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clare-875 · 2 months ago

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Despair (Sanji x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Sanji x Female Reader Summary: You start to skip meals, doubting yourself and your image. Sanji doesn't notice until it's too late. Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Body image, Comparing yourself to others, Not eating enough (TW: eating disorder), Passing Out [One Piece Masterlist] _____

You prod at the food that lies on your plate absentmindedly, telling yourself to eat. It looks delicious; of course it does. Sanji's food was to die for, and you felt your heart sink at your thoughts to not eat what he has poured heart and soul into. But then again, your thoughts haven't been nice to you recently. You have found yourself comparing your image with Nami and Robin and all the other women you come across and you feel buried insecurities rising because of it. You know it's ridiculous; that you should really just embrace yourself and just deal with it. But you can't just deal with it. It's been running your mind rampant. I'm not pretty enough. I should work out more. Why can't I look like her? I should really start watching what I eat. You know the last thought is the most ridiculous; Sanji makes his meals to cater to every necessity your body could need. But you have tried everything, and the beautiful figures of your female companions are overwhelming. What if he realizes... I can never look like them. Will his eyes wonder? Will he leave me?

"Love, is everything alright?"

Your gaze snaps upward at your boyfriend's voice and he looks to you with deep concern in his eyes. The cook eyes you questioningly before looking at your untouched plate of food. "Is the food not to your liking? I could make you something else if you-" You quickly cut off his words, not wanting him to question the meal you know he has prepared so intricately for you and the crew. "No, no, I was just thinking. Thank you Sanji, it looks lovely." You try to undo his concern and make your lips quirk upwards, but you know what you produce is a half-hearted smile. Sanji looks at you, the furrow of his brows not giving way. However, as he goes to ask you something, he is interrupted by the voices of the crew. "Sanji! Another!" Luffy has his now empty plate high in the air, craving more of the meal, Ussop and Chopper doing the same next to him with wide grins on their faces. It has the cook rolling his eyes but he stops when Nami joins the fray. "I wouldn't mind some more too Sanji-kun!" Robin nods along, a soft smile on her face. "Me too!" The cook turns hesitantly from your side then, going to fetch their plates. "R-right, straight away ladies!"

He leaves you to your thoughts again.

In his distraction, you push your plate to Luffy who sits near you. "Here Luffy, take mine, I'm not feeling that hungry." Your Captain turns to you, eyes gleaming as he ponders your words. "Really?" But he has already taken the meal outstretched to him. "Thanks [y/n]!" You find yourself standing as he devours your meal in an instant, and hope Sanji doesn't notice it wasn't you who ate it. Robin perks up at your sudden movements. "Is everything alright, [y/n]?" You freeze as you turn to her, and you are met with her kind smile, the concern in her eyes. But you also see all that you cannot be. It is insufferable: your jealousy. It makes you loathe the depths of yourself and so you force it away and nod. "Yeah, I'm just turning in." You try to ease her concern and you don't know if she believes your words, but you move before she can question you further. You leave the rowdy crew to their dinner and open the kitchen door, not seeing how Sanji turns in surprise at your sudden absence.

You breathe in the crisp evening air, not noticing how desperately you needed it until it hits your face. A single tear slips from your eye but you catch it quickly, shaking your head. What's wrong with me? You move across the ship to the bathroom, hoping that a bath might help wash away your suddenly erratic thoughts. However, when you strip yourself of your clothes, you realise it is a mistake; there are mirrors. Your lips turn downward as you look at yourself realizing how impossible it would be to look like Nami and Robin. How impossible it would be to contort yourself to that image: pretty eyes, perfect smile, lack of waists and slim figures but still with curves where you needed them to be. How do they do it? Your thoughts then turn to how Sanji's face looked as they asked for seconds of his meal. He seemed so happy to cater for the beautiful women; of course, he would be. How long until his thoughts drift away from you? You turn away quickly and continue your tasks until you're wrapped in a towel again, hating your envy and hoping sleep might control it.

However, your insecurities can't disappear that easily.

Your thoughts mingled the rest of the week, and because of it, you found yourself eating less. You found yourself pushing meals to Luffy when Sanji was distracted, desperately hoping he didn't notice. You worked out more, glad that Zoro said nothing when he saw you more frequently in the crow's nest. You slowly started to slip into the rhythm. Skip breakfast, work out, a little lunch, work out, skip dinner. It was becoming easier to ignore your hunger, you told yourself you were seeing progress. You could never hate the beautiful women around you for your sudden revelations, you saw it as your own problem. You told yourself it was for the best. However, what you failed to see was that among your suddenly obsessive thoughts, you have slowly started to neglect your health, and on top of that, you have slowly started to neglect Sanji.

The cook had barely seen you the past week, and he missed you. What hours you would usually spend by his side you now spend in the crow's nest and he wanted your presence by him again. You used to always be in the kitchen as he prepared meals; his personal taste tester always gifting him compliments that made his heart soar. You would always share stories as he chopped and mixed, and he would be blessed by the soft sound of your voice. You would dry dishes you insisted on drying as he passed them to you, and he would hear your sweet laughter at something that had happened earlier in the day; he would have to struggle not to swoon just by the sound of it. You used to hold him gently as he cooked the crew's meals and he would feel your warmth make his heart stutter, make him want to create even better dishes just as a thank you for being his; for being you. Your fleeting touches, your pretty smile, your gleaming eyes, your perfect figure that melds into his; they were all suddenly taken from him and he didn't know why.

Sanji had tried to approach you several times but you had evaded him. "Sorry, Sanji I'm too busy right now." "Sorry Sanji, maybe another time." "Sorry Sanji, I think I'm gonna go to the crow's nest again." Sanji's lips downturned at the thought. Had he done something wrong? His fingers flicked on his lighter as he pulled out another cigarette; he had been going through them like lollipops recently. His heart twisted in slight envy as he thought of you in the crow's nest again, no doubt with the stupid marimo nearby. How had Zoro of all people seen you more than he had? It took all his strength not to (for no reason) go beat up the green-haired swordsman. His thoughts then lingered on an event he had considered over and over; the night when your smile didn't shine as it should as you poked and prodded your food. Of course, Sanji noticed the unusual despair on your face; he was basically a professional at catching on women's true emotions.

Had something happened? Had someone done something?

As Sanji thought on and continued to blow on his cigarette he finally considered something he had yet to acknowledge. Now that he had thought about it, he hadn't seen you much during meal times with the crew. You would either pop your head in for a brief while, leave quickly, or barely even show up at all. Sanji raked his brain harder for answers. He had thought he'd seen you slip something to Luffy during those times, but could it be your meals? He had seen your fleeting figure and he had seen how your eyes had seemed duller, your face a bit paler, your figure a bit more littered with exhaustion. But it couldn't be, could it? Were you skipping meals? He then thought of how your eyes seemed to sadden at the last island you and the crew had gone to. They were saddened by the presence of the women on the island; known for their beauty and charm. And, of course, they were beautiful, but they weren't you. Sanji had toned down his woman-crazed ways the instant he understood what his feelings for you meant. Had he let slip? Had you misinterpreted his care for flirt? Was it all his fault?

"Sanji-kun!"

He snapped out of contemplation as he registered Nami's worried voice as she ran to him quickly. "Nami-san? What's wrong?" Sanji feels his already racing heart pick up pace as the navigator frowns before spilling the words that has her rushing to him. "[y/n]... she passed out. She's with Chopper."

......

When you finally reopen your eyes, you are lost for a moment, not knowing what happened. But then, your memories start to flood back in. That's right, you think to yourself. You had finished your workout again, but something hadn't felt right. As you descended from the crow's nest and went to rest you had suddenly felt dreadful. Cold sweat had started to seep from your skin, your vision had slowly become clouded by spots and you had felt nausea wash over you quickly. You had stumbled, luckily Nami had been walking past as you did. You had felt her arms, heard her muffled voice in the ringing of your ears - something about staying awake - before the darkness had pulled you in. You sigh looking at the tube ingrained in your arm with despondency, before registering a warmth around your hand. You instantly look down to see that it was Sanji, and he had also just realised that you were awake. Your heart beats faster, shame befalls you, but he speaks first.

"Love... what happened? Chopper said you were malnourished..."

Your heart twists as you look at the cook who has utter concern and sadness and determination in his eyes. Why? "Love, please... talk to me." Sanji's voice sounds desperate for answers already lingering from Chopper's diagnosis, but he needed to hear it all from you. You let the silence remain for a moment to try and control your emotions, but your tears let slip and Sanji's eyes widen at the sight. "I-I'm sorry Sanji. I just- I just haven't been feeling like myself and- and I just wanted to feel better. I skipped meals and I guess I trained too hard. I-" You swallow harshly as you look at the man who squeezes your hand in comfort despite your despair causing his heart to ache. "I just wanted to be good enough, I didn't want you to realise that I'm not as pretty as-" You pause as you tear your eyes away from Sanji. "I just didn't want you to leave me." Sanji can't even describe the amount of disbelief that filled him at your words. You were scared that he would leave you?

"Love... How could I ever- What made you think- It's all my fault."

Your gaze snaps upward at his remark as you shake your head about to retort but he continues on. "I'm sorry love. I should've noticed sooner." Sanji feels his heartbreak for you as his lover, but failure seeps in as the cook of the crew. How can he dream of being a renowned chef, when he can't even notice his own partner, clearly having skipped and pushed away his meals. It was his job to make sure all the crew were fed and nourished perfectly, and he had failed to do that with the one person he cared about most in the world. What's more, he hadn't even noticed your insecurities; he had let you wither and deal with your pain alone. He grits his teeth. "[y/n]." Your heart jumps slightly at the sheer will in his eyes. "Believe me. You are beautiful, perfect, you are the only woman for me. Please, let me be there for you, let me help you..." He holds your hand up in his but you eye him hesitantly and so he continues. He presses his lips to your hand and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks; missing the intimate moments you have traded because of your irrational fears.

"I could never love someone else."

Your eyes glisten with his care and you squeeze his hand gently before peering into his gaze. "I'm sorry Sanji, I didn't eat your meals. I- I've been so distracted I haven't even come to see you... I missed you." Sanji's lips quirk upward then into his kind, warm smile.

"I missed you too, love."

In the following days that passed, you made up for the lost time with Sanji. In his kitchen, you went back to your usual routines and he swooned at your presence, also back to his normal self. Almost all the crew, except for those forever oblivious, let out a collective sigh of relief at the sight of the both of you together and back to your usual ways. Nevertheless, even as insecurities may bubble and rise within you from time to time, you didn't find yourself contesting your beauty or his love for you again; more like Sanji wouldn't let you. Each time he saw your eyes wonder, he held you closer. Each time he witnessed your thoughts drift away he brought you back to him. Each time you considered your self-worth, he would be there to reassure you of your beauty, and his adoration; all almost painfully obvious in the way he basically screamed of his love for you each passing day. He never wanted that look of despair in your eyes again, and so he made sure he didn't.

You looked at your boyfriend, the loving, doting, devoted chef of the crew and you didn't doubt him; you didn't doubt his words. You accepted yourself and you accepted his love, letting despair dwindle away; relishing the brighter days that lay ahead.

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #sanji vinsmoke #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #one piece sanji #sanji x reader #straw hat pirates #fanfiction #fanfic #one piece #strawhat pirates #onepiece #strawhat crew #angst to fluff #hurt/comfort

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zarnzarn · 5 months ago

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1/2/3/4

reverse Odyssey au where polites is still on the ships when Poseidon arrives, and that last bit is enough to push Odysseus to beg him to stop, to spare the men he spent ten long years fighting hard and bitter to save. 593 men is no less amount after all, not for a small island like Ithaca, only three generations old. he'll do anything, anything at all, blind him, torture him, kill him- just let his men go; they were not the ones to blame.

Poseidon considers, staring down at the king with the odd grey eyes that he knew the origin of. Athena would be furious, after all- so why not take away the one thing her favoured pet was known for?

the crew rushes towards their captain, their king, as shouting emerges from the other boats, as he hits the deck convulsing, grasping at his throat. the cries of his men rend the air as his legs melt into oceanspray, remerging as a fish's tail, Odysseus gasping for air wildly, his tongue a mess of mangled flesh on the main deck, unable to talk or breathe.

they have no choice but to pick him up and tip him into the sea, and they watch in horror as he falls beneath the waves and with a flick of the tail, disappears.

six hundred men chase their king down, following the odd silver glint that appears once in a while above the blue water, following the strange cursed monster that Elepnor sees when he falls drunk into the ocean one day. follow him all the way back to Ithaca, where the people gather on the shore to cheer their arrival.

telemachus is all of ten and untameable at the return of his father's ships, running past the guards and the priests to the dock, where the soldiers and heroes are all setting down the ramps, strangely quiet, unsmiling in the face of ten years of gore and bloodshed being done. Penelope catches up to him, laughing as she cranes her head up, scanning the ships to see which one- which one had-

she only has to time to see euroluchus' shame-filled tears and polites guilty devastation, feeling her heart slowly sink to the ground, when there's suddenly a splash and an outburst of screams and propped up on the dock is a man with a fish's tail and familiar curls and razor-sharp teeth and eyes that are solid grey. the soldiers cry out in horror and thunder down the ramps to them as the monster reaches out- and Penelope can't do anything, frozen, as it reaches out and places a webbed hand with deadly claws on her son's cheek, caressing almost; and her breath catches when it looks back up to her, and she knows the face as well as her own, knows the grief and fear and knows it is her husband-

Then the pounding footsteps from the closest ships and the guards behind reach them, and Penelope only has time enough to scream to stay their weapons, already shoving Telemachus behind her and reaching out to shield off any spears or arrows from battle-strung men who'd shoot first and ask questions later-

Instead she only feels the brush of cold skin under his fingertips for the briefest of moments and then she's caught up in a fisher's net, tangled and alone. More nets are thrown, men crying out for their captain with desperation and fear, Polites running straight past her and leaping off the dock to swim after him-

But her husband is a descendant of Hermes, and Odysseus is gone.

Penelope listens to the story that night and does not cry, sitting straight-backed in the face of her family sobbing around her, of the five hundred and ninety-three men staring at her with grief and guilt alike, of being the only widow in the kingdom. Pets Telemachus' wild hair and remembers his father's, and thinks.

"You have told me much," She says finally. "But I'm still to hear a single, solid plan."

The room rustles as all the heads swing to her.

"Plan?" Eurylochus says finally. Anger burns as soon she looks to him, but she pushes it down firmly- rage will not win her anything.

"Yes. A plan," she says, "To bring my husband back home."

Telemachus unfolds at her feet and stares up at her with a hopeful grin, echoed slowly on the faces of the men around the room. Penelope smiles back.

"My husband spent ten years fighting for his people to make it back home," She proclaims. "Let's wait at least that long before we give up on him, yes?"

The answering cheer shakes the walls of the palace and echoes through the streets of Ithaca.

#the kingdom of Ithaca versus the fucking sea #odysseus #odyssey #penelope #odypen #polites #telemachus #Poseidon #reverse odyssey au #i dont believe in cheapening tragedies but this au can be kinder i think #my fic

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kaiserin-erzsebet · 7 days ago

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So, here are my long thoughts on The Last Voyage of the Demeter because I'm jetlagged and trying to keep myself awake.

I'm going to organize it from my biggest issues to my smallest nitpicks. Because I am aware that some of the things that bother me are nitpicks. Also this movie is old enough that I don't think spoilers are out of line.

Anyway, here are my thoughts:

I don't think I can fairly judge the movie as an adaptation of Dracula. This would be a short review if that was my standard, because it is a bad adaptation. There's a laundry list of reasons why, and I'll get back to one of them because I think it is indicative of how this movie fumbled the story. It takes a very loose approach to the book, and that wouldn't be entirely fair to fixate on. But I will point out where I think the book executed a theme or tone element more effectively.

I fully went into the movie ready to judge it on its own merits as a self-contained horror story. That's why I was surprised that I disliked it so much, because it doesn't hold up as a piece of horror media. I think the core issue is that the screenplay fundamentally was thinking of itself as a movie about people fighting a monster.

In that respect, it does away with something that makes the Captain's log such an effective part of the original book: The mystery.

The original section is an exercise in dramatic irony. You, as the reader, have already seen the thing making the crew vanish, because you read Jonathan's diary and know what is in the boxes (even if you were reading it for the first time and didn't have the cultural osmosis of knowing who Dracula). You know why they are in danger. The captain doesn't. He spends most of the log trying to figure out what is going on and if it is misfortune or something really on board with them. He only sees Dracula at the very end of the log, when there is little he can do except tie himself to the wheel.

The book answers the question of "why don't they make port or throw the boxes overboard?" with saying that the captain doesn't know for sure if it is actually something malicious related to the cargo. The Romanian first mate has to slowly come to the realization that he does know, because he's resisting believing in superstition. Only when the knife passes through Dracula without harming him does he panic because it's undeniable that he's facing a folklore monster.

That build up is entirely absent from The Last Voyage of the Demeter. Anna just tells them within the first half hour of the movie (she's also a very inconsistent character, but I'll get back to that), and within days the crew has literally seen Dracula multiple times. People aren't mysteriously vanishing; they've been killed pretty clearly and there are survivors with bite marks. The deck is littered with body parts at points. It makes the voiceovers about "some doom" being on the ship seem comical, because the captain has seen with his own eyes what is going on.

The only reason given for why they can't make port to deal with the issue is that they're too far away, I guess? Which is also not the case for a ship sailing that route. This isn't an open sea voyage.

While the pacing of a movie and the pacing of a show are different, The Terror did this so much better. You don't get to see the Tuunbaq clearly until quite late in the series. People just vanish or get mauled by...something. That sense of mystery is just gone in The Last Voyage. And it is disappointing because that was a huge opportunity to nail the tone.

If I had to come up with the key elements of what the Demeter section is, it would be: A Horror Story about a ship with a tragic ending.

They didn't nail the horror, but what about the other two?

There's also a puzzling lack of understanding of the dynamics on a ship throughout the movie. One glaring example is that the First Mate and Clemens make the decision to sink the ship without even asking the captain first. I know this is the merchant navy and not the navy, but that is still a galling lack of discipline. The captain is in charge and his duty is to the whole ship and the crew.

The original captain's log makes use of this. Dracula more or less kills his way up the chain of command because he's a sadist. He's forcing the commanding officers to feel more desperation as they fail in their duty to protect their crew.

The Last Voyage makes the captain a very minor character, which at least to me reveals a misunderstanding of how hierarchy works in a ship. While I don't think including new characters is necessarily bad, Clemens and Anna make most of the important decisions, and neither of them particularly have standing with the crew. It undercuts the idea of responsibility and letting people come to harm under your care (which carries through later to Lucy and Mina).

I'll return to other ways the ship setting feels incorrect later, because those are closer to nitpicks.

So, third element: is it a tragedy? Does everyone on board die by the end?

The opening scene may make you think so. But no, actually they don't. Clemens escapes and ends the movie vowing to hunt down Dracula. For one, this is where it is a bad Dracula adaptation because that simply cannot happen and maintain the plot of Dracula. Unless he was rather dense when he read about the Bloofer Lady in the paper and decided that wasn't related. But additionally, the tone of the ending radically changes. It isn't a tragedy where the last act of a brave man is to stay at the wheel, because he isn't the lone survivor left to be battered to death by either the storm or Dracula anymore. In fact most of the crew is still there for the multiple people vs Dracula fight.

This is where the tone really failed for me: the story has a winner, a hero, someone who can make it out alive. And it's the new character. That just did not sit well with me when the original is such a poignant tragedy.

The First Mate, who is the character most primed to come to a realization, hardly has an arc in The Last Voyage.

The insistence that they can fight and maybe even win also makes both Clemens and Anna incredibly inconsistent characters. She especially suffers from this, because she should in theory have the knowledge of how to repel a vampire (the villagers certainly have some idea in the book), but then she says things like "do you think I have the faintest idea how to kill him?" and in the next breath is urging the crew to kill him before he reaches London. She also says Dracula is going to London because "there is no one left in my home country to feed on" but her backstory is that she's on the ship as a deal so Drac can have a snack. So, clearly, he can get people to feed on if he wants.

Clemens is the "too smart and rational" character. But he also never thinks maybe they should expose the boxes to sunlight even after seeing people combust in sunlight after turning. It's all terribly inconsistent.

The decision to not write the story as a tragedy ends up cascading, and that's the root of the issue. They can't win and kill the monster without completely changing the story of the novel, so they are only competent to a point. It makes it a worse horror movie, even disregarding it as an adaptation.

Now for the nitpicks, including quite a few about boats that probably only I noticed:

The aesthetics are all over the place in terms of period. Clemens spends a large part of the movie (which is set in the 1890s) running around in a lace up pirate shirt. No one on this ship owns a period appropriate boat cloak. None of their shirts have remotely the right collars, giving the sense that nautical fashion was sort of vaguely consulted over the long 18th to 19th century-ish.

Please look at this and tell me that it is even remotely late 19th century:

Here's Olek from 1899 for comparison (note the correct high collar and undershirt):

The dialogue suffers from this too. More than one person uses the word "heathen" which just feels wildly out of place in something that is supposed to have rationality and superstition as the key touchpoints (at least if it wants to be like Dracula). It sounds weird coming from a time period 20 years before World War 1. Sailors especially were more likely to be vaguely Christian but mostly superstitious, not zealots using terms like "heathen."

Additional aesthetic nitpick: The ship looks way too old for the period. That is an early to mid 19th century ship sailing in the 1890s without any retrofitting. There's a throwaway line about the captain not wanting a fancy new steamship, but that doesn't account for how antique the captain's quarters are or the lack of metal on the hull. Again, the nautical aesthetics are all skewing too early. If this ship was still a Russian ship like the original, an older sailing vessel might have said something about the lag in Russian shipbuilding, it works less with an English merchant ship.

There's some functional issues about understanding sailing: The ship is way too spacious inside. Really tall men are standing up straight and walking around the hold with no trouble. That may seem like a small point, but imagine what actually exploiting the claustrophobic feeling below decks could have done for the ambiance.

The ship is definitely undercrewed given the number of masts they are showing. That many men would really struggle to reef all of the sails in a timely manner (which would matter in a storm). The writers put a crew of a small fishing vessel on a ship that is much larger and requires more hands. And it is puzzling because more people would mean: more kills and disappearances as well as giving a progression of being unable to raise and lower the sails and also keep someone at the wheel. Which, I will note, the original log does.

My first red flag about this movie was having seemingly no Slavic characters on a ship that was Russian in the original. But now that I've seen it, I'm even more annoyed that the one Russian character exists to: call a woman a slur, call a black man a slur (a rather British one imo), and then immediately be murdered on screen. Can't have nuance in how we portray Slavic people in Western media, huh?

I also get the sense that the screenwriter didn't know the difference between Romanian and Romani, because the first mate is vaguely hinted to be Romani (the kid mentions "Wojchek taught me some words in Romani") and has a Western Slavic first name, not a Romanian one. When in the book he is explicitly Romanian.

Rapid fire ways the movie gets the book wrong on a nitpicky level: Dracula doesn't get more human looking as he nears London, a vampire who prides himself on being aristocratic isn't going to drink from pigs or rats, the vampires in the book can go in sunlight but are weaker, religious artifacts are way more powerful deterrents in the book, and Clemens is way too casual about transfusions. It makes Van Helsing doing it seem less like an act of desperation. Anna gets Mina's ability to sense Dracula without putting in the effort to reverse engineer the connection.

Someone please tell me that Nosferatu is better. This was honestly very frustrating.

#dracula #last voyage of the demeter #I was actually hyped about this movie when it was first announced #this brings me no joy

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divinehedons · 1 year ago

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godless promethean, elektran rage.

navigation: masterlist

pairing: pirate!joel miller x siren!reader

word count: ~8.4k words (I KNOW I'M SO SORRY)

summary: when the wrath of poseidon brings in something not quite human, a hardened pirate with the harshness of a soldier at war faces a bright-eyed siren with the delusion of a dreamer.

warnings: this is a DARK, EXPLICIT fic. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT or i will BLOCK you. so much plot, pirate!au, siren!au, joel is a violent motherfucker, reader is a metamorphic creature that turns human-like when not submerged in water, graphic depiction of violence and injury, mentions of abduction and implications of abuse, explicit p-in-v sex, oral (f!receiving), squirting, creampie, soooo much murder. it's like a greek tragedy without the incest.

note: THANK YOU FOR 600 FOLLOWERS!!! much of this work was inspired by me rereading the odyssey by homer, but the trope of joel x siren!reader is not of my own making! thank you so much for reading, and as always, comments and reblogs are much apprciated!

Be strong, saith my heart. A wave crests over the hull of the ship. Then another. And another. I have seen worse things than this. Synchronized hands haul the rope for the sails, a last attempt to regain control of their vessel. The Balkan sea stretches before weary sailors, endless and unforgiving, with one foot in their watery grave and the other clawing to live.

In the midst of this carnage is The Flounder, harbinger of chaos, populated by a crew of men who pillage, murder, and destroy anything that gets in their way. Joel once thought of him and his men as indestructible. The Wrath of Poseidon makes him reconsider otherwise.

“Goddamnit, Bonnie, we’re never gettin’ out of this mess!” Joel yells over the deluge of rain, tightening his grip and growling as the rope digs in to the skin of his palms. He sees another wave crest over them, sturdy as a wall, coming down upon their shivering backs, leaving them spluttering out seawater. He coughs momentarily, heaving in air as he digs his feet into the deck.

When he regains his breath, he hears his name being called. He looks, their Captain bellowing from where he steered. His new orders came through in the middle of the crack of thunder and the whistle of an unending storm. Check beneath the deck for damages. Fix anything that could sink them. He calls for someone to replace his hold and he runs for it.

In his head, he had begun to pen a letter back to his waiting daughter under the care of his brother. Dear Sarah, he thinks, climbing down the ladder and finding himself in knee-deep, ice-cold water. I promised you that this will be my last expedition. That after this, we shall live out however you want us to. I only hope that I can live up to that promise. He cusses under his breath when he finds a growing leak in the hull, crossing himself as he immediately went about to fix it temporarily with what materials he could find. You’re safer with your uncle Tommy than here in this misery. And should anything happen to me, know that I love you and I trust you to be good to him, too. He crosses the threshold to see if there was anything else, moving across floating bottles, bobbing up and down with remnants of booze. With a sigh, isolated from the chaos above deck, he leans against a column, grabbing a drifting bottle and swallowing down the booze to settle his nerves.

I grow old, I grow old. He mouths the words under his breath. I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

The muffled sounds of the world melts away as he tries to catch his breath, gritting his teeth from the ache in his hips. Getting too old for this. He tries to think of a way that rest can be comfortable in this mess. Sleep, he thinks, delicious and profound. The very counterfeit of death. It is only when his nerves settle that he hears it.

A splash in the common room. Too loud to be some drifting object. Something that continues to move against the motion of the ship between the waves. He stills himself, the empty bottle slipping between his fingers. Slowly, he moves closer to the source of the sound, like a predator stalking his prey in the darkness. He retrieves a drifting harpoon, peeking through the threshold of the room to inspect. In the semi-darkness, interrupted by the flickering of lanterns and dying candelight, he catches the shimmer of something alive. He raises his weapon, looks through his good eye, his brows crinkling at the effort to focus.

Too old and too goddamn blind for this shit.

He blinks a few times more before he finally sees. And what he sees is you.

Your lithe arms reaching against the walls of the ship, trying to find a weak link that could let you escape. Were you brought in by the waves? Were you the very thing responsible for the leak he just had to fix? Initially, Joel made the movement to speak, to ask how you had ended up here—the sea is no place for a maiden like you. But his breath hitches when he looks closer to see… well, you. The incandescent flickering of a scaled tail, blending with inhuman yet somewhat human skin around your hips, and your upper body, glorious, unmarked, and completely fucking naked.

Perhaps it was the months at sea, conversing with no one but the same crew of men who, despite their intelligentsia and capabilities, do not exactly have the looks capable of producing in him the flustering exhilaration of some teenager. But he, of all people, know of the stories, too. The whispers shared in the saloons in the darkness. The shared thrill and excitement of such beauty and danger lurking beneath the temptresses’ skins. He has heard of claws coming for his companions’ throats, have heard of the trickery they can cause with the power of the ocean entirely at their disposal. He thinks of Odysseus again— tethered to the mast of his ship, The only one of his men to hear the voice of the sirens and have survived. Odysseus, who would have laid his life down just to come close to the very presence of something so divine.

Another thing he knows is that the price of one siren is half the bounty they had planned for. Months of work cut out for himself. Months closer to seeing his daughter again. It’s enough to give him the taste of freedom. His own little piece of heaven that, ironically, is someone else’s hell. The funny thing was, he does not feel guilt about it.

Perhaps he was not Odysseus. He was not as noble. Nor did he ever want to be. A noble character would never provide a good life for his Sarah, waiting for him oceans away.

That was the decision that sealed the creature’s fate before him. Without a second thought, he fires his harpoon, the sharp head piercing through the creature’s shoulder as an angelic wail emanates from her precious throat. With her pinned down, he had begun yelling, calling for the presence of men to see what they’ve caught in their vessel. Their ticket to riches. The honeypot herself.

The blade itself incites to deeds of violence.

He swallows down the guilt as the thunder of heavy steps descend upon their victim, her screams only growing louder and louder amidst the exhilarated, disbelieving laughter of his companions. He does not dare to look. Does not dare to see those doe eyes of yours begging for respite, pulling him into your charms.

An eye of an eye. A good life for Sarah in exchange for hers.

Fair enough.

—-

When The Flounder has escaped the barrages of the storm, the sea is quiet. Some would even say peaceful. Joel wouldn't exactly use that word. Not when he hears your wails breaking the silence. That first night, no one understood what needed to be done. No one even bothered to try and treat your wound. The very wound he had caused. Everyone had something more important to do. Clear the seawater beneath the hull, secure the sails, have a quick meal, get a few winks of sleep. Naturally, the mythical being, as all other inconsequential things, were tucked away, you dealt with the usual brusque nature of men.

So when he had been called to watch you before dawn broke, that's what he set his mind to. Stepping down beneath the deck, with spare scraps of cloth and booze in hand. They've cleared out the flooding. But the wood hadn't dried completely. Mick, who he had passed beforehand, gave him a questioning look. "Aren't ya scared she'd rip your throat out?"

He scoffs, tilting his head to the side as he speaks. "I'm more scared of the stench she'll make if she starts dyin' on us, Micky."

What he did not expect when he opens the closet you've been locked in is the metamorphic cross between a tail and legs you kick out at him. What he hears next is the snarl, your body knocking him over, small, webbed hands slipping around his throat. “You asshole!” That same heavenly voice, filled with so much malice that does not fit with the angelic features towering over him. You speak in a language he does not understand, a torrent of words driven by so much emotion that he sees a glance of what Homer was so distasteful about. You could kill him, devour him bones and all and you wouldn’t even flinch.

However, he sees how your rage blinds you, too. Blinds you to his precise movements, making you think you’ve subdued him, only to suddenly flip your positions, pinning you down by your wrists, trying to look into your eyes.

What you see, staring up at him as your last yells escape you, is the strands of silver in his hair. What follows next is his tired eyes. A sea of stories that you feel as if you can almost hear them if the world is quiet enough. However, you cannot deny the warmth to them. The fire that you failed to see in the other men that shoved you in the closet you have been suffocating in. It’s what makes you stop in your struggle as you finally hear his voice.

“Damnit, let me help you, honey, c’mon…”

It’s then that Joel finally comprehends what he sees. You, a mythical being that shifts from merfolk in one instance, to a walking goddess in the next. Perhaps it was what helped your kind survive; camouflaging yourself and disappearing amidst throes of people. “You turn when ya… when…?”

You swallow, breathless and trembling as you grit your teeth. He sees the panic in your eyes, the idea that he can just betray you if he wanted to. If it would benefit him.

“Let me help you, darlin’.”

“W-when I’m…” You breathe in sharply. “When I’m not in water.”

He nods, slowly, watching the lithe legs and your bare body, spotless and perfect in every way. “I see.” He removes himself from you, moving away from your periphery. You gather your breath, turning over to see him, kneeling over an upturned washtub, somewhat filled with some form of water or another. “Those men up there? They can’t see you like this, otherwise…” he trails off, preferring not to picture what they’d do. What they’ve all once done before at sea. “Ya hear me?” He looks back at you, watching the way your hands gripped your bleeding shoulder wound, evidence of what he had already done to you. “You don’t know what else they can do to a pretty girl like ya.”

So, gently, he kneels beside you with a pained groan from the ache in his knees. You flinch under his touch and he gives you a stern look. “Why did you do this?”

He shakes his head, opening the bottle he brought down with him to pour it over the gaping flesh. Your soft fingers grip on to his arm, the softest whine escaping your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re not the only one fightin’ to survive in this world, honey.” He shushes you gently, moving to wrap what pieces of cloth he could find, using them to bandage your wound as you finally soften in his hold. He helps you into the tub, and he tries not to look into your eyes again.

You spoke again when he turned away, giving you the privacy he assumed you needed. “Just because you need to survive doesn’t mean I need it any less.” He stops in his tracks, looking down for a moment before clearing his throat. “Are men always this wretched? That one must tear down the innocent to survive?” He moves to answer, turning back momentarily, before sighing, turning back to continue cleaning up the mess. “Thank you, though. For… this.”

You know exactly how to describe it. You just don’t want him to hear it. The gentleness that comes, not in the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.

Joel hears the noise in his head, clouding his thoughts and drowning them out as he moves from one place to another.as he tries not to think about you, quiet in a tub of water, pretending to ignore him. Men are so quick to blame the gods…

He hands you a plate of scraps. The trimmings from a loaf of bread. A slice of some meat, and the last pieces of cheese he could find. “Eat,” he orders gruffly, moving to sit by the side of your tub, while he seats himself with a slice of bread. “Can’t have ya dyin’ of starvation either.”

You obey, weakened by the struggles of the evening, disheartened by your imprisonment, so close to freedom and at the same time so far away from it. You eat slowly, as if considering each little fragment you were handed, as if the world is unfamiliar in the presence of someone else.

Joel couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was your charm. Whatever it was, he started to tell you things.

He tells you of his life, so far away from the ocean, landlocked. He tells you how they make a living with animals. But he also tells you about Sarah. Sarah who dreamt of the world. Sarah who he was doing all this for. Sarah who asked him as a child to read to her every night. Sarah who was growing more and more with each passing day, the gap between the two of them becoming wider than he could ever comprehend.

“My survival may not mean much,” he says, “but hers is the most vital thing in my life, doll.”

He feels your gaze on him, becoming easier and easier to see as the sun slowly grows higher in the sky. In thirty minutes, his watch will end, and you do not know how the next man will treat you next. Will he be kind? Will he have Joel’s eyes?

He turns to leave, taking the plates with him as he stands up with a pained groan. “Don’t cause too much trouble, girl.” He only stops when you say his name, his gaze catching the blurry image of you, your tail sinking beneath you in the tub. “Yeah?”

“Will you read to me when you return?” you whispered, afraid to show fragility in your own internment.

He nods after a moment of thought, clambering up on deck to report back to the Captain.

Men are so quick to blame the gods.

—

For a while, a week or so, you believed things could be nice with Joel somewhat in your corner. Everyone else seemed to care less or cower in fear of you. Maybe because you do try to scare them away. At least, if you were going to be betrayed, it was Joel doing the betraying.

He returned at the same time just as he did the night before. And slowly, a routine emerges. He cleans your wounds, he feeds you whatever he finds. Then he reads to you. His eyes are too weak to read without you holding the lantern. So you learned that second night to emerge from your tub and to hold the lantern for him. He reads to you with the skilled words of a bard. He reads to you as if he’d read this tale before. Perhaps to Sarah? Perhaps to someone else?

You feel your stomach curdle at the thought of there being someone else in his life. You swallow down the bile and listen more closely.

When he leaves at dawn, you lie in the tub, dreaming of the words he had read to you, turning your back to the man that comes next. They do not bother you. You do not bother them. You become a ghost until he brings you to life.

Sing to me, Muse, of the Man of many wiles.

By the third night, he brings with him a blanket for you to wrap yourself in as you sit closer beside him, trying to follow the words he read, only to surrender because the letters are too rigid, too unnatural. You began shutting your eyes as he reads to you, learning of Odysseus, a once too familiar name you have heard in others of your kind before…

Sing to me, Muse, of these matters. Daughter of Zeus,My starting point is any point you choose.

You begin to talk to him too by the fourth night, observing your transformed toes as he hammered little areas he figured needed repairs. You tell him of the world beneath the waves, the languid distances you’ve traveled, never truly feeling as if you have found a home. You tell him, too, of wonders big and small.

You spoke of all these things, pretending to be unaware of the way he listens with such interest. It’s like you wanted him to be interested. How could you not, when night by night his eyes become warmer and warmer whenever they fell upon you? How could you not when he’s the only one that cared?

You try to read his thoughts, sometimes, when it’s quiet and he prefers to sit by himself, finding a few winks of sleep while you ate your food. He’s rather good at hiding them. You wonder if it makes his life easier. You wonder if any of it is easy for him.

Then he asks you something on his fifth watch.

“Is the whole singin’ thing somethin’ you actually do?”

You turn your head over your shoulder, setting down the snowglobe you’ve taken an interest in the last couple of hours. You saw it on a shelf this afternoon. And you had been impatient for Joel to arrive ever since. You consider the question, Then you smile and nod meekly.

“Do…” you pause, moving to face him instead. “Do you want to hear?”

He smirks, moving the chair closer to your seated frame, seating with the backing pressed to his front, legs straddling the seat, arms atop, covering that sliver of chest you had been sneaking glances from all evening. He had that thin linen shirt on again— the one that swoops down his chest. The one you see in your dreams.

“Only if it won’t kill me, sweet cheeks.”

You like that. Sweet cheeks. You barely understand what it means. You nod slowly, moving to lay on your back as you stare at the ceiling, monotonous and unchanged since you last looked. As you sing, you try not to look him in the eye. As if you cannot bear the sight of him seeing your capabilities and forever changing his perception of you. The hymn is warm, almost homely. A relentless Odyssey that means to take you home. A song that’s said to bring forth memories of home. You know Joel does not understand the language. Nor do you want him to. You won’t admit it, but you’re still terrified of what he could do if you remind him of how much he misses his home.

But what is even more surprising is this: instead of reminiscing about the tropics from which you have loved so deeply, all you can think about is him. All you can picture is his face. All you can see is possibilities of how he’s looking at you now.

When you finish, dawn is already breaking over the horizon. He has to go.

Quietly, you rose and slowly return to the tub with your snowglobe, watching as your body metamorphosizes— your last line of defense for survival. The shine of your scales so familiar, but never this clear under the water. The light is always so diffused— as distant as a foreign planet. Joel, on the other hand, stays there for a few minutes more, looking at the spot where you just were—at the plank of wood bearing the wet shape of your body. You started to think maybe he won’t leave when he swallows, rising from where he sat, and approaching you to hand the cheese he couldn’t eat from his portion of the meal.

“I quite enjoyed that,” he confesses, tucking the food into your palm. Just then, he encloses your hand in both of his, taking a moment to savor the feeling of your cool, changed skin against his. He wonders momentarily if you’ll feel different without your tail. “Thank you.”

He leans down, bringing your hand up to his waiting mouth, his lips pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. A shiver runs down your spine as you comprehend the sensation. His lips. How warm he is… the scruff of his beard against smooth skin. You feel him smirk against your hand, pulling away as he makes his way above deck.

And on your hand is the reddened skin that evidenced the smidgen of affection you were giving. And for now, it’s enough.

You turn your back to the world once more and into your own dream world, staring at your hand as you dream of Joel all morning long.

—

You suppose everything that goes around does eventually come around. You wonder why you're so optimistic. But, you supposed, just as things were getting better, the fates had other plans in store for you.

The call came just as you were coming of the stupor of sleep. From what you can tell, it was barely midday, and someone was yelling above where you resided. All hands on deck.

The thunderous noise of heavy feet trundle above head. The man watching you grumbled, muttering something along the lines of, "don't you dare think about running, li'l bitch."

You watch him slam the door, and curiosity gets the better of you. You rise slowly from the tub, slinking along the floor, struggling to lift yourself enough to peer out from one of the windows. But when you do, you've come to realize the gravest sin of your naivety.

There is a ship to be plundered. Slowly, the masks worn by the men where you are melt away. You see familiar men with their swords drawn, laughing maniacally, screaming and terrifying the ship they've found to appease their hunger.

You feel your body changing, and you begin to turn away from the window when you catch sight of silver hair and scruff. A visage that you finally see in broad daylight.

Joel is one of the men who almost seem to dance to the song of violence. Perhaps the stories were true. Perhaps the secrets of the shadows are laid bare in the light. Even Joel's secrets cannot escape the midday sun. When you see him, he is in battle with some toughened fisherman, their duel witnessed by cowering passengers and well-dressed women. For a moment, you think Joel will come to his senses, see how senseless all this violence is.

But then he takes the man by his hair, holding his head and facing him to the sun. His sword arches across the expanse of his victim's neck, rivulets of blood bursting forth in gush, an unstoppable stream. A squeal escapes you, the violent image burnt into the recesses of your brain, forcing you away from the window.

You run on shaky legs, screaming and yelling, reaching the doorway and attempting to push the door open, only to find resistance. Your fists pound the hard wood, your body pushing and shoving, unable to accept the fact that you can't call to him— show him that you saw and you demand an answer why.

For the first time, ever since Joel shot you with a harpoon, you truly understood something you tried so hard to ignore.

You sleep under the shelter of murderers. You think you felt affection from the hands of a man who just as easily took someone's life away. You are only loved because you're something else. Something not human.

You are only loved because you'll ensure their survival.

—

The blade itself incites the deeds of violence.

When the carnage ended, Joel raised his head to see the sky beginning to paint itself in bolder strokes of colors. He stretches his arms, only to feel the sticky plasma of drying blood sticking to his arms, his torso, spotting the expanse of his face. He is the last to leave their conquered ship, and he takes his time. He walks along the scattered piles of bodies, putting whoever hasn't perished out of their misery with the very same blade he wielded in battle. He's alive. He can go home. He watches the revelry on their vessel: men roasting the spoils from the kitchen, barrels upon barrels of ale and mead slowly being chewed through.

The stage is set. All they need is a little shock of entertainment.

But what he worries about is you. You who probably cowered from fear at the sudden influx of noise. You who definitely saw the things they are capable of doing. You with the wound on your shoulder, healing at a snail's pace with your imprisonment. So, he takes the time to find supplies to help you. He finds antiseptic. He finds needle and thread. It will have to do.

When he returns to his ship, He has spread oil across the deck where the bodies lay. With one bloody hand, he strikes a match to burn away the evidence of their carnage. The burning ship drifts further and further into the horizon, drowned out by the sounds of cheering. Joel is handed a mug of better than average mead.

As he watches the lights flicker and consume the rest of the ship, one question remains at the forefront of his thoughts, echoed and repeated by every voice in his head.

Do I dare?

Clarity comes when he's two mugs in, everyone else fucking off to see how much treasure piled up. He looks at the door that leads directly where you are and the question becomes clearer. It is in the iambic beat of his heart. I am, I am, I am.

It's in the excitement at the thought of seeing you tonight and having a good meal to offer. He begins to smirk, taking two plates and finding food he thinks you'll like.

Do I dare disturb the universe?

—

You do not look at him when he enters. You cannot, knowing the things you’ve seen today. Especially when you hear he’s happy, humming as he sinks down the stairs from the deck. The jump on his step was not there before. And instead of finding that itching curiosity to see if he was smiling or if you were responsible for this joy, you feel your stomach sour at one thought.

Perhaps the slaughtering of others brought glee to his bones.

“You must be hungry,” he says softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. You feel a strange stickiness to his touch. So strange that you finally look, only to be horrified by the sight of his bloodsoaked hand. You yelp helplessly, shrinking away from his touch. You shed tears, luminescent in the semi-darkness, as precious as pearls that only he can see. “Darlin’...” His hand comes to cup your face gently, trying to make you look him in the eye. In this form, your skin is cold, the warmth of his hands turning your skin red.

“Y-you killed them,” you finally manage, the iron smell filling your senses. Seeing you panicked, Joel reaches down into the tub to slowly bring you out of your tub and into his willing arms, slow shushes escaping him. “Are you going to kill me, too?”

So that was what you were so scared of.

You bury your face into his chest, his shirt smelling of him— of sandalwood and musk, tobacco smoke, and underneath it all, a few specks of blood. Meanwhile, he lets you, cradling you in his arms as you continue to shed your tears. He lets you, knowing you wouldn’t listen to him with so much emotion in that pretty little head of yours.

But when you do eventually calm down, he doesn’t miss a moment. He couldn’t.

“I can never harm you, honey.” He breathes in through his nose, finally close enough to smell you. The sea air in your hair, sunshine and honeysuckles from lands he can only dream of. “I can’t even if I tried.”

Slowly, he lays you down where he had dropped his sheet—the sheet you’ve been wrapping yourself around. The sheet that smells like the both of you; that way he could imagine waking up to you the past few times he had gotten sleep. Slowly, he straddles your changed form, naked and so fucking divine it has his head spinning. “Can I take care of ya, darlin’?” He waits for you. Even when everything is pushing him to kiss you— he has to know you want this.

He has to know you’re not miserable.

Seeing this, you take a deep breath. You hold his face. Your skin, smooth and not exactly human, bright against his, earth-marred, bloody, and burnt from days in the sun. And yet, you do not see those flaws. All you see are his warm eyes, so desperate to tell you he wants you, and yet so willing to walk away if you asked. So you grip him by his shirt, pulling him against you in a wanton, desperate kiss.

It is the first kiss you share. The first of the hundreds you’ll share that night. But you will always remember that first.

Because it’s burning against your cool skin. Because the scratch of his scruff is a sensation you have not felt in the long life you have lived. He holds your face, bringing your head closer to him, pressing against the front of his skull, making you whine from want as he deepens the kiss. You’ll always remember it because you know this kiss.

You can already see the ending before the two of you ever began.

His hand slips into your hair, his mouth pulling away from yours, only to drift down your cheek, your jaw… He chuckles against your skin when you gasp so meekly, melting like butter in his arms.

“Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” he whispers, marking the crook of your neck with his mouth. “Let me show you how ya have me wrapped around your pretty li’l finger.”

Already, you can see him in your memories, tangled up in him. His kisses on your neck, his spit drying against your skin. His fingers reaching and tearing you apart. In the eternity you’ll be facing alone… he’s there. Just there, a willing invitation to a dream.

He’s pushing your legs up, now fully transformed, and he comprehends everything. Without words, it seems, things simply come naturally to him. He cups your cheek with one hand, folding your body in half as your legs drape over his broad shoulders. His thumb brushes your lips, and you part them for him. You let him fuck his thumb into your wet mouth, groaning at the way you suck on him. “Good girl…”

Just then, his other hand reaches down, a warm sensation cupping your cunt as you whine softly against him, looking him in the eye. “Good God, are you always this soakin’?”

You slowly pull back, shivering softly from the sensation of him parting your folds. Only you, Joel. No one else can do this to me. He comprehends, and he groans again, leaning down to kiss you. His cock aches in the confines of his pants. Just like that, everything dulls out and he can only comprehend this: to have you. You, you, and just you.

“Guess I have some makin’ up to do to ya, huh?”

Just then, his head disappears between the valley of your breasts, marking a trail of blood-red hickeys down to your stomach, one hand pinching a nipple harshly enough to make you squeal, to which he shushes you again. Gonna get us caught, doll. He continues his way, finally finding your sweet cunt. He shifts his hands so he can slowly part your folds. He kisses the inside of your thighs just as you clamp one hand over your whining mouth. And, with nothing left to do, he takes a deep breath, looking at your face as he sinks his tongue down between your folds, tasting you with a longing groan of delight.

Even his griefs are a joy long after to one that remembers all that he wrought and endured.

All you can feel is the flurry of rhythm Joel sets. His trembling jaw, as if whispering prayers to whatever powers may be. His tongue splitting you open and fucking you raw in a way so obscene, you think it’s unbecoming. Perhaps it is. Perhaps by letting him have you this way, you have turned your back on your world. But he fucks one finger into your surprisingly warm cunt and everything else fades away into the silence.

“Fuck, baby…” It’s so easy, you whining urging him on, calling for him and begging to just keep going, dear God. One finger becomes two, then three. Then he raises himself so he can see your face better. So he can see the way your features contort into a heavenly amalgamation of beauty and pleasure and wonder in one full spectrum. But there is nothing more beautiful when his fingers brush against something that made you keen closer to his touch, eyes wide open with your mouth trembling.

“That’s it, isn’t it, darlin’? It is, huh?” He chuckles, the rumble of it vibrating from his chest, echoing to the backs of your thighs, and finally, straight to your wanting cunt. He smirks, his upper body shifting so his arm was much more free— just so he can keep aiming for that one spot that made you keen so beautiful he gets a glance of your otherworldly beauty.

A long forgotten poem comes up from the back of his head, just as he was pulling your orgasm from your willing frame, his other hand covering your mouth before you get too loud just so you wouldn’t be interrupted, caught, and possibly separated.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. “Good fuckin’ girl. Such a good girl, honey…” I did not think they’ll sing for me.

You shut your eyes, grinding your hips into his touch, chasing a sensation you can’t even dare put into words. You whine into the palm of his hand, feeling as if your skin, normally so cool, set on fire with the desire you have for Joel. You peer through your damp lashes, making out the silhouette of his smirk, his warm eyes somewhat swelling with pride.

“Joel… there’s… there–” you barely get the words out when you feel it. Your vision going white, the electricity flowing through your body, and coming out of you in warm bursts.

Heaven, you think, from how Joel so lovingly described it.

When you come to, he’s pulling his fingers away, and a spurt of fluids follow in the wake of his absence. He chuckles, the sound of it emanating the very depths of your consciousness. “Didn’t know ya could do that, pretty girl.”

It leaves you warm, slightly sleepy. Slightly drifting in and out—the way the ocean climbs and recedes from the shore.

You don’t notice the way Joel watches you. The way blood smeared your perfect face. You do not notice his hand tracing down your torso, coloring it a faded, rusty red. Marked by him, and for him.

And yet if some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so will I endure. For already have I suffered so much, and much have I toiled in perils of waves and wars. Let she be added to the tales of those.

“Please eat,” he finally says as he kisses your forehead. “I saved a plate for you.”

So you do. You sit up, trembling, the cool porcelain pressed against your thigh as you feasted. Grapes, expensive nuts, and meats you could only dream of. You try not to think of the price he paid to lavish you with such an offering. Because now, instead of the guilt, you feel the rumblings of power in your veins. You have become his very god, the one he’d slay men for. The very god to which he offers a plate paid for by carnage. And if you’ve become god, what can you offer him?

Heaven was not fit to house a creature such as I.

—-

He makes love to you after dinner. Slow, careful. He doesn’t want to terrify you. He doesn’t want to get caught, either. He has you on his lap, your cool hands cupping his heated face, spineless from pleasure as he fucks up into you, giving you a moment to accommodate him and get used to the feeling of his cock stretching you wide open. Every vein, his very length, arching and filling you up in the best way there is to be filled.

“Tell me you want this,” he asks, and you oblige him. You whine for him, calling, biting your lip and throwing your head back. You lead his hand to your chest, heaving with slow, shaky breaths. He knows what you want without ever asking it of you. And that is why he squeezes the curve of your breast, sitting up to press his mouth to your collarbone. The kisses set your skin aflame, his fingers pinching and pulling the pleasure from your willing body.

So he gives you everything. You cum once again with you on top of him. You cum again after he bends you over the nearest table with his rough fingers rubbing circles on your needy clit. And on the third time, somewhere when it’s quiet, you both lie on the blanket, your back to his chest, his cock unmoving inside of you.

It’s a moment of respite. A lull. A moment to catch breaths.

“How much did you see earlier?”

His arm is around your waist, his mustache brushing against the back of your ear. It’s nice. It’s almost domestic, a word so foreign to you. Perhaps domesticity is something innately human. But he makes you have a taste of it. And it tastes so sweet. You hum softly, tilting your head so he can kiss more of your neck.

“I saw the first man you killed,” you tell him, to which he groans, pulling you closer. “I couldn’t watch any more after that. It was… too much.” You feel his teeth brushing against the curve of your ear. Then he bites gently just to hear you squirm.

“I don’t want you lookin’ anymore, sweetheart,” he whispers, “not if it’s going to upset you this much.” He leans up, peering over your peaceful face, with your eyes shut and your body languid. “But… I suppose I’ll try.” You open one eye, peering up at him. “Less murders, my queen, yes ma’am.”

You giggle, pressing your palm to his mouth as he continues to tease you with such pet names. He speaks behind your palm. Angel baby, cutie pie… Other pet names you don’t comprehend because the sounds disappear into your cool skin.

And then he’s fucking you again, with you on your side and him above you, caging you in his arms. You catch your lip between your teeth, gritting out half-choked moans. Already, the pleasure has begun to border the line between pleasure and pain. Already, you feel your legs quaking, but you feel the tremble in his spine as well.

He’s close. He’s so fucking close.

That’s when you notice how sporadic his bursts of movement are becoming. Fewer and shorter in between. So, you begin to give back, maneuvering your bodies so you’re laying on top of him once more, digging your blunt nails down against his biceps. You feel his hands on your waist. Bloody hands that have taken an infinite number of lives before you. Bloody hands that will take who knows how many lives after. Bloody hands, that, despite their track record, hold you as if you are so fragile in his grasp.

Gentleness incomprehensible. The best of the world in the palms of his hands.

The both of you, flying into deep, empty space. Alone with Joel in the aether.

Watching his orgasm wash over him just as yours does for the fourth and last time. He pulls you into his chest, letting you moan into his chest. The only thing that betrays his release is the stuttered breaths, the shaky fingers. That is all. And then you feel the warmth of his seed, buried deep within you, treasured and tucked away. It’s so much, you feel it reach places you didn’t expect it to be.

Even when he’s ending things, he’s giving you everything he’s got.

In the afterglow, he takes care of you. Already, the sun is rising Once again, you won’t see him until it’s dark again. You’ll be turning away from the world and dreaming of those eyes and his smile. But for now, he wipes you clean, kissing your forehead as he brings you back to your tub. For now, you hold his hand for another minute.

“Y’know… Sarah loved playing siren as a fuckin’ kid,” he finally says, cleaning up the plates in silence. “She loves the sea.”

You peer over the lip of the tub, smiling up at him dreamily. “She must be so beautiful. With your smile?” You sigh, leaning back as you look up at the ceiling. “You must miss her much.”

He brushes your cheek with a sigh, shrugging. “Every fuckin’ day, baby.”

He walks away from you, and you wait for him to look back. He does, with a shit-eating smirk at your dazed eyes, neck marked up by his own doing. “Don’t kill anybody today, Joel.”

He nods slowly. “Get some sleep, squirt.” As you turn away, the smile drops. He cannot show that vulnerability out there, amongst the men he’s shared blood, sweat, and tears with. Men he killed from and men he killed with. Men who’d want to tear you apart and swallow you whole. Men who’d kill him if they knew what the two of you did all night.

Then how should I begin to spit out the butt-ends of my days and ways? How should I presume?

He doesn’t have to presume for long. Not when he emerges on deck and he sees the dark shadow of land specking the endless sea of blue he had grown accustomed to. There stands the rise and fall of a mountain, a jagged line breaking the skyline.

The Captain speaks, and the shock burns through him so rapidly that he tries to hide it by leaning against the starboard side.

We hit land midday tomorrow. Our li’l baggage ‘bout to finally bring in some fuckin’ money.

The clock is ticking, what else can he do? Go, go, go.

—

When Joel returns, he’s waking you from a long, languid sleep. You turn to smile at him, but there’s a different look in his eyes. An urgency, a finger pressed to your lips to ensure silence. He carries you from the water and you’re brought up close to see the crease on his forehead. When he wraps you in the sheet, that’s when he speaks.

“Need t’get ya out of here, baby.”

The great escape. The prison break.

Now you feel the tension.

He waits for you to turn, to become inconspicuous. Meanwhile, he’s hot on his heels. He’s gripping a rucksack in his hands, heavy with some inconceivable baggage, muttering to himself. You start to understand the madness. You start to wonder if there’s two versions of Joel waiting behind every door. One of them is the lover— the man who’d kiss you as he introduces you to a world of pleasure. Then there was the monster— the man who sliced open the throat of the person he was robbing blind, the man who fired the harpoon that caused your imprisonment.

“So the monster has come to set me free of my bonds.”

You rise, shaky on your legs and clothed in that sheet that kept you modest. It’s when he stops in his tracks, looking you in the eye before sighing, tearing the cloth away from you to introduce a linen shirt of his. It smells of him; perhaps it even reeks of him.

“They’re going to butcher you if I don’t try, sweetheart.”

You do what you promised to yourself you’ll do when he asks you something. You put your blind faith into his hands and take a leap.

He leads you through a maze of rooms you cannot comprehend. You stop at the crosshairs. You duck under tables when he asks you to. And you know why. Because the men who thirst for your blood can be found on every corner. Because you’re running out of time. Because he’d rather lose you to the waves than those who shed blood like he does.

In a matter of minutes, you find yourselves in the cool evening air. It’s a blind spot, and it’s far enough that he helps you to the raft while it’s almost silent. The sounds of men beginning to have dinner so distant and far away, it’s like an entirely different world. Skillfully, Joel lowers you both into the ocean, the distant beating of the waves masking the sound of him cutting the rope that tethered you to the ship.

He keeps one hand on the behemoth you’ve escaped, and he audibly counts. Quiet enough for you to hear. Tens. Hundreds. Then, a thousand seconds passes.

He pauses, straining to hear. In the flickering light of the lanterns, you see the silver in his hair and his beard. You wonder, momentarily, if it’s the last you’ll see of him. That’s when you hear it.

Yells. But not of alarm. Not of you, their treasured prisoner, missing from her cage. It’s the yells of panic. Of suffering. Of pain.

Upon seeing your features, Joel finally reveals the hidden card up his sleeve.

“I poisoned them. I poisoned them and robbed them blind so they’ll never come after you.”

You look to him, waiting for another shoe to drop. But there is none. This is who he is, laid bare for you to see. Your devotee, giving you the ultimate sacrifice. This is not the monster nor the lover. This is Joel. All masks have fallen to their knees and prostrated themselves before you. Every post abandoned and conquered, only for you.

“Go.”

You blink, and his trembling fingers hold your cheeks, his shaky lips kissing the crown of our head.

“No one’s coming for you as long as I’m there to stop them.”

When you don’t move, he grits his teeth, as if caught between a rock and a hard place. A second passes, then his arms take you, throwing you overboard and into the familiar depths of an ocean below.

The waves welcome you with a surge of power, relentless and enduring. More immortal than you. More divine than you can ever hope to be. The moment you are released from Joel’s hold, the saltwater licks clean the wound on your shoulder. It washes away the scent of Joel’s shirt.

He’s already being erased from you.

From beneath the depths, everything comes back to you. The kiss on your hand, the scraps of food. His sticky, bloodmarked fingers marking you. All of it, slipping through your fingers like sand. In the cool darkness of the open sea, all you can see is a flame starting from the base where you last saw Joel. A fire spreading amongst the ship which you once hailed your prison.

You can see Joel’s boat, smaller in comparison, already racing away towards the shore.

All you can do now, with the power of Poseidon surging and bubbling beneath your veins, is to sing. To sing a hymn that begs before the very gods themselves. But it’s a song that begs Joel, too. Begs him to remember you.

Don’t forget me. You do not know if he hears you. Don’t forget me.

You attempt to follow him beneath the waves.

Don’t forget me.

—-

Against all odds, Joel Miller disembarks from the train to find himself in a farmland so familiar to him. Against all odds, it is three weeks later, and he’s followed all the roads and finds himself home.

He breathes in the smell of wheat under the scorching summer heat. He embraces it. He puts one foot ahead of the other, sea legs no longer present. The ground is too still that it still sometimes unnerves him.

A few meters away, he catches sight of the house. The windows wide open, the breeze making the curtains dance within. And on his porch is a familiar figure that had lowered her book and peered in his direction. He sees her face, and relief encompasses his bones. Sarah.

She’s running to him, yelling, loud and youthful and her face is like the sun. He feels himself smiling, too. The first time in weeks. Miles of walking and sleepless nights fade away with each step you take closer together. Then she’s running to his arms squealing as he embraces her.

Tell me. Is this really then Ithaca?

Finally, the years that separate the little family are slowly bridged. He rebuilds. He tells her stories. He tells her about you. When the sun sets, he tucks Sarah in and kisses her forehead.

Now, here he is. A couple of months that feels like decades have passed him by. He dreamt of you every night for the past three weeks. He sits in his bath, wondering if this was ever how you felt in those long, terrifying days. Did you feel peace, too?

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea, by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown.

His eyes fall shut. His breath slows.

A moment of peace as he sees your face, smiling at him, languid hands reaching and asking him to follow you.

He hears your voice, singing into his ear as he chuckles.

Until human voices wake us, and we drown.

taglist: @tuquoquebrute @boofy1998 @persephone-girl @lunxramour @none-of-this-makes-any-sense

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pirate!joel miller x siren!reader #pirate!joel miller #pirate!au #siren!au #mermaid!au

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nikosama13 · 10 months ago

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"I'll let my luck do the rest.." (Part 2! Law x Reader)

Description: Law couldn’t hold the secret of what had happened between you and him any longer.. He knew you’d hate him for it so he’d let his luck do the rest for him. (Please read part one if you haven’t already) <3

Side Notes: Hello my pretty loves! This is my first time continuing a fan fic I’ve created so please go easy on me. ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ 💕 (My requests should be open + Probably spelling mistakes)

\-> Part one here /

Enjoy the read!

Consider following..?

~~~

It was the next morning after you and Law shared a passionate kiss..

Law laid on his bed staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. His fingernails clawing into a pillow as he tried to re-think over what had happened last night. If what he did was a mistake or whether you’d even remember what had happened.

He slowly sat up and traced his fingers over his lips, trying to remember the feeling of you. Then he stood up and left his room, walking towards the dining room. Maybe a small snack could help him clear his mind a bit..?

Well that was a mistake..

You, out of all the people. You were there, eating breakfast on the table in front of him. He attempted to flee but you spotted him before he could.

“Oh hey Law!” you smiled at him warmly.

It seemed like you didn’t even have a slight clue on what went down last night.

His cheeks flushed at the thought of you two even touching. Law wasn’t very fond of physical touch.. Or more that he knows in his heart that he wouldn't have the will power to control himself which would lead to other things..

“G–good morning y/n-ya..” he looked down at the wooden floor.

“Good morning, Law!” you stuffed your face with your favorite breakfast.

Well you were doing that.. until you noticed something off.. you could sense the tension in the air but didn't know were it came from.

“Uhm.. law.. Did something happen? You seem down..” you shot him a concerned look.

“No it’s nothing..” he continued to look at the floor, hoping that his hat was covering his flushed face.

“Well it sure doesn't seem like nothing.” you stood up and placed your dish in the sink.

“If you wanna talk I’m here..” you were face to face with him now, well more like face to his hat..

He leaned on the door frame and pinched the middle of his nose.

“I’m alright..” he stayed the same.

“Okay then suit yourself..” you walked off and thought about what Law was going through.

Little did you know that it was all because of you and his lack of self control.

The day went by and the ocean became calmer.. However Law’s mind wasn’t. Thoughts of you and him raced through his mind as he sat in his room. He felt guilty, Law couldn’t just simply keep such valuable information from you like that..

After all, you should know what happened.

So that's it.

That’s when he decided that he was going to tell you.

How? When? Where?

Law let his luck do the rest.

He stood up from this chair and took a deep breath in. Then he walked across the hall and stood in front of your door, contemplating if he was actually going to do this. Just like the night before where he was contemplating if he should kiss you or not.

Law knocked two times on your door, his heart aching and mind racing as he awaited your response..

You did in fact open the door, there you were as beautiful as ever standing in front of him.

“Oh hello.. what brings you here..?” you gave him a small smile.

In your mind you just thought that Law had come for your assistance to deal with whatever he was going through. But boy, was it going to be more than that..

“Y/n, we need to talk.” he gave you a glare.

“Ah.. I see you’ve come to your senses and want my assistance. Come on in.” you opened your door wider to allow him to pass through, shutting it behind the both of you.

“Sit anywhere you’d like..” He was the Captain after all, and this was his ship.

He took a seat down on your couch and you sat on the edge of your bed, both of you facing each other.

“Listen closely because I'm only going to say this once.” he said firmly.

The tone of this voice showed that he meant business.

“Last night… something happened.. I suppose the thunder woke you up and you sleep walked to my room. I was shocked and didn’t know what to do, so I brought you back here. But then.. You asked me for something..” his voice was getting softer by every word he said.

“What did I ask..?” you said in an embarrassed tone.

You didn’t want to believe what you did..

His blushing grew stronger, which you noticed but weren’t going to question until you got your answer.

“You.. you.. asked me to kiss you. So I did..” he looked down immediately and started playing with his thumbs, waiting for you to say something more.

“I- I-.. i’m so sorr-” he cut you off.

“No, I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” he told you and himself.

He stood up and began to walk to your door.

“Wait..” you said, now flustered too.

He stopped, took a breath and turned to face you.

“What do you want..?” he said coldly.

“What makes you think that my sleep-walking self lied to you or something? I don’t think I would have just asked you to kiss me out of the blue in my sleep. There wouId have to be a reason.."

"That reason is because I wanted you to.” you smiled and blushed.

His whole tone and body language changed in a snap.

“I- I-..” he didn’t think of it like that.. His body froze up.

“And before you go Law.. I still wouldn’t mind a kiss from you.” you giggled.

Then all of a sudden he truned around and locked your door, walked up to you and picked you up in his strong arms.

"Then that's what you'll get." Law gave you a mischievous smile.

He kissed you.

Your legs tightened around his waist as he kissed you deeply.

Let’s just say tonight.. Law wasn’t going to let you go or for that matter.. ever.

~~~

The End~

(Thank you so much for reading this!) <3

Consider following..?

#one piece #straw hat pirates #strawhats #one piece strawhats #short story #anime #cute #fanfic #law x y/n #law x you #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law #traflagar law #law x reader #fluff?#angst?#follow4follow #follow me #follow

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gelly-fsh · 1 month ago

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Pride

Pirate! AU, it's a bit angsty but it has HEA I promise (Just not on this part)

______

James should've have known falling in love with a pirate was a mistake.

There are many stories, passed by stories, by songs, by gossip, about how passionate a Pirate's love was.

The unique gifts, the great stories, the saccharine words, it is all true, James can admit that.

But in the end, Pirates will always love the Ocean more.

"The Emerald" Regulus whispered, his face a bit haunted "She is gone"

James could hear the absolute devastation in his voice as he announced this. James was already mourning with him for the lost ship, the oldest companion Regulus had.

"I planned to die with her" Regulus whispered, still haunted by visions James could not see "But Barty and Evan took me out against my wish"

James entire body went cold.

I planned to die with her

Planned

To die

With

Her

Something inside James broke at that moment, something delicate that was precariously hanging by a thread this last couple of months

Was it his love, was it his patience?

James didn't know, he just knew one thing at the moment.

James was tired.

"So it was a lie" James muttered, the numbing feeling was drowning him by the fingertips and slowly going up to the rest of his body, to try and hide the simmering burn of something deep inside him

"What?" Regulus exclaimed, visibly confused.

"You once told me you were doing all of this so we could, one day, grow old together and not worry about a thing" James said, and he could see the emotions that were passing by Regulus mind.

Worry. Realization. Fear.

Regret.

"You would rather die with your ship than to die with me" James muttered and he started to laugh histerically once the truth settled in "It was all a lie"

"No, James, please listen-"

"No. I have done enough listening with you" he spotted out venomously "I have waited for your return, year by year, hoping one day you would love me enough to stay, but that will never happen, right?"

"James, we were surrounded. I thought there was no chance for me-"

"But did you even try hard enough? Or even better, did you even try at all?"

"Did you thought, that I would have been here, foolishly waiting for you still, until one of your crew members took enough pity for me to come and tell me you were dead?"

"Better question, did you think about me at all?" James spitted out, the tears in his eyes felt like boiling lava, and every time he spoke, every time Regulus was unable to find his words, the reality of the situation sinked deeper and deeper in James' bruised heart

"This is my life James!"

"You and your dammed Pride!" James snarled

"I have never asked you to leave all behind, I've just asked you to be more careful! What don't you understand?"

"This is a dangerous life James, you can't expect-"

"Damn right I expect! I expected a lot if things!"

"I expected that you would want to take me with you, I expected to be able to see you more than a couple of times a year for more than a day or two, but most of all I expected you valued your life enough to want to come back"

"Regulus, I'm tired." James said, he felt the burning behind his eyelids, but he forced himself to not let fall a single drop, not yet. "I have loved you so much for so long, and even if I despise it, I will continue to do so, but I cannot live like this anymore"

"James, please don't do this to me. I love you so much my dear, you have to believe me" Regulus croaked out, his heart was in his throat, trying to crawl it's way out of his body so James would know it belonged to him, that it would always belong to him.

"Thats the thing Regulus" James said, his eyes filled with heartbreak "I don't believe you anymore"

James took a deep breath, trying to find the force to finish this conversation, to say goodbye to his one true love, the only one he would ever know "I hope you the best in your next adventure, Captain Black. May the God's guide you to the greatness you so fervently seek"

James can not see Regulus to the eye, he can't bear to see what he caused, but he knows it will be for the best. Even if Regulus would be heartbroken now, James knows he will move on. Regulus will find his next adventure, his next big prize, maybe even his next grand love, and James Potter will just end up like a speck in his great legacy, one of the many dumb fools that decided to fall in love with a pirate while knowing they would never hold a candle to the one thing a pirate valued more.

The first step back is the hardest one, but after that one, the next ones become a bit easier, even if all his body feels made out of lead

And for the first time, it was James who left first.

And for the first time, Captain Regulus Black really felt what it was to loose for now there was not a soul nor a heart insude his body, just an empty casket of blood and bones that screamed, begged to be filled again, only to be denied everytime. What made him whole dissapeared, and Regulus knew then and there.

He would never know happiness again.

~•~

#jegulus #james potter #james x regulus #regulus black #starchaser #pirates #pirate au #the marauders #marauders #angst #the girls are fighting

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 5 months ago

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☠️ Night Lotus

Night Lotus: You are part of the Roger Pirates and have a tendency to keep your cards close, and your heart closer. Your captain schemes to change this when the crew stops at an island to have a vacation.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material.

To Note: Younger!Rayleigh x NAMED!Reader

Word Count: ~10.1k

“If you two sea shrimps don’t behave, I’ll throw you in the brig with a week's worth of rations while the rest of the crew enjoys the island!” You snap at the two youngest members of the Roger Pirates. Buggy and Shanks freeze in place mid-squabble, their eyes round with fear. Fear of being left behind, that is.

“No fair!” Buggy complains, his voice rising in pitch as Shanks pulls away from him and straightens up into an orderly apprentice. Smart boy. Buggy, on the other hand, goes crashing to the floor with a loud thud that echoes in the cramped room. His limbs splay out in a dramatic fashion, only adding to the comedic effect of his fall.

“It’ll be fair if you stop picking a fight with Shanks every other minute,” you growl, eyes training on Buggy’s extraneous pout. “You want to be pirates, act like it.”

“But—” your finger jabs into Buggy’s face as you wordlessly cut him off. The sudden movement makes his eyes widen even more, if that were possible.

“Not another complaint or I’m taking away your face paints for the next month.” With that last threat, which certainly drives your point home, leaving Buggy’s mouth wide open in shock, you turn in place and walk out of the apprentice’s bunk room.

You have your own tasks to complete before the Oro Jackson arrives at the vacation island.

As you climb the stairs, you rub your forehead at the growing tension behind your eyes. Those two have been driving you up the walls all week! The sunlight filtering through the deck boards above feels like a small mercy, but there's no time to relish it. The ship needs to be in top shape, and you won't let a couple of squabbling kids throw off the crew's rhythm.

"You need to see Crocus about those headaches of yours," the slow drawl of your captain draws your eye, and you sigh.

"What I need is for Bugs to stop taking everything Shanks says as an insult to his nose. I swear, it's like they're trying to test my god-damned patience Between Buggy's fusses and Shanks' proclivity to look for trouble, it's a wonder I haven't thrown them both overboard." You groan in frustration, rubbing your temples. "I had to resort to threats to get them to stop bickering."

"Threatened them with the brig, did you?" Oh, he knows you so well. Roger begins to laugh at your apparent frustration, the sound echoing across the deck of the Oro Jackson like a rolling wave. Boisterous and energetic.

"I'm not babysitting them if they get into trouble," you grouse at your captain. "This is supposed to be my vacation!" Roger claps his hand on your shoulder, and your headache pulses for a moment under the weight of his touch.

"Come on, Lotus! The boys love you, you are their mother figure!" Roger booms, his voice full of affection as you stagger slightly from his strong grip. Sometimes he forgets how strong he is in comparison to you. "Though you do have a point," Roger then muses, playing with his mustache in contemplation. His eyes brighten, and they sparkle with a mischievous glint. Your stomach sinks. You know that look. "How about this, Lotey! I'll have Spencer babysit the kiddos, and you can spend some quality time on the island!"

You raise your eyebrow at him, wondering what he meant by "quality time," but you don't press further because with your captain, it could literally mean anything. You glance toward the horizon, where the vacation island looms closer with every passing moment. You need your quality time to be solitary at this point!

The scent of saltwater mingles with the crisp tang of the forest as you sit in a worn, wooden chair just a few feet from the beach. The waves crash rhythmically, sending up sprays of foam that glisten in the sunlight. The sun is high, casting shadows that dance across the sand, creating an idyllic scene.

Peace.

You open your book, the one you’ve been saving for a rare moment of peace, and dive into its pages. The camp bustles behind you with the crew's laughter and clatter as they set up tents and prepare meals. Yet you’ve managed to carve out a little oasis for yourself amid all this masculine chaos.

Spencer wrangles Buggy and Shanks near the edge of the clearing. You catch glimpses of Buggy's exaggerated pout and Shanks’ determined attempts to act mature, though his occasional glances at you betray his longing for your attention.

"How's vacation treating you?" Rayleigh’s voice interrupts your solitude. You look up to see him standing there with two drinks in hand. His shirt clings to his well-built frame, slightly damp from a recent dip in the ocean. His strawberry blond hair gleams under the sun, catching the light like threads of silk. Why does he have to look so damn handsome all the time?

You accept the drink he offers, a fruity concoction that the rest of the crew won't even touch. Rayleigh knows you just as well as Roger. “It’s going well, Rayleigh,” you reply, taking a sip. The drink is cold and refreshing, a perfect refreshment from the beating sun.

Rayleigh takes a seat beside you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body. “Looks like Buggy and Shanks aren’t too happy about Spencer watching them.”

“They’ll get over it,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand. “I’m on vacation from mother duties.”

Rayleigh chuckles, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “So stern! You’re scaring me.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “You think they’d listen if I wasn’t?”

“Maybe not,” he admits, taking a long drink from his glass. “Still, it’s nice seeing you take some time for yourself.” He leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. "You work too much."

"Sometimes," you agree, your eyes drift back to your book, but you can still feel Rayleigh’s gaze on you. It's hard to focus on the words when he is so close. “I deserve a break,” you mutter more to yourself than him.

“You certainly do,” he says softly, almost too softly for you to hear over the crashing waves.

A few moments go by before Rayleigh leans closer, a playful grin spreading across his face. “You know, I think you enjoy being the stern mother of the crew a bit too much. It’s almost like you don’t want anyone else to have your attention.”

You stiffen slightly but keep your eyes on the book. “Is that so? And here I thought I was just keeping order.”

“Maybe you are, but it’s fun to see you get riled up.” His tone is light, but there’s an undertone that makes your heart beat a little faster. Insufferable man always has to tease you!

You still refuse to look at him. You won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s getting under your skin. “If by ‘riled up,’ you mean doing my job, then yes.”

Rayleigh chuckles, leaning back again. He sips his drink and then looks out at the horizon, where the sun dips lower in the sky, painting everything in hues of orange and pink.

Peace and quiet settles between you comfortably, though you still can't focus on the words on the page. Rayleigh's presence next to you, how he just causally lounges, limbs sprawled out without a care in the word. Oh he really isn't good for your heart with the way he makes it pitter patter in your chest. Stop ogling Rayleigh, Lotus!

Luckily, Roger soon ambles over, his steps unsteady and his grin wide. He’s got a drink in one hand and seems to be enjoying himself a bit too much. As usual. “Hey! Lotus!” he calls out as if you’re across a crowded room rather than just a few feet away. “Did that headache of yours finally go away?”

You glance at Roger, your patience wearing thin. “Yes, Captain,” you say through gritted teeth. So much for piece and quiet.

Rayleigh raises an eyebrow at this new piece of information. Wonderful, not that Rayleigh is in the loop, you'll never hear the end of it! “Headache? Why didn’t you go to Crocus?”

“They’re just headaches,” you reply with a sigh. You rub your temples again, feeling the dull throb that never really goes away.

Roger plops down next to Rayleigh, his drink sloshing over the side of his glass. “You know,” he says with a conspiratorial wink, “Lotus never entertains advances from anyone on those islands we visit. Makes me think she’s got her eye on someone right here on the crew.”

Your face heats up at Roger's words, but you keep your expression neutral. “Maybe it’s because most of those advances come from drunken fools like you,” you retort.

Rayleigh's eyebrow arches as he watches you closely from behind his round glasses. He knows you're deflecting. You purposefully refuse to look at him.

Roger laughs loudly, clapping Rayleigh on the back. “Oh come on, Lotey! You can’t fool me! Who is it? Is it Spencer? Or maybe Crocus? He is quite the looker. That why you won't see him for your headaches?”

You roll your eyes dramatically. “Roger, your drunk mind is making things up again.”

Roger leans back, propping himself up with one arm as he grins mischievously. "So, Lotey, who is it? Who’s the lucky guy? Or are you keeping him all to yourself because you’re afraid we’ll scare him off?"

You scoff, waving a dismissive hand. “Please, Roger. As if I’d let any of you scare off anyone worth my time.”

Rayleigh chuckles beside you, and the sound sends a ripple of awareness through your body. You shoot him a small glare, catching the way his eyes crinkle with amusement behind his glasses. Damn it. “Roger might have a point, though. We’re all curious,” he says, his tone light but his gaze piercing.

You shift in your seat, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks again. “Curiosity killed the cat,” you mutter, taking a sip of your drink to avoid their eyes. "Prepare for death if you want that answer."

Roger laughs louder this time, slapping his knee. “Lotey’s got claws! Come on now, who is it? You can’t keep secrets from us forever.”

“Honestly,” you say, exasperated but trying to keep your voice steady. “There’s no one. I’m too busy keeping this ship afloat and you idiots in line.”

Rayleigh leans closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. The contact is fleeting but enough to make your pulse quicken. “You know,” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear over Roger’s laughter. “It’s okay to let someone in once in a while.”

You look at him then, really look at him. His eyes are soft yet probing, and there’s a warmth there that makes your heart skip a beat. Why does he have to be so damn perceptive?

Roger interrupts the moment with another boisterous comment. “I bet it’s Rayleigh! Look at how close you two are sitting!”

Your face heats up again, and you quickly put some distance between yourself and Rayleigh. “Oh please,” you snap, though the words lack their usual bite.

Rayleigh just laughs softly beside you, not moving an inch. He’s enjoying this far too much. “Roger might be onto something,” he says teasingly.

You shoot him a glare that only makes him smile wider. Insufferable man! But there’s no malice in his teasing—just genuine affection that makes it impossible to stay mad.

"Alright, you two," you say, your tone dripping with agitation. "What the hell do you two want from me!?"

Rayleigh leans back in his chair, running a hand through his strawberry blond hair. His face is a picture of innocent amusement, but you know him better than that. “Nothing at all, Lotus. Just enjoying the beach and some good company.”

Roger grins wide enough to show every tooth in his mouth. “You’re too paranoid, Lotey. We’re just having fun.”

You don’t buy it for a second. There’s something they’re not telling you, and it makes your skin itch with unease. The way Rayleigh's eyes sparkle with unspoken words, the slight curl of Roger's lips—it’s all too calculated. Roger may be an idiot, but he's also a smart idiot.

But there really isn't anything you are going to be able to do.

“You know I hate surprises,” you sigh in resignation, the gentle island breeze ruffling your hair around your face.

Roger chuckles, taking a long swig from his drink. “No surprises here! Just some well-deserved relaxation. You should try out one of the hot springs, might help you unwind Lotey, you are to uptight sometimes!” No thanks to you, captain…

Rayleigh raises his glass to you, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “To relaxation,” he echoes.

You take a reluctant sip from your drink, letting the cool liquid slide down your throat. The sweetness mingles with the tang of citrus—a pleasant distraction from their duel teasing.

Rayleigh shifts in his seat, drawing your attention back to him. His gaze is softer now, less teasing and more thoughtful. “Lotus,” he begins slowly, “you really should see Crocus about those headaches. You don't need to needlessly suffer.”

You glance at him, noting the genuine worry etched into his features. The creases around his eyes deepen as he waits for your response. His strawberry blond hair catches the dying sunlight, giving him an almost ethereal glow against the backdrop of the setting sun.

"I’m fine, Rayleigh," you reply, attempting to brush off his concern with a casual wave of your hand. The ache behind your eyes tells a different story.

Rayleigh leans forward, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that’s hard to ignore. "Fine? Lotus, you’ve been rubbing your temples all day and this is probably the tenth day in a row. That's not ‘fine.’”

You look away, letting your gaze drift over the beach where Spencer now has Buggy in a headlock while Shanks tries to negotiate his friend's release with exaggerated hand gestures and frantic hops in sand.

"It's just stress," you mutter. "Nothing Crocus can fix."

Rayleigh's hand reaches out and gently cups your chin, turning your face back towards him. The warmth of his touch makes your jaw clench just from how nice his touch feels. “Stress or not, ignoring it won’t make it go away,” he insists softly.

His words hang in the air between you, laden with unspoken concern. You sigh deeply and lower your gaze to the sand at your feet. Each grain glitters in the dying light, reflecting a million tiny suns.

“Alright,” you concede finally. “I’ll talk to Crocus when we get back on the ship.”

Rayleigh’s lips curve into a small smile, and he releases his hold on your chin. “Good,” he says simply.

Roger bursts into laughter beside you, nearly spilling his drink again. “See? That wasn’t so hard!” he exclaims as if he’s been a part of this intimate conversation all along.

You shoot him a look that could freeze seawater but find yourself smiling despite it. Roger’s infectious joy has always had that effect on you. One of the many reasons why you follow him as your captain.

"Maybe Roger should see Crocus too," you suggest lightly, hoping to deflect some attention away from yourself.

Rayleigh chuckles at that and takes another sip from his drink before replying, “I think Crocus would have a heart attack trying to figure out what’s wrong with Roger. It'd be a waste of a perfectly good doctor.”

The three of you share a laugh, and for a moment, the tension eases away like the retreating tide.

Roger slaps Rayleigh on the back again before staggering to his feet. “I’m going for another round! Anyone want anything?”

“Just bring yourself back in one piece,” you request as Roger saunters off toward the makeshift bar some of the crew set up near their tents.

You sit in a quiet corner of the beach, the waves lazily lapping at the shore in a soothing rhythm. The sand is cool beneath you, a stark contrast to the warm, salty breeze that brushes against your skin. You take a deep breath, the scent of salt and seaweed filling your lungs as you watch the crew of the Oro Jackson in various states of drunkenness.

Gaban dances with Spencer, both men stumbling and laughing as they try to keep their balance. Buggy and Shanks are locked in an exaggerated duel, wooden swords clashing with dramatic flourishes that send them both tumbling into the sand. Crocus lounges nearby with a drink in hand, his face flushed with mirth as he watches the antics unfold.

You can’t help but smile at the sight. Despite their rough exteriors and formidable reputations, there’s something endearing about seeing these hardened pirates let loose and enjoy themselves. Your gaze sweeps over the beach, noting Rayleigh's absence. He disappeared sometime after Roger wandered off, and you feel a pang of curiosity mixed with something you don’t quite want to name.

Roger stumbles over to you, his grin wide and eyes sparkling with mischief. “Lotey! This is the perfect time for you to hit those hot springs!” he exclaims, nearly toppling over as he tries to steady himself.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Roger, they’re all way too drunk to be left unsupervised,” you point out.

Roger waves a dismissive hand, almost losing his balance again. “Nonsense! They’re having fun! Besides,” he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “they’re too drunk to get seriously hurt… and we've got Crocus. It'll be fine.”

You hesitate, glancing back at the crew. They do seem blissfully content in their revelry. Maybe Roger’s right—maybe this is your chance to steal a moment for yourself.

“Fine,” you sigh, getting up from your spot in the sand. “But if anything happens—”

“Nothing will happen!” Roger assures you with a wink. “Go on! Enjoy yourself!”

With one last skeptical glance at your crewmates, you make your way towards the secluded hot springs nestled just beyond the beach. The path is lined with tall grass and fragrant flowers that brush against your legs as you walk.

When you step into the clearing, your breath catches in your throat. There’s Rayleigh, completely naked and lounging in the steaming water as if he owns it. His eyes are closed, head resting against a smooth rock as he enjoys what was supposed to be your moment of relaxation.

“Roger!” you seethe under your breath, knowing immediately that this was no coincidence.

Rayleigh's eyes flutter open at the sound of your voice. A slow grin spreads across his face when he sees you standing there. “Fancy meeting you here,” he drawls lazily, his grin widening as his eyes take in your flustered state.

Your breath hitches, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks. "Rayleigh, I—" you stammer, words tangling on your tongue. Your gaze darts around, desperately looking for an escape route. The water ripples gently around Rayleigh, the steam rising in soft curls that obscure parts of his toned body. His presence is overwhelming. Okay, it is time for you to leave.

You spin on your heel, intent on fleeing back to the safety of the beach and the chaos of the crew. But before you can take more than a step, you feel a force tugging at you—an invisible hand that halts your retreat.

“Lotus,” Rayleigh’s voice calls out, calm yet commanding. You stop in your tracks, every muscle in your body tense.

You know it’s his Haki. That powerful presence that you’ve felt many times before in battle and training. It holds you there, not with physical force but with sheer willpower.

You try to turn in place, your mind racing with ways to escape this situation. But every attempt to move feels futile against the weight of his Haki. It’s like trying to walk through quicksand—each effort only sinks you deeper.

"Don't run away, Lotus," Rayleigh's voice calls out softly but firmly from the steam-filled spring. "We need to talk."

You grit your teeth, your heart pounding in your chest. Of course he would do this. You try to move, but the weight of his Haki holds you in place. "Rayleigh, let me go," you demand, though your voice wavers slightly.

"I won't," he replies calmly, his gaze steady and unwavering. "Not until we talk about what’s between us."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," you growl beneath your breath, feeling his gaze burning into your back.

"Oh I think you do, flower." Your pulse quickens, not just from anger but from the tension simmering between you two. You turn slowly, facing him again. Rayleigh is lounging in the spring, water lapping at his bare chest. His eyes follow every move you make, and you can see the appreciation in them. You are fully clothed, what exactly is there to appreciate?

"Come on," he coaxes gently, his voice like silk against your skin. "The water’s perfect, and it’s a beautiful night to share the spring."

You feel a flush creep up your neck at his words, but you fight to maintain your composure. "I didn’t come here for this," you say defensively.

"And yet here we are," Rayleigh counters smoothly. "Why not enjoy it?"

You swallow hard, torn between the urge to flee and the pull of his presence. His eyes are dark with intent as they lock onto yours. You take a tentative step closer, feeling the heat from the spring mix with the warmth spreading through your body.

Rayleigh's lips curve into a knowing smile. "There’s no need to be shy," he says softly.

"I'm not shy," you retort, though the tremor in your voice betrays you.

"Prove it," he challenges lightly.

Your breath hitches at his challenge. The weight of his gaze pins you, making escape impossible. Gods fucking damn it! With trembling hands, you start to strip off your shorts, feeling the fabric slide down your legs and pool at your feet. You catch a glimpse of Rayleigh’s approving nod, and it sends a jolt through you. Next, your shirt comes off, revealing your bra. Your fingers fumble with the clasp, but you manage to undo it and let it fall away, exposing your bare skin to the cool night air.

Finally, you slip off your underwear, standing completely naked before him. You cross your arms over your chest instinctively, trying to shield yourself from his intense scrutiny.

Rayleigh's eyes darken with appreciation as he takes in the sight of you. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with genuine admiration.

You scowl at him, feeling exposed and vulnerable. “There. I’m naked. Can I go now?”

Rayleigh shakes his head slowly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Come now, Lotus. You haven't even enjoyed the water yet.”

With a resigned sigh, you step into the hot spring, the warm water enveloping your legs and creeping up to your waist as you wade deeper. The heat is almost overwhelming after the cool night air, but it feels strangely comforting too. But it still doesn't help you with how fucking fast your heart is beating!

You slink into the water until it reaches your shoulders and glare at Rayleigh across the steam-filled spring. “Happy now?” you ask sarcastically.

Rayleigh snorts in amusement and reaches out for your hand. His fingers wrap around yours firmly but gently, pulling you closer to him through the water.

Before you can protest, he drags you against his body and wraps an arm around your waist. The sensation of his skin against yours sends a rush of warmth through you that has nothing to do with the hot spring.

“You see?” he whispers against your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing on your skin. “This isn't so bad.”

Your heart hammers against your ribcage as you feel the solid warmth of Rayleigh’s body so close to yours. The heat from the spring mingles with the warmth radiating from him, making it hard to think clearly. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. He feels like a god! No shit, Lotus, you've seen him without a shirt. But you haven't been up close and in his arms while naked.

Rayleigh’s other hand comes up to rest gently on your waist, his fingers splayed out across your skin. “Just relax,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing rumble that you feel more than hear.

Your muscles remain tense, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts. The rational part of you screams to pull away, to maintain the distance that has always felt safe. But another part—a part that you’ve kept buried for far too long—longs to give in to the comfort of his touch.

“Rayleigh,” you begin, but your voice catches in your throat. His name hangs in the air between you, a bridge spanning the gap between hesitation and desire. Well that bridge feels like it is on fire.

His eyes search yours, filled with understanding and something deeper that makes your pulse quicken. “I know,” he says softly. “It’s not easy for you to let go.”

The words cut through your defenses like a blade, exposing the vulnerability beneath. You bite your lip, trying to hold onto some semblance of control. But Rayleigh’s touch is insistent, his presence undeniable, even his Haki flickers along your skin, trying to lull you into relaxation.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he continues, his thumb brushing lightly against your waist in a motion that sends sparks skittering across your nerves.

A tremor runs through you—not from fear or discomfort but from the raw emotions he pulls from deep within your heart. “I’m not sure I know how,” you admit quietly, the confession slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

Rayleigh’s gaze softens even further, his fingers wrapping around yours in a tighter grasp. “Then let me help,” he whispers, his lips so close to your ear that each word feels like a caress.

You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath as you lean into him just a little more. The tension in your muscles begins to ebb away under his gentle touch, replaced by an unfamiliar sense of safety.

For a moment, neither of you speak; the only sounds are the soft lapping of water and the distant call of seabirds. Rayleigh’s hands move slowly up and down your back, tracing soothing patterns that make it impossible to hold onto any remaining tension. You let out a shaky breath, the warmth of the spring water mingling with the heat of Rayleigh’s body against yours. His hands trace soothing patterns on your back, but you can feel the tension still coiled tight in your chest.

“Lotus,” he murmurs, his voice gentle but insistent. “Please, talk to me.”

You bite your lip, trying to hold onto some semblance of control. The vulnerability you’ve kept buried for so long fights to stay hidden. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rayleigh’s fingers tighten around yours. “Anything,” he says softly. “Just let me in, talk to me. You are way too good at holding your cards to your chest.” You open your eyes, meeting Rayleigh’s calm gaze.

“You’re Rayleigh,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m just Lotus—a glorified babysitter who happens to know about sails.”

Rayleigh’s eyes flash with amusement, and he snorts lightly. “Do you really believe that?” he asks, his tone both challenging and gentle. “Because I’m the first mate and skilled with a sword and Haki, that makes you below me?”

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. Part of you wants to argue, to insist on your perceived inadequacy. But another part—a quieter but insistent voice—urges you to listen.

Rayleigh’s fingers trace light circles on your back as he continues. “Lotus, you’ve been more than just a babysitter to this crew. You’ve been our strength when we were weak, our anchor in every storm. Don’t sell yourself short.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Rayleigh shakes his head slightly. “You are so god-damn stubborn sometimes,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with a mixture of frustration and affection.

Before you can fire back a retort for his words, his lips capture yours in a kiss that takes your breath away. His mouth is firm and insistent, demanding a response. The warmth of his lips contrasts sharply with the cool night air around you. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies. The sensation of his skin against yours sends a wave of heat through you.

You feel his fingers pressing into your skin, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make their presence known. His grip is possessive, almost desperate, as if he’s afraid you might slip away if he lets go. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping tightly as you return the kiss with equal fervor.

Rayleigh’s tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them willingly. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and filled with unspoken need. You can taste the lingering hint of rum on his breath, mingling with the natural saltiness of the sea air.

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing the intensity of the moment. The storm of worries that have plagued you for so long disappears until all you can think about is Rayleigh—the warmth of his body against yours, the insistent pressure of his lips, the rough texture of his stubble grazing your skin.

His hands slide lower, coming to rest on your hips before pulling you even closer. You can feel every line of his body pressed against yours—the hard planes of muscle and the slight roughness of scars earned from countless battles. Even the strain of his cock against your belly.

His kiss leaves you breathless, your heart racing as you gasp for air. Rayleigh pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his thumb tracing a slow path across your jawline. His fingers tangle in your damp hair, sending a cascade of tingles down your neck. "You got that, Lotus?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that resonates in your chest.

The heat from the hot spring is nothing compared to the fire that Rayleigh's touch ignites within you. Your face flushes, not just from the steam curling around you both, but from the intensity of his gaze, the weight of his words. The taste of his lips. You part your lips, a silent acknowledgment of his question, but the words refuse to come.

Rayleigh's grip on your hip tightens, his fingers pressing into your skin with insistent demand. "I need to hear you say it, flower," he insists, his eyes searching yours for a response.

The nickname, paired with the command in his tone, brings a spark of defiance to the surface. "You're being bossy again," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

The corners of Rayleigh's mouth twitch into a lazy smile, his eyes gleaming with unspoken promises. "I haven't even begun to be bossy, Lotus," he replies, the threat—or is it a promise?—hanging in the air between you. His hand slides from your hip to your lower back, pulling you flush against him.

The contact sends a jolt of electricity through you. You whimper as you feel the undeniable proof of his desire pressing harder against your stomach. Your thighs quiver and clench together.

Rayleigh's smile widens at your reaction. He leans in to nuzzle your neck, his stubble scratching deliciously against your skin. "You're the strength that holds this crew together," he murmurs against your ear, his breath warm and tantalizing. "You're the one who keeps us afloat, even when the sea is against us."

His words wrap around you like a second skin. You close your eyes and let the truth of his statement wash over you. When you open them again, Rayleigh is watching you with an intensity that steals your breath away.

"I... I don't know what to say," you admit, your voice trembling slightly.

Rayleigh's expression softens, and he brushes a stray lock of hair away from your face. "Just tell me you understand," he says gently. "Tell me you know how valuable you are—not just to me, but to everyone aboard the Oro Jackson."

The sincerity in his eyes is your undoing. You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. "I understand, Rayleigh," you whisper, the words barely audible above the sound of the water lapping at the edges of the spring.

Rayleigh’s grin lights up his face, transforming him into something almost ethereal in the moonlit spring. He closes the distance between you with a hunger that’s palpable, capturing your lips in a kiss that sears through every doubt. You respond instinctively, burying your fingers in his hair and tugging his mouth closer. The strands are surprisingly soft between your fingers, a contrast to the hard planes of his body pressed against yours.

His lips move against yours with a fervent intensity, deepening the connection with every kiss. Rayleigh's hands explore your body with a ravenous hunger, their warmth sending sparks of anticipation racing along your skin. When he cups your breast, you can't suppress the moan that escapes your lips. His thumb brushes over your nipple, causing it to harden under his touch.

"Rayleigh," you gasp against his mouth, but he only responds by capturing your lower lip between his teeth and tugging gently. His hand continues its exploration, sliding down your side and tracing the line of your hip before slipping between your thighs.

The sensation of his fingers parting the lips of your cunt is electric. You tremble, clutching his hair tighter as his touch becomes more intimate. His fingers slide against the slick heat of your arousal, and you can’t suppress the shudder that wracks through you.

"You're so beautiful," Rayleigh murmurs against your ear, his voice rough with desire. His fingers move with deliberate slowness, exploring every inch of sensitive skin as if memorizing the way you react to him.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as he circles your clit with gentle pressure before dipping lower to tease at your entrance. The water of the hot spring feels cool compared to the heat building between your legs.

"Do you like this?" Rayleigh asks, his voice low and filled with need.

"Yes," you breathe out, barely able to form coherent words. "Yes, Rayleigh."

His fingers slip inside you with a smooth glide that makes you arch into him. You cling to him for support as he sets a steady rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your walls clench around his fingers, drawing them deeper as he curls them just right.

Rayleigh's touch is relentless, his fingers working you with a precision that leaves you squirming in his arms. Each movement ignites a new wave of pleasure, the sensations building and intertwining until they become almost unbearable. Your breaths come in short, ragged gasps, mingling with the steam rising from the hot spring.

His other hand remains on your hip, steadying you as your knees threaten to buckle. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "Let go, Lotus."

You can feel the tension coiling tighter within you, your body responding to his every command. His thumb brushes over your clit again, adding a new layer of sensation that makes you cry out. The sound echoes in the quiet night, mingling with the distant call of seabirds and the soft lapping of water.

Rayleigh's fingers move faster, each thrust deliberate and unrelenting. The pleasure builds and builds until it's a roaring crescendo that drowns out everything else. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you chase the release that's just out of reach.

"Rayleigh," you gasp, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. Oh, you've never felt anything like this before. "I can't—"

"You can," he insists, nuzzling his lips against your neck. "Let it happen."

His words are your undoing. The coil within you snaps, sending a wave of ecstasy crashing through your body. You shudder violently in his arms, every muscle tensing as the orgasm rips through you. Your vision blurs, and for a moment, all you can do is hold onto him as the world spins.

Rayleigh's fingers slow their relentless pace but continue to move gently within you, drawing out every last shiver of pleasure until you're left trembling and spent in his arms. He gathers you close, holding you upright as your legs refuse to support you.

"That wasn't so hard now was it?" he teases lightly, his lips moving to brush against your temple.

Rayleigh's words hang in the air, a playful challenge that you find both infuriating and endearing. You open your mouth to retort, but the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through your veins leave you mute. Instead, you huff out a breath and glare at him, your cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and lingering desire.

With a soft chuckle, Rayleigh leans in, his lips grazing your ear. "I'll take that as a compliment," he murmurs, the vibration of his voice against your skin sending a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

Before you can muster a response, Rayleigh's arms slide beneath you, lifting you effortlessly from the water. A surprised gasp escapes your lips, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you out of the hot spring. The cool night air caresses your damp skin, raising goosebumps in its wake.

Rayleigh sets you down gently on a bed of soft grass, the dew-covered blades cool against your back. The stars twinkle overhead, their light reflecting the anticipation in his eyes as he kneels between your legs. The sight of this powerful man, stripped bare and poised above you, is almost too much to bear.

"Lotus," he begins, his voice a low rumble that resonates deep within your chest. "There are a thousand ways I've imagined loving your body. Each one more exquisite than the last."

As he speaks, Rayleigh's hands trace the contours of your curves, his touch reverent and unrushed. His fingers glide over your collarbone, down the slope of your breasts, and across the gentle swell of your stomach. Each caress sends ripples of pleasure radiating through you, stoking the embers of desire that never truly extinguished.

"I've longed to explore every part of you," he confesses, his gaze following the path of his hands. "To learn what makes you gasp, what makes you moan, what makes you sob my name as you shatter beneath me."

Your breath hitches in your throat, heart pounding wildly as you process his words. You're laid bare before him—not just physically, but emotionally. It's terrifying and yet, somehow, you want more.

Rayleigh's hands continue their exploration; his thumbs brush against your nipples, coaxing them into tight buds. The sensation shoots straight up your spine, causing you to arch your back and dig your heels into the grass.

"So responsive," he murmurs approvingly, eyes darkening with desire. "I wonder, Lotus... will you be this eager when my cock is buried deep inside you?"

"Rayleigh!" You hiss his name out loud now with cheeks aflame from the pure explicitness of his words. He smirks at you, clearly enjoying your reaction.

"What? You can't expect me to hold back my thoughts when we're in private now can you?" The explicitness of his words sends a jolt of electricity straight to your cunt. You can feel yourself growing slick with need; every nerve ending in your body seems to be on high alert.

Rayleigh's fingers slide downwards; they trail over the curve of your hip before slipping between your thighs. He parts them with ease and dips two fingers into the wet heat waiting for him there. The sensation makes you moan loudly.

"You're already so wet for me," he murmurs with satisfaction as his fingers explore further.

Your hips move on their own accord; they rock forward to meet his hand in desperate need for more friction. Rayleigh responds by adding another finger inside; he thrusts them rhythmically while using his thumb to circle around your clit expertly. Oh, no, no, no. He isn't the only one allowed to touch!

“What? You can't expect me to hold back my thoughts when we're in private now do you?” Rayleigh's words send a sharp jolt straight to your core. The explicitness of his statement makes you ache with need, your body responding instantly to his provocations.

His fingers glide down your side, tracing the curve of your hip before slipping between your thighs. He parts you easily, his touch sure and commanding as he dips two fingers into the slick heat waiting for him. The sensation pulls a loud moan from your lips.

“Already so wet for me,” he murmurs, satisfaction clear in his voice as his fingers delve deeper.

Your hips move instinctively, rocking forward to meet his hand, desperate for more friction. Rayleigh answers your silent plea by adding another finger, thrusting them rhythmically while his thumb circles your clit like he already knows what places to stroke to elicit the best sensations. The pleasure builds rapidly, each movement pushing you closer to the edge.

But you’re not content to let him have all the control. You reach out, your hands exploring the firm planes of his chest, delighting in the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. Your fingers trail lower, tracing the 'V' of his hips and brushing through the coarse hair just above his erection before wrapping around his throbbing cock. He’s hard and hot in your hand, pulsing with a need that mirrors your own.

Rayleigh groans at your touch, his head falling back as he savors the sensation. When he looks at you again, his eyes are blazing with hunger. “You’re playing with fire, Lotus,” he warns, voice strained.

“Good,” you reply, squeezing him gently. “Maybe it’s time we both get burned.”

His intense gaze holds you captive as you continue to stroke him, feeling the power you wield over his desire. The island around you fades away, leaving only the two of you entwined in this moment of raw passion. Rayleigh’s breaths grow heavier with each exhale, every sound a symphony of the effect you have on him. You revel in the control, knowing that you can bring this legendary pirate to his knees—or at least close enough.

Rayleigh’s hips thrust into your hand as he matches the rhythm of your strokes with the movements of his fingers inside you. The pleasure builds between you both, a palpable tension that threatens to consume you entirely.

“Lotus,” he growls out your name, a plea and command wrapped into one.

You respond by tightening your grip on him and increasing the pace of your strokes. His response is immediate—hips bucking against your hand as a low groan escapes him.

His fingers curl inside you, pressing against that spot that sends explosions of pleasure behind your eyes. Your moans intertwine with his, creating an erotic symphony that drives you both closer to the brink.

Suddenly, he captures your wrist, halting your movements. His grip is firm yet gentle, a silent command to stop. “Enough teasing,” he warns, lowering himself until your faces are mere inches apart. “I need to be inside you.”

He entwines his fingers with yours, pinning your hands to the grass on either side of your head. The weight of his body presses against yours, the heat of his skin searing into you. You can feel the insistent press of his erection against your thigh, mirroring the aching need inside you.

Rayleigh's lips crash onto yours in a demanding kiss. His tongue invades your mouth with a hunger that leaves you breathless. You kiss him back fiercely, tongues battling in a passionate duel that sends jolts of desire through every nerve.

“Please,” you whisper against his mouth before you can stop yourself. The word slips out, driven by the emptiness only he can fill.

Rayleigh pulls back slightly, eyes searching yours with a knowing glint. “Please, what?” he murmurs, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Rayleigh,” you groan in frustration and need. You arch your hips, trying to close the distance between your bodies, but he holds you firmly in place.

“Say it, Lotus,” he commands softly, breath fanning across your lips. “Tell me what you want.”

You swallow hard, your cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. The words catch in your throat, but you force them out, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I want you. Inside me. Now."

A low growl rumbles in Rayleigh's chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated desire. He releases your hands, sliding his palms down your arms before tangling his fingers with yours once more. His hips shift, the broad head of his cock nudging against your slick entrance.

You hold your breath, every muscle in your body tensing in anticipation. Rayleigh's gaze never leaves yours as he slowly begins to push inside you, stretching you open with exquisite patience. The sensation of being filled is intense, almost overwhelming, and you can't suppress the whimper that escapes your lips as he sinks deeper.

As Rayleigh's lips claim yours, you feel the slow, deliberate thrust of his hips, the thick length of his cock pushing into you with a maddening patience that makes you ache for more. His hands, still entwined with yours, press into the grass beside your head, his weight supported by his elbows as he cradles you beneath him.

The stretch is exquisite, a sweet burn that radiates from your core and spreads through your body like wildfire. You can feel every ridge, every vein of his hardness as he fills you completely, the sensation so intense that it borders on pain. But it's a pain you welcome, a pleasure so profound that it leaves you gasping into his mouth.

You squirm and tremble beneath Rayleigh, overwhelmed by the sensations of his thick cock filling your body. He isn’t moving yet, letting you adjust to his size, but the fullness is almost too much to bear. Your body tightens around him involuntarily, trying to accommodate the stretch, and you gasp into his mouth.

Rayleigh squeezes your hands tighter, his fingers still wrapped with yours above your head. His lips move against yours with an urgency that leaves you breathless, his tongue exploring every corner of your mouth in a dance that’s as intimate as the connection between your bodies.

“Rayleigh,” you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling with a mix of desperation and desire.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze burning with intensity. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice rough with restraint.

You nod quickly, needing more than words can express. “Yes. Please, move.”

A low growl rumbles in his chest again as he begins to grind his hips against yours. The coarse hair at the base of his cock brushes against your sensitive clit with every movement, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through you. You whimper and buck beneath him, unable to control the reactions of your own body.

Rayleigh’s hips roll slowly at first, the friction building in a way that makes you ache for more. Each grind pushes him deeper inside you, stretching and filling you in ways that leave you gasping for breath. The sensation is overwhelming—a mix of burning pleasure and an insatiable need for release.

“Lotus,” he murmurs against your lips, the sound of your name like a caress. “You feel so perfect.”

His words make you clench around him even tighter, drawing a groan from deep within his chest. The pressure of his body against yours is almost unbearable; the heat of him searing into you with every thrust. His pubic hair brushes against your clit again and again, each stroke making your hips twitch and cunt clench.

You arch up into him, seeking more of that delicious friction. “Rayleigh,” you gasp out between ragged breaths. “I need… I need…”

"Let's not rush this, my beautiful night lotus," Rayleigh whispers, his breath warm against your lips.

He continues to move with deliberate slowness, each grind of his hips sending a wave of sensation through you. His pelvis presses firmly against yours again, creating a delicious friction that makes your toes curl. The muscles of his abdomen ripple against your stomach with every thrust, a constant reminder of his strength and control.

Your bodies move in a synchronized rhythm, the slow, steady pace building an unbearable tension. Rayleigh's lips find yours again, his kiss both demanding and tender. His tongue dances with yours, exploring every inch of your mouth as if he can't get enough of you.

Your hands remain intertwined above your head, his grip firm around yours. Every squeeze of his fingers reassures you that he's right there with you, sharing in this intense connection.

"Rayleigh," you gasp against his lips, your voice a mixture of need and gratitude. "Oh gods… don't stop."

He groans softly in response, his hips picking up the pace just a fraction. The change is subtle but enough to make you moan louder, the increased friction driving you closer to the edge.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers between kisses, his voice thick with emotion. "I want to feel you fall apart beneath me."

His words send a surge of heat through you, and you arch your back, pressing your breasts against his. The sensation of your hardened nipples brushing against his skin only heightens your arousal.

Rayleigh's thrusts become more insistent, each movement precise and deliberate. His pelvis grinds against yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. The rough hair at the base of his cock grazes your clit with each thrust, igniting waves of pleasure that ripple through your body.

Your breaths come in short gasps as the pressure builds within you. You can feel yourself teetering on the brink of release, every nerve ending alive with sensation.

"Rayleigh," you gasp out again, your voice trembling with anticipation. "I'm so close."

"I know," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Let go for me."

His words are all it takes to push you over the edge. Your body tenses as the orgasm crashes through you, waves of pleasure radiating from your core. You cry out his name as your inner walls clamp down around him, drawing him deeper inside you.

Rayleigh groans loudly as he feels you tighten around him, his own release following quickly after yours. He buries himself deep inside you with one final thrust, filling you completely as he spills into you.

You whimper sharply, your entire body shaking violently as Rayleigh's seed fills you. The sensation is overwhelming, a liquid heat spreading through your cunt and spreading throughout your belly. Each pulse of his release triggers aftershocks of pleasure that ripple through your sensitive body.

For a moment, the only sounds are the ragged cadence of your breathing and the distant call of the sea. Rayleigh collapses onto his elbows, his forehead resting against yours as he struggles to regain his composure. Your eye flutter as you look into his soft and affection gaze.

"Lotus," he whispers, his voice filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. "My beautiful, strong night Lotus."

"Why do you call me that?" you ask softly, curiosity laced with the lingering haze of passion. "A night lotus?"

Rayleigh lifts his head slightly, brushing some wet and sweaty hair from your forehead. His touch is gentle, reverent even. He looks at you with those intense eyes, the same eyes that have seen countless battles and untold adventures.

"The lotus blooms in the dark," he begins, his voice a soothing murmur. "It thrives where others falter, its beauty unmatched even in the blackest night."

You blink up at him, the weight of his words sinking in. It's not just a nickname; it's an acknowledgment of your strength, your resilience. In this moment, beneath the stars and wrapped in each other's warmth, you feel seen in a way you've never felt before.

Rayleigh's thumb traces the curve of your cheek, his eyes softening. "You remind me of that flower," he continues. "No matter what life throws at you, you stand tall and bloom brilliantly."

You can't help but roll your eyes, a small smile playing on your lips. "Sappy much, Ray?" you tease, your voice a soft murmur in the quiet night.

He just chuckles at your words, the sound rich and warm, oh so delicious. "I'm allowed to be sappy with my woman," he retorts, his fingers lightly brushing against your skin, sending tingles of pleasure across your body.

You stare up at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you acknowledge the depth of your feelings for this man. With the stars as your witness, you realize you're irrevocably in love with Silvers Rayleigh. And in this moment of vulnerability and tenderness, you want more—need more.

With a sudden surge of confidence, you roll Rayleigh onto his back, his surprised grunt music to your ears. Straddling his waist, you feel the heat of his body beneath yours, the firm planes of his chest pressing against your thighs. His refractory period be damned; you're not done with him yet.

His hands come up to cradle your hips, a question in his eyes as he gazes up at you. But you silence any doubts with a searing kiss, your tongue slipping into his mouth to tangle with his own. His fingers dig into your flesh, pulling you closer as he responds to your hungry demands with equal fervor.

Your hands explore the contours of his chest, fingers tracing the defined muscles and the smattering of gray hair that only adds to his rugged appeal. You grind against him, feeling the evidence of his returning arousal pressing against your wetness.

"Flower," he grunts, breaking the kiss to look up at you with a mix of surprise and desire. His hands slide up your body, cupping your breasts and teasing the taut peaks with his thumbs. The sensation shoots straight to your core, causing you to moan and arch into his touch.

"I want you, Ray," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. "All of you."

A low growl rumbles in his chest, his eyes darkening with lust. "You have me, Lotus," he assures you, his grip on your breasts tightening just enough to elicit a gasp from your lips. "Every part of me."

You lean down, your lips trailing along the strong column of his neck. The taste of salt and the musk of his skin flood your senses as you scrape your teeth along his pulse. His reaction is immediate—his cock twitches and hardens beneath you, and you suck in a breath at the sensation.

Rayleigh's smirk is both feral and amused. "Round two, flower?" he teases, but the raw desire in his voice betrays his own need.

You shift your hips, carefully aligning yourself with his erect and weeping cock. Taking shuddering breaths, you slowly sink down onto him, feeling every inch stretch and fill you. Rayleigh's hands rest on your hips, guiding you gently. "Go slow," he murmurs, his voice a soothing command. "You'll be taking me deep."

You bite your lip, the sensation almost overwhelming as you gradually take him bit by bit. The fullness is exquisite, a sweet ache that leaves you gasping. Rayleigh watches you intently, his eyes dark with lust and something deeper—something that makes your heart pound even harder.

Once he's fully seated inside you, you pause for a moment, letting your body adjust to the intense stretch. The heat of him inside you is almost too much to bear, but it also ignites a fire within you that demands more.

Slowly, you begin to move, lifting yourself up before sinking back down in a deliberate rhythm. Each descent takes him deeper, hitting spots inside you that make stars burst behind your eyes. Your hands rest on his chest for support, fingers digging into the firm muscle as pleasure courses through you.

"That's it," Rayleigh groans, his grip on your hips tightening slightly. "Just like that."

Your movements grow more confident as the pleasure builds, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. The friction is perfect—each thrust sends waves of ecstasy radiating through your body. You ride him with increasing fervor, lost in the sensation of being utterly consumed by him.

Rayleigh's own control begins to slip; his hips buck up to meet yours in a primal rhythm that drives both of you wild. The sounds of skin slapping against skin and breathless moans fill the night air, creating a symphony of passion.

You feel the tension coil tightly within you, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. "Rayleigh," you gasp out his name as the climax crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your body convulses around him, walls clenching tightly as you're reduced to a quivering mess atop him.

Rayleigh's thrusts grow erratic; he bucks his hips up into you a few more times before finding his own release with a guttural groan. His cock pulses inside you as he fills you with his seed yet again.

Spent and trembling from the intensity of your orgasm, you collapse onto his chest. Rayleigh wraps his arms around you possessively, refusing to let go even as both of your breaths slowly even out.

"Stay," he murmurs into your hair, holding you close with an almost desperate tenderness. "Sleep here with me."

You nod weakly, unable to find the words to express the depth of your contentment. His hands trace gentle patterns along your back, the warmth of his touch lulling you into a state of blissful relaxation. Every rise and fall of his chest beneath you feels like a lullaby, soothing your tired muscles.

Rayleigh refuses to let you off his chest, making you sleep on him with his cock still buried in your cunt. It twitches occasionally against your sensitive walls, sparking up more bursts of pleasure.

"You're not going anywhere," he mutters softly, his voice a honeyed whisper that sends warmth flooding through you. "Not while I've got you like this."

You can only hum in agreement, your body too spent to do much more than nestle closer into his embrace. The roughness of his beard grazes your forehead as he presses a kiss there, and you smile against his skin.

"You know," he begins, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. "The brats are going to wonder where you've gone."

"Let them wonder," you reply sleepily, the thought of Shanks and Buggy's antics bringing a small smile to your lips. "They'll manage for one night."

Rayleigh chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest and into your body. "True enough," he agrees, tightening his hold on you slightly as if to emphasize his point. "Besides," Rayleigh continues after a moment, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "I want to enjoy having you all to myself for as long as I can before those two take all of your attention again. You really are like a mother to them…"

You giggle softly, the sound mingling with the night air. "Those two brats keep me on my toes, that's for sure." Your fingertips press on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. "They have a knack for getting into trouble."

Rayleigh's hands caress your back gently, his touch warm and reassuring. "They're lucky to have you looking out for them," he murmurs. "We all are."

"You know," you say after a while, your voice laced with playful exasperation, "you need to remind me to smack Roger in the head in the morning for pulling this stunt."

Rayleigh's chuckle vibrates through his chest, sending a pleasant hum through your body. "I'll make sure to do that," he promises, amusement coloring his tone. "Though knowing Roger, he'll probably be too hungover to even notice."

You can’t help but laugh too, imagining Roger's subdued reaction to your reprimand. With a contented sigh, you snuggle closer into Rayleigh's embrace, letting the warmth of his body and the rhythmic beating of his heart lull you into a state of drowsy relaxation.

"Sleep well," Rayleigh whispers against your hair, pressing one last gentle kiss to your forehead. You fall asleep fast, cradled in the warmth of his embrace.

Date Published: 8/15/24

Last Edit: 8/14/24

Rayleigh Masterlist

#one piece rayleigh #op rayleigh #rayleigh x reader #silvers rayleigh #dark king rayleigh #one piece

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thebluestbluewords · 9 months ago

Text

a pirate by any name +

"Samson Smee?" Ben asks, tapping the name on the list. “Is he related to Captain Hook’s sidekick?”

Evie leans closer on instinct. She doesn’t need to see the paperwork to know who Sammy is, but it’s a habit now to press close to Ben and tilt her head just-so to see the paper lists and forms when they’re working on VK matters together. It a comfort, to know that she’s not in this fight alone, and Ben certainly hasn’t complained about the increased contact with his girlfriend’s girlfriend. “Yes. He goes by Sammy. He's probably not going to want to come over without his brothers, but we can still make the offer."

"Can we bring the brothers?"

The last time Evie saw the littlest Smee children, they were sobbing over a pirate’s body before the adult crew members tipped them over the harbor for the sharks to take their share. They couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old, and what Evie remembers the most is the way their tears had carved clean tracks out of the dirt on their faces.

She hums her consideration. “They're young. Elementary age, maybe ten or so now. I think they'd be okay to come, but they're shy, and I'm not sure how they'd do at school. As families go, I think all the Smee boys would do well in terms of goodness integration, but they may be difficult to integrate on a social level unless they can come over with someone they already know."

"Alright. Who do you think they'd do well with?"

Their father.

“Their father,” Evie says, bitingly, before she reigns her tongue back in again. Not that it matters around Ben, who is handsome and kind and just listens when Evie needs to shout at somebody about the horrible unfairness of it all, but it’s good practice. She’s a politician now, just like her mother wanted. She’s got to be the best, because she’s an isle brat, and she cannot afford to make mistakes. Anything she says, anything she does wrong will reflect on the isle as a whole, so she’s got to be flawless. She will prove herself not just for her mother’s sake, but because she’s got a thousand hungry kids waiting for her to mess up and snip their only thread of hope at getting off the isle. “But that’s exactly the problem. Sammy has a crew, but the twins just tag along with him or their father all the time, and I don't think Auradon Prep, or any other high school for that matter, wants to have a pair of kids following their new high school student everywhere,” Evie sighs. She’s so fucking tired. “We have schools on the isle, obviously, but Sammy doesn’t attend very often. The pirates usually stick with their ships and learn what they need from the older members of their crews. It’s not a traditional Auradon education, but the pirates are actually some of the better educated kids on the isle. It works for them, but it won’t work if we bring them here.”

Ben puts a warm hand on her arm. It’s all Evie can do not to sink into the touch. She’s so, so tired of this. Of begging for any scrap they can get. Any concession to the norm comes at the price of another sliver of her own sanity, it feels like, and there’s so many children who won’t be able to handle the pressure of Auradon Prep, who will need more exceptions than the system is set up to give them, who won’t be able to thrive without the attention that nobody is able to give them.

“We can ask the charter school,” Ben says softly. “There's integrated schools, all ages sort of places. My mother’s village has one. We can reach out. She provides a grant each year, they might decide they own me a favor.”

Evie presses into his touch. Gods below, but it’s nice to have somebody who knows better than her the networks of favors and family histories that keep the kingdom governments running. “Or if we could find a family who would be willing to keep them together and send them to separate day schools, they might get used to being on their own like that,” Evie suggests. “Sort of slow and steady. A gradual break.”

Ben makes a note, a shorthand scribble on the side of his list. Evie’s eyes are swirling too much to read it exactly, but she knows their code. Foster family, special education, sibling unit. That’s what they need to know in order to place the Smee boys. A whole life, reduced down to three shorthand scribbles. “That could work. What are the brothers called?"

Evie laughs, exhausted. “Squeaky and Squirmy, but I believe their birth names are Sawyer and Simon. They're not bad kids, they're just shy. They would do better here, I think. Where there’s less adults around to bully them into staying quiet.”

Ben slips his hand up her arm, around her shoulders, pulls until she can rest her head on the side of his own. He’s warm and sturdy and if they weren’t in the middle of important work, Evie could fall asleep just like this. And then cause a scandal when the service staff come in to wake them both up, and find the young king sleeping on a girl who is not his girlfriend, no matter how many interests and people they share between them.

"We can ask. If Sammy's willing to come over without them, who do you think we could bring with him?"

"Anthony. Dizzy's cousin. They run with the same crew, and they'd do well together. I would say that we should bring over Harriet, but knowing her, she's not going to come over unless we can get the rest of her crew out first, and she's got one of the biggest crews on the isle."

Ben skims the list of kids, running his pen down the side as he goes. “Harriet?"

She’s not on the list.

“Hook,” Evie explains. “She’s one of the eldest pirate kids. We didn’t add her to the list because she won’t come until we can bring her crew with her, and we can’t promise that yet.”

“Hook.” Ben echoes, voice flat. “As in—?”

He’s encountered Harry, and came away with almost as much vitriol for him as Mal.

Evie presses herself closer to him, so that he can feel her heat, and maybe remember that they’re in her office, not the wet deck of a ship. That he’s not tied to a mast, waiting to die anymore. “Yes. There are three Hook kids, and they all hate each other. We only hate Harry, the middle one, so Harriet and CJ are our allies. Sort of an enemy-of-our-enemy kind of thing."

"Harry's the one who's involved with Uma.” Ben says, so softly that Evie can barely hear the words. “The one who tried to kill me.”

"Yes. He's....” Evie hesitates. She’s safe to hesitate here, in her own little office that smells like citrus wood polish and old papers. She doesn’t have to preform just for Ben, because she can trust him. Her sweet, kind king.

Trust doesn’t mean she wants to tell him everything. Understatement is a tool that Evie is well practiced at wielding, so she lets herself close her eyes, and forges ahead. “He’s a lot. We don't like him."

Ben smiles, small and sweet and almost sad. "I take it there's a history there?"

"Just a bit." Evie agrees. "There's been a few incidents."

"Would it be useful for me to know?"

Evie breathes in, and out, and relaxes her shoulders in an attempt to let go of the anger that she's still holding in her body. "I suppose so. Yes."

"Do you want to tell me?"

Honesty is the foundation of good relationships. "No."

Ben nods. He's too good to them. "You could tell me later. If you'd like."

The memory of blood spills over Evie's hands. The slippery, awful feeling of insides that were never supposed to become outsides against her leather gloves. The gritty feeling of dirt in her eyes that she can't rub out, blown up from the shattered crates they'd been aiming to take back from the pirates. The blood though, that's the part that she can't forget. She's been a medic since she first started sneaking out of her mother's house, but she's usually restricted herself to broken arms and legs and noses, some shallow stitches, fever medication, abortifacients and concussion care for the kids who can't take the dubious mercy of the barrier's spell. She's done medications for the kids who cared to try them, all sorts of poultices and remedies for the ailments that are within her power to fix.

She's never been able to fix someone once they start bleeding out.

She knows the theory of it. Blood transfusions, tourniquets, ways of stopping arteries without killing the patient. The problem is that she's never had to do it firsthand, because they've always known that the spell on the barrier was there to catch them before they died for real. The spell heals the killing blows, so it's easier to lean into the death than it is to staunch critical bleeding. Evie's killed kids herself, those who wouldn't die quick enough on their own, so that they could have the mercy of the barrier and the spell healing them back into a body marginally less broken than the one they'd left from.

"He killed us." Evie manages, around the memory of blood spilling up from her throat. "They made it a game. Him and Uma and their crew. We killed each other."

They've told Ben enough. He can figure out the rest, and he's smart and good and kind, so he does, and she can see him go white when he figures it out.

#I’m never going to stop implying that the twins have Seen Some Shit #they just look so small and cute and easily traumatized #my fic #descendants #squeaky smee #squirmy smee #they’re just some little guys!!#like yeah Evie’s also seen some shit #but she’s an Adult Now and she can Handle Herself (she’s seventeen. she cannot. she needs so much more support than she’s getting.)

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a-killer-obsession · 7 months ago

Text

Wavelengths [Killer x Reader, Heat x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 30 - A Shock to the System

Nothing like marines and stupid people to ruin a girl's good mood.

WC: ~4k

Taglist: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @iggy5055

“MARINE SHIP, GET OF YOUR A- hang on, what the fuck is happening in here?” Kid went from roaring his warning to leaning against the door frame with a smug look on his face. You pushed Heat away and pulled your skirt down before Kid could spend any more time checking out your bare ass, shuffling indignantly off the bed to find your discarded panties. Heat and Killer exchanged annoyed, disappointed groans as they tucked themselves back in and tidied their clothes.

“Nothing is happening, captain,” you muttered, sliding your panties on and grabbing your mask, “because like always, those marine cunts had to go and ruin it. I'm gonna fucking sink their ship.”

“Be my guest, sweetheart,” Kid laughed as you slid past him into the hall, followed closely by Killer and Heat. You didn't even bother to go find your weapons, you'd just use your devil fruit for this one. “We need their eternal pose for the base first though, but once we have it you can feed them to the seakings”

He watched you stomp away down the hall, more than mad that your fun had been ruined, followed by two equally grumpy, half-hard men. He followed Killer as he started to make his way down the hall behind you, more than curious, and a little annoyed, at what he’d walked in on.

“What gives Kil?” Kid groaned as he followed him out to the deck, Killer loading the blades on his punishers, “You share with Heat but not your best friend?”

“You haven't exactly been acting like my friend the last few days, Kid,” Killer replied coldly. “Or been kind to her. I thought you'd be happy for me, but instead you screamed in both of our faces, and haven't bothered to talk to either of us since. And by the way, the door was locked for a reason, you can’t just use your fruit to come busting in whenever the fuck you feel like it”

Heat made himself sparse, not wanting anything to do with the can of worms Killer was opening, opting to follow you instead to bark orders at the newbies. You hadn't had a chance yet to ask the girls what their fighting capabilities were, so you were more than anxious to find out now.

“Kil..” Kid scratched the back of his head as he followed behind the first mate, idly using his fruit to send cannonballs back at the marine ship but not really paying attention. “Can we talk about this? I didn't mean to blow up at you like that yesterday”

“Does now really seem like the time to talk?” Killer pointed at the oncoming marine ship which was almost close enough to board. “Do you even give a shit? Or are you just jealous that I let Heat fuck my girl and not you?”

“Come on man it's not like that…” Kid was following Killer like a puppy as he jumped to the marine ship, activating his punishers and mowing down enemies. “You know how I over react to shit, can we just t-” Killer turned on his heel and sliced the head off a marine who had come inches away from driving his sword through Kid's shoulder. The captain blinked in confusion as the body fell to the ground in front of him, wetting his shoe with blood.

“Can you fucking pay attention?” Killer barked at him before running off to kill more marines, more than sick of this conversation. Kid sighed and grabbed the closest enemy, crushing his skull in his hand. It didn't feel anywhere near as satisfying as it usually did.

Meanwhile, completely oblivious to the argument Kid and Killer were having, you'd gathered the newbies with Heat and were preparing them for their first battle. Heat took charge of the men, while you took care of your assigned wards, the girls. You were pleased to see Hip was brandishing two swords, swinging them in well practised circles to warm up her wrists as she waited for your orders. Dive was rubbing the sides of her face, working out the muscles in her jaw and stretching it open, chomping her sharp teeth together, more than eager to chew on some marines. Quincy stood awkwardly between them, with empty hands and an away with the fairies look on her face, and you sighed deeply that you had to deal with this instead of getting your brains fucked out.

“Quincy, where is your weapon?” You crossed your arms in clear annoyance, “You do have one, don't you? Do you know how to fight?”

“Mmm… oh, yes… my weapon, I have it!” the girl seemed like she had moths for brains, and occasionally one would smack against the flickering lightbulb in her skull allowing for a coherent thought. “Sorry, I didn't know what the bell meant”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and pointed at the marine ship, “Do you think maybe you know what it means now?”

“Mm?” Quincy replied with a slightly tilted head, looking at the ship but clearly not making a connection, “Marines are nice, aren't they?”

You had to laugh, truly, full belly laugh. Dive and Hip were laughing too at Quincy's expense. “Quince, you know we're pirates right? Marines hate pirates. Did you think they were firing cannonballs at us for fun?” Hip explained.

“Oh! Right! Of course!” She hummed, still not making any move to show her weapon.

“Your weapon, Quincy,” you groaned as the marine ship got close enough to almost board, “for the love of Nika where the fuck is your weapon”

“Oh, right here!” She smiled, unfastening the belt of large colourful beads that hung around her waist. She gave the belt a strong flick, as one would a whip, and the balls lit up, small sparks of electricity cracking around them. “Weapon, check!” she smiled.

You breathed a sigh of relief, and were honestly surprised at her chosen weapon. You weren't sure you'd ever seen something like it before. You'd describe it as a ball and chain, but it had multiple balls, and would probably electrocute anyone who touched it. It was like a big, spicy candy necklace. Now that you were sure all three girls were ready to fight you could finally give your orders, right in the nick of time as others started jumping to the marine ship.

“We want to see what the three of you can do, so don't hold back,” you started, “but keep your wits about you, either stay on the Victoria, or be ready to clear out when the order is given. Nobody is coming to fish you out of the drink if you're dumb enough to still be on their ship when I sink it. Now go show them what girls can do”

The three girls cheered and immediately took off towards the enemy, and you had to laugh as Dive immediately launched herself at a marine and he screamed for mercy as she tore his throat out. She looked back at you and gave you a smile and a thumbs up, blood dripping from her sharp toothy grin. You gave her a more than enthusiastic thumbs up back. She moved like a rabid animal, barely touching the ground as she jumped between marines, using the momentum of their falling bodies to fling herself to the next victim of her sharp teeth.

Hip was a graceful fighter, as you had expected. She was fast, perhaps even comparable to Killer, taking advantage of both of her swords to take down multiple enemies at once. Much like Killer as well, she kept low as she ran, and was very light on her feet. You were really starting to wonder if the two of them could be related. She had no trouble cutting down the enemy and had a good sense of her surroundings, easily dodging attacks and readjusting her stance to reply with her own.

Quincy on the other hand was clumsy and slow, but seemed to have a surprising strength to her as she swung her chain of electrified balls around. She was easily taking out rows of three or four men at a time with the length of the chain, but she was slow to move along to the next set, and several times had to have her ass saved by Hip, Dive or yourself. She was definitely going to need some work. You were glad at least to see that the other two girls were holding their own.

You were a woman on a mission, wanting to find the pose as quickly as possible so you could sink this fucking ship and get back to your fun. You didn’t stop as you threaded your way through marines, bodies dropping around you as their hearts exploded whenever they dared to get close enough to you. You made your way into the heart of the ship, using your recently discovered ability to melt walls to get quick glimpses in each room by making small, eye heigh holes, ignoring any room that didn’t look like it would hold a pose and surprising hidden occupants. Hip followed you into the bowels of the ship, finding a room full of snivelling, cowardly marines through one of your peep holes and immediately setting to work cutting them down. Finally you found what seemed to be their navigation room, or maybe their commander’s office, and started rifling through the cabin. You found a safe hidden behind a painting and used your fruit to move the pins into place to unlock it. Inside you found what you were looking for, an eternal pose set to the nearby base, as well as a couple of maps that would be useful for planning the raid and a very nice looking, ornate handgun. Perhaps you could give it to Kid, in the hopes of getting back on his good side. You slid it into the waistband of your skirt, rummaging through the rest of the vault’s contents and grabbing a few important looking journals before heading out. You met Hip on the way, wiping her blade on some poor dead marine’s coat, the room of hiding men now entirely slaughtered. You paused to take note of how many men she’d taken down on her own, nodding in approval with an impressed smirk.

“Go grab the other two and head back to the Vic, and take these,” you shoved the pose and your other finds in her arms, “I’ll go find someone to give the order to clear out.”

Hip gave you an obedient nod to confirm she understood, sheathing one of her swords so she could use one while holding the loot in the other hand. You heard her calling to Dive and Quincy as you appeared back out on deck, scanning the battlefield for another commander and quickly spotting the striped mask of your lover.

“Kil!” you shouted as you ran over to him, taking down a few more marines. He turned to face you, cutting down another marine behind him without even looking, “Got the pose! Get everyone cleared out, I’m going up!” He nodded in response and started barking retreat orders, much to the confusion of the marines who definitely thought they were on the losing side, but began yelling about the pirates being cowards anyway. You began your ascent, moon stepping directly upwards. You made yourself a small platform of vibrating air to rest on as you looked down at the two ships, waiting for the crew to clear off. As the last few Kid Pirate’s returned to the Victoria Punk, Kid used his fruit to push the ships apart, giving enough clearance between the two that the Victoria wouldn’t be damaged in the fallout. The marines were doing their best to shoot at the pirates, but Kid lazily returned the bullets right back at them, while the rest of the crew slaughtered the marines who had been foolish enough to board the Vic. Killer scanned the sky for you, and upon meeting your eyes gave you a thumbs up, You returned it before sending yourself shooting downwards with your usual upside down moon step, flipping halfway to plummet with one extended leg directly towards the centre of the marine ship.

“Meteor Wave, cunts!” you shouted as your foot made contact. For a moment nothing happened, then the entire ship seemed to shudder and cracked right down the centre. You concentrated hard this time to focus your energy in a set line, instead of spreading in an even circle, so you wouldn’t give yourself splinters like last time. It worked a treat, critical system alarms sounding over the marine ship as the survivors screamed and tried to hold on to the sinking halves, slipping and rolling down the deck and into the ocean. You moon stepped back to the Victoria, more than pleased with yourself.

“Nice clean break this time,” Killer noted as you landed elegantly beside him.

“Thanks, I was trying something new,” you smiled, before scanning the deck for your wards. The newbies were all shouting excitedly and showing off, making mock attacks as they recounted the battle to each other. You made your way over, keen to give the girls feedback and praises, as well as scorn Quincy for her lack of spacial awareness.

“Quincy, we need to talk about your- OMPH,” in a prime example of irony, Quincy was showing off her weapon, and didn’t check who was around her before brandishing the chain of brightly coloured balls excitedly, smacking you right in your still healing rib. There was an audible crack, and you began to convulse as the weapon electrocuted you. You had to give it to her, it was fucking effective. You were able to act quick enough to nullify the electricity before it could get lower than your ribcage, but that did little to protect your heart. In your split decision to protect your unborn child, you’d left your own health at risk, and you fell to the ground hard, still convulsing as your upper body cramped and contracted uncontrollably. Quincy screamed and deactivated her weapon far too late and Killer quickly shoved her and the other newbies aside to get to you.

Your heart was running far too fast as your muscles finally started to relax, and you could see Killer’s mouth moving but couldn’t hear anything over the loud, high-pitched whine in your ear, probably from hitting your head as you fell. Your heart was your major problem right now though, so with a shaky hand you pressed a palm against your chest, willing the small electric pulses that usually ran through your nerves to return to the familiar, healthy pattern they should be in. You gasped for air and nearly screamed as you felt your heart stop for a moment, before quickly returning back to its usual smooth rhythm. You let yourself ragdoll as Killer picked you up, vaguely noting the flash of red hair and concerned frown on your captain before closing your tired eyes.

Everything hurt. Your ribs, your skin where the weapon had made contact, your muscles, which all felt like you’d been wrung out like a wet towel. It hurt to breathe and despite your heart being in a normal rhythm now, it was hard to take a deep breath with the sharp ache in your chest. Every step Killer took jostled you and sent a sharp ache through your upper body, and your head throbbed more and more as sound slowly came back to you. Your chest felt like it was on fire, and your clothes pulled funny against your skin every time you got shifted. You could faintly smell burnt flesh, and it only added to your nausea. You could rest easy that no damage had been done to your lower body, but you wondered if you’d inadvertently concentrated the shock in your upper body by not letting it spread. Though for some reason there was a sharp pain in one of your thighs, and the vague feeling of liquid sliding over your skin, and you wondered if you’d landed on something pointy. If you'd been smarter, or stronger, you would have protected your whole self from the electricity, but you were tired from taking down the marine ship. Whenever you tried to open your eyes you felt dizzy and nauseous, no doubt from the lingering effects of your heart stopping. You head felt like it was in a vice and you would have gagged if it didn't hurt so damn much to move.

You vaguely registered the change in scenery as you were placed on a flat surface, no doubt in the infirmary judging by the blinding lighting above you. Killer's striped mask was replaced by the Doc's orange mohawk, and a small sting in your inner elbow indicated the insertion of an IV line. Slowly the lights became less blinding and the nausea faded as whatever Mohawk had given you started to kick in, but you still felt unbearably tired.

“Uh, no sleeping girlie,” you vaguely made out Mohawk's words as he applied small smacks to the side of your face, not enough to hurt but enough to ground you. Something else was added to your IV and the murkiness of fatigue faded a little, enough to attempt to sit yourself up. Killer was behind you in a flash, supporting your shoulders to help keep you from flopping back down, which you definitely would have done without him holding you.

You could see now that the pain in your leg was caused by a wound, which was bleeding profusely as Mohawk attempted to slow it. You blinked in confusion at the hole, with no idea how that had happened. The light-headedness returned and everything went dark for a moment, your eyes opening again to find yourself flat on the bed once more, Killer's unmasked face looking down at you, a concerned scowl on his face. There was the occasional flash of red in your peripheral, always followed by Killer barking in its direction. You closed your eyes again and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Your eyes opened slowly, your eyelids actively fighting your orders to move, the light burning your retinas and forcing you to squint. Someone had definitely removed your mask, and you wished you still had it on to shield you from a little of the bright overhead lights. You slowly became aware of your body, but it didn't hurt as bad as you expected it to - Mohawk no doubt had you pumped full of strong painkillers. There was a rhythmic beep nearby, and a faint snoring beside you. You turned your head towards the sound, finding Killer sleeping silently in a chair, his arms crossed and his unmasked head lolled back. But more surprisingly, Kid was asleep on the floor next to him, the captain's head resting on Killer's thigh as he snored. You wondered if they'd come to an understanding, or if Kid had just forced Killer to let him stay.

You sat up slowly, on one part because you weren't sure of the damage done to your body, and on the other because you didn't want to wake the sleeping duo. They looked kinda cute like that to be honest, and you were pretty sure it was the first time in days that they'd been in the same room without arguing. You had no idea how much time had passed while you were out cold, there weren't any windows in the infirmary so you couldn't see if it was dark out or not, but you must have been out for a while for Killer to have fallen asleep. Your head was still a little funny, but it didn't feel anywhere near as bad as before, and you only felt like vomiting a tiny bit. Now that you were sitting up you could see the extent of the damage, lifting the thin blanket to find you were only wearing your underwear. There was a bandage around your torso, covering your breasts, and another around your right thigh, a small spot of dried blood staining it. The bandage around your chest felt like it was sticking to you, and you wondered if the electricity had burned your skin. The thigh injury was a mystery though, you couldn't wrap your head around how that had happened.

Your arms felt stiff, no doubt from the overuse of muscles during convulsions, and you saw that the IV now included an almost empty bag of blood. Suddenly remembering your passenger you flipped your seastone bracelet, using your enhanced vision to examine your own abdomen. Inside it you could see the protective fluid filled sac of your womb, and within it your little jellybean, with its own teeny tiny heart beating without a care in the world. You'd never even considered looking at it before, it was strange to see it in the flesh instead of just a grainy white dot on a screen, somehow it made it all the more real and a little scarier. You let out a heavy sigh and flipped your bracelet back, laying back down on the bed.

Your small sigh was enough to alert Killer that you were awake, and his head shot up to look at you, before back down at the weight on his thigh with a raised brow. You snorted at his confusion, he seemed just as surprised as you had been to see Kid there. He gave Kid an unceremonious shove, and the captain woke up with a grumble before quickly standing and rubbing his eyes with the palm of his flesh hand. Killer tutted and made his way to your side, taking your hand in his, while his other hand rested on your belly.

“Baby is fine,” you assured him, putting your hand over his, “I just checked”

“How do you feel?” He asked, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Like fucking garbage,” you groaned as Killer helped you sit up, “but it doesn't hurt too bad in retrospect. What the fuck happened to my leg though?”

Kid stomped over and placed something on your legs over the blanket. The fucking gun you'd taken from the safe. You'd completely forgotten about it, the electricity must have been enough of a spark to set it off while it was tucked into your waistband. You groaned and rolled your eyes, just your fucking luck, you try to do something nice and you get shot in the fucking leg.

“Why did you have a gun on you?” Kid asked curiously.

“I thought you might like it,” you mumbled, “I think the better question here is who leaves a loaded gun in their safe. It's not like they were planning to use it, they had plenty of other weapons”

“You got this from a safe?” Kid picked it up and inspected it closer, making an amused huff. “It's pretty nice, well made by the looks of it, wonder what makes it special enough to keep it in a safe. I'll have to do some research”

“Stupid fucking thing better be worth something,” you grumbled as you picked at the bandages on your chest, trying to look under them. Killer stilled your hands before you could get a good look.

“Your chest is burnt pretty bad,” he explained, “the electricity blistered your skin. Mohawk said it's not muscle deep though, more like a severe sunburn”

You groaned and flopped down on the bed, covering your face with your hands. “Can't I just have one fucking week where I don't end up in a doctor's office?”

“Tell me about it,” Kid scoffed. You shot back up and stared daggers at him.

“Oh you can fucking talk,” you pointed an accusing finger at him, “its your fucking floozy who did this. Did you even check if she could fight before bringing her on board, or were you too busy getting your dick wet? She'd be dead ten times over if it wasn't for the rest of us covering her back today, and now look what's fucking happened. We weren't even in battle anymore! She has no fucking sense of self preservation or awareness of her surroundings! And frankly, she's about as fucking smart as a slice of moldy cheese, in fact I think the mold would have more coherent thoughts!”

“She said she could fight…” Kid mumbled, looking away like a child scorned.

“Well she can certainly fucking cause bodily harm!” You yelled at him, “and if it wasn't for my devil fruit my unborn child would be fucking dead because of her, not that you'd fucking care! When I said I could protect myself I didn't think it would have to be against your fucking whore!”

Kid stood tall and growled, but you stood your ground, staring him down with an equally dangerous look on your face. The machine that had been monitoring your heart suddenly started making an alarm, and Mohawk came rushing in on hearing it. He'd been outside, on his way in to check on you but hesitant to enter and get caught in the crossfire of the argument. Your breaths were coming in harsh and ragged as your heart raced, one fist clawing at your chest as you struggled to catch enough air. Killer urged you to lay down while Mohawk checked the machine and injected something into your IV line, the machine's alarm stopping as your heart rate came down and your breathing returned to normal.

“Kid, I think it'd be best if you leave,” Killer said flatly, not even bothering to look in the red head's direction. Kid grumbled to himself, sliding the gun you'd looted back into his belt and making for the door. He paused with his hand on it, the door half open.

“For what it's worth,” he sighed to himself, “I do care about your kid, even if you don't believe it.” And with that he left, not waiting for a reply, the door swinging on its two way hinges behind him.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #killer one piece #killer x reader #massacre soldier killer #heat one piece #heat x reader #kid pirates

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