome to go in and make yourselves comfortable, or you can explore the city as you see fit. Everyone stay connected over the comms channel and be indoors by dark.”

The group disperses for the most part, though you stay close to San’s side, content to follow him instead of deciding what to do yourself. The building is nice enough: simple in its design and very minimal in terms of windows, but you suppose that makes sense given what you’ve been told of this place thus far. It blends in with the other buildings on the street with its dark brown wood and ivory trim, and the lanterns that hang from the overhang of the roof bear the same purple-hued flames that the streetlamps do. It does make everything bear a sort of ominous atmosphere to a certain extent — it would be far more unsettling in the dark, as most things are — but a promised safe haven is simply that: a safe haven.

“You—” Hongjoong lunges for Yunho’s arm as the man tries to turn into the hostel “—keep close to me. Normies are particularly desired in places like these.”

As Seonghwa steps around you to head for the doors, his glare on the back of Yunho’s head is as apparent as it is heavy. Yunho himself is equally caught off guard as he is confused, but he receives no further explanation beyond that simple ominous statement.

“I’ll get everything sorted and take care of the payments,” he says to the captain, earning nothing more than a firm nod and a wave of Hongjoong’s free hand. His gaze sticks even when Hongjoong’s does not. While the only witnesses to the affront are you and San, it's still uncomfortable to a high degree. It doesn't continue for much longer at least, as the man finally steps through the door to the hostel and leaves the rest of you in silence. Your gaze drifts over to view San’s side profile. He glances down to look at you in return, eyes turning to pretty crescents, and you loop your hand around his elbow.

"I imagine this won't be a stress-free trip as we wish it to be," he whispers, pulling you closer to his body as you start to follow behind Hongjoong and Yunho. You can’t respond right away. The pair ahead of you pulls your focus for a moment, in a stance so similar to your own with San that it causes realization to dawn on you.

“We’re okay, right?” you ask out of the blue. For a moment you think San hasn’t heard you, but he very clearly has based on how stiff his expression becomes. Lie to me. I’m so desperate for your lies.

“Yeah,” he nods, “we are.” It tastes sweet and feels heavy on your skin.

“You know, Y/n, it was San who recommended that you have an important role in this mission.” Hongjoong’s voice slices through you at a diagonal, hunting the spot where it will hurt the most like it’s for sport, and his timing is so apt that you believe he’s heard the words exchanged behind him. You don’t give him the pleasure of looking in his direction. San lifts his free hand to lay it over the one you have secured around his elbow like he fears you letting go but your grip is still firm. Nails dig into his exposed skin. You know it will leave a mark.

San’s face is ripped to shreds with a mixture of regret and sympathy. His expression is too genuine for you to find any deception in it.

“I didn’t think he would take it seriously, I… in retrospect, I must look fucking stupid because I thought that he would take both of us on the mission.” San’s eyes drop to the ground. “I asked to go. I wasn’t expecting him to choose Yunho over me.”

Again, Hongjoong pushes himself into a conversation not meant for him.

“San isn’t fully healed to the point of mission clearance. Both of our resident doctors said as much, for differing reasons.” You wish that the claws he’s dug deep beneath San’s skin to twist around his heart and make him do as he pleases were not so tightly wound. You wish you could know with certainty that removing them would not kill San in the process. You wish you could know that the blood seeping from San’s chest in the aftermath would not be on your hands.

None of those things are certain or doomed to change, however, and you must remain firmly in place where you are with San and hope for an outcome other than agony by his side.

The captain reaches down between his body and Yunho’s, and you watch the man lace his fingers through Yunho’s in a way that almost seems natural enough to believe that it’s a regular occurrence. Nothing more than an attempt to keep the man by his side, however, and you turn your chin away from the sight partly because you feel like you’re encroaching.

“Go on and pick out whatever you need,” Hongjoong’s voice sounds far sweeter than you know the man to be, with a sort of melodic lull to how he speaks that makes your skin itch. This sort of intimacy is unnatural for him. You cannot tell whether it’s genuine or not either. The tips of Yunho’s ears are stained red; you can see as much from where you stand despite the man’s efforts to keep his head firmly forward. “Do you want me to get you anything nice while we’re here?”

“It’s fine.” His tone is as stiff as he is, yet his hand clings to Hongjoong’s like the other man will let go at any second and he can’t bear the thought of such a thing happening. “We just need to restock some medicines, and I want to see what they have in the way of ingredients. I imagine they’ve got lots of local stuff I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere else. It would be nice to try some new stuff. Do you think there’s an apothecary nearby? Having some options other than pills would be good… the locals ought to have some recipes I can’t get anywhere else. Oh, and painkillers! I’m running low, I could have sworn I had a few extra bottles in stock—”

“You mentioned you had forgotten to restock them last week.”

“Ah, did I?” Yunho finally dares to glance down at the man walking alongside him. Despite the clear question in his tone, what you can see of his expression from his side profile does not match that — because what do a sharp stare and taut frown have in common with confusion?

“You’ve been frazzled lately; it’s understandable.” Hongjoong turns to look up at him in return, and a smile that’s soft around the edges pulls at the corners of his lips. His free hand moves up to brush down the strays in Yunho’s bangs. “Let’s pick up some more just in case you're unsure, yeah?”

“Do you wanna sneak away on our own?” San’s voice comes from close to your ear, closer than you expect it to be, and you inhale sharply as your gaze tears off the discomforting scene unfolding feet ahead of you. He’s already pulling you away before you even offer up a few nods in response, and if Hongjoong or Yunho notices your departure, neither one comments on it. You quickly discover, however, that you are not alone in your discomfort as San speaks again under his breath. “They weren’t speaking at all days ago and now he acts all domestic like that with Yunho as though nothing happened… it’s infuriating to watch.”

“Not at all surprising though, is it?” your words come out through a mutter. You expect some level of retaliation from San given how staunchly he’s defended Hongjoong to you in the past, but now he’s quiet. “Love isn’t easy.”

“Love’s not, but what he does is.”

What he does to Yunho and Seonghwa both — those things should not be considered love to any degree, but you aren’t sure how a man such as Hongjoong shows love. If he feels it at all, that is.

"I'm not sure there's a single one of us who has done it perfectly, I suppose," San continues after a breath of hesitation. "But we can try. To mend the wounds we may cause by accident along the way, and to meet others halfway. Learn how best to love." He doesn't look at you directly but the words are spoken into your heart and soul. You cling to his arm tighter still.

Is this real or am I lying with a lion intent on devouring me for the sake of another?

San gives you his love, and you do not doubt that one bit — those around him have vouched for his fragile heart and kindness far too much for you to doubt him to that degree. There is simply a line in the sand you cannot decipher, where San’s love intersects with Hongjoong’s influence over him. You don't wish to think of these things as of now, however. This trip is meant to be a vacation to some degree, even though you're tasked with other things, and you want to take a vacation from thinking about your captain and his manipulative bullshit as well.

“Did you do this sort of thing often? Before I joined the crew, I mean.” San resituates your hand so that it now sits encased in his, and he pulls it down to dangle between your bodies. The action feels natural, coming with an inherent comfort that makes your heart pulse with emotion.

“From time to time here and there. I wouldn’t say we made a habit of it by any means, but it was a whole lot harder to take trips like this when the crew was more full.”

“Not even after the crew got smaller?”

“Oh, we had a few! But Hongjoong was—” San pauses and his face contorts a little before he continues “—working himself to an early grave at that point. Early on, we took a small trip when it was just Jongho and me on the crew. Hongjoong was doing business, of course, and Seonghwa was still in the phases of not letting him go off anywhere alone, so Jongho and I got to have something of a break.” The memory must be a rather fond one given how wide the smile that pulls at his lips is. “After Hongjoong discovered Jongho in the cargo bay, he changed course to Yuki and we stopped at Rohtah for a short while. Mostly for Captain to find some fresh faces for the crew, so I had to be at his beck and call when necessary. Jongho and I got to bond quite a bit during that trip though so it was… really nice. One of the most pleasant memories I have of being with the crew. At least until Yunho came along! He made the atmosphere so much livelier once he came along, and we started to do some recreational stuff on the ship instead of saving it for when we were planetside. Things we still do now like cards and games, and Jongho got a guitar at one of our stops so we started having music nights and — and everyone would be there, and Hongjoong was there and he would actually be there with us. Not in the corner of the room doing that thing he does where he just stares at us like we’re part of a different world that he can’t join in on.”

San’s rambling is endearing, complete with a sort of child-like excitement that makes his face light up, and you wish desperately that you could share in those happy memories of his with the same joy that he seems to be experiencing at present. Melancholy cuts through it with a jagged edge too, however, making the smile break before it reaches his eyes. The nights where the whole crew partakes in games and fun are so few and far between that they seem distant, and you’ve only seen Jongho pull the guitar from his room on a handful of occasions when you’ve occupied space in the ship for a decently long amount of time now.

“It was inevitable,” San continues just as you’re parting your lips to offer him some kind of comfort, “in many ways. The crew grew too large to keep that atmosphere. We didn’t even have rooms to ourselves at the height of the Scourge’s reign of terror over the starry skies; I shared with Jongho back then, and Yunho before that for a while. The ship was crowded as hell to the point where you couldn’t so much as walk outside the bathroom in your own room without seeing another person there, but it felt so lived in.” You’ve lost sight of Hongjoong and Yunho at this point, and as you continue to walk further into the city, the streets are filling out with the hustle and bustle of locals going about their days. “The Horizon was rarely quiet back then, and I can’t imagine how that impacted our Berserkers, even the several we had outside Jongho and Mingi. It was jarring going from that to… what was virtually silence in the halls.”

“Do you miss those days?” you ask. San’s eyes wander from stall to stall, occasionally searching the doors and signs hanging from buildings along the way.

“Yes and no. I so preferred it when the crew was small and close-knit the way it was before. And even though it’s small now…” Gaze becoming distant, San slows to a halt in the midst of the cobbled street. You don’t push him to keep moving and instead just pull yourself next to him without a word. “Someone ruined that peace we had before. There are still nights where I lie awake, incapable of even closing my eyes because I wish so badly that I had snapped his neck when I had the chance, even if it risked my captain’s hatred and punishment. I wish I hadn’t been a weapon then so that I could’ve acted on my own accord, to do what needed to be done and spared everyone the horror that followed. But that’s not how the universe wanted it to play out, I suppose.”

“Why did Hongjoong not kill that man?” you inquire under your breath, barely looking over at San out of the corner of your eye. He seems all too eager to kill me if I so much as breathe in his direction the wrong way. How could he not kill someone who truly betrayed him so deeply?

“That’s a question for him, not me.” San’s lips twitch in a sorry attempt at a smile. “I have wondered the very same myself for a long time though, so you aren’t alone in your wonder. Come on, I saw a stall over on this side that I wanted a closer look at.” You find some reassurance in the knowledge that San is as unaware as you are, for once, but that creeping thought makes you feel worse about yourself so you push it to the side and let San guide you over to one of the street vendors.

“Come to look at my wares, young ones?” An elderly woman greets you with creased eyes and a smile that brings wisened lines out of her face. “I have all sorts of honeymoon jewelry if that’s what you’re looking for!”

You glance over at San in a panic, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips and you can’t fight it nor can you pinpoint where it comes from to begin with. He’s biting back a grin himself, one that’s a tad more reserved than your own, though his gaze doesn’t fall away from the lady’s for a second.

“Please, show me your favorite pieces. We aren’t married but I would like to find something nice for my partner nonetheless.”

“Not married yet, I see, I see. There’s still time yet! Our little city here is quite the romantic getaway if you know the right places to look, and if you’re up for a little adventure.” You look up from the display of jewelry before you only to make direct eye contact with the woman from across the stand, and she passes you a more than a little obvious wink that makes you exhale what can only be described as a pained laugh. Without thinking too deeply about it, your hand drifts towards a set of earrings on the display case.

"Do you like those?" San asks, eyes flitting over to watch your movements closely. You lay your hand flat against the glass as you lean forward a hair and take a closer look at them. Simple, silver, no gems adorning them, and clearly hand-twisted metal that winds itself into the shape of a curved seven. One of the two has a chain attached to it, short but with a cylindrical shape dangling downwards.

"They're pretty," you murmur before withdrawing your hand and smiling at the woman.

"These are a special set, yes," she hums, "the chime here is a charm of protection." She opens the case and lifts one of the cuffs out, showing off the piece in its full glory with the chime tinkling as she moves it. The sound isn't obnoxious, more like a softer version of the windchimes you saw outside some of the buildings on your walk, and the metal is so polished that you can see your distorted reflection in it. "It is meant to ward off foul intentions and spirits if blessed by a loved one. A very charming piece indeed."

"Ah…" comes your quiet noise of acknowledgment, and the woman reaches out to lift your hand with her own, exposing your palm to the sky as she sets the piece there and nods towards you. You understand the implication of her action, and if you were a bit more bold in that area of things, you would ask San to give his blessing with no shame. It shouldn't be difficult for you either considering how the old woman has already clocked the two of you as a couple, but it feels far too intimate to ask San to do something like that in front of her. Hell, you don't even know if he believes in such acts or if you do yourself really. Would it be too much to ask from him or—

San's hand comes across your vision and covers your palm briefly, and when he pulls away the piece of jewelry is gone from your hand. He clasps his hands together in front of him and lifts them to his face, lips brushing against his thumb as he mouths unknown words against it. In a way, he seems like a man praying before an altar. When his eyes snap back open, he unfolds his hands and presses a kiss to the earring.

"There." San's focus turns to you in that moment, and your eyes meet, and there's a second in which your heart clenches so tightly in your chest that it burns. Your chest aches, eyes stinging from the sudden onset of emotion you see in San’s gaze, and you can do nothing but stand completely still. "Does it go this way?"

You get a moment to breathe again when he diverts his attention back to the shopkeeper so that she can show him which side to put the piece on. Yet when he comes back to you, his hand is reaching up to move the hair around your right ear out of the way, and you can't keep from clasping your fingers around his forearm just to secure yourself to the man in some way. His fingers are hot against your skin (or maybe your ears are flaming with embarrassment) but the metal is blessedly cool as he secures it in its proper place.

"Is it comfortable?" he inquires through the same cat-like grin you recall him wearing the first time you laid eyes on each other. The memory hits you out of nowhere, flashing before your eyes in a split second. Here you are all this time later, in a position and a place you never imagined you would find yourself in, and there's so much love in you as he moves your hands together so that you can cling to him better.

"Yes, it's perfect," you reply. Love blooms so beautifully before your eyes and in your chest as he tucks his chin to his chest and hides glowing cheeks and red-tinged ears.

Turning back to the elderly lady, you find her waiting with the other cuff in hand, and you take it from her with a quiet word of gratitude.

"I'd like these two pieces as well, please," San requests, though you can't see what he's pointing to clearly, and your heart won't calm down enough to let your thoughts return to normal coherence. So, you leave it be and busy yourself with tucking the second cuff around your other ear on your own while San collects his items and pays the woman with his credit chip. He tucks everything into his pocket once she hands them over, and she sends the two of you off with an excited wave.

“I hope all goes well for the two of you. May the spirits watch over you.”

“Thank you, may the spirits watch over you.” San bows his head at her before the two of you walk away. He tilts his head towards yours, whispering as close to your ear as he can get without knocking your heads together. “This city is very firm in spirituality and religion. When I looked at a map with all the buildings shown, I found at least six churches in a fairly small radius. But the spirit shops can be found practically on every street corner depending on what road you’re on. On our walk into the city, I heard almost every native say that phrase in farewell to those they were talking with, so it must be something customary regardless of belief.”

You reach up to toy with the chime hanging from your ear.

“Is that why you blessed this then?”

“Maybe I… an added layer of protection never hurts, especially in our line of work. Even if something small, even if the words and prayers of a nonbeliever are not enough to be a suitable blessing, it at least has my heart behind it. I wish for your safety every night and your happiness every morning anyway, so what’s the harm in hoping this will do the same?”

“San.”

He reaches around your side and pinches your waist between his fingers, a laugh on his lips that echoes against the soft tinkling of wind chimes in the air.

“Come, let’s keep wandering around before we’re called back to our captain’s side.”

────────────

Evening comes quickly, and with it something you dread. The slight consolation you have is that you’re less and less apprehensive with each meeting you have with the therapist-psychologist-psychiatrist medley that is Minho, but it doesn’t keep you from fidgeting in the seat you find yourself in now. Seated outside, the sun has yet to dip under the edge of the mountain range so you can still enjoy the outdoor air some without fear of insanity or whatever else night may bring. Said doctor sits near you, mulling over a mug of what seems to be coffee based on the aroma hanging about your small shared table, and he too watches the edge of the mountains.

“What’s been on your mind recently?”

Despite anticipating such a question, you let out a noise akin to a ‘hm’ and let silence pull back over you.

“A lot and nothing at all, at the same time. And you?”

Minho grins but it’s clear that he does not appreciate your attempt at a joke. “I’m enjoying fresh air and nature that is not confined to a rocky and putrid desert. Our last little planetside visit was far from pleasant vacationing scenery, no?”

“Unless one enjoys freezing winds and bland landscapes, but yes, I’ll agree with you on that.”

The doctor clears his throat around a mouthful of coffee, and you know it’s as subtle as he’s going to be about prompting you to shift the subject to other things. Minho is nothing if not a patient man, however, for better or for worse. You have no way out here, and he is not going to prompt you for a response so your only option here is to answer him.

“I have been having a hard time understanding some people on the crew. Their motives and intentions with me — that sort of thing,” you admit while squinting at the table. In your peripheral, you catch Minho’s glance and continue speaking before he can even begin to ask you to elaborate. “It’s hard to find the line between where they’re being genuine and where they’re trying to get something out of me. I did try to solve the problem on my own. I spoke to someone about it, and yet that led to a rabbit hole and now I find myself doubting much of what I thought to be true. That line of thought only makes me wonder further though. I didn’t doubt so much before. Now I can’t determine whether I was blissfully in the dark or if I’m being led to believe things that are untrue.”

You jerk your chin to the left and stare your companion down, hoping that he’ll understand you’re done venting for the time being. He raises his brows at you over the edge of his mug without ceasing his movements, and after what seems to be a purposefully drawn-out sip, he leans back in his chair and rests the mug on his thigh.

“Interpersonal relationships are difficult by nature. When there are two people close to you saying things that are at odds with each other, it becomes harder. How does one decide who is telling the truth? Are they perhaps both telling some portion of the truth? If you lean more towards one side then does that make you biased? Does it mean you care for one more than the other? Sometimes we fear how our reactions will affect relationships more than what the truth truly is.”

“I do trust one more than the other,” you add through a slight shake of your head. Minho jolts forward a little with an inhale as his lips part to speak again.

“I anticipate that you will not want to use actual names when discussing this, so how about we use hypothetical names in place of them?”

“I’m certain you already know,” you counter in the same breath.

He matches your tone as it drops to a whisper. “What I know or don’t know is not important. This is for your comfort. If bringing their names into this makes you feel uncomfortable or as though you are blaming them, then using fake names can mitigate those feelings. Call them anything — day, night, tree, rock, stone, fuckass and shithead even — whatever you please.” His words have their intended effect in making you let out a breathy laugh.

“I trust… Rock more than I trust Stone.” That goes without saying really because you have known San (or Rock rather) far longer than you’ve known Nightingale. “But Rock doesn’t always answer my questions and often speaks around my questions in such a way that it makes me have doubts. I don’t need him to tell me everything, of course, and I do trust him more than Stone by a landslide. It’s just that what Stone said threw me off.”

“Why are you so quick to take Stone for his word if you trust Rock more?”

“Because it was so eerily close to reality that I was frightened.”

“Did you ask if Stone knew about your reality? Or ask Rock if he spoke about it with Stone before your conversation?”

“I — I didn’t even think to.” Minho is watching your face very carefully, a wry smile planted on his lips. “I’ll do so though.”

“That might be worth a try,” he answers in the same kind tone as always. “Start there, and if the results are not enough to ease your concerns, then we can revisit the conversation at another time.”

“I like that idea.”

“Do you feel more comfortable speaking with me these days, Y/n?”

“I do,” you say, though Minho hardly looks convinced by your answer. “I really do. It’s far easier to have a second voice to offer an opinion. Even if the topics still do make me uncomfortable.”

“Well, that feeling is natural. Those who find it easy to disclose the deepest and darkest parts of themselves to others are often either unaware of their flaws or hiding some pain. We as humans tend to realize what things might be perceived as bad or ugly to others, and thus there is some extent of shame surrounding talking about those things. Even if the perceptions come from stigma.”

“I wouldn’t say I fear your judgment necessarily.”

“Then, shall we try something a bit different today?” Minho’s words are accompanied by the unwelcome noise of his chair scraping against cobbles, and you twist at the waist to follow him with your gaze as he moves away from the table. “Would you be open to laying down over here on your back?” He gestures down towards a bench not far away, one close to the tree that the whole courtyard is centered around, and without verbal response, you move to do as asked.

There’s no need to bother with asking what he wants you to do this for; that question would result in a snarky ‘you’ll see’ or a quick ‘is that a no then’. So, you seat yourself on the bench and lay flat against the cool stone until all you can see are the branches of the tree and bits of darkening sky over your head.

“Close your eyes. I want you to envision your parents first.” Minho’s voice moves around your head, from ear to ear. You see nothing behind your eyelids though, not even a wisp of an idea of the people who are supposed to be so fundamental and crucial in a person’s memories. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions. There’s no need to answer them verbally to me but try to answer them to yourself to the best of your ability. Did you know your parents? What did they look like? What role did they have in your life? What were they like as parents? As people?”

The sole memory you have of them is nothing more than figments and knowledge that was passed onto you by another.

“Happy birthday, my darling. I can hardly believe you’re seven already!” The first voice to touch our ears is deep enough to be that of a man, and the second comes out more feminine and has a certain warmth to it that catches you off-guard.

“Dear, they’re waiting outside.”

“Just… give me but a moment with our child, Marina. They won’t die if I take a few minutes to celebrate our daughter’s day.”

Your father at the very least seemed to love you. Perhaps your mother did as well, in some odd and convoluted way.

“If you can’t recall them well, then a childhood friend? What of them?”

Wooyoung is the most obvious answer to that question, though only because you are aware that you should remember him from your childhood. That remains just as hazy, however, with nothing more than tiny fragments that you have been trying hard to piece together for some time now. He was your childhood friend. Bread boy. Tsukio. The boy with lavender hair who reached for your hand in unending waters time and time again before he could finally reach you.

“Now yourself? Who were you as a child, Y/n? What games did you play? What did you wish to be when you grew up and what did you become? What led you to join the military, pushed you to forget everything and start over?” Minho’s questions are coming too rapidly now for you to keep up with, and you let a noise of frustration slip from your lips as you try to find the answers to everything in your mind. “It’s okay to get frustrated and annoyed. That’s part of the process. But don’t give up quite yet.” His voice comes to a standstill somewhere behind your head, but it still sounds somewhat far and away. “Your identity changed at a certain point, did it not? When you were fourteen years old and decided to take that serum to forget everything that had happened to you before. Who were you in the military?” A killer. “What was your rank, your position, your duty, your unit — what was your purpose?” To kill. “Who were you and what did you become?”

“The Ghost of Eros,” you say aloud without thinking. Something touches your shoulder without warning and every muscle in your body tenses at the sudden breach of focus. Your eyes snap open in hopes of finding the offending touch, but instead, you make eye contact with Minho, who now crouches beside the bench near your head with a very firm and unnerving stare settled on you.

“Who were you before joining the Scourge’s crew?”

Frustration creeps in a second time because you don’t get it. Minho is trying to make a point with all of this, and you still don’t understand what exactly he’s trying to convey to you.

“The Ghost of Eros.”

“And who are you now?”

You sit up, forcing his hand to fall away from your shoulder, and all you can do for several seconds is stare at your lap while shaking your head.

“I’m… it hasn’t changed? I’m still as I was.” Your eyes seek to find Minho once again for answers. He smiles back at you.

“Exactly. You are still the Ghost of Eros, but you need to let yourself believe that again. Your strength didn’t go away, just as you told me that your skills are still with you. Your willpower, intelligence, the things that brought you out of that place you were in — those are skills just the same, and they have not gone away. So you need to stop believing that they have.”

“I-I don’t — what are you trying to get at?” His words seem so intentional and pointed that it makes your head spin somewhat. What does he know that you don’t?

“You are equipped to withstand any trial set before you. Yet when we have these discussions, I find a deep-rooted sense of self-doubt in you. Whether that comes from the confusion of not wholly knowing who you are or from the influence of external forces, it is a hard thing to uproot and remove. I cannot give you a shovel and tell you to dig it out, but I can give you the means to break it down so that it will not grow further. I can remind you that you already have the tools needed to do so if you remember where to look.” Minho sits down in the space behind your back, and you sling your legs to the side so that you can sit parallel to him before the tree ahead of you. “There was a time when your name was second only to the Scourge’s in bars and amongst pirate crews. Is that legacy meant to play second fiddle to his? Is that what you desire? Some parts of you must not want that because you resist authority so heavily. You have forgotten that name and in turn, let him forget it as well. I did not see you cave when faced with the ghosts of your past. You did not cave to a king you perceived to be a tyrant. You have pulled yourself away from so many things, wearing your name as a mantle that represents who you are and what you are capable of. Why do you hesitate to remind your sole competition of the same?”

Minho stares ahead at the tree yet you look to the ground with fingers clenched hard around the edge of the bench. You recall the first time you laid eyes on Hongjoong in the flesh, outside of wanted posters and scant dossiers that did nothing to fully encapsulate the man who is the Scourge of the Black Sea. Even back then, he had looked past you as though you were nothing to him, yet in return, you did not find yourself afraid of him at all. Have you become afraid of him now? Why?

“I wish to be acknowledged as that,” you state resolutely. “Someone strong and fearsome and on his level. He doesn’t treat me like I’m the Ghost of Eros still. I-I want him to.”

Minho hums. “It would be easier to fall in line, would it not?”

Ask yourself what your defiance is really for.

You realize the answer to that question now. Mingi laid down his mantle as the Brute of Kebos for a multitude of reasons, and you can understand now why he views defiance to be a shoddy decision. What he had before was nothing pretty or desirable. The same could be said of your past as well, but you have never desired to set your mantle aside and become something small and diminishable on the Scourge’s crew. A weapon is only as good as the one wielding it, and Hongjoong frankly does not wield you and your abilities as he should.

“It would…”

“With its feet tied and wings clipped, what hope does a caged bird have?” Minho pats your knee before standing up. From where you sit, you can just barely glimpse at the ugly brand sitting on the back of his neck, crude scars and all. “It can still carve its way out with its beak, no? Do not let yourself be buried by those with the intent to put you beneath them. Be strong.” He leaves you with that, alone on the bench in the courtyard before a blooming tree whose roots stretch and pull at the stone meant to cover it.

For the first time, someone is telling you to fight, and fight, you most certainly will.

There’s a good amount of time where you sit in the same place without moving because the conversation has left your head a bit fuzzy. The only reason you don’t linger any longer in the courtyard is because the sun is continuing to dip closer to the horizon and you are not eager to find out what the nightlife is like.

The air clings to your skin a bit when you step through the door, not too different from the humidity outside, but the warmth is welcome in a different way. Music hits your ears at the same time, and you find yourself drifting toward the source of the noise out of sheer curiosity. The sight you find unfolding before you brings pause to your step, though only briefly because your feet are once again compelled to move and push you forwards.

Jongho is the first one you see, sitting on the edge of a couch with a guitar of some sort in his hands — one that must be local to Gorgon due to its foreign appearance. Yeosang sits nearby, close to the couch on some sort of box that he taps the flats of his hands against, and his rhythm matches Jongho’s so perfectly that you’d be hard-pressed to believe that they’ve never done this before. The table that had been set in front of the couch has been dragged to the side to make more space available, and right now Wooyoung occupies that space with Mingi, hands gently folded around Mingi’s forearms like he’s trying to both steady and guide the man at once. You only catch sight of a fifth and final person once you approach the back of a loveseat, and it’s San who sits just barely hidden from sight there. Your arrival brings his attention upwards to you, and you look at each other upside-down. Perhaps it’s the mood in the air, but you allow yourself to indulge a bit here and now, leaning over the back of the sofa to lay a kiss against San’s forehead as he reaches upwards for you. Hands slotting together, he clings to you while you round the loveseat fully and sink down onto the cushion beside him.

“Y/n, Y/n, you have to join in!” Wooyoung laughs as he pulls Mingi around in a circle, eyes not lingering on you for more than a second. Every bit of skin that’s visible on the man is flushed, and the balls of his cheeks are so bright and round that you can’t help but smile just seeing the evident joy on his features. He takes the gesture as an invitation. He’s giggling as he moves Mingi over to the couch where Jongho’s perched before flitting over to you in the blink of an eye. You barely have time to let go of San’s hand before Wooyoung is tugging you up from the loveseat.

“Wait—”

“Indulge me just a little tonight, please?”

Your protest dies in the back of your throat and falls on deaf ears. You wish you had put up more of a fight moments later when Wooyoung starts pulling you into a rather fast-paced and intricate set of footsteps that you can hardly keep up with without trampling his toes every beat or so. Yet — Wooyoung is laughing and happy and throwing his head back so far that the sound of his laughter resonates with the music Jongho and Yeosang are creating. This fragile peace hangs by the thinnest of threads, tied into small knots, and you’re mesmerized by the joy radiating off Wooyoung in waves. It’s not just you either: Yeosang’s eyes follow his lover with every slight shift in muscle, so rapt in his attention yet still not missing a beat as he continues to drum his hands against the box beneath him. Wooyoung spins you out in San’s direction, hand squeezing hard around yours so that you don’t tumble, and in that split second, you make eye contact with your own lover.

It startles you to see the expression on his face. He looks to be in utter awe of what’s unfolding before him, even though you’re certain it’s a mess on your end, yet there’s also a faraway gleam to his gaze that makes you realize he’s not wholly here in this moment with the rest of you. You want to ask what’s on his mind, to know what he’s seeing in his head right now, or what memories are replaying themselves to him if that’s what it is. It’s hardly the time or place for such things, however.

Wooyoung twirls you back into his arms, hands sliding down to secure at your waist. The metal hanging from his neck is a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin and breath as he buries his face into the crook of your shoulder. You aren’t prepared to brace his weight and stumble back over your feet with Wooyoung still clinging tightly to you until you hit the edge of the loveseat. San’s hand juts out to catch you when the two of you tumble to the cushions. Wooyoung is laughing the whole time, hot on your neck, and he sits up on one knee as though nothing happened.

“Change the song!” he requests, returning to his post at the center of the rug. San’s hand drifts towards yours but he only takes hold of your fingers rather than your whole hand as he usually does. You jolt upon looking over at him, solely because there’s another body behind the loveseat and a face pressed between yours and San’s that you were not expecting to see. It’s Yunho who fills the space between your face and your lover’s — mostly recognizable through his side profile and also his blond hair that’s beginning to grow in dark at the roots. He’s clearly fresh out of the shower if his damp hair is any indication of such along with the faint scent of something minty radiating off of him.

“What are we watching?” he asks, bringing his elbows up to rest on the back of the couch.

“Wooyoung is putting on a show for us,” San hums in response, and his fingers curl around your index finger. “You just barely missed Y/n’s ever-so-graceful dance moves too!”

“Oh, stop,” comes your whine as embarrassment washes over you with San’s confirmation that it was indeed a very messy ordeal. Yunho laughs, head pulling up to watch Wooyoung’s new performance. The music shifts, first with Jongho then with Yeosang changing his rhythm to follow along with the Berserker on the box drum. Wooyoung’s eyes flutter shut, and the music takes hold of him like a spell has been cast on his body. There’s a certain delicate nature to his movements now that is far different than how he danced with Mingi and in turn you. The collar around his neck drags up and down against his skin with each twist of his body, yet his happiness persists even with what must be an agonizing discomfort. If not for his upbringing and what you know of his youth, you would imagine he made a living out of this at some point in his life. He has both the grace and the appearance of a dancer, between his lithe figure and his pretty features, and it wouldn’t be impossible to believe that there are many people who would pay a great deal to see him perform. Here you sit, surrounded by crewmates and friends, watching the scene unfold without a credit spent. Luck comes to mind because it does feel something like a blessing to experience this in such a joyful atmosphere. Wooyoung’s voice rises into the mix alongside Jongho’s, though a tad more breathy than the latter’s due to the fluid movements he’s trying to maintain while singing.

“Pardon, but the master asked that I bring freshly brewed tea for our guests. Mushroom tea, a local specialty. Please enjoy your stay here with us.” You and San both take the teacups handed to you on a silver platter by the young woman who has approached the loveseat. Yunho is the only one to refuse it yet gratitude still pours from his lips nonetheless, and the lady bows her head. She moves over to Mingi next, careful not to disturb the rest who are bringing the merry festivities to the room.

The tea is close to scalding but just shy of it so you can sip comfortably from the top while watching Wooyoung’s performance continue to unfold. The words of the song are solemn in comparison to how upbeat the music itself sounds, even down to the smile pulling at Wooyoung’s lips while he sings along. You hardly need to be a genius to figure out the meaning of it — it’s a tried and true farewell song, one saying goodbye to times past and people no longer present, sung with a dissonant joy that makes the tea taste bitter on your tongue.

Yunho inches out of your peripherals, and you angle your head in his direction only to catch him walking towards the stairs without a word. At first, you wonder if the song is what compelled him to leave or perhaps he simply wishes to retire for the night and not disturb everyone on his way out. Content with that reasoning, you redirect your focus once again, only to catch sight of someone else at the other end of the room, tucked away a bit and somewhat hidden from sight. Not enough to be wholly hidden, obviously, but enough so that he will not disturb anything happening in the main area. It’s Hongjoong, of course, because any other member of the crew would have approached without care for being perceived. This is not the first time you have been witness to your captain’s insecurities surrounding his crew; however, seeing the man appear so small in his attempts to hide himself fills you with an odd sense of justified satisfaction. Has he earned a place at this table? Suffered the way these people have for his whims and desires? The answer is clear in your mind — no, he has absolutely not.

The song draws to a close, and you down the rest of your tea before ridding Hongjoong of your attention. San leads with a round of applause, one that both you and Mingi quickly echo. Wooyoung’s attention returns to you before anyone else.

“Jongho knows lots of traditional songs that we know,” he exhales through little gasps for air. “Yeosang and I, I mean. Songs we learned growing up on Aera.” He blows off the fumble of words so easily that you don’t even see a shift in emotion on his features.

“That one was rather sad.”

“It’s a funeral song! Or — a dirge, rather, for people who have departed. Either from life or gone off to new places in the universe, so that’s why the lyrics are so dismal. The song itself and the dance are for celebration though. Celebrating the life and time shared with those departed. I’ve done it a few times before just for fun like this!”

“Never for its true purpose?” you inquire out of sheer curiosity. Wooyoung’s smile turns into a close-lipped one that’s soft around the edges.

“Only once for that purpose.” He lets his words hang long enough for you to feel the weight of them, then he flits over to where Yeosang sits and drapes himself over the man like a blanket. Jongho’s fingers don’t rest on the guitar strings, and he continues to strum out another tune that Yeosang joins in once again, but Wooyoung rests his feet for now. Not his voice, it seems, as he continues singing quietly, words pushed into Yeosang’s shoulder rather than to the entire room.

“The tea made me a bit sleepy, so I think I’m gonna head upstairs,” you say to the man beside you. San nods a few times but refuses to let go of your hand even when you stand up from the loveseat. He comes along with you, in fact, setting his cup down beside yours on the nearby table. The energy of the night is beginning to wear off, and it’s draining fast from your body. San is humming beside you to the song Jongho plays, and you feel him tapping out the melody against your knuckles. You have felt this kind of peace more times than you can count while part of this crew, but it has seemed quite far away for a while now. You squeeze tighter at San’s hand like you’re waiting for the inevitable, like glass is about to shatter and the illusion of peace will become nothing but shards before you. Yet, none of that happens, and you revel in this moment you’re living in while climbing the stairs to the second floor of the hostel.

San pushes the door to your joint room open with one hand, tugging you in alongside him as a giggle tears from your lips. There’s a moment where you fall into his side, hand bracing on his hip when you collide into each other’s space. Then San is drifting away from you and letting your hands return to your sides. He steps over to the dresser with a song still on his lips.

“Hi,” you say to break the lull in conversation.

“Hello, star,” he replies with a fond little smile. You return the gesture as you slowly shut the door.

“Finally alone, hm?”

San’s focus pulls harder toward you. He gives up on his current task of pulling a change of clothes out to stare directly at you.

“Careful, my darling, a man could take such words to mean all sorts of things.”

You dip your chin to your chest and laugh, shaking your head as you push into the room. It’s not that you’re looking for anything in particular — sexual, you mean — and the two of you haven’t fucked around in several days, mostly out of joint avoidance and going straight to bed once you’ve gone about your days separately. You aren’t keen on anything now, either. There’s a knot in your gut that won’t unfurl, coupled with the recollection of what occurred last time. You thought of another man. San called you treasure. There was some degree of an argument which resulted in you asking for sex to feel better, and San, who is one to voice when something is not okay in the bedroom, complied eagerly. Maybe you both made mistakes that night, and all you could do to patch the wounds you left on each other was fuck it out of your systems.

San watches you carefully as you make your way to the bed and sit on the edge of it. He mirrors your movements by sitting on the dresser, hands clasped around the edge of it. The impending conversation must weigh on him too given how his usual teasing jokes don’t persist. Though your peace was far from an illusion and you do not wish to tarnish it, you do know that letting your thoughts fester any longer will cause monumental problems in the long run. As it is, you have already told yourself this can wait until tomorrow, let’s just enjoy tonight time and time again. If not now, then when because there will always be another excuse you can pull out of your back pocket to explain why it’s not a good time to speak.

“You called me your treasure the other night.”

“I— um, did you… when was this?” San fidgets in his seat, and you see him visibly nervous for the first time in a long time before you. “I’m not trying to play dumb, I just genuinely don’t recall th—”

“Why did you call me that? In that moment, what made you say that?” It isn’t your intention to interrupt him so harshly, but you fear losing your nerve or caving too soon when this conversation needs to happen desperately.

San exhales slowly and blinks at you several times.

“Y/n…?”

“It was when you went down on me while I was crying for fuck’s sake, San! Do you really not remember?”

“I… I do. Well, I remember that night, yes, but — Y/n, I truly don’t remember calling you that.” His mouth hangs slightly agape as he looks at the floor, searching for nothing in particular. “I went down on you because I wanted to make you feel good because you asked me to make you feel good. I wanted it too, I would have said something if I didn’t, and I would never push for something I didn’t think you wanted either. I wanted you to feel good and cherished because you weren’t feeling that way in that moment, I wanted to s-show you physically how much I want you. It wasn’t for any other reason, I promise. I don’t know how I can prove that to you but please say the word and I will do whatever to do so.”

Your jaw snaps shut, and you tighten your hold on yourself by pulling your arms tighter around your body.

“I wouldn’t… would never call you that, Y/n. That’s something that — Hongjoong calls Seonghwa that. I wouldn’t dare call you that too.” He frowns. “I know things are still shaky between us and that you don’t trust much of what I say in relation to him, but please believe that this is me being wholly honest with you. I would not call you such a thing because I do not want you to believe that I view you the way Hongjoong views Seonghwa.” He inhales and looks towards the door as though someone will be there to tell him off for what he wishes to say next. “That would be cruel.”

You go so still that even your breathing halts for a few seconds. San presses his lips into a thin line and swallows around nothing. He appears more determined when he speaks again.

“Implying that I view you as a mere treasure to be had and used would be cruel. In my eyes, you could hang the very stars in the sky if you so wished, you are the stars themselves, and in my next life, I hope to be a galaxy so that I can hold you in my heart for as long as I live. I love you. I truly do. I would not wish for us to ever be like them or have a relationship like theirs and I do not want you to believe that my love is conditional on your being useful to me because it's not.”

It speaks volumes to both his character and how he views his captain. And yet, it also shows you how deeply roots the seeds Hongjoong has planted are, and you fear for your sanity for creating such a thing out of thin air like that. Silence hangs. San is smart. You’re more than well aware of that. He’s perceptive and intelligent in many ways, which means that if what he’s saying is what he perceives to be truth then he can put two and two together. You thought he called you his treasure, Hongjoong calls Seonghwa that, you were thinking of Hongjoong while having sex with San.

"Is that true?" Your voice comes out meek. Shame creeps in alongside embarrassment and humiliation because in retrospect (and when you look past your muddled feelings of anger and confusion) San’s explanation does truly make more sense. Why would he call you that? He has not been cruel to you when it comes to Hongjoong. Even if he were toying with you, he has not been heartless.

"I swear on my life, Y/n. If that's not enough then I will gladly set myself before Minho or Yunho or Mingi and have any of them interrogate me in front of you. They’ll know whether I’m lying or not without fault." San steps away from the dresser, yet your gaze is still firmly set on the ground when he comes to sit beside you. A laugh escapes from your lips as the mattress dips next to you.

“Is this what Seonghwa feels like? Going fucking insane and it’s all because of that… that man.” You don’t need to look San in the face to know what expression he wears, because he reaches for one of your hands and takes it between both of his. “Before I went to see Hongjoong that night, I had fought with Seonghwa. About a lot of things but it’s all left me with a lot to think about. Much of what he said hurt me deeply, especially hearing him tell me that I was a substitute for someone else in his mind.” The admission that you did the same lies on the tip of your tongue, and it’s already partly out in the open, but there’s not enough bravery in you to tell San that now, or that you thought of Hongjoong more recently either. “He also told me there are many ways in which Hongjoong has been orchestrating my destruction from the very start. Going from that fight to an argument with Hongjoong too was very damaging to my confidence and my psyche say the least.”

“What happened with Hongjoong?” San inquires, still careful in how he broaches the subject. “I was told that you were forced in line, but is that true?”

“He made me kneel. Or rather he ordered Mingi to make me kneel, and he did. I did.” Pressure hits your shoulder, the full weight of San’s head as he pushes his cheek to your arm and leans into you. “Seonghwa is suffering some sort of mental breakdown of an insane degree and has no one to help him out of the grave he and Hongjoong both have dug beneath his feet.”

“I’ve been trying to help,” San interjects quietly, though it’s staggered by wetness in his tone that’s hard to ignore, “to no avail whatsoever.”

The thought of running away from it all crops up in your mind again. To take San and Wooyoung and Yunho and Seonghwa and everyone — taking them all away and running without looking back. Yet, if you were to do that, everything would so quickly fall apart that the ends would not be worth what it took to bring you there. Hongjoong is many terrible, awful things, but in the very least he contains in him the inherent ability to unite people under his command. You couldn’t do such a thing, nor could you in good conscience be harsh when the time came. What’s running rampant through your mind correlates with real life, and you squeeze San’s hand over yours harder.

“Hongjoong purposefully isn’t letting Seonghwa on this mission because he’s worried too. That’s why Yunho is going instead. Seonghwa is hardly happy about it but he needs the break.” San exhales a quivering sigh. “He needs a break from his duties as lieutenant, at least for now, and Hongjoong is trying to let him have that. There are things only he can do of course — like the dealings with the cargo and having that all settled but those are easier in comparison. Seonghwa doesn’t usually let anything slip when things are awry in his head, he keeps his mask up, and he tries his best to put on a front for the crew. Though it’s never been explicitly stated before the whole crew, everyone pretty much knows that he is not an Elitist. We just… know our boundaries and respect that we should not expect to be told. I was told, as the captain’s left hand. I respect secrets, and I respect privacy. Anything told to me in confidence will be taken to my grave unless I am told it is information safe to be shared. I do not hide things out of malicious intent. That being said, I will do my best to be more open and honest with you moving forward. Would you please do the same in return?”

“I am honest with you already,” you cut in almost in an instant. San’s hand flexes around yours. “But I will… I’ll continue to do so.”

His frown is felt against your shoulder.

“If that were true then you would not be revealing truths to me now.”

“I’m sorry.” The tension that rises in your muscles forces his head off your arm. “I’m really sorry.”

“I’m not chastising you, beloved, breathe.” You’re already turning to look at his face when he reaches up with a hand to cup your cheek. “I love you. So deeply and so dearly.”

“I love you too.”

“Let’s do this without having sex. Right now, let’s just talk… without it turning into sex.” You nod against his hand. San is gnawing hard at his lower lip, and it’s already swollen from what must be continued abuse in an attempt to keep tears at bay considering how red the corners of his eyes are. “Do you wanna go out on the balcony?”

Your hands do not separate when he stands, and you stay as close to him as possible when following him to the door like he’s the one thing keeping you tethered to reality at the moment.

Outside, night has fallen, but the small balcony before you sits covered and enclosed by panes of glass. Below you can see the courtyard where you and Minho were earlier, exposed to the night air and the toxins it brings, but up here it’s like another world. The torches continue to bloom with their purple flames along the buildings, fluorescent green lights accent places where the streets are too dark to be lit by flame alone, and silver chimes glint every so often when the wind nudges them in the right direction.

“The town looks pretty at night,” you note as San leads you to a seat near the glass.

“Quite beautiful indeed.” He squeezes your hand one last time before pulling away at last and sitting down in the chair beside yours. When you glance his way, you find him picking at the skin under his nails and watching the skin peel back to reveal something raw and tender beneath. “I am going to tell you some truths that are hard for me to admit, let alone process still. Despite thinking about it and practicing what I want to say in my head time and time again, I may struggle with how to say things. After you went to the bathroom to wash up that night with Seonghwa, he told me that Hongjoong was the sole person on his mind. That hurt me to hear, so I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to pass that pain onto you as well. I overheard a bit of the commotion in the kitchen when the two of you fought, and Seonghwa had told me that he would be honest with you eventually. I wouldn’t need to be a genius to figure out that it wouldn’t go over well. Foolishly, I had thought that I could be someone to help mend the hurt both of you were feeling — your hurt from how things between you and Seonghwa ended, and Seonghwa’s hurt from once again being tossed away by his love. Seonghwa’s eagerness made me believe that it was more okay than it turned out to be, or perhaps he went into it from the start with one thing — or person, rather — on his mind.”

You remain quiet in the face of San’s admissions, even when he takes a moment to breathe and stare out at the city. His hands still in his lap and finally let his fingers have a break from the harm he was doing to them just seconds ago. He grips the armrests of his chair hard and uses his momentum to turn it more toward you. You’re faced with his rapt attention now, as his elbows come to rest on his knees and he clasps his hands between them.

“It’s true that I once had a physical relationship with Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Never just one of them alone; I was always asked to be the third for when they desired it, and I was more than happy to be that for them. We’ve discussed my views on relationships and romantic versus sexual partnerships before, and I’ve had those beliefs for a long time. However, I haven’t fully learned that it’s not so easy for everyone to fall into those roles and that the act of being a third is not always cut and dry. It’s suited for some people like myself, and not for others, which is understandable and completely fine. I thought as well that the two of you having experience with each other sexually would provide comfort and ease. What I did not do was take into consideration the hurt left between you or how sensitive the situation was for everyone involved. I take full responsibility for that night, regardless of who was thinking about what during, and I am so deeply apologetic for being the one to facilitate that. I wanted to speak and apologize to you first, but I do want to offer the same apology to Seonghwa as well.” He waits then with teeth sunk into his lower lip so hard that it disappears from the pressure. It’s your time to speak, to offer an explanation or an acknowledgment of all that he’s poured out to you, but your mind is so full of a clusterfuck of thoughts that all that comes out in the end is —

“I feel like a whore.”

It stuns the both of you in the same way, and San’s expression freezes as he simply stares at you unsure of what to say to that. The shock is almost comical if not for the severity of your conversation at present.

“Would you please tell me why you feel that way?” he asks once the initial shock of your comment passes.

“I was not very present that night. I didn’t feel like I was in my right mind, but know that I did not feel pressure to do anything out of my comfort zone. I was the one who misread my own signals and sought something in physical comfort to ease my thoughts. Seonghwa was clearly not wholly there either, as we know, and the two of us took it out on each other. Since then, I’ve been feeling the way I did that night during sex and it’s driving me mad. I don’t wish to have those thoughts or constantly be reminded of that night but it comes on of its own volition.”

“Okay then full stop, we slow down. Sex isn’t a must.”

“Well, it’s difficult because we depend so heavily on being physical to show affection for one another.”

“That just means we can find new ways to share our affection,” San says through a smile, “and we can still cuddle and hug and kiss even. Being physical and offering comfort is not inherently sexual. I have to learn that too. I’m such a physical person in every way. I adore giving in every way I can physically to show my feelings, but that clouds and muddies things a lot. A healthy relationship with sex doesn’t mean always having sex though. There are other ways we can do things together or other ways to connect and be with each other intimately. But—” he leans back and squares his shoulders, still smiling ever so softly at you “—while I’m thinking clearly, I’m going to say that I know continuing to have sex while you are struggling with your thoughts during it and we’re both in need of healing our relationship towards it is not the best thing to do. I’m not at all willing to ask it of you until you definitively tell me otherwise.”

“I love you so much,” you murmur, and San’s nose scrunches at the sudden confession. He blows a kiss your way as he leans back in his chair once more, settling into it more comfortably now that his thoughts are out in the open.

“You know, I’ve been reading some of the books you keep on your shelves lately. The Siren ones, I mean. Since you told me of your identity, I’ve been curious to learn more about what it means to be one. I didn’t know you were so cool.” Your laughs echo in the enclosed area of the balcony, mixing together.

“Sorry, but I can’t show off or anything. I don’t know how to do much at all.”

San reaches an arm over to your chair and you seek his hand with your own like it's second nature to do so.

“Even the little things about you impress me. You don’t need to do much.” His thumb rubs methodical little lines against the base of your index finger. “The music and the dancing were lovely, weren’t they?”

“It was all very nice. Lively too, and happy.”

“I’ve always loved performances like that,” San says with a smile tugging the corners of his mouth up. “When I was younger, growing up with the Taskmaster and Father — my captain at the time, I mean — I got to have one tablet. At the orphanage, I wasn’t allowed any personal belongings, and though I spent most of my time confined to one small cell, it still had a few things here and there to make the space mine. Besides the collar on my neck and chain keeping me to the wall, of course.” The crude attempt at a joke doesn’t make you laugh as much as it makes you terribly sad. The times when San openly discusses the grim details of his youth are few and far between. The more you learn of how he was forced to grow up, the more your heart aches inside your check, and the desire to close yourself around the icy stake in his chest spikes exponentially. “It had all sorts of training videos on it to help me learn to be more effective in my role on the crew. Part of the combat training videos were dances, meant to teach how to move in a way that could conserve the body’s energy. Since my abilities are so dependent on stamina, that sort of training was beyond crucial. But instead of using them for that purpose, I used to hide under the covers on my bed and watch those dances in secret though, just for fun rather than learning. And I got caught once by my father.”

“Did he punish you for it?”

“Rather than punishing me, he instead took me to a performance. Taskmaster Cara disagreed with the choice vehemently but Father didn’t pay her any mind. He simply wanted to bring me to the show. It was a night circus, traveled across the stars with the act, but we ended up seeing the show on Kebos of all places. It was a different city from where Mingi and Yunho grew up, so the coincidences stop there, though that would have been pretty special if it had been. Um… if I remember right, it was winter and snowing at the time, which was a first for me too. In the tent they had set up for the circus, there was this enormous rink of ice. Father got us seats right up by the railings and—” San cuts himself off with a laugh as he pushes his free hand out in front of him like he’s reliving the memory “—two automatons were dancing on the ice with wheels in place of feet to help them move. I remember it was the most fascinating and beautiful thing I had seen in my life. That memory — it was my happiest as a child. So seeing Wooyoung dance… it always reminds me of that experience and that feeling I had then. But seeing the two of you dance together tonight made me especially sentimental. Even though it wasn’t the same… I felt like I was seeing it all over again. Thank you for taking me back to that place.”

You squeeze your fingers around San’s.

“I hope we can share a lot more of those kinds of memories too.”

San’s response comes in a rounded smile, then he settles back in his chair with his eyes shut and a hum in his throat. Though you don’t recognize the tune, you can only imagine it’s that song from the dance he witnessed all those years ago. In the descending night, you think that maybe the two of you will be okay after all.

────────────

The blissful peace that hangs in the air remains undisturbed until you and San are getting ready for bed. It’s then that a knock comes at your door, and with San in the bathroom washing his face, you take it upon yourself to be the one to answer it. You could have thrown at several guesses as to who would be waiting on the other side, and even the idea that it might be someone who works at the hostel would have come to mind before the man who is actually waiting there.

“Mingi…” you exhale in partial shock.

“Would you please come on a walk with me, Ghost?” His gas mask hangs loose around his neck, and he reaches up to point at it when your gaze flits downwards. “Bring yours if you’d like to come along.”

“Why not here?”

“There are too many eyes and ears here. The walls are thin. I would rather not talk about this in front of San. I do not want it to go back to the wr—to other people.” Every bit of his reasoning comes across as very matter-of-fact, but it all makes sense and you can’t argue with it.

“Okay,” you say through a nod, “okay, hold on.”

Mingi remains at the door as you move back to the bathroom, leaning through the doorframe to catch San’s attention while he’s brushing his teeth.

“I’m going out for a little bit with Mingi.”

San hums before leaning over the sink and spitting what’s left in his mouth out. “Be safe and bring your mask. Don’t worry about waking me when you get back if I’m asleep, just come in comfortably. I’ll try to stay up until you return though.”

“You don’t have to do that.” The way he’s smiling at you implies that he won’t listen to your words. “Sleep well, I love you.”

“I love you too. Dearly. Let me know if there are any pretty sights out there at night!”

You retrieve your mask from the top of the dresser on your way back to where Mingi is patiently waiting.

“I apologize for bringing you out so late,” the Berserker says once you shut your bedroom door behind you.

“No, it’s alright. You’ll be awfully busy with the cargo tomorrow as well, so this is fine. Besides, part of me is curious about what’s so special about nighttime here.” Mingi doesn’t laugh when you do, but he does plaster on something semi-adjacent to a smile. The two of you both secure your masks around your faces before even reaching the bottom of the stairs, although you have to fiddle with the straps a lot more than he does to make it sit comfortably over your nose. Mingi presses the door open with one hand, and you brace yourself for something dramatic or violent to happen yet that never comes. Air filters in and out of your gas mask, not even leaving a scent to pass through.

“Please, follow me. I found a spot while I was making cargo trips today that looked quite nice. I think it’ll be a good spot to talk.” He walks slow enough for you to keep up without a struggle, even if you are somewhat distracted by examining every inch of your surroundings as you go. It’s fascinating to a certain extent because, despite all the warnings and concerns about nighttime, you still find an inordinate amount of people milling about the cobbled streets freely. No masks in sight on many, and some have them on their being but only hung about their necks like the masks are nothing but a statement piece and nothing functional to be used. The sight makes your skin itch and burn, a certain level of discomfort washing over you as you urge yourself to keep pace with Mingi. The chime hanging down from your right ear jingles with every step you take, and it sounds so awfully loud against the thick material of the mask.

The Berserker brings you over to the edge of the gorge, somewhere along the very place you initially arrived at, where there is nothing but braided rope stretched taut between lampposts to keep people from tumbling to an unsightly doom. Those same lampposts bear purple flames just as the others you saw in the city, but to see them against the night skin makes their glow seem all the more ominous. Down below lies that foggy ravine, although you can’t bear to look at it for long.

Mingi pauses by the ropes and grips the topmost one with both hands. You join in alongside him, squeezing the material tight as you look over across the gorge. In the night, you can just hardly make out the outline of The Horizon in the distance, yet it looks so terribly foreign and desolate with it’s lights fully shut off.

“May I ask you something about Sirens?”

“Oh! Yes, absolutely, though I may not be ab—”

“Is Jongho a Siren?”

“—what?” You blink at your companion several times before his words sink in. “What?!”

“Is Jongho a Siren?” he repeats like nothing he said was out of the ordinary in the slightest.

“He’s — he’s a Berserker. He’s got the red eyes, and the strength of at least twenty men combined, and he can do things the rest of us can’t.”

“Yes, but he can influence emotions, no?” Mingi lets one hand fall to his side in favor of turning more toward you.

“Well, yes.”

“Can you? As a Siren?”

“Not like that, I can only—” you’re forced to bite your words back when the risk of exposing the others presents itself. Mingi will know if you’re lying, he’ll feel the increase in your heart rate surely like a shark smelling blood in the water. You must do your best to choose your next words so carefully that he won’t even suspect there are others amongst the crew. “Sirens can only sense other Sirens’ emotions. I cannot feel what you are feeling at this moment. The best I can do for anyone who is not a Siren is sympathize or empathize with them from person to person, but I cannot genuinely and truly know what they’re feeling. Nor can I feel those feelings myself. What Jongho does is different. He feels everyone’s emotions as though theirs are his own, like you do I’m sure, but he’s no Siren.”

“He draws emotions out of others like a siphon and takes them onto himself. Sirens are not capable of anything like that?”

Again you bite your tongue. What Mingi knows of Sirens must be very cut and dry — anything that could be drawn out of a book or fed to him through people such as Hongjoong or Yunho. If Seonghwa spoke to him, there’s no way of knowing what extent of the truth the man shared with Mingi. For the best, you would be wise not to mention the existence of Sirens such as Wooyoung and yourself.

“No, they are not.” You look down at where your hands cling to the rope barrier, finding your knuckles white with the effort of gripping it. “The most I can do is try to soothe another Siren by projecting my feelings towards them like some sort of projection, but that does nothing to force any certain emotion onto them. They will still feel the same as they did but simply be made aware of what I am feeling too. And that ability does not work on people who aren’t Sirens.” Except for the fact that I have forced thoughts into Hongjoong’s head somehow.

Mingi redirects his gaze to the gorge.

“Part of me desired a different answer honestly.”

“I… don’t understand?”

“I wished to hear that Jongho’s abilities were that of some strange cross between a Siren and a Berserker that muddled the genetic pool of his abilities. For years, he has been the one to assist me in coming down from episodes. While Captain and Healer have made attempts to do so themselves, they consistently require Jongho’s help. He is always the one called to do so. I know for certain that there are times when I feel myself fighting back urges, when I am strong enough to win back control from the voices without Jongho using his little ability… I still cannot help but doubt how much of it comes from my own efforts and how much is his influence with that trick.” The Berserker’s voice remains void of any clue as to what he’s feeling, but the stare he casts over the gorge seems so forlorn that it makes your chest ache. “I know why he does it, but I also know why he does it without telling those he’s taking from most times. Because he knows they would not approve and that, in his mind, there is something morally grey about it.” It draws a sigh out of Mingi’s lips, and he turns around, leaning against the railing with his elbows propped up on the rope. “Do you not find it selfish?”

“I understand Jongho is trying to help so it’s hard to say that there is something inherently bad in what he’s doing,” you say as quietly as you can manage while still being audible. “I caught him doing it to me one time, and that enraged me beyond belief because it was against my will. I was robbed of the choice to feel my emotions. Is that selfish?”

“Yes.” You expected as much. “Doing something that robs another of a choice is always selfish and self-serving, even if there is good to be had in doing it. I do not wish to think of him as selfish because I’m aware that he has very particular reasons for doing what he does — as an act of self-preservation and to try to even out the moral scales that he believes are tipped against him.”

“What would truly be different if he were a Siren?”

“Ah. Well then, I could at least assume that Captain was the one pulling the strings behind Jongho in an attempt to keep me on my leash. Not that that would be needed for me in particular. My loyalty has never wavered regardless of what Captain has done in the past, but then again, he has never tried to do anything to me directly.” Mingi’s gaze slips down to you, torn from the scene ahead of him that consists of watching natives move above the streets. “Sorry.” The single word is flat and void of any semblance of emotion.

“Why’re you saying that?”

“Because that’s what people do when they desire to console others.”

“Do you feel that I need to be consoled?” His words hadn’t made you feel any type of way — positive or negative — so it’s a wonder why Mingi would think you need to be comforted by an apology right now. The Berserker tilts his chin back, and it forces his gaze to the night sky overhead.

“No,” he starts, “you feel oddly neutral tonight with me.” Though you cannot see a smile thanks to his gas mask, you are the recipient of a rare laugh from the man. You have no clue what caused him to laugh, but it’s nice to hear the sound nonetheless.

“You don’t need to say sorry. I understand why my loyalty needs to be twisted into place in Hongjoong’s eyes.”

“You killed a king before, didn’t you?”

“…Yes.”

“Why?”

The question stumps you not because you cannot think of a reason but rather because many immediate answers fight to be at the forefront of your mind.

“He was a bad person.”

“Yet you view Captain as such too.” Mingi once again redirects focus to you. this time you make direct eye contact with the man, and the deadpan expression across his face combined with his next words makes your gut twist with anxiety. “Were you to try to kill him then I would kill you.”

“He would kill me himself long before I got the chance to even dream up the thought of doing such a thing.” Mingi does not appear wholly convinced. “Oddly enough, I do not want him dead so I suppose we’re all safe.”

Mingi clenches and unclenches his fists, easing his elbows further back on the railing. You can see the ship in the distance still, far across the gorge and still settled on the landing pad. It looks strangely lifeless in this light, with the knowledge that no one is aboard, yet you think that it is a long overdue rest for all her hard work and flights of late.

“Do you view yourself as a good person, Y/n?” Mingi angles his body towards you as he poses the question. Rather than giving you an opening to respond, he continues on speaking, “In the books I read, good and evil exist, and good always tries to end the evil. So do you view yourself as the good trying to kill the evil in this universe?”

“No.” You clear your throat before beginning again with more confidence in your tone. “No, I do not. What’s bad in my eyes very well may be good in others. There were many who were happy with the king, who thought him good, and he did do good at times. He was not all bad, but I perceived him as such for a short time. All it takes is that short time to want to do something bad to someone you think deserves it.”

“I fail to understand it that way,” your companion retorts. “My father told me before every match in the arena that the opponent was nobody of worth or value in the universe. They were neither good nor evil by his standards. Just a life that did not need to be lived, and it was my job to make way for other lives in place of theirs.”

“Then your father was trying to teach you that you were doing something good?”

“To an extent, sure, but I never understood it that way because I never had an understanding of emotion or good versus evil back then. And maybe good and evil don’t exist at all, maybe it’s all perception that’s in the eye of the beholder.” He angles his head further down but looks off over your shoulder with a sort of faraway gleam in his dark red eyes. “Perhaps at the end of the day… all we do are things that are based on a perception that we try to convince ourselves is a universal truth.” He sees something behind you, yet there is nothing but air and a freefall there. A ghost, perhaps, that has come to haunt him for merely breathing the faintest mention of his father.

All of a sudden, he shoves away from the railing and steps off like he’s going to head back the way you came.

“We should head back now before it gets too late.”

“You go on ahead, I want to stay out a bit longer.” In the blink of an eye, Mingi is back at your side, head drawn so close to your ear that his mask bumps against yours.

“It would be best to leave now and save the sightseeing for later.” His hushed tone urges you to glance back at your surroundings, and what reads as concern to you is fortified by the lingering stares sent your way by those on the streets.

“I understand.” Yet still when Mingi tries to leave again, you remain rooted to the spot. Something else crosses your mind suddenly, something San had said to you in regard to his honesty. “Mingi. Have you ever seen San be cruel?”

Silence.

The Berserker turns his body until it’s perpendicular to yours and finds you still lingering at the railing.

“What does it look like?” you continue upon deciphering his silence as affirmation.

“…Like nothing you have ever seen.” He extends a hand towards you. “Come.”

How would you know that, how could you know such things, when doors are shut and I’m in his arms? Who could possibly know?

Your heart soars with his words nonetheless. Despite it all, here Mingi stands still trying to reassure you.

Your gaze lingers on the foggy waters below, with their odd glow and minty green hue. Something rattles you, another thing beckons you.

“There’s something down there,” you utter once you release your grip on the railing and take Mingi’s hand.

“I know,” he says quietly, “I hear it too.”

Mingi delivers you to your door safely and in one piece. He bids you goodnight with a small bow of his head but not a single comment concerning all that the two of you discussed on your excursion outside. Just as you’re turning the door handle to go inside, he pauses in the hallway and thanks you for your time. The conversation plays on repeat in your mind as you change into nightclothes and wash your face. When you join San in bed at long last, he has already fallen asleep with a book folding over his bare chest. It seems he really did try to stay awake waiting for you to return. You turn the light beside the bed off. Your mind is still far too busy to let you shut your eyes right away, so you spend some time facing San and staring at his profile through the darkness.

Mingi had seemed so sure of what he said. You rest a hand on San’s cheek and turn his face towards you just to see his features better. He barely shifts at the touch.

“Even if something small, even if the words and prayers of a nonbeliever are not enough to be a suitable blessing, it at least has my heart behind it. I wish for your safety every night and your happiness every morning anyway, so what’s the harm in hoping this will do the same?”

The trinkets on your ears feel so heavy under the weight of that blessing.

“Missed you,” San mumbles suddenly, clearly less asleep than you initially thought. He adjusts to drape an arm around your body and brings your head up to lay flat against his chest. No more words are exchanged as he goes right back to sleep, but you lay there with your ear atop his heart listening to the steady and rhythmic thumping like it’s a lullaby to put you to bed.

Good people can do bad things just as bad ones can do good. Those are the words you wished you had shared with Mingi earlier. But in his perspective, that is entirely incorrect.

Maybe people are simply that — people. Good and bad are things normal, regular, plain people do, but not definitive of what they are at the end of the day. It’s a rather beautiful outlook on the universe, you must admit.

──────────── a/n: yoohoo big summer (delayed delayed delayed) blowout! moc style! aheem aheem. i apologize every chapter for delayed updates so im certain lots of yall are like yeah yeah caly okay... okay... but! here we are. i wrestled a lot with many parts of this chapter and was super unhappy when i finished (beyond just being relieved it was over) but after my besties read it and gave me feedback i feel so much better about it and my writing so i am very happy with this <3

so! from this chapter on (i will be mentioning this again in the next chapter and the subsequent ones) i ask that you very much pay attention to details... this act is a dicey one and there will be much interchanging between things that are real and things that are not. there are cues to clue you in on when it is real versus when it's not!! of course i will happily help show those clues where i can bc i don't want anyone to be in the dark or clueless but do not that i do not want the writing to suffer bec im attempting to overexplain it in the text! that being said i hope this chapter was well worth the wait and thank you always for being patient and kind with me 🙇‍♀️

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez series #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #jongho x reader #ateez fanfic #mists of celeste #caly.writes

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monstersandmaw · 1 year

Text

Male drider pirate captain x gn human (mild nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

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Surprise! A story out of the blue! Hope you like it.

Content: a human who faces daily discrimination for being one of the only humans in a relatively isolated society of non-humans, non-explicit/detailed mention of unwanted sexual/physical contact (it’s brief, but it’s in there - paragraph beginning ‘Still, they couldn’t be any worse than the naga...’), a reader who was orphaned at a young age, a dread pirate captain who’s actually a total softie, a motley crew of pirates who are also all secret sweethearts, and a tiefling friend who wants the best for you. And a briefly spicy ending. Enjoy? Wordcount: 8710

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For all its pretty beaches and steady flow of gold and goods, Cutthroat Cove was hardly the kind of place that people aspired to reach, and it wasn’t the kind of place people lingered once they washed up there, humans least of all.

To get off the island, you had to find a pirate ship willing to take you, and the price of passage was usually dearer than it first appeared. Most of the crews didn’t like humans aboard either, which was another odd stacked against you.

“To the Empress!” A shout went up from the furthest corner of the dingy tavern, and tankards were raised in a jeering chorus of howls and inhuman noises. You glanced up from where you’d been drying off the wooden mugs that Harrow had just finished washing, and you watched as the crew of the Blackbird, flush with fresh plunder, began a familiar toast. “May she continue shitting out shiny gold coins for us to keep plucking out of her fat little merchants’ hands!”

Their laughter filled the small, low-ceilinged common room and made your ears buzz. There must have been a siren among them, you thought distantly as you shook your head to clear it. No one else seemed affected, but a nearby patron — a triton leaning heavily on the wooden bar — leered toothily at you and flared the fins on the side of their head in a mocking sneer.

As you turned away to diffuse the situation, your elbow caught a bottle of rum on the edge of the counter. It teetered and would have smashed had Harrow not grabbed it with his prehensile tail and shunted it back to safety. He shot you a warning look and rolled his dark eyes affectionately. A creased dimple appeared in his cheek and the tiefling smirked a fanged smile at you before throwing a wet dishcloth in your face. “Watch it, clumsy,” he snorted playfully. “Honestly. What are you like?”

“Thanks,” you mumbled and tried not to watch too closely as his purple tail uncoiled slowly from the bottle. Perhaps it came from being raised on a mostly non-human pirate ship, or perhaps you’d just been made differently, but your fellow humans had never done much for you, and in fact, the less human someone looked, the more likely you were to find yourself tripping over your feet around them.

With another sigh, you turned to see to a goblin with blood red hair who had just leaned over the bar to yell an order at you above the clamour in the room, a gold ring glinting in her nose, when the door flew open and a small harpy boy flapped inside, with his feathers all ruffled and his chest heaving from a wild flight up the hill to the tavern.

“The Widow’s Web docked down on Rum Quay fifteen minutes ago!” the boy panted, wide eyed and sweaty faced. “And they’re coming ashore!”

For a moment, the entire, packed tavern went completely still. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Someone set down their tankard with a loud clunk but for a good ten seconds, that was the only sound in the whole room.

“The Widow’s Web?” someone finally hissed. “She never docks anywhere. What the fuck is she doing here?”

“Maybe they need to resupply?”

“They don’t resupply ashore,” someone else scoffed. “They just take what they need off the Imperial Navy and keep on sailing!”

“Maybe one of them is sick?”

“Or they’re looking for new crew?”

“I heard the captain wraps people up in his webs to eat later…” came a nearby, dark muttering.

“Or maybe —”

“— Maybe they just want a good drink for once, and find Her Imperial Majesty’s rations perennially disappointing,” came a deep, smooth voice from the open doorway behind the harpy boy.

The poor lad squeaked and puffed up in surprise, floundering out of the doorway in a twittering spray of mousy feathers and gangly, avian legs, and everyone stared at the figure who had melted from the darkness beyond to fill the doorway completely.

It was impossible not to stare. You’d seen driders before, but you’d never seen one like him.

He moved on seven dark legs that were armoured with a natural carapace like a crab, with pointed spikes at the joints that glinted in the low light, and the eighth was a prosthetic, replaced below the articulated ‘knee’ joint of his right front leg with a shining, steel limb that had been sharpened to a point to match his other limbs, and which clinked softly when he walked. He had to duck almost double to squeeze through the tavern door that had been built wide and tall enough for even a draft centaur to get through.

As he leaned down, his straight, white hair fell forwards around his face like a shroud, momentarily concealing his slate-grey skin that was tinged with purple. He had four eyes, all completely black, and dark mandibles at the corners of his mouth, and as he entered the tavern, he took off his cocked hat and hooked it casually over the upward turning spikes on his left foreleg.

His spider’s body was huge and pendulous and black, covered in a downy fur that shifted like moonlight and spread up his human back, vanishing out of sight beneath a heavy, black coat with silver buttons and emblazoned on the back with the silver web of his ship’s emblem, the Widow’s Web.

Someone dropped a glass in the silence of his arrival, and you startled a little at the sound. Beside you, you heard Harrow inhale slowly. “Holy shit,” he hissed, and his dark, cloven hooves made a soft clopping against the flagstones as he sidled up to you. He was shorter than you, and you glanced down to find him looking up at you with wide, worried eyes. “That’s… That’s him…”

“Capitan Steelsling…” you whispered. “I thought he and the Widow’s Web were just… a myth? You know?” you added, glancing between Harrow and the pirate captain.

Behind Steelsling, a truly colossal, silk-white bison minotaur dipped her horns beneath the lintel and surveyed the room. She had red eyes and a pink nose, and was almost as legendary as her captain, and together, they made their way towards an empty table near the bar.

“Good luck, mate!” Harrow elbowed you in the ribs and ducked away with a mumbled lie about checking the stock.

You could hardly hear anything through the fear that had started a pounding at the back of your skull. You were going to have to go over there.

Still, they couldn’t be any worse than the naga who’d grabbed you with their tail and coiled around you tightly enough to make your ribs creak last week, only releasing you when the laughter of their companions had faded and you’d nearly passed out. Or the gnoll who’d tripped you into her lap and laughed about you being a soft little human while her claws had picked through your shirt. Or the siren who’d made you take your top off and dance a jig on the table with their hypnotic voice, to the rabid amusement of a packed bar. You’d endured a thousand humiliations in your life at Cutthroat Cove, and you were certain that you could weather whatever this dread pirate could dream up for you too.

Squaring your shoulders, you set the damp cloth down on the bar, wiped your hands on your trousers, and strode across the room towards the newcomers, with the eyes of the entire tavern on you.

The captain watched you approach with an unnerving intensity in his four, jet black eyes, but his minotaur first mate seemed entirely bored and unimpressed by the entire establishment. You included. Clearly you posed no threat to her or her captain, so she ignored you for the time being.

You drew to a halt in front of their table and looked up into the captain’s inhuman face. He was sharply handsome, with the hard, cut-glass plains of his cheeks and jawline thrown into start relief in the low light of the bar, and the thick, black, curved talons at the ends of his mandibles glinted in the lamplight like pieces of obsidian.

He tilted his head in a manner that might have been either patronising or curious, you couldn’t quite tell, and blinked his black, almond-shaped eyes slowly. The two pairs moved slightly out of time with each other, the smaller, lower outer pair starting first, followed by the larger inner pair. Holding his gaze for long though was like trying to hold an oil slick in your hands.

“What can I get for you?” you asked, cursing the way your voice cracked a little.

Conversation began to pick up hesitantly around you, and in the far corner, someone got out a tin whistle and began to play a well-known and popular song. The captain smiled when he heard it, his mandibles chittering briefly, and he leaned over to his first mate and grinned, “Remember when Keel played this and Harrik fell overboard trying to impress him?”

She snorted suddenly, her wild, white mane of curls bouncing and her large, fluffy ears flicking back and forth. “How could I forget that?” she chortled. “He looked like a wet rat when we hauled him back on deck. Couldn’t look Keel in the eye for a week!”

You stood stock-still while they reminisced, wary and patient and silent.

The captain turned sharply back to you and twitched his head a little. “My apologies,” he purred. “We are still waiting for a few more of our crew, but I know what they’ll have to drink at any rate. Perhaps you could bring a couple of pitchers of your finest ale over, and six tankards?”

You nodded and paused just long enough to see if they were going to add anything else to their order.

The first mate leaned forwards towards you, resting an elbow on the thick tabletop. It groaned under her muscular weight. “What’s in the kitchen tonight?” she asked. Her voice was rough and deep, but her tone was gentle enough.

“Roast pork,” you said quickly. “And boiled vegetables.”

The captain nodded. “We’ll wait for the others to order food, I think. If that’s alright with you?”

You blinked. “What?” you said before you’d thought about it. “I mean, of course. I’ll be right back with the ale. Excuse me.”

And with that, you bolted back to the bar, sweaty and a little shaky. They hadn’t been at all what you’d been expecting, and they weren’t like the usual patrons of the Salted Kipper.

Harrow had emerged by the time you returned, and he shot you a look. “Well?” he asked.

“Well what?” you snapped, distracted.

“Well what’s he like? I heard from Maggie that Steelsling ripped a human’s head clean off their shoulders just for looking at him too long, and one time, he used that legendary ‘steel’ web of his to garrote the commander of Port Liberty, but the thread was so fine the man didn’t know it had happened til he was bleeding out on the marble floor. And his first mate is hardly any better. I heard —”

“You shouldn’t listen to what people say,” you said with a frown as you fished the enormous pitchers out of the cupboard under the bar and turned to fill one from the barrel on the wall behind you. “You know how much bullshit gets peddled through here in a single night — how much sailors love to exaggerate.” In truth, you didn’t want Steelsling to overhear Harrow’s words and think you were gossiping about him.

“Yeah, but… no smoke without a fire, right?”

You just shook your head and concentrated on filling the pitcher without creating too much of a foaming head on the ale.

With the two pitchers set on a wide, wooden tray, along with the six empty tankards, you set off for their table again. En route, someone with sharp claws grabbed a fistful of your arse and you had to step over the swaying, serrated tail of a lizardfolk at the table next to the drider captain’s. She cackled a laugh at you when you nearly spilled the pitchers because of it. One slid a terrifying couple of inches along the tray as it tipped, and you wobbled in a desperate attempt to stop it sliding all the way off.

You cursed as you staggered, completely off balance, but something solid caught you at the hip and buttressed you up. Cold relief sloshed through you as you saved the pitchers from toppling off to make an ungodly mess all over the floor, only to look up and find that the drider captain himself had jutted out one of his huge, armoured legs to steady you. It was the steel prosthetic of his right foreleg, you realised, and you could feel its coldness seeping through your clothes the longer you stayed pressed against it.

All the blood drained from your face and you felt your jaw go slack. “I’m so sorry,” you blurted, and you almost leapt away from the contact to set the tray down, hoping to disappear as quickly as possible.

“It’s no trouble,” he said in his oddly polite, lyrical voice. You’d expected something coarse and harsh from the legendary sea captain, but he was refined and softly-spoken. “Does that happen often?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Uh…” you swallowed, stepping back with the tray held in front of you a bit like a shield. “I mean… I’m pretty much the only human on the island now, so where else are they going to get their fun, you know?”

You’d said it with a false lightness to your voice, hoping to make him smile and say ‘fair enough’, but his expression darkened and his eyes glittered dangerously.

“It’s fine,” you babbled. “Really. It’s harmless. They’re just blowing off steam, you know?”

That also didn’t help.

He glared around the room and you got the vague impression that the people who had been staring, hoping for an impressed reaction from him, suddenly looked away in shame.

“Excuse me,” you said again, and fled.

The rest of his crew arrived not long after that, and they were an equally odd mix of people: another drider, though she was stocky and built like a tarantula, and her arms and torso were thickly muscled where Steelsling’s body was lean and wiry; a delicate cervitaur who looked about as unlikely to find a home on the sea as the Empress herself, with a white coat and white antlers and a dancing, graceful way of walking that wouldn’t have been out of place in a palace; a rugged, crab-like merfolk who was armoured to the nines in his own orange chitin and had pincers for hands and a sour look on his face as he squeezed his bulky carapace between the tables; a forest naga with a rainbow shimmer to her tail and dreads that fell to her waist; a tiny, waifish, hummingbird harpy whose iridescence matched the naga’s in vibrancy if not in hue; and finally… a human?

Yet again that evening, you tried not to stare, but it was so unusual to find a human among a crew of pirates in these parts that you weren’t the only one taken aback. People hissed and whispered behind their mugs, but no one tried anything with the other human in the room. They saved that for the one they knew was alone and largely unprotected.

As you worked the other tables that night, dodging wayward hands and sneaking trip hazards in a familiar dance, you caught glimpses of the way the crew of the Widow’s Web laughed and joked among themselves. They were clearly close as family, the realisation of which struck you to the core with something akin to genuine, physical pain. The other pirates who frequented the Salted Kipper were business partners and tight-knit groups, but there was always something festering away beneath the surface — some jealousy or scheming distrust — but the Widow’s Web crew touched each other frequently with a friendly nudge or a playful shove, and they laughed. They laughed until they cried and fell about on each other’s shoulders over something and nothing, and even Steelsling himself seemed amused. He kept a little back from the others though, as though he wasn’t quite a part of it, and he kept his four eyes roaming the room every so often too, as though keeping watch for trouble. Wherever he looked, people looked away, uncertain.

Frequently, his glinting gaze landed on you. When that happened, you ducked your head and busied yourself with another task, but you felt the weight of his four eyes on you as you crossed the room all the same.

If the scattered crumbs of gossip were to be believed, which they rarely were, that night was the first time in six years that the Widow’s Web had formally put to shore, and no one expected to see them again for another six at least.

And yet, a month later, the door opened and in strode the hulking form of the first mate, accompanied by her eight-legged captain and a few of their crew.

You served them ale, and he asked you how you were as you set the pitchers down. “Fine, thanks,” you mumbled, head down.

It seemed to irritate him that you were so deferential, and he sighed sharply.

“You?” you added, glancing up as you tacked the question on as an afterthought.

His mandibles twitched in what might have been an arachnid smile and his shoulders dropped a visible inch. “I’m well, thank you. We had a successful couple of encounters on the Whale Road Shore lately.”

“You went all the way to the Whale Road Shore?” you gasped, staring openly at him. “But that’s… that’s at least a two week sail from here, even with the winds in your favour? How did you make it there and back in so little time?” Distances, maps, and charts had always fascinated you, the way a caged bird dreams of open windows.

Across the table, the first mate chuckled, and with a jolt you remembered yourself, and your place, immediately.

“Forgive me,” you said quickly. “I didn’t mean to pry. Enjoy your evening.”

“Wait?” came Steelsling’s soft, rich baritone. He didn’t speak loudly or harshly, but the simple, politely uttered question stopped you in your tracks. “You weren’t prying, and I don't mind. We have a wind witch aboard. Makes things much easier and faster.”

“Oh,” you breathed. A wind witch? Was there no end to this crew’s mystery?

“They’ll be here any minute,” Steelsling said carefully, deliberately, pointedly. “If you want to meet them.”

“Oh, no… thank you,” you said, despite the way your heart ached to meet a real wind witch. It was a particular talent that only humans had, though other species had similar gifts with the weather. It might have been nice to talk to another human after so long. “No, that’s alright. I don’t want to intrude, and I… I should get back to work.”

The captain just nodded, but he didn’t speak to you directly again that night. The human on his crew — the wind witch — did show up a little while later, accompanied by the pretty cervitaur and the fiery-looking orange merfolk, and the crew lost themselves again in their food and drink and conversation. All but one of the crew, you realised after they’d been there an hour. The captain himself was sitting back, resting his humanoid upper body against the wall of the inn, his spider legs tucked up tightly around him, almost like a cage of spiked, black steel with one silver bar, and he had his arms crossed over his chest and a dark glower on his face. You tried not to look at him when you discovered him already watching you, and you traded a week’s worth of floor scrubbing with Harrow to avoid serving their table again.

Month after month, the crew of the Widow’s Web returned to the Salted Kipper, and month after month, the captain watched you.

He watched you dodge the other patrons, sloughing off their insults and jibes and clumsy, pawing attempts to get you into their lap, and each time, his expression grew darker and more severe. He stopped taking part in his table’s merriment, glowering in the corner like a monster from a fairytale while his crew carried on around him. Only his first mate would frown at him and try and get him to engage, but he never did for long. You started to think you’d insulted him by refusing the honour of a conversation with the wind witch, and he was concocting a truly venomous revenge for your rudeness.

Then, after six straight months of visits, they vanished.

No one saw the black and silver sails of the Widow’s Web for months, and gossip about them erupted.

Rumours circulated like gulls on the wind: they’d been sunk by the Empire; they’d been swallowed up by a kraken who’d been hunting Steelsling for years after taking his right leg off; there’d been a mutiny and they’d all killed each other in the process; they’d strayed off the edge of the world; they’d strayed off the edge of the world and then returned with some mysterious illness; the captain had eaten his crew one at a time while stranded in the doldrums… Each theory was more ridiculous than the next, but you came to miss the crew’s polite presence in the corner of the inn. The lowering eyes of the deadliest pirate in the known kingdoms had gone some way to lessening the way you were treated as a human among so many of what the Empire called the ‘monstrous species’ and the ‘beast folk’. Monstrosity was a relative thing, you’d found.

One morning, after preparing the inn for the day, you headed down alone to the harbour to stock up on supplies for the kitchen. The folk who ran the market were used to you, given that you’d been on the island since you’d washed up there at the age of eight, and they’d stopped trying to fleece you on each purchase you made for Silas, who ran the inn.

You’d just added a box of smoked salt into the groaning basket on your arm when a gasp went up from the nearby shoppers and you turned to see what had snagged their attention. The elegant and eerie prow of the Widow’s Web — a series of carved, black spiders crawling up a cylindrical spar — and the furled black sails of the legendary ship as it was towed into port drew the attention of everyone in the harbour-side market.

You’d never seen them outside of the inn, and you watched as the small, efficient crew scuttled around making last-minute preparations to the lines and the sails before docking, and there, leaning his weight casually against the taffrail with his white hair streaming out behind him like a banner, was Captain Steelsling himself. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him and you stared openly, drinking in the contrast between the curve of his dark spider’s body and the angular lines of his slim, armoured legs. They looked like they could puncture the hull of a warship like a harpoon, and his prosthetic caught the sun and flashed blindingly for an instant.

You watched in awe as he left the deck and scuttled up the rigging with enviable ease to talk briefly to the figure tucked away in the crows nest. That done, he fearlessly descended the rigging and joined the others on the main deck. Just as he turned to give an order to someone on his left though, he froze and you looked on with an odd mix of trepidation and delight as he noticed you.

For a long time, he stared at you. Then, finally, he inclined his head and went about the business of making port.

You had intended to be gone from the market by the time the lengthy process of bartering for better docking fees was over, but fate it seemed had other ideas. You were halfway through haggling with the knife-sharpener for a more reasonable price for her services when she looked up and she dropped the small paring knife she’d been using as a prop to try and frighten you into giving in and accepting her price.

“Captain Steelsling…” the skinny naga exclaimed, and then she hissed at you. “Get out of the way, you little bilge-rat. Don’t you know who this is? My apologies, Captain, my apologies. How can I help you?”

“I know who he is,” you said carefully, turning and smiling shyly at him. His dark mandibles hitched up on one side and he crossed his arms. His long, white hair was plaited back off his face in a series of intricate, interlaced designs, cascading down over his trademark black coat with its silver buttons, and he looked so dashing that your heart skipped a beat. His captain’s hat was nowhere to be seen and he carried no visible weapon, but the authority washing off him was enough to make people skirt around him with their eyes averted.

“Good to see you again, and in daylight this time,” he said, and the knife-sharpener sputtered something unintelligible behind you while he ignored her completely. “How are you?”

“Well, thank you,” you replied. “You’ve been gone a long time…”

A sad expression flickered across his face. “Yes,” he sighed, and his posture sagged. “A sad business, but it’s over now. I’m glad to be back. I’ve grown rather fond of a certain inn here in Cutthroat Cove after all.”

“You have?” you asked, astonished. “I thought you only came to the Kipper because your crew like it. You always look so miserable.”

The knife-sharpener gasped audibly at your bluntness and started to titter something about offering him whatever he wanted, free of charge.

“I didn’t come to talk to you, and I sharpen my own blades, thank you,” he snapped at her, and turned to look over his shoulder, away from the market square. “Will you walk with me? I have a hankering to stretch my legs after so long at sea.”

“Uh…” You would expected back at the inn soon, but there was little you could do if the king of pirates himself wanted a moment of your time. “Sure.”

He smiled again, and held out a hand. “Let me take that for you.”

Still a little stunned, you mutely handed the creaking basket to him. He took it like it weighed nothing at all and hooked it over his other arm so that it was in no danger of swinging and accidentally clocking you around the head. He was massive on his stilt-like legs, after all.

You walked in silence for a little way, along the waterfront towards the old Imperial fortress that had been taken over by the Raven Queen - the local pirate power in these waters. She, ultimately, deferred to Steelsling though, as most pirates did. And there you were, trotting along at his needle-like heels while everyone stared.

“Why would you think I’m miserable when I’m at the tavern?” he asked after a while.

“What? Oh… I didn't mean to offend you,” you said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed at that, and you got the feeling you’d said the wrong thing. Instead of pressing the issue though, he paused at a bend in the fortification walkway and looked directly at you. “Why do you stay here?” he asked.

You frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“If you’re so unhappy here — treated so poorly — why do you stay?”

You scoffed a little laugh and turned to look out at the bright blue sea.

A strong wind was whipping the peaks of the waves to foam and the gulls dipped and soared on the currents, buffeted this way and that and seeming to love every minute of it. Further out, near the cliffs off Needle Point, gannets speared straight down from the clear sky with barely a splash as they disappeared into the waves, chasing the fish that glittered and flashed beneath the surface.

Salt air filled your nose as you inhaled and you shook your head. “Don’t have much choice, I guess. I can’t afford passage on a ship — not at the prices they charge a human — and… I have nowhere else to go anyway.”

“No family?” he asked carefully.

You shook your head. “No. My parents were killed when the Albatross was captured.”

You caught the soft inhale of shock from the drider captain and turned to look up at him. His solid, black eyes were wide and his mandibles had parted to reveal soft, almost human-like lips behind, and a row of sharp, white teeth. The soft, ombré shading of grey that spread up his jaw, fading from almost coal black around his mandibles to a heather grey around his eyes, was almost mesmerising enough to ignore the look of open horror on his face. “Your parents were on the Albatross?” he whispered at last.

You nodded. “My da was the cook. Ma was a gunner.”

His black eyebrows rose at that. “But you survived?”

“Got washed overboard,” you shrugged. “I was eight.” You fought down a tide of sickening memories and rested your forearms on the stone wall of the old fort.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “My first mate, Ellary, led the mutiny against the captain of the Bloodcrest after what he did to the Albatross. She killed him herself.”

“Good.” Somehow, that did bring a bitter kind of consolation, and you managed a smile. “Anyway,” you said. “When I washed up here, Silas took me in as a pot-washer and floor-scrubber at the Salted Kipper. It’s not so bad…” you said, but you didn’t sound convincing, even to your own ears.

Steelsling shot you a flat look. “I’ve seen the way they treat you there,” he growled. “I’d have cut off their hands if they tried to touch me like that.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all shoot barbed wire out of our bodies, can we?” you said, speaking yet again without thinking first.

Instead of being insulted though, the captain laughed loudly and freely. “I suppose not,” he said when the sound faded naturally, like a retreating wave on the shore. “Listen, there’s an opening on my crew. It’s nothing exciting, but we’re a soul down now, since Tammas had to go back to his family on land, and I’d like to ask you to join us.”

You blinked at him. “Me?”

“Yes.”

“But… Why? I haven’t been at sea since I was eight. I’d be no use to you.”

“I know for a fact you can cook, and I bet you’re just as capable at mending and fixing things. Besides, I think you’d make a good fit in our family.”

Sure, you’d grown pretty handy in a number of areas over the years, but you were hardly a sailor. “You’d do better to ask around the market,” you said, fighting down a wave of anxious pressure in your chest. “I — Thank you, for the offer, but I should get going. They’ll be wondering where I am.”

You turned without another word and walked away before you’d even realised he still had your basket over his arm. Seconds later, he scuttled up behind you, his needle-like legs making scarcely a sound on the stone, save for the single steel pin of his prosthetic, and he darted in front of you, blocking the way with his body. Your breath caught as a moment of panic flared and dissolved almost immediately. He held the basket out to you but didn’t relinquish it once your fingers gripped the handle. “Think about it,” he said. “The Widow stays here for a week, but I shan’t push you.”

And with that, he let go and stepped to one side, and you fled back to the tavern with your heart pounding.

You dropped three tankards that night, tripped over two tails that weren’t even in your way, and nearly landed in a slime’s lap before Harrow pulled you to one side and asked if you were coming down with something.

You shook your head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just… distracted.”

“What’s going on?”

With a sigh, you told him, and he gawped at you like you’d grown another head when you got to the part about being offered a spot on Steelsling’s crew.

True to his word, Captain Steelsling and his crew stayed away from the tavern until the very last night that the Widow was due to stay in port. When Ellary opened the door and stepped in, the usual hush descended on the common room, and Harrow shot you a look. ‘Do it’ he mouthed at you along the length of the bar, and you sucked in a huge breath for courage and held it til your lungs burned.

When you made no move and looked like you might possibly throw up instead, Harrow marched over to you and poked you right in the centre of your chest, none too gently. “Fucking do it,” he said. “I’m going to miss the hell out of you, but if you don’t take this chance, you’ll never get off this gods-forsaken lump of rock. Plus, he fucking likes you.” When you frowned, Harrow rolled his eyes. “The dread pirate Steelsling, who famously never comes ashore, takes one look at you and comes back here to this shitty tavern once a fucking month for six fucking months, apologises for being away for so long without telling you, threatens to personally skin anyone who lays a hand to you, and —”

“— wait, what?”

“Oh.” Harrow’s dark eyes widened guiltily. “You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t know! What the fuck?”

Harrow shifted his weight. “I only learned about it when I overheard Lannicka grousing about how she wanted to teach you a lesson but didn’t want to wake up in a fucking web, dangling off a spar on her own ship…” He cleared his throat and glanced at the floor between his dark goat’s hooves. Behind him, his tail swished back and forth. “Turns out your captain overheard someone a few nights ago down at the docks laughing about getting you to spill ale all down your shirt, and he let it be known that the way people treated you was… ‘unacceptable’…”

“I wondered why people had backed off a bit this week,” you muttered. “I just thought they’d finally had enough fun and got bored with picking on the human.” You wanted to be angry with him for doing it behind your back, but it had made your work noticeably easier.

Harrow looked across the common room and his tapered ears pulled back suddenly, his multiple earrings flashing in the lamplight. “His first mate’s looking at you. She just pointed at you and beckoned you over.”

With a sigh, you turned your back on Harrow and looked at Ellary. She cocked her head to one side in a silent, expectant question.

“Go,” Harrow said. “I’ll miss the fuck out of you, but —”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” you laughed, already taking your apron off. You hugged him and he hugged you back. “Thank you for taking care of me,” you said. “You could have been like everyone else, but you weren’t, and I’ll always love you for that.”

He squeezed you more tightly. “Don’t forget about me, alright?”

“Never,” you promised, and set your apron on the counter top. “And thank Silas for me too,” you said. “He could have turned me away.”

“Still could have treated you better,” Harrow growled, canines showing.

You shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now though, does it?” you said, and grabbed the small bag you'd packed earlier and stowed beneath the bar. “Take care, alright?”

He nodded. “You too.”

When Ellary saw the bag in your hand, she grinned and stood up. Beside her, the delicate cervitaur rose from the soft cushion they’d been seated on — or, more appropriately, draped across like a slightly wilted lily — and flicked an ear at you.

“You’re coming along, then,” Ellary said, clapping you on the shoulder hard enough to send you staggering. You reeled backwards and found yourself righted by the crab-folk merman, who laughed like an open drain.

“I hope your sea-legs are better than that, friend,” he guffawed, snapping his pincers like percussion instruments.

“Last time I used my sea legs, I was eight,” you said, embarrassed. “I’ll be lucky if I’m not throwing up over the sides before we leave port.”

“Ah, Anneke has a potion or concoction for everything, seasickness included. You’ll be fine. Come on,” he said, and he chivvied you out of the tavern amid a forest of astonished gazes from the patrons.

When you reached the harbour, with the small fishing boats gently bobbing and the larger ships creaking and swaying at their stone quays, you had begun to wonder what you’d got yourself into. Ellary had strode along on huge, near-silent hooves, her scarlet coat flapping open to reveal only the thick fur of her pelt and the vaguest impression of her physique underneath, and Macs, the crab-folk — who apparently never shut up unless Ellary threatened to put him in a cook pot — had talked himself hoarse about their plans for the coming weeks’ sailing, while Phlox, the cervitaur, had tittered at almost every joke Macs made. You snorted softly through your nose when you realised that the most fearsome and mythical pirate crew of the era were actually a bunch of kind-hearted dorks.

“Something funny, human?” Macs asked, glancing sidelong at you while you all headed along the stone dock towards the sleeping figure of the Widow’s Web where she rocked quietly in the darkness.

“You know what?” you said, “I was actually afraid of you lot when you first walked into the tavern.”

“Ha!” he barked, and elbowed you in the ribs so hard you actually tripped over your feet at last and went sprawling sideways onto the stones. Or at least, you would have done, had Ellary not anticipated it and grabbed you at the last minute and hauled you up again with her huge hands.

“For fuck’s sake,” she muttered. “Can’t even take you to collect a new crew member without you causing physical harm to someone, Macs,” she said, and then looked at you. “He’s our master gunner, believe it or not.”

You raised your eyebrows and he clacked his pincers together. “Ain’t no one able to make a shot like me, human,” he grinned. “You can bet your unarmoured hide on it.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“I’ll show you, soon as we clear the reef tomorrow,” he said, puffing his chest up enough that Phlox giggled again and he looked mightily pleased with himself.

“I live with a bunch of buffoons,” Ellary said dryly and ushered you up the gangplank ahead of her, probably so that if you tripped, she could catch you before you toppled head-first into the salty, sloshing muck of the harbour at high tide.

A flap of dark wings from the rigging above made you look up once you were aboard, and a black-feathered kenku dropped to the deck. In Ellary’s own voice, using what was clearly a carefully-curated selection of her own words, parroted back at her, they said, “About time you got here. Captain’s gonna start spitting webs in a minute.”

Ellary snorted a laugh and turned to introduce you to the kenku. “This is Specs,” she said, gesturing at the avian creature. “Lookout and navigation.”

“Pleasure,” you said, muttering your own name.

In Macs’ voice this time, Specs cackled, “Nice to have new blood aboard.”

“C’mon. I’ll show you where to put your stuff, and we’ll find our illustrious, brooding captain, shall we?” Ellary sighed.

Knocking on the carved, ebony door of the captain’s quarters a short while later, Ellary didn’t wait to be called in, barging her shoulder against the salt-warped wood and stepping in with the familiar ease of a lifelong friend.

Part of you had expected to find webs slung in the corners and the carcasses of dessicated animals dangling from the ceiling, but of course, it was just a simply but comfortably furnished cabin, with a large desk smothered in charts and navigational instruments. The captain himself was standing behind it, his body little more than a dark silhouette against the large window at the rear of the ship, and his silver hair dangling like a drifting ghost in the light breeze that wafted in with Ellary.

The minotaur shoved you into the room and saluted the captain without a word before leaving, closing the door behind her.

“You… You decided to come?” he faltered, sounding unsure of himself for the first time.

You nodded. “I do have a bone to pick with you though, Captain,” you added and he cocked his head.

“Oh?”

“What’s this I hear about you threatening to flay people on my behalf?”

He did have the good grace to look embarrassed about that, and dropped his onyx gaze to the floor. “I apologise,” he said. “I lost my temper with someone in the docks, and did nothing to stop the spread of the rumour once it started.”

You shrugged. “Figured that was how it had gone.”

“Did Ellary show you your quarters?” he asked, as much to change the subject as to find out the answer.

With a nod, you looked around his cabin. “Nicer than a mouldy mattress in the Kipper’s storeroom,” you said. “When do we sail?”

“With the tide,” he said. “I’d almost abandoned hope you were coming with us.”

“Why did you want me, really?” you asked with narrowed eyes.

He sighed and came around the desk to stand in front of you, his prosthetic making a soft ‘pinging’ noise on the wood as the wickedly sharp tip pulled free with each step. You wondered, not for the first time, how he’d lost the limb, but didn’t ask.

“I warmed to you the moment you spoke to me,” he said simply. “You were afraid, but you still came over, and you were… yourself. The others… they all know my — our— reputation, and that changes how they speak to me, how they act around my crew, but you remained yourself, and I admired that.”

Swallowing, you tried not to choke. Other than Harrow, no one had ever made you feel like you were worth more than a passing moment their time, but here was the most successful pirate captain in the known kingdoms, telling you he thought that who you were was valuable to his crew. To his family.

“Look, you must be tired,” he said, clearly reading your emotions and not wanting to overwhelm you. “Why don’t you settle in for the night? We’ll sail within the hour, but you don’t have to do anything. Of course, you’re welcome wherever you like on the ship, but no one will ask anything of you just yet.”

Blinking through your tears you nodded and choked out a vague ‘thank you’ before vanishing below.

It was three days before you felt like you could contribute anything useful, and, just as he’d promised, no one asked anything of you until then.

After three months as part of the crew, you knew you were never going to set foot on land again willingly, and you understood why they just kept sailing from prize to prize. It was bliss. Even in the worst of the weather, you felt safe. Anneke, the weather witch, kept the most violent of storms from touching the ship, and the crew knew their business, tightening and trimming the rigging and the sails til the ship fairly thrummed with the joy of being at sea.

Ellary, you came to learn over the course of many an evening, had a dry sense of humour that left you breathless before guffawing a great laugh that would have made you self-conscious before, and Macs was just as bad. He was a practical joker, but never in a way that made you feel small or embarrassed. You met the other elusive members of the crew as well — those who had not felt confident or comfortable in coming ashore — and you fell slowly in love with all of them in their own way. Minal, an aqrabuamelu with a scorpion’s body and a human’s torso, was the cheery chef of the ship, and Gráinne, a selkie with a voice like singing glass and a burn scar across her face, was the ship’s quartermaster. Others on the crew included another minotaur named Wilf, a huge but incredibly sweet gnoll with a habit of giggling at the most inappropriate of moments, and a twitchy werefox named Keel who still treated you with suspicion, even after three months.

But above all, you found yourself drawn back to the captain. He stood on the deck with the wind in his hair and a smile on his handsome, inhuman face, and he looked truly relaxed. His strange body absorbed the motion of the sea and the rocking of the ship, and he would just as happily spend the morning dangling from his webs amid the rigging, scouting the horizon with Specs, as on the solid deck below, but oddly enough, when he seemed most happy, he was with you.

He taught you to read the charts properly and to map the course of the sun, to plot the stars and read the ocean currents and the patterns of the birds. He introduced you to the colony of orca merfolk who hunted just off the shore and provided information on the movements of the Imperial navy. He ate with the crew on the deck on warm nights, laughing shyly and encouraging them to play their instruments and dance and sing. Keel was a talented violinist, and Harrik, the gnoll, would always watch him with wide, dark, bashful eyes. It was unbearably sweet.

One night, as you leaned back on your hands and tilted your face to the stars while the others continued their revels, you caught a huge sigh from the captain, and glanced up just as he looked away from you and rose to stalk away towards the stern of the ship.

With a little frown, you noticed the way Ellary shook her head too, and when you met her gaze she rolled her red eyes and said under her breath so that no one else would hear above Keel’s lively gig, “Go after him, for pity’s sake.”

You nodded, and slipped away from the others. Climbing the stairs to the deck above the captain’s quarters, where you weren’t really supposed to be, you found him staring out over the ship’s wake, leaning his forearms on the taffrail and resting his great spider body on the boards of the ship’s deck. He looked small and sad and deflated in a way you’d never known, and it sent a frisson of worry through you.

“Captain?” you asked.

He startled a little despite the noise your boots had made on the stairs, and he twitched around to look at you. His breath caught audibly in the moonlight and you watched him swallow. “Yes?”

“Are you alright, Captain?”

His large eyes turned especially glassy for a second and he looked away. “Yes,” he lied.

“Captain, you —”

“It’s Ruven.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s Ruven.”

“Oh,” you breathed, wondering how you’d gone so long without learning it. Then again, everyone called him ‘captain’ with the same affection they called you ‘human’. “Can I join you, Ruven?”

Slowly, and with an unbearable sadness in his eyes, he looked back over his shoulder at you. He was wearing only an undyed linen shirt, and it flapped loosely around his lean torso in the breeze. It made you want to touch, to draw it up to expose the musculature and chitinous plating underneath, to explore his body with your hands. “Yes,” he said quietly.

You approached on his right side and watched as he drew his long legs in a little closer to his body, as if to welcome you further into his space. You leaned your weight carefully against his steel prosthetic, knowing it could take it, and he let out a shaky breath.

He towered over you but you’d never felt more at ease with someone, and he nestled a little further down to accommodate your height. You smiled at him. “Thank you, Ruven,” you said, trying out his name again and enjoying the sound of it on your tongue.

“For what?”

You shrugged and stared out at the dark sea, a little overwhelmed. Little flashes of phosphorescence danced on the ship’s wake, like a heartbeat in the depths. “For giving me a family again,” you said with a glance back at the crew who were capering about on the deck below. “For making me feel loved.”

“You are loved,” he said without hesitation. He exhaled your name and leaned down to take your fingers in his dark grey hands. “You are loved,” he said again with sincerity burning in his black eyes. “Never doubt that.”

You smiled up at him, and gently tugged one hand free of his, then reached up to cup his sharp face in your palm. “I don’t. Not now.” You ran the pad of your thumb along his right mandible and he shuddered bodily, eyes rolling shut with a rasping breath. “You’re so beautiful,” you whispered.

A second or two later, a large, slow tear rolled from one eye, down his cheek to splash onto the deck between you.

“Ruven?”

“No one has ever said that to me,” he croaked, nudging his cheek further into your palm without opening his eyes again. “Terrible, monstrous, ruthless… but never beautiful.”

“Always beautiful,” you said, and he picked you up.

He held you to his chest, supported by the knees of his forelegs, and hugged you. His hands began to wander and you gasped, arching into his touch.

“Take me below,” you whispered and he smiled. “I’m yours.”

He didn’t linger, scuttling silently down the gangway to his cabin and closing the door behind him.

He laid you down on his large, soft bed and took you apart with slow kisses and lingering touches until you were moaning his name and shaking with a pleasure you never dared dream would be yours.

“Come over me,” you gasped as he kissed you where you were most sensitive, enjoying the taste and feel of you. “Please, I need —”

“Don’t encourage me,” he laughed. “I’m so close, and I’m making such a mess…”

You looked up at that and saw that he was dripping clear fluid from his abdomen onto the floor beside the bed.

“I’ve never made such a mess,” he laughed again.

“Please…”

He shifted his legs, looming over you again, and he rubbed his sensitive core over your legs, enjoying the slide of your bodies together at last. In three strokes, he came undone and cried out, arching his human spine to bring his spider’s body close to you, and he came with a yell in a wave over your lower body, his legs twitching and his body convulsing.

When he was utterly spent, he lay down beside you on his back and you curled up next to his cool, human torso, tracing the lines of chitin plating where his abdomen blended into the soft, moonlight fur of his spider’s body. He twitched occasionally but otherwise lay still and stared at you with his black eyes.

“I love you,” he said, apropos nothing.

You kissed him and let his mandibles rake tenderly over your cheeks while he kissed you back. “I love you too, Captain,” you smiled and he groaned into the kiss. “I love you too.”

Thanks for reading this story, and I hope you’ll consider reblogging it (as well as leaving a like) if you enjoyed it, as that will help others find it.

Take care, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#drider #spider monster #drider boyfriend #monster boyfriend #spider monster boyfriend #exophilia #monster pirate #pirate monster #pirate #pirate romance

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figthefruitfaeth · 1 year

Text

“Yeah that whole wall is Wayne’s, won’t even let me touch the top row cause they’re ‘collectibles’ and ‘you’ll bring down half the shelf just trying to get one’,” Eddie laughs, the roof of the car humming with his memory.

“Is he wrong though?” He asks, watching as Eddie’s eyes roll up and then over to him.

“No.”

“There you go then.”

A playful slap hits his chest, and Steve groans.

“You can take more than that, big boy,” he says, but offers the joint to him in apology.

The night eases in around them, the sky slipping from hazy blue to a shimmering black sky. The quarry is quiet, a few crickets chirping, the occasional churn of gravel of a passing car. Enough to know they aren’t alone, enough to know what exactly is with them.

Eddie is next to him breathing slow. Not too slow, just long deep inhales, shaky little rushed things on the exhale. He hears it, feels it through the vibrations of the roof, smells it as a thick cloud of weed joins the sky.

“What about you?” Eddie asks just as Steve is taking another drag. It’s the first thing either has said in a while, but it doesn’t feel abrupt, it doesn’t break the quiet or the quarry.

“What about me?”

Eddie turns to him, hand under his head, dark eyes on him.

“You ever collect anything?”

Steve meets his gaze, turns away to watch the stars after a moment.

In the back of his closet, underneath the winter jackets and crammed between some textbooks he never bothered returning, is a shoebox. Small, a children’s size seven, thin cardboard soft at the edges and yellowed out tape placed neatly on each side keeping it closed.

He started going on his parent’s trips when he was five. He was old enough not to cry and embarrass anyone with a temper tantrum, young enough to still be a darling charm for his mother to stride around. The meetings were boring, the places not entirely enticing for a little kid, a lot of waiting and stiff suits he’d only ever worn to church. That didn’t particularly matter to Steve. What he cared about, were the postcards.

Every hotel lobby front desk had them. A swinging rack of glittery, gaudy pieces of paper that could be mailed off to tell your friends of where you’d been. The nicer ones tended to be a bit more understated--less of a rack and more of a neat collection row of tasteful options for their clientele to peruse--but they all had them.

Every trip, Steve carefully went through the selection and picked out two. One for Tommy, who never got to go anywhere and always liked the flashy night time views. The second he sent to himself almost like a diary. It made the trip home just as exciting, because while his parents would retire to the bedroom and the boardroom, only ever coming out for dinner, at least Steve would have something who wanted him waiting for him.

When he was ten, his parent’s got varying degrees of promotions which sent them aboard, and had Steve stay home. An international flight for three people is too expensive, they said, and he’d be bored anyway. He didn’t really know how true the first one was, and the second he knew they hadn’t cared about before, but it was fine because he still got postcards.

This time they were from mom (sometimes signed by dad). Historic castles and glass monuments, holiday tidings in different languages and cobble stone streets. The messages were never really interesting--always just a brief summary of their plans and whether the date of their expected return had changed. Steve didn’t expect anything else, he knew who they were and what he was to them. The important thing was that they wrote, that they bought a roll of stamps to stick on, that they wanted to come back.

At fifteen, Tommy’s older brother gives him a joint, and they hole up in his basement with Carol, half of the liquor store’s snack aisle, and a copy of Airplane! His parents come home early that same night, and his dad yells at him for three hours.

He doesn’t get another postcard.

Steve takes another drag, letting the smoke sink into deep into himself, before letting it all go in one long breath.

“No. Not really.”

Eddie’s still looking at him, feels his gaze like a warm hand along his face--fingers dipping into the premature crows feet and over a necklace of scars. Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t look back to meet him, cause he already knows what face he’s making--eyes wide and assessing, soft but quick sharp. The face he always makes when they stumble into baggage.

The crickets chirp, a breeze flutters through the open zipper of his jacket. It’s been a warm March, but it still bites like winter when it wants to. Steve shivers, crosses his arms over his chest, joint a flicker of flame between his fingertips.

But before he can get too comfortable, it’s plucked from his hand. He whips his head to find Eddie taking a drag, then smothering what’s left of it on his roof.

“Hey--”

“I’ll clean it later, just--” and then Eddie’s got his hands on him, and Steve is too slow to stop him as he reconfigures them, pushing and pulling until Eddie is sitting up, Steve’s head in his lap looking up at him.

“I was really comfortable as is, ya know,” he says, but doesn’t make to move. Eddie is looking at him, but there’s a smirk on his lips, eyes a shimmering black.

“Let’s get you one.”

“One what?”

“A collection,” he whispers, like it’s a secret. A hand cards through his hair, sending small little shivers down his spine. “Like Wayne’s mugs.”

“You want me to collect something?”

“Yeah, why not. It’d be something for you to have, to take care of--other than me and the brats.”

If it weren’t for the conviction in his voice, the earnest expression across his face, Steve might’ve thought he was fucking with him. Or maybe had too much weed.

“What--” Steve tries, amused if also bewildered at where this is going. “What would I even collect? That’s not a thing you can just, start.”

Eddie snorts. “I wasn’t born with tattoos, Steve-o. You could do anything--coins, baseball cards, records. Model cars would be up your alley, if a little on the nose.”

The thought of a matching coin collection with Keith makes him gag.

“No? Fair, okay. Oh, you know what? You strike me as a Beanie Baby kind of guy. Yeah.”

“Beanie Babies?” Unbelievable.

“Brownie the Bear not enough for you? We’ll get you the set don’t worry--”

“Eddie--”

“And if you’re good, I’ll see if I can swing Peanut in time for your birthday--”

“Absolutely not, no fucking way,” but Steve is giggling, and then Eddie is too, which just sets him off further, until tears are welling up, both of them gasping for breath over the stupidest thing.

Once they finally manage to calm down, breathing easy save for the stray little laugh that escapes, Steve swallows, whispers, “I love you.”

Eddie smiles sweetly, presses a kiss to his forehead. “I love you too.”

At twenty, warm and loose between his boy and the wide arms of spring, Steve starts collecting something new.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #my work #my writing #lets all graciously pretend beanie babies came out in 1987 instead of 1993

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luffyandaceswife · 8 days

Text

ꪶꪮꪀᧁ ꪶ𝓲ꪜꫀ ୭̥⋆*｡

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Warnings: AFAB reader, Spoilers, Angst, Mentions of death, Mentions of Gore, Character loss, Mentions of being sick, Implied blood, NOT A HAPPY ENDING SORRYYY

Genre: Angst 😞

!MARINEFORD SPOILERS!

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The battle had started around 2 hours ago, 43 pirate ships had arrived at marineford to save Portgas D. Ace, including you. The marines plans to speed up the exucution were in full circle even with Whitebeards statregic planing. You stood aboard the deck of the Moby Dick, alongside your father Whitebeard. You had come to save ace too, The love of your life.

Your breaths came out staggered as you watched the events before you unfold, The death of little Oars Jr, A marine ship hauling Ace’s kid brother falling from the sky, everyone fighting to get into the plaza.. You thought you had seen it all until one of the seven warlords , pirate princess Boa Hancock defend and protect Aces kid brother from the marines as he too attempted to infiltrate the plaza alongside multiple divisions of the Whitebeard crew along with sworn allies they had made over the decades.

Your heart pounded in you chest as you hopped down from the deck, your feet almost slipping against the ice, you let out a elongated breath as you began to run into the midst of the fighting. Sword in hand as you fought marines left and right. As a fleet commander you were a main target for the few Admirals that were attacking the pirates to keep them out of the plaza. You looked up only to lock eyes with your beloved, chained, beaten, and bruised. The scene along made your gut tumble, he was resting on his knees, head hung low, face stained with tears. You focused on him, not the battle around you, his eyes widened and he yelled out for you but a marine had already jumped and tackled you, knocking your sword a good distance away. You yelped in surprise as the marine held a sharp sword against your neck, your hands just blocking the blade from slicing your throat open. The blade dug into the palms of your hands as you pushed back, the stinging sensation only growing the more you fought against the marine, you closed your eyes in agony as you continued to use your strength to push him off. The marine soon went flying as you mustered up enough strength to throw him off, blood leaked from your hands, your breath now ragged, the swords locked around Ace, breath tightening in your chest as you scrambled for your sword.

“ACE!”

Ace looked down from his post, hearing your guttural scream was torture enough, alongside with having to bear the trouble of a whole war being caused over his execution.

“(NAME!) STAY BACK PLEASE-! YOULL GET KILLED!”

The sound of aces voice only fueled the fight in you. your hand clenched around your blade as you sprinted to the post, but someone had tripped you, your head hit the ice with a cracking sound, and you blacked out.

You were awoken god knows how long later to Marco kneeling above you, protecting you from the attack of the marines, Ace was standing beside him, along with his brother Luffy. Your eyes widened , seeing him free and alive was everything to you. You reached out for him. Luffy ran off to fetch what looked like a piece of paper floating against the wind. You looked away for a second to check on Marco and before you could blink the sound of impact and beads hitting the ground filled your ears, everything else went silent. The sounds of swords clashing ceased to exist as you looked up, The scene was graphic, Admiral Akainus fist straight through aces torso, Luffy on the ground looking up, paper in hand.

Your eyes widened as sound of your own gasp brought you back to reality as you screamed out his name, until your breath couldn’t take it anymore and you gasped for air, you tried to crawl to him, but Marco had grabbed you by your arms, hands resting under your shoulders as you squirmed and screamed out. Ace fell to his knees. You fell to yours.

“Ace…No..”

Memories flooded your brain, Of him holding you close on warm nights, using his devil fruit power to warm you from the cold as you sat on the deck of the ship and stargazed.

How his soft hands would capture yours and pull you into a loving and soft kiss.

How his eyes blazed with passion on adventures.

How he had promised to spend his life with you, promised to continue to take you on his adventures, promised to never part with you.

You felt sick, your meal from earlier rising in your throat.

Then he fell, right into Luffys arms. Your eyes watered instantly. Tears streaming down your face as you sat there. On your knees. Sobbing.

Marco stood in front of you, preventing you from getting to him, preventing you from reaching your one and only.

But that wasn’t enough to stop you. You quickly lunged over to them, even in your conditions, completely ignoring the risks.

“Ace-!”

“Ace…?”

He was silent for a moment, other than his sobbing, you sat at his side, arms wrapped around his, his fingers curling around yours as Luffy supported his body weight.

“Thank you… for loving someone like me…”

His voice was echoed in your ears, your heart stopping as the fingers that were curled right around your own grew limp and fell, along with the rest of his body, right onto the ice. There before you, Dead, was your lover. Portgas D. Ace.

The scream of Aces brother made your ears ring, you didn’t know what to do, you reached out to him and pulled him up.

“Ace..? ACE?!”

Tears streamed down your cheeks, hot and salty against your lips, face red from screaming and crying, his body was cold and limp, he was no longer with you, the denial hit like a brick, you continued to scream his name until marco had to drag you out of the battlefield and back onto the ship.

That scene looped over and over again in your dreams, you awoke from your sleep drenched in sweat, Blood still staining you clothes and hair from the events of last night, you went to step out of bed and realized you were in your own room. You hadn’t been in your own room in months, it was tidy and unsettling. Your heart thumped in your chest as you wobbled to the door, slipping out and staring into the sky, the early morning sunrise was painted with all kinds of colors that reminded you of him. You felt sick, the throbbing headache you hadn’t noticed before kicking in.

You remembered the adventures you two used to go on, the night you and him danced together like your lives would never be the same.. the way he held his head like a hero. But you knew deep down his memory , his legacy would live on.

“You will be remembered..”

Your voice was groggy and quiet, not and octave than a whisper.

“Long live.. The walls we crashed through… I had the time of my life with you, Ace.”

You said even quieter, a single tear dripping down your cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TY FOR READING MY FIRST FANFIC!! 😭☝️

#portgas ace x reader #one piece x reader #ace #portgas d ace #angst #sad ending #one piece #monkey d. luffy #luffy #whitebeard pirates #spade pirates #romance #marineford #tw death #Spotify

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gavisuntiedboot · 1 year

Note

Hello, if your taking requests at the moments I have one that I’d love to see though it may be a little difficult!

Gavi and the reader (an actor) are dating but are in different counties due to the reader going aboard to film a new show! The young couple decide to go on an Instagram live together to hang out & a lot of fans join!

Hello and welcome to a new series I’m calling “boot on the bus”, where I see how much I can write of an ask on my bus ride home. Whatever state it is at at the end of my ride, I post! (Also so sorry to this anon who sent me this req literally months ago)

~~~

[incoming call]: pablito ❤️😡

“Hello?”

“Amor!! Finally!!”

“Pablo, why are you making an international call right now?”

“I can afford it. You have three seconds to explain to me why you haven’t been answering a single one of my FaceTime calls. I’ve been worried and, more importantly, bored out of my mind!”

You laughed lightly and relaxed back into the plush cushions of the hotel couch. You had forgotten that the last time you were out of Spain for filming was before you had met Gavi. Being on a successful HBO original came with a lot of perks, but also a lot of pain, both physical and emotional. You had joined the royal drama “Heavenly Bodies” in the middle of its first season, instantly being thrown into a love triangle between the two male leads. Viewers ate it up, creating theories and art (and ofc fan fiction) about you and your costars, foaming at the mouth to know what would happen next. The high demand lead to your current situation, where you were cooling off in a high hotel room overlooking Dubai, listening to your boyfriends complaints 2 months earlier than scheduled.

“I haven’t gotten any of them, Pablito. FaceTime is blocked here.”

You heard a loud scoff over the phone.

“If you are too busy to talk just say that, princesa. How could FaceTime be blocked in Dubai? That makes no sense!”

“Google it.” You retorted, laying back on the couch and cracking open a cold soda. You heard yells of “Ale! Google this for me!”, followed by a long pause.

“Oh wow. It is blocked.”

“See!” You yelled into the receiver, causing Gavi to complain about his sensitive eardrums. You sat back down, continuing what would probably be a very expensive phone call with your boyfriend. As you two talked, he sighed loudly, and you heard his body hit the couch.

“I miss seeing your face, princesa. Don’t get me wrong I love the sound of your voice, but it’s just different. Is there no way we can video call?”

You could basically hear the pout and puppy dog eyes in Gavi’s voice, and it made your heart swell. He was so enamored by you, so taken by the way you looked and spoke and laugh, that all he wanted was to once again cup your face in his hands and pull you in close enough to share his breathing space.

“Well, we could always just go on live together.”

“Huh?”

“Like do a live stream. On instagram or something. We would both be calling but there would just be other people there.”

Gavi paused once again, playing around with the idea in his mind.

“But what if I… want to say “not appropriate in front of people” stuff?”

“That’s what Snapchat is for.”

His laugh resounded through the phone, and you couldn’t help the large smile that squinted your eyes and filled out your cheeks.

“Okay, Vamos, let’s do it.”

You got onto instagram and started a live, inviting Gavi to join. Every one of your 10.5 million followers who has their notifications on started to pour in, the messages of “I love you 😍” and “hi from Brazil 🇧🇷” flying at unreadable speeds. Gavi’s end connected a second later, and the fans went mental. Gavi was beaming like the sun when the line connected, finally able to see your face again.

“Hello again, Amor. I missed that pretty smile.”

Your fans and Gavi’s were now in the chat trying to prevent a mass cardiac arrest incident.

Ynbiggestfan: MOTHERRRRR AND FATHERRR

gavi3096: nobody let Madrid see this they’ll know how to make him soft

Ynandgavicloset2: the way he calls her amor time to take a nap on an electrical wire in the rain

You weren’t reading any of it thought. You were staring at Gavi who was staring at you, the two of you making idle conversation about your trip and your show and his upcoming matches. He looked at you with so much love and affection that it made you blush, turning you into a much more shy and cuddly mess than people were used to. The sexy and strong power couple were now just a bunch of teenagers giggling and kicking their feet on instagram live. A strand of hair fell in your face, and Gavi reached out to his phone before remembering he couldn’t sweep it from your eyes on a different continent.

“Princesa, from now on, no filming on location unless I can come.”

“Why Pablito? Can’t live without me?” You teased, expecting a sharp reaction.

“Correct. Im literally itching and shaking from withdrawal. I love you and miss you come back faster.”

The chat got so overwhelmed they crashed the live.

~~~

Hey guys! Hope y’all enjoyed this little imagine. Ik not everybody wants super long works, but I don’t know how to write fast or short so then things sit in my inbox forever. So here’s to length variation!! Love y’all, time to take a nap.

#gavisuntiedboot #gavisuntiedbootasks #pablo gavi #pablo gavi x reader #gavi #gavi x reader #pablo gavi imagine #gavi x you #fc barca #gavi imagine #gavi fluff #gavi fic #pablo gavi fanfic #pablo gavi fanfiction #pablo gavi fluff #gavi fanfic

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gemini-magic17 · 6 months

Text

Entanglement Chapter Twenty

**Kit's POV

The sound of the waves crashing against the shore made me know that we were very close to Dristarya. It was early when we got there and as I set my eyes on it for the first time it was astounding. Never before have I seen a castle so huge and ancient-looking as if it was built thousands of years ago. With how bare it looked and no signs of life I really started to question if the details that Willow was given were correct. It doesn't seem like anyone has lived here for many years.

"Hey", I hear Boorman say as he comes up behind me.

"Hey", I responded back still focused on the shore in front of me.

"What's wrong", he asked.

"I don't think anyone lives here."

"Why do you say that", he questioned.

"Just look at it. The entire island looks abandoned the only thing that I see is birds flying overhead what about you", I looked at him.

"Are you sure about that from what I see it looks like someone arrived here recently", he pointed towards the shore and I furrowed my eyebrows to where he was pointing at.

"Is that a boat", I asked squinting trying to clearly make out what I was looking at.

"Well from what I can see it is", he said.

I couldn't stop looking in that direction and the closer we got I was praying that what Willow had told me was indeed true. Then out of nowhere came the she-devil herself as the ship made its way partially on the shore.

"I'm going to go look for Y/n, the captain said he wants to stay aboard the ship; you and Boorman can do what you like", she said and proceeded to leap off the boat.

"Fuck that", I told her and went after her.

"Excuse me."

"You heard me. I don't know who the fuck you think you are or who you are talking to but I am not the one you want to piss off. I know I hurt her that I practically put her through hell but you have no right to tell me the fuck to do", I stated getting into her face.

"I am her wife, not you and I will do everything I can to make things right with her even if it takes me the rest of my fucking life to do so. Don't you think for a second that you can swoop in and try to take her away because you can't", I said.

"I won't need to try if she goes willingly", she said smirking and that made my blood boil.

"You know what Amara yo-", I began but was cut off.

"After all, who could deal with the shit you put her through. Do you really think that she is going to forgive you and take you back after everything? I have known her for my entire life and when I say what you put her through she will never forgive you", she said with a hard stare, and at that I couldn't hate her more than right now. Not just because she was threatening to take Y/n away but that I knew she was right with how she would never forgive me.

"Follow if you want I don't care anymore. I now know that I have nothing to worry about when it comes to you", she said and she began to walk off.

"Don't take what she says to heart Kit she is just jealous that you have Y/n and she doesn't", Boorman said.

"That's the thing, Boorman I don't have her. I may be married to Y/n but I don't have her not where it counts", I said, and we went to catch up to Amara as we made our way to the gates.

**Ser Easton's POV

These past couple of days have been quite peaceful and I know that is unusual to say considering this island is full of dragons. Yet, there is no fighting, yelling, or political issues to worry about here. I roamed all around Dristarya making sure to know the ins and outs of this place in case of an attack or unwanted visitors.

As I made my way to the opening under the castle I was told by Y/n to be careful as she recounted what happened to her when she arrived that very day. Getting closer to my intended destination in the corner of my eye I noticed a ship approaching. I couldn't see who was aboard but as it started to get nearer I hid behind a gigantic rock that was close enough to shore to see who was present.

It wasn't until the ship got closer to the shoreline that I saw it was Kit aboard and I was shocked. Why the hell was she here? Did she know that the princess fled to Dristarya? How could she have found out about it then? Many questions raced through my mind and it wasn't until they were making their way off the boat that I carefully mad my way to the castle to avoid being seen by them.

As soon as I was out of sight I ran all the way back to the castle making sure that I got to the trail before they could. I burst open the castle doors and searched through every room to find Y/n. I couldn't find her which led me to believe she was still sleeping. I ran as fast as I could to her room and when I made it there I was terribly out of breath. I began to bang my fist on her door knowing she would awake from the noise.

**Y/n's POV

I was fast asleep in my chambers when a loud banging on my door woke me up. Along with the constant fist pounding on the door, I could hear who could only be Ser Easton yelling with urgency.

"Princess! Princess!"

I jumped out of bed and rushed to open the door where I was met with an out-of-breath Ser Easton. He was leaning on the door frame trying to catch his breath from the obvious haste he made trying to get here.

"What's wrong? Did something happen", I asked with concern believing that something happened to him.

"I was out for a walk along the beach and saw a ship coming this way", he said.

"What? What are you talking about no one comes here", I said with confusion and a hint of worry that is evident in my voice.

"That's the thing Y/n I got closer to the beach making sure that the people on board didn't see me and I recognized one of them."

"Well, who was it", I questioned with anticipation building inside me.

"Your not gonna like it", he said and I step closer to him where I looked him directly into his eyes.

"Who was it Ser Easton", I said.

"It was Kit Tanthalos Princess", he said, and when the words poured out of his mouth my heart stopped for a second.

"Oh", I responded and the anger I was harboring toward her started bubbling to the surface.

"How did she even know to come here", I asked him and made my way to get some clothes.

"I can only think of one possibility."

"Which is", I said and began to change in the bathroom while we continued our conversation.

"Willow must have told her", I stopped what I was doing when I heard him say those words.

"I don't believe he would do that. He knows how much pain I felt with what Kit put me through. I just don't believe he would sell me out like that", I said clearly in denial about the whole thing.

"It is the only way she could have known Y/n I'm sorry. Willow is the only one who knows you are here and you know I wouldn't tell anyone especially her of all people."

"I suppose you are right", I said knowing what he said was true. I finished dressing and made my way out of my chambers.

"Y/n where are you going", he asked following hot on my trail through the castle's hallways.

"You said they were coming towards the beach yes which means they will be coming up the trail soon enough", I asked.

"Yes, what is it that you intend to do", he asked and we were outside of the castle's walls.

"I am going to go give Kit and her comrades a warm welcome to Dristarya", I turned to him and said.

"How exactly are you going to do that", he asked, and just then I could feel Kylora come up behind me.

"I'll give them a dragon's welcome", I said with an upturned smile.

#kit tanthalos x reader #hazel callahan x reader #willow 2022 #kit tanthalos #ruby cruz #willow fanfic

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holodeck-enthusiast · 2 months

Text

All You Have is Printed Circuits

(Context: TOS episode - "This Side of Paradise")

As the characteristic of being dangerously confident was in every cell of his body, Kirk was sure he'd succesfully gaslight Spock in order to help him build anger and fight against the alien infection that had already taken over Spock's mind.

"All you have is printed circuits!"

"Captain...I..."

"...you devil-eared freak!.....a planet of traitors.....never had an ounce of integrity...a carcass full of memory banks...."

"Jim.."

...

Kirk feels the selfloath all over his body generating from the very core of his mind. Every words leaving his tongue, backfired at his heart. In front of his eyes, Spock was turning paler each second....the disbelief on his face, his eyes, his beautiful sparkling eyes....Kirk wanted to hold Spock and mind meld with him, speak with him, that none of these mean anything except he just has to invoke a strong emotion and kick the spores out of his system. If it were the other way round, if it were Kirk, it would have taken seconds for Spock to mind meld with the captain and make him aware of the situation.

But all Kirk has got, is that insane hope that Spock WILL understand why he's doing this...Spock will recognise Jim through all these opaque curtains of words that Jim would never, in any universe, think of for real.

...

Spock grabbed Kirk's torso and threw him against the wall. He forced himself back to the moment and kept yelling at Spock.

"You belong in a circus, Spock, not a starship.."

Spock's whole face went green. He was trembling. He closed his eyes and submit to the tsunami of hormones breaking onto him like a cloudburst. He picked up a chair and walked a few steps towards Kirk who was at that moment, still lying on the floor, still looking back at Spock. He wasn't capable of moving his literally bloody mouth.

*Wake up Spock! Wake the fuck up!!!*

Spock wasn't seeing.

Spock wasn't thinking.

Spock wasn't listening anymore.

Spock lifted the chair above his head.

"H-had enough?" Kirk tried to speak out faintly. His chest rising at its best to catch some air for him. Spock put his arms down in a lightning speed and smashed the chair onto James Tiberius Kirk, his captain, his T'hy'la.

...

Spock felt like rising his head above the waves! He doesn't remember much, only some auditory montage of words, pain all over his body...and then it all started coming to him episodically, incidents one after another. Even the Vulcan part of his brain took 4-5 seconds to get a grab of the situation. Then he looked down.

Jim was there. Lying on the floor on his back. his whole body was shaking. His head was turned to one side, with eyes closed...blood sipping from the corner of his mouth. Broken pieces of that chair covered his chest and abdomen forming a messy pile. Spock desperately hunched over him and shook him by grabbing his shoulders.

"Jim!"

Spock didn't waste a second. He dragged Jim somewhat closer to the wall. Jim's shirt from chest to abdomen was blood-soaked..torn in different places. Everything was going too fast for Spock.

"Captain..please.....Jim"

Spock patted on his cheeks. Almost like a slap. He knew Jim's just unconscious for now but he needs immediate medical attention to check for internal injuries.

Spock pulled Jim into his arms from behind and tried to make his torso stay upright.

His eyes were fixed on Jim, whose head was now resting on Spock's chest. On many occasions he had been either sassy or rude about Jim's recent weight again. At this moment almost the half of his body was rested against Spock's and Spock didn't feel a thing. Jim looked so tired, so very still, alarmingly still....and small. Spock felt like he can wait for an eternity with Jim on his lap if that's what it's gonna take before Jim gains consciousness.

Why is it taking so long! Spock was checking his pulses frequently. He needs him to wake up! He needs his help to at least make McCoy come aboard and start the necessary treatments.

For the first time Spock felt somewhat helpless and his human side missed Leonard like hell!

"...Sp.."

Spock turned his heads to Jim in a millisecond!!!

"Spock.."

Jim finally opened his eyes. If one can look closely enough, the relief in Spock's eyes was quite prominent. He slowly, very carefully moved Jim to lie him down on his back on the floor.

"I am sorry Spock. But I had to."...Jim pauses to catch a breath.

"Jim, I understand" he takes Jim's left hand into his. "You deliberately did that and that was a dazzling display of logic, my captain"

"None of those words are real. It can never be. I am so so sohr-ry.......I..can't....breathe Spock!"

Spock realised in a second that Jim was having a panic attack.

"Jim! Look at me!" Spock held him close

"Captain try to focus on your breathing. Follow me as I say.....in...out...in....out..."

Jim tried his best to keep eye contact with Spock. All those years of extreme training, even all the shitty situations he and his crew had faced in recent past....and THIS is the very first time he is having a panic attack. Scared the hell out of him. And it was quite visible on his face.

As the situation got slightly under control...Jim was breathing normally but still shivering, Spock lifted him up again and held him tightly into his arms.

"Those words...Spock..I..."

Apparently he was fixated on those words and was facing an uncontrollable guilt, although it was the only reasonable action at the particular moment....bt it's... it's Spock. And it was just as painful to Jim as it was to Spock.

Spock didn't let Jim finish his sentence. He held Jim's face into his palms and placed a very soft, warm and passionate kiss on his lips.

...

A few moments later, as the symptoms of that panic attack with an aweful sense of timing, faded away, Captain Kirk stood up on his feet, rigged a plan with Spock and they executed it in a very smooth Spirkly way. All the affected crew including McCoy was cured from the effects of the spores. McCoy started treating Kirk at sickbay as soon as he was transported back on the ship. Kirk told him everything later, on listening to which McCoy had the best laugh in his life. Of course Jim had skipped a part about a kiss..very human.

#tos spirk #star trek #spock #spirk #james t kirk #leonard nimoy #star trek tos #william shatner #jim kirk #star trek spirk #spirk fanfiction

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youfreakinturltle · 1 year

Text

Protect You Pt. 2

(A/N): I went ahead and made a little outfit for the reader so we can have a visual for her! This is part 2 in the Protect You series! Part 3 will be dropping here shortly! Hope y’all enjoy 😊

Pairing: Colby Brock x ghost!fem!reader

Warnings: death, superstition, language, fighting, demons, paranormal activities, the usual ghost/pirate themes

A couple of hours passed as they spoke with some of the other people in the house, ones you had grown close with in your time here. You made sure to stay close to the guys and let them know if the spirit they were speaking with was good or not. If they encountered an angry spirit they would heed your frantic warnings and leave the room. They were beginning to get ready to leave when you were needed most. They were back in the parlor, you standing guard over them all, but particularly Colby. You had taken quite the liking to him specifically and realized that he was unaware of the abilities he possessed, leaving him the most susceptible.

They were talking amongst themselves, you standing behind Colby with your arms crossed over your chest, your stare set on the door in front of you. All of the sudden, you see movement on the floor coming towards the room. Quickly realizing what it was, you send the rempod into a wild fritz. The guys jump and realize you want to speak with them. Sam quickly turns on the spirit box and asks you if everything is okay.

“Crawler coming. Go stand in corner. I protect.”

They look around at each other, clearly trying to decide whether to do as you say or just book it out of the house.

“Please.”

“Okay, (Y/N). We’re going to the corner. Please be safe,” Colby says quickly, ushering the guy to the corner of the room.

Everything happened so fast. One second you’re directing the guys where to go, and the next, the Crawler is lunging itself at them. Throwing yourself in front of them you tackle it to the ground with a loud thump, causing them to jump behind you and grab onto each other, looking wildly around the room. The Crawler throws you off of it and tries to advance forward. Grabbing one of its creepy ass legs, you throw it across the room behind you, causing the glasses on the table behind you to shatter and the table to give out and crush under its weight.

“OH MY GOD OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT SHES FIGHTING SOMETHING,” screams Nate all in one breath.

Ignoring their yells, you continue your attack. Launching yourself at it, you pull the daggers on your back from their holster for the first time in centuries. Daggers made of pure silver, something your first, highly superstitious, captain insisted on before you went to the Walrus. At the time you only held onto them because they were nice daggers, but now you’re eternally grateful to your first captain and his bewildering fears. Because you came to learn that pure silver is the only thing that can hurt the Crawler and Shadow Man. Taking a swing at the beast before you, you land a blow, sinking the dagger into its shoulder. Letting out a grotesque wail, it flings you across the room where you skid to a stop right in front of the guys.

Jumping to your feet, you see that Shadow Man has decided to join in.

You sigh and let out a quiet, “…fuck.” Which the guys behind you seemed to have heard given the frantic yelling behind you asking if you’re okay. Not having time to let them know, you quickly deflect the Shadow Man’s attack while the Crawler recovers. For some reason, you have a flashback to your life aboard your first ship.

The waves crash against the side of the ship as you sail back to Nassau after your latest hunt. Captain Hornigold appears behind you, clapping a hand onto your shoulder.

“Yes, Captain?”

“(Y/N), there’s something you should know if we ever encounter another being like that again.”

He still seemed quite shaken up after he and the entire crew witnessed a spirit floating above the water after your catch. She didn’t really do anything to scare you, but when she lifted her hand to point at the Captain, he started shouting this word that you couldn’t quite understand. But after shouting it at her a couple of times, she dissipated completely.

“If you ever see anything like that, just shout the word ‘Exire’ until it leaves.”

“Uh… alright, Captain. May I ask what it means?”

“It’s Latin for be gone. If you do this, they will leave and not bother you again unless you invite it back.”

Coming back to the present, you’re confused for a split second as to why you would remember that now, but quickly realize why when the Crawler starts at you again.

“Exire!”

Both entities jolted slightly, but still advanced.

“Exire!!”

Again, they paused for a second before advancing once again.

“EXIRE!!”

That seemed to do the trick, as they began to shout angrily at you before disappearing.

Once they left a deafening silence fell over the room. You look around to take in the damage you had done to the room and heard behind you, “(Y/N)… are you still there…?”

You turn around to see the guys still huddled in the corner, clinging onto each other for dear life, all except Colby. He was standing a little ahead of them, wide eyed, and frantically looking around the room. You sigh a little, sad that they were so scared, but infinitely grateful that they were alright. You smile softly at Colby, even though he can’t see it, and walk over to the only lamp left that hadn’t been absolutely obliterated and tap it to turn it on. The guys let out a collective sigh of relief and you hear Colby murmur, “thank god you’re okay.”

“That was insane, (Y/N)! Kinda wish we could take you on all of our adventures,” said Sam while chuckling with the rest of them. After a second their laughter dies down and you see them glancing at each other like they’re actually considering it. While they take a moment to collect themselves you make your way back to the smaller mirror that was still intact and write, “you okay?”

They smile at each other, realizing you’re concerned about their well-being past simply making sure they survived the night. Colby somehow knows exactly where to look, almost like he’s looking directly at you when he says, “we’re okay, thank you so much for protecting us. That was amazing, (Y/N).”

Looking at him you realize you don’t want him to leave. You want him to stay and protect him and keep his company. But deep down you know that you couldn’t possibly ask that of him. So instead, you think about if you were to go with them. You desperately wanted out of this place, you deeply missed the open ocean and constantly seeing new things. It wouldn’t exactly be the same, but it would be better than staying here any longer. While you desperately wanted to leave with Colby, you weren’t sure if he would be okay with having an attachment. You decide it can’t hurt to at least ask, so you walk to the mirror again and write, “Come with you?”

They look at each other, understandably hesitant, and seem to be getting ready to deny you before, “Yes. You can attach to me.”

You turn to see Colby had stepped forward and was looking in your direction earnestly. You could sense that he understood how desperately you wished to leave and that you would never do anything to harm them. You smile and let out a sigh of relief and write, “Thank you.”

#colby brock x reader #colby brock x y/n #colby brock #Colby Brock x ghost!reader #sam and colby #fan fiction #colby brock imagine #pirate!reader #ghost!reader #protect you series

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pianokantzart · 1 year

Text

Oh boy, get ready for a long post. There’s a lot to cover.

As Luigi is dragged aboard Bowser’s ship, he is utterly confounded, and is just trying to take in his surroundings. He is not granted even that luxury. Every time he hesitates he is violently forced along. The second to last time he’s yanked forward, it’s so aggressive that his hat falls over his eyes, effectively blindfolding him for the final leg of the journey. The last time he’s tugged forward, he’s so exhausted and disoriented that he falls on his face before Bowser’s throne, and it takes a little while for him to get back up.

Bowser looks intrigued. At this point, all he knows of either of The Mario Brothers is that there’s a mustachioed human somewhere out there, training with and traveling alongside his love interest. When he first heard of Mario he was thrown into a tizzy, his fragile ego threatened by simply the existence of a human in close proximity to the woman he’s infatuated with... and now who should be dragged to his throne but yet another human, who matches the exact description of the man on his mind.

Luigi gathers himself and rises to his knees. Looking up, he recoils at the sight of Bowser: a nine foot tall turtle monster, covered in razor sharp spikes, looking down at him with rage in his eyes, like he wants to tear him apart.

“Leave him to me.” Bowser begins to descend his throne. If Luigi wasn’t scared before, he certainly is now. He recoils even further, every cell in his body striving to move as far away as possible; to run, to hide, to disappear, to be anywhere except here!

Kamek shows up in a puff of smoke, and after undoing Luigi’s bonds he engulfs him in a magical field that serves only to incapacitate him even more than the ropes did. Luigi yells in terror as he is flung forward, and is placed face-to-face with the menacing King of The Koopas.

You can see Luigi very subtly shake his head as Bowser draws near. Every part of him is screaming, bracing for the worst, but Bowser merely spins Luigi around… almost playfully… and asks for his name.

“Uh… Luigi.” He answers, letting out a nervous laugh. With nowhere to run, nothing to hide behind, and nobody to protect him, Luigi has one last survival method to lean on: deescalation. Clearly this giant turtle monster thing is mad about something. This has to be a misunderstanding! He thinks that, perhaps, if he is agreeable and does what he’s told, he can escape this situation intact.

Bowser brags about his plans to marry a princess and rule the world while threateningly flicking his claws, so sharp and sturdy they spark like knives against each other. Luigi feigns celebration as Bowser presses one of these razor-sharp claws against his throat, lifting his head. “Wow, heh... Yaaay.” Deescalate. Survive. Tell this guy what he wants to hear.

“But there’s one problem, Luigi. There’s a human traveling with my fiancee… has a mustache, just like you!”

“...Do you know him?”

Mmmm, okay. Let’s address the elephant in the room. What’s up with the... behavior? This is what I think: For some time now, Bowser has been seething about Mario. He’s never met him, knows almost nothing about him, and yet he already hates him with the passion of a thousand suns. No matter what Bowser claims, he very much feels threatened by Mario’s proximity to Peach. He wants nothing more than to prove his superiority over him… to grind him under his heel like he has everyone else that has ever gotten in his way. Now he finds someone who fits Mario’s description in his presence– someone who is very likely connected with this newfound enemy– and he’s going to revel in it. Every motion Bowser’s made this far… spinning Luigi around, jabbing at his throat, messing with his hat, lifting his chin, twirling his mustache… is about dominance. It’s to prove to Luigi that he is truly helpless, and that Bowser can do whatever he likes to him without consequence.

Unfortunately, this dynamic is also… um, you know...

... quite fruity. While I see it more as strictly a power play, there’s a weird intimacy in the chin lifts and the mustache twirl that’s hard to ignore. If Bowser isn’t attracted to Luigi, he certainly has a fascination with him, at least for the moment.

“… N-no…” When responding to Bowser’s question, Luigi’s first “no” sounds genuine, like he’s so scared that his brain isn’t functioning correctly, and he legitimately doesn’t recall. But in a split second the pieces come together, and his eyes widen with realization: Mario. “... No!” The second “no” is a huge mistake; an impulsive reiteration, a lie transparent as glass. Bowser is all the more certain that these two know each other, and steps the interrogation up a notch.

“Ah, tough one I see! Maybe this will get you to talk…” Bowser almost sounds excited to see the defiance. He targets the one descriptor he has for Mario other than his humanity: the mustache. He grabs a hair, and tugs.

It clearly hurts, but now that Luigi knows his brother is involved he tries to feign ignorance. He doesn’t know what’s happening or why it matters, he just knows he doesn’t want Mario wrapped up in... whatever this is. Unfortunately, Luigi is really, really bad at lying.

“Do you think I know every human being with a mustache wearing an identical outfit with a hat with the letter of his first name on it?… because I don’t.” Luigi. My man. My poor dumb green bean, Bowser never mentioned the outfit. Luigi has effectively removed any doubt that he and Mario know each other, and placed a big ole target on his own head.

The confirmation that Luigi is well acquainted with the man stealing his girl has made him infinitely less amusing to Bowser, who is now less interested in toying with Luigi and far more interested in hurting him. He pulls out the mustache hair and snatches Luigi in his fist, squeezing tight. He grabs a larger clump of mustache and yanks hard, repeating the question with a newfound violence. “Do you know him!?”

“Ah! Stop! Stopstopstop I know him, yes, I know him. He’s my brother Mario, and he’s the best guy in the world!”

Completely panicked and now in serious pain, Luigi reveals two pieces of information while breaking down into sobs: the “mustachioed human” traveling with the princess is named Mario, and they are brothers. This is two pieces of information that Bowser didn’t know before, but there is one more key detail that he is desperate to know:

B: “Do princesses find him attractive!?” L: “THEY DO IF THEY HAVE GOOD TASTE!” Luigi doesn’t quite realize that his adoration of Mario is making this situation so much worse. He has not figured out... despite all evidence... that the princess is a key point in this, that there is a weird one-sided rivalry between Mario and this draconic tyrant. But, understandably, Luigi is spent. He has 0 braincells left. At this point, he just misses his brother with all his heart. If Luigi had been able to think about anything else, he might’ve know that this was the worst thing he could’ve possibly said (as adorable as it was).

Bowser does not take kindly Luigi’s reply. He rips out the clump of mustache and throws him to the ground in disgust. Whatever interest and amusement he felt before has been completely stamped out. Luigi has validated Bowser’s insecurities, and dared speak Mario’s praises in his presence. “Get him out of my sight! We’ll see how tough this Mario is, when he watches me kill his brother!”

This interrogation has lead to two developments: 1. Bowser now officially knows Mario’s name. 2. Bowser has a newfound hatred for Luigi too. Obviously, he doesn’t hate him as much as he hates Mario, but by virtue of being dedicated to his brother Luigi has accidentally placed his head directly on the chopping block. Although I am disappointed nothing came of Bowser’s threat, I have my fingers crossed this line will come back to bite us in the future, especially now that Bowser has a better understanding of not just how dedicated Luigi is to Mario, but how much Mario loves Luigi in return.

#not art #Mario Movie #Mario Movie Spoilers #Luigi #Bowser #Super Mario Brothers #Super Mario Bros #Long Post #mario movie analysis #You guys finally got me to talk about Bowuigi congradulations #I hope you're proud #Also Luigi made a squeaky toy noise when he was grabbed #I feel like it's important to point that out #that is canon now

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miseries-mistress · 2 years

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ALL TO KEEP YOU SAFE | ANAKIN SKYWALKER

Synopsis: Your mission was supposed to be simple: get on a Separatist cruiser, find the time-sensitive information they possess, and leave. Of course, nothing happens to plan because, within seconds, tens of droids surrounded you, there missed blaster shots hitting the wall behind you until her; Ventress. She caught you, Anakin, and your troopers off guard, so while you dealt with her, the rest of the clones escaped with the information you came aboard for. Luck is really not on your side, ever.

Warnings: female reader, slight smut, anakin in his protective era ig, making out, no smut, injury/reader in pain, canon typical violence. W/C: 2396

Notes: I am so tired yall, i can't even (sorry for the grainy gif)

star wars masterlist

What happened?

Amidst the battle, for a second, time seemed irrelevant. Your heart pounding in your ears was all you could hear as the deep red blade swung in an unpredictable attack. The smell of ashes and fumes drifts through the air. The bumps and curves of your steel weapon tethered you to your insufferable reality and the taste of copper filling your dry mouth was all you could focus on for that millisecond before you felt it; the feeling of your flesh being boiled from the blow he had dealt you was enough for the pain to cloud your vision.

Your head was fuzzy, like it was packed full of cotton balls. Your entire body throbbed like a thousand needles dipped in alcohol were being jammed into your skin. The people bustled around, yelling at each other in what seemed like a foreign language, their voices so muffled it felt like your head was underwater.

The room spun like a top as someone shook your shoulder, contributing to the agony submerging your body. Why was the room spinning? That's a good question to ask.

You're propped against something hard, a wall, maybe? You must be on the floor. How did you get here? Another good question for Anakin.

"Y/N!"

Was someone calling your name? Stars, your ears kept ringing at such an incessant high pitch that it was hard to hear anything at all. Finally, you blinked, and a blurry figure appeared before you. It was difficult to tell who or what it was from the pixelated outline and the dark colors cladding most of it. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust and capture the details of this mysterious person.

"Y/N!" the person in front of you shouted, shaking your shoulders, and if you could spare the energy, you would have smiled. But, instead, Anakin's hands leave your shoulders now that he has ensnared your attention, busying himself with a medical kit on the floor. Why would he be fiddling with a med kit?

"What are you…?"

"Shh," Anakin drapes his hand over your shoulders, beckoning you to the wall. "You're injured right now, Y/N. Try not to move."

He just answered most of your questions at once. How productive of him.

Anakin rips the sanitary seal on the Bacta Pad and presses it over your wound. It pulls you back up to the surface from the drowsiness trying to pull you under, and your back arches off the wall. A searing pain rises over your thigh where it was once numb, and you bite your lip to contain your scream, tears falling from your scrunched-up eyes. All you could see was a multitude of colors dancing across your closed lids, a sob of pain escaping your bare lips. You wanted more than anything for it to end, to pass out, bleed out, whatever it takes to make it end.

"Shh, I know, I know, it'll feel better soon, I promise," Anakin coos, drawing gauze from the kit. The scalding burn dissolves into a dull throb while Anakin silently but efficiently finishes patching you up. He sits back, admiring his work, and brushes your hair away from your sweat-stained face. The colors around the room began to blend together, blurring the image in front of you. Blobs of dark color drift by as your heavy eyelids resist the need for rest. Each blink took longer, your eyes burning with the need for slumber.

Anakin, who was reduced to a lump of dark color, intertwined his hand with yours, his fingers smoothing over the skin of your hand. You barely felt the sensation, the ache in your body too intense.

"Sleep, my love. I will be here when you wake." Those were the last words you heard before submitting to the desire for sleep

—

At first, you felt the cold breeze of a fan brushing over your exposed arms. Then, the faint crinkle of the sheets and a warm hand residing on yours. And the smell of rubbing alcohol hanging in the air, mixed with something you couldn't quite put your fingers on. Your body felt like it was glued to the bed, incapable of so much as a twitch for a couple of minutes. But, with each passing second, your strength and awareness slowly returned to your body, filling the previous numbness with the power you didn't realize you possessed.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you squinted at the harsh light beaming down on your unadjusted eyes. Someone besides you gasps, the grip on your hand tightening

"Y/N!" The sound of your name hurriedly proclaimed from such tantalizing lips put your body at ease. You were with Anakin wherever you were, and that's all you needed.

"Where am I?" you croaked, and Anakin, learning of your parched throat, seized the glass of water on your bedside table and leaned back over. You slowly raised your head to graciously accept the water, consuming large gulps as you did. Once you were finished, he set down the glass, his hands folding neatly in his lap.

"You're in the infirmary on the cruiser. You passed out," Anakin explained, keeping his voice level while his heart felt like it was beating in his throat. He watched your eyes flutter cautiously around the room before you settled back into your cot.

"Thank you," your voice was weaker and softer than you anticipated. "But I have to report to the council so–"

"No," Anakin spoke firmly, his grip on your hand strengthening.

"Anakin, I–"

"No, Y/N, because I almost lost you and Maker when you were dying in my arms…." Anakin took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes squeezing together while he composed himself. Emotion was building in his chest, spreading to his throat rather than his eyes.

Anakin sniffed, his eyes incapable of meeting yours. "The doctors have ordered you to stay on bed rest for the next couple of days. The council will meet with you tomorrow about the details of your mission."

Anakin's hand attempted to slip from yours, but you squeezed his palm, silently pleading for him to sit back down. Instead, his eyes trail down to the simple point of contact, again taking his seat. He seems to analyze your intertwined fingers, his leg nervously bouncing while you run your fingers over his callouses.

"What's wrong, Ani?" you ask, and his eyes flicker to yours for the briefest moments. You frown, ignoring the sharp pain in your thigh as you scoot closer to him.

"Ani?" you call his name quietly, waiting to provoke a reaction out of him, and for what seems the first time since you've woken up, your eyes meet his, and he doesn't pull away. You expected to find admiration mixing in depths of blue irises, but you were met with a fiery fierceness that took your breath away.

"Why? Why did you have to put yourself in danger?" His voice was a mock calmness, with the first pinpricks of something akin to anger seeping through.

"If I didn't, those clones would have died, my love. You of all people–" your clear explanation was interrupted by a growl, Anakin's hand ripping from yours.

"You put yourself in needless danger. You almost got yourself killed! That was reckless–"

"Anakin–!"

"You were acting irresponsibly! You treated your life as a gamble for the "greater good." What a bunch of bullshit!" His hands delve into the strands of his hair, running through those stained with the ashes of battle.

You scoff. "That was hardly the case, Anakin."

"It was exactly the case. You were selfish, putting your life on the line like that." Anakin takes a couple of steps closer, his eyes alight with anger.

"You're the selfish one yelling at me for doing what I was bred to do, Anakin! Get your head out of your ass and realize that information was much more important than my life."

Anakin stomps over to you, his hands fisting the pillow beside your head. Your eyes widen, your heart beating outside your chest as Anakin hovers menacingly over you.

"Don't you ever say that again," he snarls, his tone low as it rumbles through your ear. Your brain searches for words, for a phrase that could counteract Anakin's threat, but your mind is wiped blank. Goosebumps run down your arms while your eyes flicker from his lips, back up to his piercing blue eyes drilling holes into yours. "Not so brave now, are you?"

His eyes catch your movement, the subtle squirming under him, your breaths coming out in short pants, and your hands clenching the sheets.

A part of himself that he doesn't let himself indulge in often relishes in you entirely at his mercy. You look so innocent, pure with those big, helpless eyes, pleading for him. Such a good girl. His thoughts turn possessive the longer he stares at you, drinking your body spread out so nicely underneath him. A smirk, a confident and cocky one he often bore, makes its way to his face. He glances down to see what has you so compliant and what he sees makes arousal flow through him like a drug.

His knee, which was thrown over the bed in his haste to get to you, was parted between your legs, a pillar against your wet heat that seemed to throb around him. His eyes trailed back up your body, discovering your eyes staring at something beyond him. A wave of control moves him to grab your chin, forcing your face twisted in embarrassment to focus on him and only him.

"You like that, don't you?" he asks tauntingly, purposely phrasing it as a question despite already knowing the answer. The almost unnoticeable buck into his thigh and the whimper you so desperately tried to subdue confirms and washes away all suspicions of anything else; you are enjoying this.

You gulp the wad of spit seemingly stuck in your throat, your eyes unable to meet his while his mind moves a mile a minute. Finally, he grabs your chin more forcefully this time, his eyes hardening. "I asked you a question."

"Yes…" you respond meekly, your voice failing to bring the authority it seemed to always carry.

If possible, it seems to rile up Anakin more, sending him further into an untamable turmoil of lust. In an instant, his lips descended on yours with feverish hunger and wicked desperation that knocked out your senses as his lips molded perfectly to the curve of your mouth. Hard. Passionate. Hungry. That's how Anakin kisses you. His lips sinfully moved haphazardly without a definite purpose or path, just filled with the desire to consume and derive every part of your being that you have offered to him. His tongue pushes past the barricade of your lips as they press firmly over yours. He explores every crevice of your mouth to get a quick reminder of your delicious taste. His wandering hands corrupt every inch of your body, and you can't find it within yourself to care, only focused on the blooming sensation of arousal rushing through your veins as opposed to the admiration he usually spills over you like water.

Aggressive. Impatient. Devouring. You feel it all in the Force, each emotion spiking it to another degree.

That was until he pulled back, mindful of the injuries you had procured, while his face flushed a deep red, chest heaving. His eyes dilated a fraction, taking note of his surroundings before running a gloved hand through your disheveled hair. You placed a hand over your chest to steady the erratic beating of your heart. The rage you saw sweeping over the blue of his irises had vanished, and something like sorrow replaced it. The sudden change of emotions started you briefly while you attempted to compose yourself.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he murmured, his gaze finding its way back to yours. You could sense in the Force the remorse he felt for giving way to his emotions. Your eyes softened as you patted the space on the bed, inviting him to sit. He appeared hesitant at first but eventually settled down by your side.

"It's okay," you smiled up at him. His hand grabbed yours, raising your joined hands and placing a chaste kiss on the back of your palm. You took your connected hands and set your lips delicately on the back of Anakin's palm. His pupils enlarged for a second before softening with their familiar warmth. "Come, sleep with me."

Laughing, Anakin raised his eyebrows at your question, and you internally slapped yourself. So be it to Anakin for his mind to descend into such thoughts. You fixedly glare at him, and he rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging on the corners of his lips. You carefully scooted over to give him enough space to lie down as he got comfortable on the small bed. When he was satisfied in his spot, you placed your head on his chest, your arm circling around his torso. His flesh hand fell to your hair, softly stroking it while you fought the urge to submit to sleep. Your eyelids drooped, and before you knew it, you gave way to sleep's temptation, wrapped in the arms of General Anakin Skywalker, every doubt and worry swept from your mind by the Jedi's skillful practice, allowing you to sleep peacefully until you would be pulled away from him again to resume your duties.

But for now, Anakin could keep you to himself before you, and he would part, swept up in the endless misery of war.

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spilledkauffie · 2 years

Text

Make That Seven

Pairing: Sergeant Hunter (TBB) x Female!Reader Word Count: 3.1k T/W: pregnancy description / discussion A/N: for this request ❤︎︎

↳ m a i n m a s t e r l i s t

“I have successfully acquired the cargo,” Tech’s voice came through Hunter’s helmet in a static, but proud tone.

“You mean we have successfully acquired it,” Echo chimed in with a strain, sounding as though he was the one struggling to physically hold on to the cargo.

Hunter, ignoring whatever situation was taking place aboard, turned to you; yelling so you could hear him over the few blaster fires coming hot on your tail from behind, “they have the cargo!”

“Great,” you respond, closing your eyes momentarily as the blaster fires stirred the gravel in front of you, causing dust to rush around your face, “so how do we get rid of them?”

You gestured behind, to the speeders closing in.

“Leave it to me,” Wrecker quickly fell back, punching his fists together, proceeding to pick up the nearest object of debris, hurling it at the two low speeders after you.

You came to a halt at the anticipation of an explosion, Hunter dived over to where you had sunk to your knees, using his body to protect you from any flying metal scraps that were once a part of a well-oiled machine Wrecker was dismantling. Feeling Hunter’s chest press against your back, you squeezed your eyes shut at a second explosion and pushed back against him, waiting to hear all the falling pieces come down before you looked up.

“Well,” you finally said in an exhausted sigh, looking over your shoulder to meet Hunter’s helmet, “that’ll do it.”

“Nice going, Wrecker,” Hunter said, half with a sigh, just glad that it was over.

“No problem, Serg! Ha ha hah!”

Shaking your head, you and Hunter were suddenly drawn to a familiar ship landing a few paces away. Wrecker was making his way over with some of the more interesting pieces of machinery that Tech had requested he bring along with him over the com. As you pushed yourself back onto your heels, Hunter’s arm came around you from behind, gently placing his hand on your stomach as you stabilize yourself, using his opposite hand to hold yours he softly pulled you up.

You stood, completely out of breath, dropping your head back against his chest for a moment, just thankful to be alive after the chaos that had taken place. Of course, for the boys this was a normal mission, so the rest started boarding the Marauder with only the slightest heaviness in breath. It was near impossible to keep up with them sometimes, but you were more than happy to be along. Exhaling deeply, finally catching your breath, you noticed Hunter’s hand still spread on your stomach gently. Turning around slowly and giving some space between you and him, you found him looking pensively and concerningly like you’d never seen before. Shocked he’d removed his helmet before boarding, you brought your arms closer to your side in a soft but mildly defensive manner, figuring something was wrong that you just couldn’t sense yet.

“Hunter?” You speak meeting his eyes directly.

There’s a pause as Hunter takes a deep breath, looking more and more confused by the second himself; he’s always been able to sense things, and they even seemed heightened when it came to those he loved most. But this was different, this was nothing like he’d ever experienced before. There was the resounding sense that the two of you weren’t just the two of you anymore. Of late, he swore he heard your heartbeat double, every time he sensed your pulse, he sensed it twice, one much more timidly than your usual, but nevertheless it was there.

“Are you. . . okay?” He asks suddenly, furrowing his brows and closing any space between you, which ironically made you feel more at ease that it wasn’t incoming danger.

Dropping your hands you shrug, chest still rising and falling a little faster than his, “oh yeah, of course. Not all of us can be elite and-“

“You’re sure you’re. . . okay?” Hunter ducks his head a little lower, squinting his eyes and speaking softer.

“Hunter,” you half laugh to yourself at his overprotective nature, “I’m fine, seriously, not even a scratch on me, Hun.”

Although Hunter’s expression doesn’t change, you smile before placing a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips, pulling back to meet his eyes once more to assure him that you were fine, placing your hand on his chest plate.

“Hurry up lovebirds, or the nest is about to be blown up,” Crosshair calls from the open door on the Marauder.

Turning your head swiftly to face the facility you’d just escaped, you could hardly see anything on the horizon.

“He sees something we can’t,” Hunter acknowledges, taking your hand in his as you both make for the ship’s open door.

Once on board, Tech and Echo, who had been relieved from holding on to the cargo by Wrecker, immediately worked to get you all out of the new danger, but it wasn’t until you left the planet’s atmosphere that everyone relaxed, well, nearly everyone. Crosshair was busy disassembling and cleaning his gear in his usual spot by the map projector, Echo was near the back helping Tech strap down the cargo they hadn’t had time to truly and safely secure in the middle of all the action and you were with Wrecker in the cockpit, talking while he snacked. Hunter, on the other hand, was staring at you from the hull, bouncing a knee.

“Problem?” Crosshair’s voice suddenly broke into Hunter’s thoughts.

“Wh- no, nothing,” Hunter shook his head once, leaning back in the seat trying to act normally, having completely forgotten Crosshair was next to him, “mission went great, so everything’s fine as usual.”

Crosshair pointed an eyebrow, not believing a word Hunter said. He tried to keep eye contact with Crosshair, but every time there was a mildly loud noise coming from the cockpit his eyes darted over to double-check that you were okay. When he returned to meet Crosshair’s gaze, he found him with lips pressed together in a smile. Crosshair then shifted his toothpick and proceeded to make the most obvious shift in gaze over to you, causing Hunter to follow it before Crosshair dropped his head rolling back to Hunter his eyes as if asking him to explain.

“Okay,” Hunter gave in calmly, swivelling the chair away from the cockpit door so you wouldn’t be likely to hear; Crosshair followed suit, “I’m a little worried about her, something’s been…off, medically I think.”

“You’re not just overreacting?” Crosshair suggested, casually returning to cleaning his riffle, aware that Hunter clearly wanted to keep the conversation looking as normal as possible, just in case you looked over.

“I’m sure; it’s been going on for a few weeks now,” Hunter admitted, “so I know it’s not just me since it’s-”

“Persisting,” Crosshair finished the sentence, “right, so what’s your plan? Does she know?”

“No,” Hunter dropped his head.

“That’s not very good leadership communication,” Crosshair smiled, knowing it’d ruffle Hunter’s feathers.

“I’m trying to figure it out before I say anything,” Hunter got a little more defensive in his tone, drawing your attention.

You peeked around the chair from the cockpit back at the two; Crosshair acted like he was looking for something in his kit as Hunter gave you a soft smile that always let you know everything was okay. Returning it, you turned back to Wrecker who was trying to spot shapes in the stars with you out the front window as you drifted in space.

“And how is this investigation going, Hunter?” Tech’s voice came in, obviously curious about the situation; Hunter looked up to see Tech and Echo behind Crosshair, they’d clearly come up from strapping the cargo down. “I couldn’t help but overhear something about you trying to figure something out?”

Tech pushed the bridge of his goggles up, looking between his brothers, awaiting an answer. Hunter sighed reluctantly, he didn’t really want to tell anyone else about his suspicions, except you when the time was right, but nevertheless, he explained his feeling that something was going on with you medically, even though he couldn’t tell what.

“Oh, how interesting,” Tech said thoughtfully, after Hunter’s explanation, “well, I could conduct some exams if-”

“No,” Hunter quickly cut Tech off from finishing his sentence, before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, “I actually think I’ve figured it out already.”

“Then what are you waiting for,?” Crosshair dropped back in his seat, crossing his arms, now completely confused why Hunter was dragging the conversation out so long if he’d known all along.

“Well, because it’s- complicated,” he looked around at his three brothers, all waiting for him to say it, “I think she’s…pregnant.”

“What?” Crosshair said in a low voice.

“Oh!” Was all Tech had to interject.

“Well, I’ve been hearing-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Echo started, in complete shock, “Hunter, you’re telling me we’ve got a baby on board?”

“Look at it this way,” Tech turned to Echo, “she’s already been on various amount of missions that could have compromised the safety of herself as well as-”

“Believe it or not, that’s not helping,” Echo crossed his arms over his chest.

“I know,” Hunter tried to quell the group, certain you were overhearing every single word, “just don’t say anything.”

“I will if you won’t,” Echo stated confidently, purely out of care for you, “she needs to know.”

“I’m going to, I will,” Hunter strained to keep his patience, “I’m just figuring out the right time, and brace myself for the outcome; what if she doesn’t want me around now that a kid’s entering the picture? We’re not exactly safe, I’m working on it.”

“Well figure it out faster,” Crosshair said, getting up, “otherwise you’re jeopardizing her.”

“I mean, logically, she would figure it out eventually if you simply wait until the-”

“Would you stop?” Echo turned to face Tech directly, discouraging his scientific observations for the time being, “Hunter, you have to tell her, I’m sure she’ll take it a lot better than you think, but she has to know, it’s too dangerous to hold off on.”

“You’re right,” he admitted, “I mean, I could be wrong, but…”

The sound of your joyous laughter broke off the conversation between the boys; looking to the cockpit, Wrecker had his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and was hoisting you up, stomping around the cockpit, obviously mimicking the creatures you had previously faced on a mission.

“Wrecker!” came a concerned and scolding exclamation from the hull.

Wrecker immediately and completely stopped in his tracks at what he was doing, as if he’d frozen. Turning only his head, he took to staring and blinking toward the four of his brothers. It was completely normal for you and Wrecker to be this playful, he picked you up and hugged you wildly all the time, so the sudden backlash from all four startled you. They had all moved closer to the cockpit doorway but stopped when Wrecker paused. There was a shared confusion between you and Wrecker as you glanced over to them as well.

“Wh-what?” Wrecker asked, suddenly feeling bad, unsure why and what for.

“Just- be careful,” Hunter tried, “with…her.”

“I- I always am,” he responded; worried that he’d hurt you, Wrecker looked to you in his arms, and you looked up just as puzzled before he assured the group, “she’s okay.”

Hunter grasped for words but didn’t have any. Glancing around to his brothers they all gave him a look telling him to come out with it, Hunter was fairly certain someone was going to start a countdown giving him a matter of seconds to tell you before one of them stepped in.

“Ah, Wrecker, think you could give me just a few minutes with her?”

“Ohhhh, getting jealous of our time together? Say no more Serg, she’s all yours,” Wrecker laughed, mood completely returning to his usual oblivious, but kind-hearted nature.

Setting you down softly, Wrecker winked obviously at Hunter as he passed and began looking for more snacks; you adjusted your outfit back into place. Sitting down in one of the passenger’s chairs, Hunter joined you in the seat adjacent. Looking you over, you were so stunning to him in the dim light coming from the window, a thousand stars and planets in your eyes. Hunter was beginning to worry he’d ruin everything if he said something, but then he heard and felt it again, he could feel it as if it was a part of him so deeply that he had to let you know it was a part of you too.

“What were you guys talking about?” You inquired, “it looked pretty serious.”

“Ah, yeah,” Hunter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees avoiding your eyes for a moment, before looking up, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand, “look, you’re sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Of course,” you giggled, “Hun, we went over this I’m totally-”

“I mean…before the mission, did you feel alright? No…stomach pain?” Hunter was entirely out of his league here, he had no idea the best ways to identify pregnancy other than when it started to show, but his instinct told him it was the case even if no one else could possibly know it yet.

“Stomach…pain?” You dipped your head and perked an eyebrow, still a faint smile on your face.

“Or…you know…maybe fatigue? Dizziness? Missed anything?”

“C’mon, what is this an experiment for Tech? He’s just too shy to ask?” You almost laughed again, yourself at the idea of Tech asking you these questions.

Giving a sigh seeing that this method was going nowhere and he’d have to present his idea sooner or later since you had no idea yet. Hunter turned quiet for a while, staring at the floor of the ship. You could tell there was something more serious on hand; Hunter was a protector by nature, but this seemed a bit much even for him, he trusted you when you told him how you were feeling, the fact that he was questioning it wasn’t like him.

“What’s bothering you? I’m okay, just tell me,” you encouraged, meeting him, leaning forward and placing a hand on his forearm, “we’ll work it out together, but I’ve got to know to help.”

Hunter half smiled to himself, looking at your hand on his arm, caressing it with his opposite hand; if only you knew.

“Alright, but just hear me out first,” Hunter glanced up with pleading eyes, a rare sight.

“Of course,” you moved closer to the edge of your seat so you could take both his hands in yours.

“For a while now…I’ve been sensing something I couldn’t explain. Every time I touch you it gets stronger, but it’s always there. It’s like it’s a part of me too.” You nodded for him to go on, “and as time has gone on, I think I’ve figured out what it is. It’s your pulse, and it’s doubled,” Hunter winced a little expecting a reaction, but nothing came yet, “it’s softer and not as strong, but there’s another heartbeat inside you and so I think…that…”

Hunter slowed his sentence down as he watched your eyes become brighter than the stars reflecting in them and your smile widen excitedly; he could feel your hands tightening around his. You nodded when he stopped, but he didn’t say anything more, he wanted you to be the one to say it, to confirm the thoughts and feelings that had been rushing through his mind nonstop.

“We’re pregnant?” You spoke in a whisper as delicate as a dove.

“I think so,” Hunter nodded, your energy contagious as he couldn’t help but smile back at you.

Letting go of his hands, you leaned back in your chair, tucking your legs up and covering your smile with your hands. The stars never looked so bright. Tears of joy were brimming in your eyes as a million future scenarios rushed through your mind. The fact that Hunter’s senses were so attentive to you that he could sense the moment you became pregnant made you even more emotional as you began to think of how attentive he was going to be with the child, forever keeping them safe.

“Honey, are you-” Hunter was cut off by a gasp as you leaned to grasp his hands tightly.

“Wait until we tell your brothers,” you smiled, “they’ll be so happy too, I just know it! How should we tell them?”

“About that,” Hunter returned to a mildly anxious state, “they might…already…mostly know.”

Your smile faded, “so…so I was the last to know?”

Hunter took a deep breath, realising how that came across.

“You knew and you told them first?” Your eyebrows furrowed together.

“Not intentionally. I wasn’t planning on it, but apparently, I wasn’t as subtle as I thought I was so they noticed, and Crosshair, he saw right through me.”

“He’s good at that,” you admit with a soft smile, thinking over the situation; of course, his brothers knew him best and it wasn’t that hard to tell something had been off with him, “well, as long as you didn’t hide it on purpose.”

“Promise,” Hunter stroked the side of your cheek with his hand.

“Hunter,” you sighed his name happily, leaning into his touch and closing your eyes, “I couldn’t be happier than right now.”

Leaning forward, Hunter kisses your forehead, lingering against your skin for a moment, before resting his chin against your temple.

“You know, there is someone who doesn’t know,” Hunter spoke.

“Really?” You pulled back a little bit, confused.

Hunter smirked, certain that Wrecker hadn’t heard when he looked to the hull and found him in the middle of trying to tease Crosshair with his Lula, a daily routine for him. Taking your hand in his, Hunter nodded for you to rejoin the group and you quickly wiped away the tears that had slipped passed your lashes. The four who already knew all directed their attention to you; they glanced to Hunter quickly to confirm that he had told you and when Hunter gave a subtle nod, their gazes met you.

“Congratulations are in order,” Crosshair nodded from where he was sitting.

“This will be a most fascinating time, I do hope that we can meet any requirements,” Tech said with a gentle smile and an adjustment of his goggles.

“We’re all very excited for you,” Echo joined.

“Yeah!!” Wrecker exclaimed, raising a fist to the sky, before a blanket of confusion came over his face, “wait, for what? What happened? It’s just been the six of us.”

He looked around at everyone, clearly, he was the only one out of the loop. Hunter and you exchanged glances before he gestured to you with open arms.

You bit the inside of your lip unable to contain your smile, “make that seven.”

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