#Treasures From The Sea [Saved]

[velvet-vox]

🙏😞Please help me I want to provide for my

family's needs in Gaza🇵🇸🍉

Maybe 10€ makes a difference to us.🙏

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‏@el-shab-hussein @appsa @nabulsi @irhabiya @90-ghost @sar-soor @mohameddd

[crystalinetide]

Tag drop: General!

[loves0phelia]

hello! hope you’re okay after the ending, honestly I don’t think any of us are.

I wanted to request a rafe x pogue reader where it’s that boat storm scene and instead of Sarah falling it’s reader and she’s just drowning and Rafe jumps in after her. He doesn’t know why he did it but he just has a soft spot for her and it’s just really angsty but also cute.

thanks! I love your account btw!

In The Sea

Summery: the anon

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: grammar mistakes

A\N: thank you to everyone who has been requesting it makes me very happy xxx

You stand at the edge of the deck, clutching the railing as the boat rocks, waves rolling against the hull. The salty breeze whips your hair around your face, and the peaceful ocean sounds made you think about the current situation.

You didn't expect Rafe to save you and your friends from being arrested, much less expect him to find a boat big and resistant enough to drive you all to Morocco Africa to find the blue crown. It was truly a surprise considering you and Rafe's history.

“So what? Are we just on our way to Africa now?” Kiara asked the group as if she couldn't believe that Rafe Cameron was willingly helping them.

“Quick little weekend trip?” She added to her previous sentence.

“What about Rafe? We know what he did to the cross and now we want to go after the crown with him?” You and the rest of the pogue's lips go into a thin line at the memory.

“Sarah, you're his family, how do deal with him” John B said, finding no other options.

“I don't- I don't know, I think maybe y/n might have a chance of convincing him to behave but..” she shrugged and you felt the stares of your friends burn holes through you. Your past relationship with him was a secret to nobody.

“We- we just have to talk to him, or at least try” You proposed earning a frown from JJ.

“Talk to Rafe? When has he ever just communicated with us?” 

“Talking to him is the only option we have, but you're definitely not talking with him,” John B said and as expected everyone nodded and hummed, agreeing. JJ was in no place to talk with Rafe.

“Why not? What did I do?” He asked, getting almost frustrated.

“We all know you and him are far from being civil, the last thing we need is you triggering him and causing trouble” His girlfriend, Kiara, tried to explain the easiest way but he still got defensive. After a couple of bickering from JJ and John b You finally decide to go speak with him, who was driving the boat not too far away from the deck.

“Hey,” You knock on the metal and rusted door before entering and walking up to him. His eyes catch yours and there's a tension between the two of you. But Rafe only tilts his head to acknowledge you.

You swallow, feeling the weight of his stare. "We just want to talk," you say, steadying your voice as the rest of your friends beside JJ follow behind you.

“All right let's talk” Rafe chuckles, and it’s low, almost a whisper. 

Your mind goes almost blank as you take him in, you haven't been this close since you were forced in the same room by Sighs men last year. You had almost forgotten how much you missed him.

“You guys be cool I'll be cool” His voice snapped you out of your daydream, realizing you had missed a bit of the conversation.

“So now you want peace?” Pope leaned back and scoffed, not believing a word that came out of his mouth.

“I just saved all your asses, how about a thank you?” He glanced at all of you one by one, but he only earned silence,

“Listen I don't want any part of your little fairytale treasure hunt bullshit, I'm just looking for Groff” He’s breathing heavily, holding himself back from adding more snark,

“Hey, Rafe!” Before anyone can react, JJ’s fist flies through the air, cracking against Rafe’s jaw with a force that echoes.

Rafe’s head snaps back, his expression stunned for a split second before he crumples, hitting the hard metal floor. For a moment, everyone is frantic, staring at the lifeless form sprawled across the floor, his eyes closed, completely knocked out.

“holy shit”

“Jesus JJ what's your problem”

“Whoo that felt good” Tired of JJ's crazy actions the girls walk away shaking their heads in disbelief until you are the only one staying behind.

JJ stands over him, breathing heavily, the adrenaline still pulsing through him as he looks down at Rafe. His fist is red, already bruising, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“What is wrong with you?” You look at him, feeling a rush of shock mixed with panic. You fall to your knees next to Rafe and quickly look over his injuries, softly rubbing your thumb on his jaw.   “If he didn't do it I was going to do it” Pope added only worsening the situation. You shook your head and furrowed your eyebrows at his sentence.

After the pogues agreed it was probably not a good idea to let Rafe free in case he woke up and decided to shoot you all with his “peacemaker” you tied him up in a small cabin. His head hung low, his wrists were bound to a stainless steel pole and his legs were uncomfortably folded beneath him. Your heart clenched at the sight of him but still decided to leave him there until he woke up.

You open the door to the cabin slowly with a tray of warmed-up canned spaghetti in hand, it wasn't the best but it was all the boat had.

“I brought you food..” You whispered before bending down to place the tray in front of him.

“great” he sighed.

“I found aspirin in the medicine cabinet, I figured you'd have a headache, maybe even a concussion” 

“Right… are you gonna throw it in my mouth like a seal or something” He scoffed again clearly angered,

“They don't trust you Rafe… but if you do the right thing maybe they will open up a little bit”

“I am doing the right thing! I helped you” He tried pulling against the restraints but failed. 

“I know okay? I know but unfortunately, I don't have a choice but to let you in here until we get there, I'm sorry” you whispered and pushed the tray closer to him. “Please eat,” You said and left closing the large door behind you.

For a moment you stayed behind the door listening closely. “Y/N come back!” he grunts and kicks his feet on the ground. “Fucking untie me please!!” he screamed and you jumped when you heard the tray you had just put down on the floor fly into the wall.

Pope leaning over the side, is the first to spot the flicker of movement beneath the water. "Guys! I see one!" exclaims, his voice a mixture of excitement and focus. He scrambles for the fishing rod, almost knocking over the tackle box in his rush.

John B is right beside him, laughing. “We've got our dinner!" he laughs.

“Guys, this one’s huge!” Kie giggles with the boys knowing we were all set for dinner time tonight.

You all spent the rest of the day cooking the fish you caught and preparing side dishes with some good music in the background.

Until it was time for Rafa's second meal.

You open the door carefully and his eyes catch yours, this time you don't speak, simply set the tray of seasoned salmon down in front of him.

Has you were about to close the door you hear him.

“Wait, y/n. Can you please- can you give me the fork” his tone is much softer than before so you can't deny him. 

You get down and pick up the utensil his bound hands couldn’t reach.

“Thank you” He murmured, and you barely heard him as you closed the door behind you once again.

The sky darkens ominously as thunder rumbles in the distance, low and threatening. Waves crash harder against the hull of the boat, tossing it with a force that leaves you gripping onto anything within reach. The storm monitor flashes red to show the storm coming ahead of you.

“That's not good,” John B says.

“We're gonna have to try to blast through it,” Pope says, not finding any better options.

“Why can't we go south?” Kie asks genuinely.

“The current is gonna be against us we don't have a choice” John B agreed even after trying to find safer options, the boat's roar has Pope push the lever controlling the engine to the max. 

The waves make the boat shift side to side making it difficult to stay up and steady.

Another massive wave crashes over the side, drenching them all, and you lose your footing, sliding across the deck until Kie grabs your arm, pulling you back.

“Hold on to something” Kie yells at you pope and Sarah and you all grip onto the nearest thing.

“Hey!” a distant voice echoes through the walls.

“Cut me loose! Y/N! Somebody!” Rafe screamed and banged his fists on the wall.

“Get me out of here!” Everyone listens but doesn't move a finger.

“We have to let him out” You scramble to your feet but jerk back when Cleo grabs your wrist.

“No!” she says trying to stop you but you pulled back.

“He's gonna drown” You pull open rapidly the drawers trying to find something sharp, able to cut the thick ropes wrapped around Rafe's hands.

The storm is relentless, its fury tossing you around like a rag doll as you try to reach him.  

You cling to the railing, struggling to stay upright as the boat lurches violently, nearly sending you sprawling across the floor. Your legs buckle under you. You come crashing through the door and walk onto the water-soaked floor knife in hand.

“Cut me loose” he begs.

Crouching in front of him you began frantically cutting the rope. Your muscles burn with how much pressure you're using.

“Shit,” You say when a sudden jerk of the boat makes your face come inches apart from his, lips almost touching. You don't have time to think as you regain your balance and continue cutting the bounds.

“There! Come on” you yelled and quickly grasped his hands to pull him up from the floor.

You both run to shelter but the boat jerks side to side even more violently,

“Something is wrong I have to go see!” 

“No!” Rafe tried holding on to you but you were already rushing away onto the deck where waves came crashing, a massive wave rose out of the dark, towering over the boat like a shadow.

You barely had time to think before it crashed down, an icy, unforgiving wall of water that slammed into you with the force of a sledgehammer. The impact was too strong and you were thrown backward, landing hard on the deck. Pain explodes through your shoulder, the wind knocks from your lungs. Dazed and gasping, you try to get up, but the boat tips again, and before you can stand, another wave strikes.

This one is worse, merciless, catching you just as you struggle to rise. Your fingers graze the edge of the railing, but the slick metal slips through your grasp. In an instant, the world spins as you are thrown away from the boat, the cold, raging ocean swallowing you whole.

The water is a shock, freezing and chaotic, disorienting you as you plunge beneath the surface. You thrash, fighting to reach the surface, lungs burning, but the waves toss you back and forth, each effort to rise met with another rush of icy water.

Back on the boat, Rafe catches a glimpse of you disappearing over the side, and his heart stops. “Y/N!” he screams, panic cutting through the storm. Without a second thought, he scrambles to the railing, nearly slipping himself as he peers out into the dark, searching for any sign of you.

“Where is she!” Sarah came rushing to her brother

“She fell overboard” he yells already reaching for a rope with the floating boyee. He’s soaked, exhausted, and barely steady, but there’s no hesitation as he jumps in after you.

“Rafe no!” She screams after her brother.

A wave slams into Rafe. “Y/N!!” he yells in the water as he sees you trying to stay above the water far away.

With the last of your strength, You swim faster and harder towards Rafe and reach out when you're near, fingers brushing his arm, grasping it tight. Rafe holds you with everything he has.

“I got you” But you don't hear him in the storm.

You both hold on to each other your arms around his neck and his around your waist as the boat floats away and the night turns into a void.

“Hey, open your eyes, look at me” You feel gentle hands grasping on your face as you finally sit up coughing out the water that filled your lungs.

“That's it” The hands rub your back in a comforting way.

The sand is hot beneath you, warming up your skin, and with exhaustion, you fall onto Rafe's chest.

“Hey you okay?” panicked, he grabs onto your shoulder and pushes you a little bit to take a good look at your face.

“You jumped after me,” you whispered.

“Of course I did”  You look up at him, heart pounding, feeling a rush of gratitude, fear, and something deeper—something that’s been smouldering beneath the surface, unspoken, for far too long. Your eyes shine with tears, not sad and not happy either but grateful. 

His hand reaches up, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin. His touch is warm, and grounding, and you feel your heart racing even faster under his gaze, intense and unreadable, like he’s seeing you for the first time.

Without another thought, you lean in, closing the space between the two of you as you press your lips to his, a spark igniting into a wildfire the moment you connect. Rafe’s surprise melts away instantly, and he kisses back, fierce and unrestrained, his hands finding your waist.

The kiss is charged, fueled by adrenaline, and a longing that neither of you can deny any longer. Your hands find his shoulders, clinging to him, grounding you in his warmth, his strength, the feel of his heartbeat thundering beneath your touch. 

Rafe’s fingers trail up your back, sending shivers along your spine, and his lips move against yours with an urgency that speaks of everything left unspoken.

When you finally pull apart, breathless, Rafe’s forehead rests against yours, his eyes searching yours as he lets out a shaky laugh, almost in disbelief.

“You saved my life” you smile, brushing a thumb over his cheek, still feeling the warmth of his kiss lingering on your lips. “I love you, I've always loved you” you whisper, and before you know it, you're kissing again, the ocean waves crashing nearby, the world forgotten as you lose yourselves in each other.

“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered.

Send request xxx

[shuaflix]

the hidden one

❝ i just saved you, mi corazón. you could at least thank me. ❞

PAIRING ▸ pirate!choi seungcheol x assassin!fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, humor, some action, historical au, assassin's creed: black flag au (although you don't need to know the lore to read this), pirate au, royal au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, slow burn, strangers to lovers, copious amounts of pining, mild depictions of violence, character death, forced proximity, so much banter, hurt/comfort, political tension, family issues, booseoksoon as the pirate underlings, lots of teasing, and there was one bed, sexual tension!!!, unprotected sex (i don't fw with 1700s contraceptives sorry), fingering, oral (f. receiving)

SUMMARY ▸ choi seungcheol is supposed to be dead. following a tropical storm, the notorious pirate loses both his ship, the golden corsair, and a majority of his crew to the cruel tides. now stranded in sevilla, spain, seungcheol and his three remaining sailors must find a way back to england; however, an unexpected altercation ends up tying their fate to you, an assassin who wants nothing to do with the four of them. despite your reluctance, he must work alongside you in exchange for a way back home. of course, complications arise once his heart decides to have a say in the matter, and, somewhere along the way, seungcheol realizes this mission is bigger than himself.

PLAYLIST ▸ he's a pirate by hans zimmer, klaus badelt, geoffrey zanelli • the medallion calls by klaus badelt • leonardo's inventions, pt. 2 by jesper kyd • assassin's creed iv black flag theme by brian tyler • mermaids by hans zimmer

WORD COUNT ▸ 31,390 words

AUTHOR'S NOTE ▸ wrote this for my alexios-pilled pookumsnookums @amourcheol :^) extended author's note here

Freedom, Sancho, is one of the most precious gifts that heaven has bestowed upon men; no treasures that the earth holds buried or the sea conceals can compare with it; for freedom, as for honour, life may and should be ventured; and on the other hand, captivity is the greatest evil that can fall to the lot of man.

             — Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote

March 24th, 1725 Sevilla, Andalucía, Spain

AT FIRST, ALL HE COULD TASTE WAS SAND AND SEAWATER.  

Choi Seungcheol only realized his body was aching all over when all feeling returned to the tips of his fingers. He was laying on his stomach on wet sand, occasionally roused back into consciousness by a cold wave that whispered promises of suffering in his ears. Still, his eyelids were too heavy for him to drag his brittle bones back up to his feet. The sun beat down on him—so hot that he was sure he would be roasted alive.

When he tried to get to his feet, his pruney fingers digging into the sand, getting under his raw-bitten nails, he had to squint before his eyes adjusted to the glaring sunlight. His lungs felt like they were on fire. His head hurt. The corners of his eyes stung from the salt. 

He was on the shore of a beach. 

When Seungcheol looked around, the area around him was surrounded by steep cliffs, jutting out of the ground like a carcass. That must have been why he was alone in the ocean cove; no one had spotted his motionless body for however long he had been washed up ashore. He couldn’t even tell how long he had been passed out on the sand.

There was nothing around him, so he must have lost everything while he was desperately paddling in the water. His robes and overcoat were long gone, leaving him in a loose white shirt and baggy trousers. At the very least, he wished he had his boots, but even those were lost to the sea.

His memories came back to him in fragmented shards of recollections—the raging storm, the shipwreck, the screams of his crew. The consuming guilt of being the only survivor. There was nothing for him to bring back to their families. Nothing to say to their hopeful wives and kids. And maybe there was hope that more survived, but the longer Seungcheol tried to think about it, he just remembered how the mast of his ship catastrophically collapsed while his crewmates were floundering around the deck of his ship, The Golden Corsair. 

He laid on the sand for longer. Maybe hours longer. It was as if the grief left him immobilized, hardly flinching even as a particularly big wave crashed over him. His tongue felt so dry that he could barely open his mouth, but once he did, the corners of his lips tasted like salt.

And he felt guilty to even be breathing. 

A captain was supposed to go down with his ship, yet here he was.

It was a miracle he survived, really. With the conditions of the sea and the harsh waves that threatened to pull him under, Seungcheol was amazed he escaped with his life. It was a stroke of luck that he found a barrel to keep himself afloat for as long as it did.

Seungcheol rolled over onto his stomach finally, and he dry-heaved until his lungs were burning.

“Oi! It’s the cap’n!” came a faint holler in the distance.

Seungcheol recognized the voice in an instant. His chest swelled with hope, giving him a final burst of strength to lift himself up onto his elbows. 

Aching and bruised, Seungcheol got to his feet. His lips were dry and bitten raw; he could taste blood where his skin peeled. His tongue felt sanded down to the muscle. His gums ached. His knees felt like they were going to give out.

Three figures came running at him, stumbling and tripping over their own feet from the thick sand pulling them down. Boo Seungkwan, Lee Seokmin, and Kwon Soonyoung were frantically waving their arms over their heads to get Seungcheol’s attention, crying out their gratitude that their beloved captain was still alive. They were decent seamen, but most of the crew knew them as the musicians on board, beckoned over whenever somebody wanted to be entertained. But, oh, did they pour their heart and soul into their sea shanties.

“You lot!” Seungcheol croaked out, astonished. His throat felt as if he had swallowed a thousand blades. “How’d you survive the storm? Did… did anyone else make it? Did you see?”

He half-expected the trio to exclaim that the whole crew was waiting elsewhere, that they were just looking for him. However, the three gave each other wary looks and let their heads hang with deep sorrow drawn across their faces. 

“Couldn’t find any of ‘em,” Soonyoung muttered sadly, cradling his injured arm. “Davy Jones must’ve took ‘em.”

Seungcheol almost thought he was hallucinating as soon as the words rang in his ears, and he hoped the sand would just swallow him into some pit. 

Still, some fondness curled in his chest at the sight of Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung. Sure, he could’ve lucked out with more useful company, but at least he had three less souls to weigh over his heart.

“We thought you were done for when you fell with the mast, Cap’n. The rest of us had no clue what to do. Some of ‘em jumped out to help you, but… poor bastards—the waves were too strong,” Seungkwan explained, and Seungcheol could see that he had seen horrors beyond his greatest fears by the distant look in his eyes. “We tried to keep the ship afloat, but the waves were too rough. Seokmin went overboard first, then Soonyoung, then me.”

“Bit harsh on Soonyoung, weren’t they?” Seokmin recalled. “Kept hearing ‘let that oaf drown!’ from ol’ Whitehead when we tried to save him.” 

“What?” Soonyoung choked out, deeply offended. “That bloody bastard. What did I ever do to him?”

“Told everyone he had a case of scurvy, I heard.”

“Ah, yes, I remember,” Seungcheol ruminated with a certain fondness that was quite different from the grief over the rest of his crew, mostly because everyone knew Whitehead was going to drop dead eventually—storm or not. “A sight that could put a man off his rum, it was.”

Seokmin shook his head in agreement. “Wouldn’t kiss my mum with that mouth.”

Outrage subsiding, Soonyoung gave a sideways jerk of his head in reluctant agreement. “That I did say, but to leave me to die over his bloody gums?” He scoffed. “No camaraderie these days. What did he expect me to do? Ignore his ugly kisser?”

Seungkwan scowled reproachfully. “I would have thrown you overboard meself, if I had the chance. You threw me clothes overboard over a lousy play last week!”

“You just do not understand the art of performance, Kwan.”

“What you will be understanding is how that tree branch over there is going to feel up your arse, Soonyoung.”

Out of his entire crew of feared pirates, Captain Choi Seungcheol was stuck with the three biggest buffoons of the seven seas. 

“Oi!” he exclaimed in his booming voice, silencing the bickering immediately. He looked at all of them carefully before asking, “Focus, you scoundrels. What happened after?”

Seungkwan started, “I found Soonyoung ‘n Seokmin layin’ on the shore like a pair of ugly, dead fish—”

“Unnecessary comparison, don’t you think?” Soonyoung grumbled close to Seokmin’s ear.

“—‘n we ended up roamin’ the perimeter, but you’re the only one we found. It’s a miracle to even be alive, Cap’n… so it’s hard to imagine that the rest of ‘em… y’know, made it.”

His heart gave one final plunge into a pit of despair. As his three remaining crewmates harped on about the crash, the captain screwed his eyes shut. There were hundreds of people who feared the crossbones and skull sign because of his very name, and now Seungcheol had lost everything. 

“We must find a way back to England,” Seungcheol muttered.

The three of them went quiet, as if they were waiting for Seungcheol to command them. He felt as though his brain was going a little funny from the scathing heat, and it took him several, unblinking seconds to process that they were expecting further directions.

Seungcheol looked around the stretch of the shoreline. They had nothing—no money, no weapons, no ship—and they were stranded on some unknown land.

But he was Captain Choi Seungcheol—the man who cheated Davy Jones countless times, the man who was feared from the islands of the Caribbean to the shores of Madagascar. If there was anyone who could get their way out of this predicament, it was him. 

“We will need to find a ship,” he declared. “But in waters like these, we will need one that sails as smooth as The Golden Corsair. Let us first determine where we find ourselves.”

After several unblinking minutes of scanning the shoreline, he set off in the direction of the cliffs, and his crew of three followed him across the sand with heavy legs.

The four pirates made their trek away from the beach, walking barefoot on a dirt trail for what felt like ages. Seungcheol was persistent, though; he knew the area was familiar, and he was rewarded with the sight of a city bustling with life. After eavesdropping on a few conversations, he was delighted to realize that he knew what language the locals were speaking. He was quite proficient in Andalusian Spanish, having studied the language far before he became a pirate. 

Seungcheol ordered his three men to go around and find out where they were and if there was a tavern nearby where they could rest. Seungkwan was told to get lost, Seokmin couldn’t figure out a way to communicate effectively with the locals, and Soonyoung lost his patience too quickly and ended conversations as quickly as they began. Their captain was the only one who managed to figure out that they were in Sevilla, Spain.

The silver lining in that was that Seungcheol already had a few acquaintances around Sevilla. His crew had stopped in the port a few times during their travels, so, naturally, he made a few connections that could prove to be useful. One of them would surely shelter them for a few nights. 

In the center of the city, there were several booths lined up with merchants selling their goods. The market wrapped around the block; Seungcheol could hardly walk anywhere without being called over to buy something. In Seokmin’s case, he could hardly walk anywhere without getting distracted by something shiny. 

This wasn’t the sort of place Seungcheol wanted to be in. There were thieves littered everywhere in these parts and his crew had nothing to defend themselves with. Moreover, Seungcheol had nothing to properly disguise himself, so if the Spanish authorities recognized him, he and his men would most likely be executed on the spot. 

On the bright side, Soonyoung managed to knick some tattered shoes from a nearby pub. Apparently, he was lurking in the corner until a brawl broke out. While the men were drunkenly punching at each other and kicking off their boots to lunge at each other, Soonyoung snagged several pairs that were strewn aside as he walked out.  

They wandered the market, looking for something to eat, but none of them had any money. Maybe if one of them could distract one of the shopkeepers, Seungcheol could sneak behind a booth and—

“Si no van a comprar, ¡no están bienvenidos!” 

The sharp voice cut through the clamor in the market. Seungcheol turned immediately to see what all the commotion was about. Someone was refusing to pay? If everyone’s attention was diverted, then it was the perfect opportunity to grab some food from an unattended booth.

But, when he took a closer look, the woman being yelled at had the same disoriented shock in her eyes that Seungcheol once had. It was almost like looking in a mirror, seeing his old, cowardly self before him. 

When he decided to become a pirate, Seungcheol left his cushy life behind without ever looking back. He was educated in languages, literacy, and arithmetics before he even realized his love for adventure. It was his aunt, the woman who raised him after his parents’ untimely deaths, who showed him that possessing great power was meaningless if you didn’t have the strength to protect others.

Initially, she was a pirate herself, but the Royal Navy enlisted her help as a privateer to take down Wukou ships. Her success was nothing but heroic, but she wasn’t rewarded like the other royal armed forces were. After the Royal Navy got what they wanted, they killed her silently and passed off her murder as a casualty of war. 

That was the day Seungcheol decided he wasn’t going to sit quietly and comply. His pirate crew started small, but it grew over the years, and he was soon infamous across the Caribbean and a threat to the Kingdom of England. 

Seungkwan’s eyes lit up with mischief. “This is our chance! While she distracts him, let us—” He cut himself off when he noticed his captain was no longer by his side, and Seungkwan whipped his head in every direction. “Cap’n? Where’d you go?”

With a retired sigh, Seungcheol walked over to where you were and put his hand on your shoulder. His dark, unkempt hair fell over his forehead, concealing the scar that ran from his forehead to his cheek.

He played the role of your husband, claiming that you weren’t very fluent in the language and were just asking for directions. The shopkeeper, who was pleased to hear an explanation he could understand, let you both off with a warning. Although a dark look was cast across your face, you went along with Seungcheol when he dragged you aside. 

Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung exchanged odd looks after Seungcheol brought you over. They all seemed to be under the impression that their captain was out of his mind, and Seungcheol would be lying if he said the heat wasn’t making his brain feel funny. 

“Excuse me—where are you taking me?” you demanded, bordering on fright when you realized that you had been dragged to an alleyway with four men surrounding you. “Unhand me at once!”

He pulled you behind a stack of crates that conveniently concealed the five of them from the bustling street outside the alley. Seungcheol realized his actions came across as threatening, but his words weren’t meant for others to hear, and he didn’t exactly want you to go around spouting that they were pirates. 

Seungcheol released his grip on you, turning in time to catch your glare. His features softened and he let out a sigh. 

He started, “My apologies for—” 

Before he could get any more words out, Seungcheol felt his arm jerk forward before you managed to completely flip him over your shoulder and onto the solid ground. He grunted in pain, squinting to make out your angry face in the blinding sunlight. When he tried to budge, he felt the cool metal of your dagger pressing against his throat. 

“What are you doin’ to our cap’n?!” Soonyoung shouted, although no amount of fury could mask how equally impressed he sounded. “And can you do it again?”

“Oi,” Seokmin whispered harshly, elbowing Soonyoung in the side, “ask her to do it to one of us, not the cap’n!”

“Right. Then how ‘bout Seungkwan? Give him a toss.”

Seokmin seemed to agree with this decision, giving the pirate a resolute nod of his head before turning to you. “Slowly, this time, Miss.”

“Do not flip me,” Seungkwan warned. “I have not stretched yet.”

You snorted, which Seungcheol assumed was you trying to come off as intimidating while playing off your amusement, but he kept his mouth shut because you happened to have a blade to his throat. 

“Pirates,” you muttered darkly, gaze fixing on the elaborate tattoo inked on Seungcheol’s chest, barely concealed by his tattered shirt. “I did not think I would have to deal with pirates around these parts.”

“And what were you trying to do?” he fired back with a scowl. “That shopkeeper sounded like he was gonna have you kicked out of the square, or worse—arrested.”

“Well, I never asked for your help.”

“I just saved you, mi corazón.” Seungcheol sneered. “You could at least thank me.”

Through your hard, steely eyes, you let out a mirthless laugh as your knee dug into his thigh. “If you minded your business instead of drawing unnecessary attention to us, pirate, I could have just slipped past and been on my way. Yet, you still expect me to offer my gratitude?”

To be frank, Seungcheol was already having quite the day, but now he was starting to get a little ticked off. He had just saved your skin, hadn’t he? Was this how he was being repaid? With a knife to his throat instead of some plain gratitude? It wasn’t like he was asking you for anything in the first place, but the least you could do was thank him for his help. After all, he was the very reason you made it out of that situation without causing more of a scene than you already had. 

Then, when he thought about it some more, Seungcheol realized how horrible of a misunderstanding this probably was.

He pulled you away from the bustling crowd and dragged you into an alleyway with three other men. There was surely room for misinterpretation there.

“Listen, I only meant to help—”

You rolled your eyes. “Help? All you did was cause a bigger scene. We are lucky neither of us got in trouble.”

“I still helped, did I not?”

“Are you an imbecile?”

“Among other unbecoming titles, I suppose so.”

“You are a pirate, aren’t you? Don’t you know that they will have your head if you are caught?”

“They must first catch me, then.” Seungcheol scoffed. “I’m curious, though, is this your first time thieving? Take it from a pirate: You must be less… conspicuous about these things.”

Furious, you opened your mouth to say something, but your expression quickly faltered, and you closed your mouth before any words could come out. Seungcheol didn’t let your nervous shift in expression go unnoticed, and he followed your gaze to the beam of sunlight spilling into the alleyway. Keeping your weight on the pirate, you peered behind the crate as if you were eavesdropping on someone. 

Realistically, Seungcheol could’ve easily overpowered you. He was thinking about it for a good amount of time, but he decided to entertain whatever this was. Perhaps it was his natural curiosity, but he was far more interested in what you were doing in Sevilla than he was determined to get you off of him. 

(You being quite beautiful also kept him from tossing you off of him, but that was beside the point.)

“Oi, Miss,” Seokmin whispered, crouching down to your level, “are you hiding from someone?”

Seungkwan and Soonyoung took this as their cue to do the same, exchanging confused glances and avoiding their captain’s pointed glares. Seungcheol was getting rather impatient with the lack of answers he was getting. His day had already gotten off on a horrible start, and now he had to deal with you. 

“That is none of your business,” you answered, “and my name is not Miss.” 

How aggravating.

“I think it is our business now,” Seungcheol said, firmer this time. “Running from someone? Is that it?”

But you were already shushing him, distracted by something else entirely. Your brows knitted into a frown as you (seemingly unintentionally) pressed the dagger against Seungcheol’s flesh a little harder, daring crimson to bleed through.

“... find her. She has to be around here,” came a deep yet sharp voice right outside the alleyway. 

“Was there anyone with her?” another one asked. 

“Four men, they said.”

“Split up and look for her. I care not if she is dead or alive, just bring her corpse back in one piece.”

Your shock eclipsed whatever secrecy you were determined to uphold, betraying your attempts to restrain your emotions. Seungcheol noticed a flicker of fear across your eyes even as you glowered. It seemed as though he had unintentionally gotten himself into trouble by association, which was a rather hapless way for one to get into trouble.

When Seungcheol was certain the men had stalked off elsewhere, he asked, “Are they looking for you?”

“Oh, no, it must be some other poor damsel with four men cornering her.”

“Cornering? You have me on the ground with a dagger to my throat. I would say you have the upper hand here, sweetheart.”

“Oh, please, you can easily get out of this,” you replied calmly, raising a brow at him, “but you aren’t.”

“Because I’d rather have a civil conversation first, unless it’s my knife you want against your throat.”

“You are unarmed,” you observed with a pointed stare.

Seungcheol stayed quiet. You were right on the mark with that one. 

You continued, “And a pirate trying to be civil? You realize jests must be believable, right?”

“Listen,” Seungcheol started, wrapping his fingers gently around your forearm—the one still clutching the dagger, “We are not going to harm you, but you are in trouble, no? That is why you think we were going to hurt you?”

You scoffed. “If I thought you were going to hurt me, your men would be dead by now.”

His crewmates inched away from you slowly. 

“Then you know we are not a threat,” he said. Seungcheol’s throat felt tight and he spoke in a voice as brittle as bones, “We are not looking for a fight or any of the sort. We were just trying to find our way back to England.” He then added in a murmur, “I swear we will not hurt you—swear it on my aunt’s grave.”

At first, he wondered if you would even care about a promise that could come off as seemingly empty to most. However, the way your eyes softened said otherwise. 

You removed the dagger from his throat and shifted your body back onto the ground. He could see true sympathy in your eyes, but there was still something so guarded about you that made him feel dubious. Seungcheol got up to crouch behind the crates. 

“Your turn,” he said, making a gesture with his hand. 

You fixed him with a strange look. “My turn for what?” 

“We told you what we are doing in Sevilla, so do enlighten us on your intentions, too. You are clearly not from around here, sneaking around like that.”

You spluttered. “I do not see why I have to tell you anything.”

Seungcheol looked at you carefully, and then he glanced at Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan, who already seemed to be devising a plan. Although his men weren’t particularly useful when it came to anything physically demanding, they were excellent when it came to putting on a show.

Soonyoung let out a heavy sigh. “It’s okay, Miss, we knew you wouldn’t be trustin’ of rotten pirates like ourselves.”

“Bless her heart, she doesn’t know that pirates like us can be tricked, too,” Seungkwan chimed in with faux dejection heavy on his tongue. “Can’t tell you how many times I’ve been stabbed in me back.” 

(“Seven,” Seokmin answered. “I was one of them.”

“It’s a figure of speech, you fool.”)

“All the times I placed me trust in someone only to be treated like a bilge rat. Me mum always said it’s ‘cause I trust too easily, but”—Soonyoung choked on his words, sniffling rather dramatically—“can you blame me for havin’ too much love in me heart?”

This was a lie; Soonyoung cheered for bloodshed far too often to make such a claim.

“I don’t even have a mum,” Seungkwan wailed. 

This was also a lie; Seungkwan most definitely did have a mother that was alive and well. 

“Maybe a bunch of mangy dogs like us aren’t meant to have friends,” Seokmin added miserably. “Maybe we really are on our own.”

This, however, had some truth to it. 

“You’re not alone, Seokmin.” Seungkwan gave him an earnest look as he reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “We have each other, mate.”

The silence that followed afterward was deafening. You stared at the three with a blank look on your face. Seungcheol held back a groan and closed his eyes out of frustration. 

After a pause, you spoke, “Touching. Well, if you will excuse me, I shall be on my way now.”

Seungcheol started, “Wait—”

Just as you got to your feet, a gleaming flash of gold fell from your robes. You didn’t seem to notice at first, but right as your eyes widened with your alarm, Seungcheol had already gotten to the object first. It was an amulet hanging by an iron chain, and when he examined it closely, there was an engraving of an eagle on one side and a triangular shape on the other side. 

He knew exactly what this was.

The mark of an assassin.

Seungcheol heard stories of assassins, of course—bits and pieces here and there—nothing substantial that he could place his finger on. For the most part, they were shrouded in secrecy, never to reveal their identity to anyone outside of their brotherhood. 

Whatever business they had with pirates wasn’t something he had any clue of. Seungcheol recalled that Black Bart, a Welsh pirate who crossed swords with Seungcheol before, had worked in the shadows with an assassin before. No one knew of the finer details, but it was said that their partnership brought him more power and influence over the Caribbean.

He wasn’t too sure of the whole story, but his aunt had been in close relations with an assassin. She never disclosed much, as she wanted to keep Seungcheol far from danger during his youth, but he distinctly remembered when she returned home one day with an amulet that had the same engraving. At first, she refused to tell him what the symbol was, but after an eleven-year-old Seungcheol nearly snuck it out of the house to show his friends, his aunt sat him down and explained how dangerous it was to carry an assassin’s insignia. 

But an assassin in these parts? What could you possibly be looking for here? Had he just ended up becoming your next target? There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but you snatched your amulet out of his hands before he could clear his head.

“Those guards are looking for you because of that, right?” Seungcheol asked, pointing at the amulet. He cut to the chase so that you wouldn’t take off running. His voice was hardly louder than a mumble when he continued, “You are an assassin, are you not?”

You flinched at his words. 

Seungkwan rubbed the back of his neck. “Not a very good one, is she?”

“No.” Soonyoung shook his head in agreement. “Revealing it sort of defeats the whole purpose, doesn’t it?”

Surely, you recognized a losing battle when you saw one; Seungcheol already figured out who you were, and if you made a run for it, all he had to do was walk up to a guard and tell them who you were. He had a perfect description for you already, all thanks to the past five minutes of staring up at your face. 

“Give it back or I will shove this blade up your arse,” you warned. 

“No, I do not suppose I will,” Seungcheol replied with a mocking smile, dangling the amulet in front of your face for a moment before he put it around his own neck. “You will get it back after we get our ship.”

“Do you not have half the mind to know I can easily take it from you?”

“Not unless you kill me.”

You barked out a laugh, bewildered. “You think I am above murder? Me?”

“No, but I know you have the King’s men on your trail. You must be as dull as a rusty cutlass if you think you can take my men and I down without drawing attention.”

There was a moment of disorientation where you kept looking from Seungcheol, to the amulet, and back at the captain again. He almost felt bad because it seemed like you hadn’t ever expected to be caught up in such a situation, but perhaps this could be advantageous for the both of you. 

He also knew that if you really wanted to, you could just kill them and move on, but that wasn’t the likely outcome. Someone was clearly trying to find you, and four dead bodies in the middle of the town square would surely be a dead giveaway. 

“What do you want from me?” you asked sharply, your words venomous with shame and rage. “Gold? Treasure? I do not have any of that sort.”

“We need a ship,” he said. “But not just any boat—something of… royal caliber. That is the only vessel I suspect would sail as smooth as The Golden Corsair.” 

You raised a brow. “Is that your ship? What happened to it?”

“It sank.”

“Oh. What a pity.”

“You could at least pretend to be sympathetic.”

“I have never been very fond of pirates.” You grimaced. “Anyway, you would have to be a complete buffoon to steal a Royal Navy ship.”

“Then it’s a good thing we have three of those.”

Seokmin tapped the captain’s shoulder, clearing his throat. “There are four of us, Cap’n.”

Seungcheol gave him a knowing smile. “I am quite aware.”

You fixed him with a curious look. “What’s in it for me?” 

“Our word that we will keep your secret,” he vowed, “and we will help you with whatever it is you are here for. Having someone around who speaks the native language could prove to be quite useful, you know?”

You were eyeing the pirate carefully, as if you were deciding whether he would be useful to you or not.

“And one more thing”—Seungcheol took a step closer, so close that your bodies were nearly touching, and he looked down at you with a dangerous flicker in his eyes—“if you even think of hurting one of us, I won’t hesitate to finish you off myself, mi corazón.”

You seemed defeated for a very, very long time. Seungcheol and his crew sat with you for what felt like eternity until you finally dragged yourself up off your feet. After a resigned sigh, you finally came to terms with the fact that you couldn’t do much now regarding your identity being compromised. 

Truthfully, Seungcheol was very hungry and tired. He wanted nothing but a nice, hot meal before he was lulled into a peaceful sleep. His brain was too scrambled to pinpoint how long it had been since he had food in his body last, and there was no point in trying to guess when his memory following the shipwreck was still hazy.

“I have a friend in Sevilla that can shelter us for a few nights,” Seungcheol had told you and his crew. “We are not going to get very far without food and water.”

He noticed that you started to crumble in the way the corners of your mouth twitched—not that Seungcheol was staring at your lips. The lure of a roof over your head and food on your plate seemed to sell you. 

“I would like my own room,” you insisted. 

“No objections here. I do not think any of us are keen on sharing a room with an assassin.”

“Will you be quiet?” you whispered harshly. “I will tell you this now: I have no intention of hurting innocents, but if you keep running your mouth, I am afraid I will have no other choice but to slit your throats before you can even scream for help.”

Seungcheol wasn’t particularly interested in responding to your threat, nor did he feel inclined to point out that he was sure at least one of them would react fast enough. 

“Ray of sunshine, this one is,” Seungkwan retorted as he eyed you cautiously. 

Most of the journey was spent in silence. You hardly seemed to want to engage in conversation, but Seungcheol was perfectly content with not spoiling the peacefulness of their trek with another slew of threats. Hunger and exhaustion were slowly becoming unbearable with each drag of his feet. He hoped that nothing had changed since his last visit to The Sleeping Bull, and that his old friend, Joshua Hong, was still the innkeeper. 

Nightfall encroached upon them by the time they reached the building with dim candle light glowing through the windows. The smokey smell filled Seungcheol’s nostrils with a sort of familiarity and comfort that set his nerves at ease. 

When he opened the door, there were a few men hunched over the nearby tables. They were all laughing at someone’s joke and toasting to several, trivial things that hardly needed a toast. Seungcheol spotted Joshua standing at the bar, wiping the rim of a glass with a rag. 

Upon noticing the five people walking through the door, Joshua squinted from across the room and Seungcheol saw deep lines in his forehead before he set the cup down. Joshua had to walk closer to make out the group in the dim lighting, and his eyes landed on you briefly before he turned back to Seungcheol, face slowly stretching into a wide grin.

“Captain Choi Seungcheol? Is it really you?” Joshua narrowed his eyes to make out the scruffy, broad-shouldered pirate before straightening up. “It has been long indeed! Almost couldn’t tell it was you without the rest of your rowdy men,” he said brightly. “Take a seat at the bar, will you? Let me pour you all a drink.”

Seungcheol wasn’t sure if Joshua could pick up on the way his smile faltered at the mention of his crew, but he decided to skirt around the topic for now. It was no good getting emotional at a time like this.

“Bloody hell, it is good to see a familiar face. Do you have any rum, Joshua?” 

“I’ve not had a drop of rum in ages.” Seungkwan groaned as he dropped his weight onto one of the creaky stools. “Not since our stash went dry on The Golden Corsair.”

“The poor bastard has not yet realized that we’d been hidin’ the rum from him,” Seokmin muttered to you, earning what Seungcheol decided would’ve almost been a smile if you weren’t so guarded. 

Seungcheol made sure that you were in his line of vision as he took a seat a few stools away from you. Your hood was covering most of your face, but once your back was to the rest of the pub, you pushed it back far enough for Seungcheol to notice how guarded you looked. Your eyes flitted around the tavern suspicious—subtle enough for no one else to take notice. No one but Seungcheol, apparently, but he had good reason to keep an eye on you. 

“On the house,” the owner offered, setting down pewter cups of rum in front of all of them before wagging a finger at Soonyoung, Seungkwan, and Seokmin. “You three drunkards better not dance on the tables again. Let me remind you that this is an inn.”

Soonyoung ran a bitten-down, yellowed fingernail against the grain. “But these beautiful mahogany tables wouldn’t be here if we hadn’t smashed the old ones in.”

“Consider it a favor,” Seokmin chimed in.

“An’ we stopped handin’ those out after ol’ Whitehead near tricked us into walkin’ the plank,” Soonyoung went on, “but you needn’t thank us, mate—no, no.”

“Aye. Did it out of the goodness of our hearts.” Seokmin flashed a crooked grin before looking over at Seungkwan, who had rum dripping from his chin. “Isn’t that right, Kwan?”

“I remember it clear as a foggy night.” Seungkwan hiccuped once, twice—(“That wouldn’t be clear at all,” you muttered under your breath)—and then pounded his fist against the wood before he continued in a drunken stupor, “Did it all for the betterment of this fine establishment!” 

Joshua, who suddenly looked like he had gone through several sleepless nights compared to his sunny demeanor minutes earlier, promptly ignored the three as they went back and forth with their running gag. 

Seungcheol’s interest wandered to the clusters of people at the tables behind them; there was a family who looked as though they had traveled a long way, one group who were progressively getting more and more drunk by the minute; and a man sitting by himself in the corner. 

“It seems business has been good,” Seungcheol pointed out.

“Sort of,” Joshua grumbled. “Bunch of no-good people have been coming in and bringing trouble with them… dragging people out and starting a scene.” 

“What sort of people?”

“I hear they call themselves the Templar Order.”

“Dragging people out? For what?” you spoke up, much to Seungcheol’s surprise, and you sat up a little straighter now that Joshua had your full attention. 

The innkeeper sighed. “No one can say for certain, but I believe they are in search of something. What that may be, I cannot tell, but they’ve just been turning out folks’ pockets and leaving after threatening them. A most peculiar group of thugs, no?” He leaned closer and lowered his voice to say, “I suspect that Yoon Jeonghan over there has something to do with them. All he seems to do is sit there all day long, and he hardly takes notice whenever ruckus breaks out in here.” 

Seungcheol turned his head to observe the dark-haired man in the corner. Jeonghan had his head down so that no one could clearly make out his face, but Seungcheol caught a glimpse of his eyes before he turned his attention back to Joshua. 

“But what’re you doing here, Seungcheol? Where are the rest of your men?” Joshua asked, leaning onto his forearms. “I thought I wouldn’t see you lot in Sevilla anytime soon.”

“There was a storm,” Seungcheol started gruffly. “None of my men were prepared for how cruel the tides would be.”

“A storm?” Joshua’s eyes were wide with alarm. “So your crew…”

“All dead—except for these three here. Only God knows why the Devil’s Domain spared us.”

(Soonyoung snorted. “She probably felt sick to her stomach after swallowing Whitehead.”

“Like eating rotten meat,” Seungkwan blubbered. The three of them seemed awfully remorseful about Whitehead’s death, but at the same time, they couldn’t stop joking about it.)

The corners of Joshua’s lips turned down. He was silent for a long time, like he was mentally going over each face and name he could remember from Seungcheol’s crew. The captain understood him very well for that was what he spent the first few hours of being conscious doing. He ran through every name in his head—every face, every memory, every laugh shared. Even his three crew members went silent at the mention of the storm, and the Seungcheol took the silence as an opportunity to tip his head back and down his alcohol so that the burn down his throat would distract him from his stinging eyes.

“I truly am sorry, Seungcheol,” Joshua finally said. He took a moment to take in the captain’s haggard appearance, from his hollowed cheekbones to his unkempt, knotted hair. “Let me get you something to eat. You all must be starving.” He turned to shout out orders to the head cook, who immediately got to chopping up vegetables for a stew. “You should wash up here, too, when you can.”

“We are grateful—really.”

“What do you suppose you will do now?”

“I need to find a ship so that I can sail back, but… for now”—he held up his cup and tipped it as a toast before chugging the contents down—“we drink and forget.”

“You are welcome to stay here for as long as you need until you can get yourself back up on your feet again.” 

“Thank you, Joshua.”

“You needn’t thank me. You’re just lucky you came here now; this place will be busy soon because of Semana Santa. Even the royal family is here.”

“Semana Santa?”

“Holy Week,” you answered in Joshua’s stead, although you wouldn’t meet Seungcheol’s eyes when you spoke. “It is a Catholic event that lasts the whole week. Nearly all of Sevilla set aside their commitments to celebrate.”

“Is that the reason why you have come here, Miss?” Joshua asked in his buttery voice. 

Your gaze flicked to the innkeeper’s before you responded, “Yes.”

Seungcheol had a feeling that your answer wasn't far off from the truth. 

Your request for your own room was granted, much to Seungcheol’s surprise. He hadn’t guaranteed you anything, but it was a stroke of luck that Joshua happened to have two open rooms at his inn. 

The room that the four pirates had to cram into was clearly only meant for one or two people to sleep in. This wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, though; Seungcheol had experienced far worse sleeping conditions in the past, and this was still far more comfortable than his private quarters on The Golden Corsair. Although the extra set of blankets that Joshua provided were paper-thin and the pillows felt like they had been stuffed with straw, Seungcheol was grateful for additional comfort. 

After his crew members nearly got on their knees and begged him to take the bed, Seungcheol dismissed the idea with a definitive shake of his head and settled into one of the two makeshift ones. Soonyoung and Seungkwan ended up on the bed instead, stiffly shoulder-to-shoulder until Soonyoung slung his leg around Seungkwan’s while Seungkwan reluctantly wrapped an arm around the pirate. 

As soon as his head hit the pillow, Seungcheol’s body responded immediately. It was as if he had forgotten what he had been through in the last few days until this moment. Sleep caught up to him almost immediately, and he drifted into a heavy slumber. 

Just before the first rays of sunlight crept into the window, Seungcheol was awoken by three loud bangs at the door. Soft groans echoed through the room as the others roused from their deep sleep. 

Seungcheol could hardly tell whether he was standing on his own two feet or not when he found himself at the door, fumbling with the doorknob. He couldn’t imagine Joshua waking them up so abruptly, especially at this time, so the pirate couldn’t help the exhausted sigh that escaped his lips when he opened the door to none other than you.

“A fine morning to you, too,” you retorted, looking Seungcheol up and down for a brief second. 

“Morning?” Soonyoung groused. “Us pirates require some daytime visibility before we consider it morning here.” 

Seungkwan let out a tired grumble while still rubbing the sleep from his face. “Assassin, would it be so very difficult to let us sleep until the sun comes out?”

Seungcheol held the door open wider for you when he noticed the hard look in your eyes, signaling that you wouldn’t budge. He supposed whatever you had to say was only to be uttered behind closed doors. 

You faced the four pirates and started, “The situation has escalated, so I must say this now. You told me that you would help me, so let me lay out our terms: We finish this mission, I help you find a ship to sail back to England, you give me back my amulet, and we go our separate ways. None of you will open your mouths about this arrangement—ever.”

Seokmin raised his hand. 

You raised a brow. “Yes?”

“How would you know whether we choose to open our mouths or not?” The question was presumably a joke, judging by the way he turned back to look at Soonyoung and snicker, but there was zero amusement in your eyes. 

“Well, if there is any suspicion of a threat, it will be swiftly eliminated. You will most likely find a blade shoved down your throat before you even think about opening your mouth. Understood?”

The color drained from Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan’s faces as they stupidly nodded along,

“I said we would help you,” Seungcheol said, folding his arms across his chest, “but you need to tell us what the bloody hell is going on first.”

“Something bad is about to happen here,” you said. “The Templars are planning a city-wide attack on the last day of Semana Santa. Domingo de Resurrección—the Resurrection of Christ. If we cannot stop them, everyone—and I mean everyone—is going to be forced into submission.”

“Templars?” Seungcheol narrowed his eyes. “You mean the people Joshua spoke of last night? The Templar Order? Who exactly are they?”

“The Templars are a group that believe true peace can only be achieved through their control. They intend on eliminating the freedom of the people by imposing their own rules. They want to control humanity as a whole.”

Soonyoung, whose previously mortified expression had hardened into a more serious one, now had creases lining his forehead. “How could they possibly do that?”

“They found our Codex pages,” you answered grimly, “and they are using them to find the Pieces of Eden—ancient devices from the First Civilization, Isu, that hold an immeasurable amount of power. They can be used to influence human behavior, attain great power, control the mind… and we think they are here because they found the Apple of Eden.”

Seungcheol frowned. “The Apple of Eden?”

“That artifact is what they plan to use to control the minds of the masses that will be here for Semana Santa soon. The Apple grants the wielder the ability to control human minds and ensure absolute obedience. If they get their hands on it before we do, then our fate is no longer in our own hands.”

“That… that is simply ridiculous. They cannot—”

“Believe it or not, they most certainly can. These Pieces of Eden contain unmeasurable power far beyond mere human capabilities.” 

“And these Code pages…”

“Codex pages,” you corrected. “They are ancient texts that contain Leonardo da Vinci’s greatest secrets, including the Pieces of Eden—what they do, how to use them, and even where they are. It was a grave mistake that they ever got in the wrong hands.”

“Da Vinci? The artist?”

Seokmin snapped his fingers. “The Last Supper.”

“Well, well, it seems we have a true patron of the arts among us,” Soonyoung mocked, nodding along as if he was greatly impressed.

“Artist, engineer, inventor—whichever you may call him,” you listed off. “I cannot reveal much, but he, too, refused to allow the Templar Order’s tyranny to persist.” 

The weight of the conversation seemed to settle on all of their shoulders. It was difficult for Seungcheol to wrap his head around all your talk about classified manuscripts and ancient artifacts. Although the four of them were visibly more awake, there was a feeling of dread pitted in their stomachs. If what you were saying was the truth, then Seungcheol wouldn’t even have a home to sail back to if the Templar Order got what they wanted. 

“So, where is this artifact?” the captain asked. “We must find it before they do, no?”

“That would be the… crux of the matter,” you muttered. “We need the Codex pages in order to do so, but I might have a lead: Yesterday, I was eavesdropping on the shopkeeper’s conversation with someone whom I suspected to be a Templar Knight. They were talking about where King Philip would be tonight.” You paused to shoot Seungcheol a cold glare. “Might I add, the shopkeeper you pulled me away from.”

“Oh.” Seungcheol blinked, feeling rather sheepish now. “Apologies.”

“So you weren’t stealing?” Soonyoung’s eyes were wide, looking between you and Seungcheol several times before flashing a sheepish grin. “Forgive our captain, will you? Thieving’s all we know.”

“I was trying to listen in, but he got suspicious and started a commotion,” you continued, huffing at the mere idea of excusing Seungcheol’s actions. “It is of no matter now. I still managed to find out where King Philip is going to be, and either the Apple of Eden is where he is, or…” 

Seungkwan looked wary. “Or?”

“Or they already have it and want to get close to His Majesty to use the artifact on him.”

Seungcheol let out a dry laugh. “So, assassin, you expect us to believe that a fruit is going to be responsible for controlling our minds?” With those words, his crewmates’ nervousness dissolved, and they let out a few chuckles. 

“It is not an actual apple, you blithering idiot,” you spat. “It’s… spherical, sort of like a dense metal ball, and it contains unmeasurable power. Do you know of Adam and Eve? The first humans of Genesis? They once used the Apple to wage war between the Isu and humans, so if it gets in the wrong hands, we are all doomed.”

The captain’s brows furrowed. He wasn’t sure how much of this he could fully believe, but you didn’t seem like you were lying. Either way, all he had to do was follow along until he had a ship to sail off on, so Seungcheol didn’t mind entertaining whatever this was for now.

“Do you have a plan, then? Do you know of King Philip’s whereabouts?” he asked you.

“There will be an opera performance tonight at the Alcázar. His Majesty will be in attendance, of course.”

“The Alcázar? And how exactly do you intend to get into the royal palace?”

There was a dangerous sparkle in your eyes. “You said thieving’s all you know?” 

The pirates were, unfortunately, consistent with their image; Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan were excellent at thieving, save for the times they started bickering in the middle of a heist. 

The extravagant fashion of the nobility in Sevilla were often handcrafted by the most skilled modistas in the city. Rich silks sewed into elegant gowns and fitted justaucorps lined their shops, and the seamstresses were busying themselves with a plethora of requests from high society. As it was Holy Sunday, business was bustling since Sevilla had processions going on all day long. The upper class were attending gatherings after Mass and cultural events were held throughout the city, so the modistas were kept busy in their shops.

Of course, neither you nor the pirates had enough pesos or doblóns to afford such luxuries, so Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan were tasked to rob three of the busiest workshops in the affluent districts. Seungcheol’s trust in them pulling this off was shaky, but you spent thirty minutes explaining exactly what they needed to bring back. 

It was a surprisingly successful loot; Seokmin brought back a midnight blue silk gown that was embroidered with glittering beads of pearl while Soonyoung returned with a velvet long coat of a similar shade. Of course, blue was decided beforehand to stay discreet, but no one had expected the colors to be so alike. Unfortunately, Seungkwan was chased out, but he managed to snag a sapphire necklace set in silver. 

“Cap’n,” Soonyoung marvelled, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye as he watched Seungcheol slide the black gloves over his hands, “you look like a sight for sore eyes.”

“Am I not always?”

“Since you are unarmed, I will answer that,” he said. “When we were out at sea for months on end, some days I mistook you to be a drowned rat.”

“Ah, you need not worry. That does not bother me, friend.” Seungcheol smiled good-naturedly. “I mistake you for that every day.”

The plan was not quite as simple as you made it out to be; you and Seungcheol were to dress the part of the nobility—enough to be let into the King’s palace without suspicion—and sneak into his study when the opportunity arose. Seungcheol wasn’t sure what exactly they were looking for, but he was confident that he could pull off the polished look of a nobleman. 

The men of the upper classes often wore powdered wigs to show off their wealth, but Seungcheol had to settle for grooming the unkempt, tangled mess of locks on his head. He soaked his hair in the wash basin until he could run his fingers through it without them getting stuck, and then after borrowing some pomade off Joshua, Seungcheol styled his hair back into a ponytail. A few curls fell onto his forehead, but as much as he tried to slick them back, they were too difficult to tame. 

He managed to shave his overgrown facial hair down to a stubble, although now the pirate couldn’t do much to hide his scar that ran down the upper half of his face. Still, he was undeniably more put together now. Hopefully enough to disguise himself amongst the elites of Sevilla. 

The sun was set to dip below the horizon when Seungcheol knocked at your door. He felt strange in his new getup, but when you opened the door to reveal a remarkably polished appearance—charcoal-lined eyes and rouge-tinted lips accompanied by your flowing dress—the captain suddenly felt like a mere sailor admiring a mermaid of the deep. 

The look he gave you surely wasn't affection but perhaps something a few degrees beyond basic interest.

“Ah,” you remarked, giving him a once-over and humming in approval. “You clean up well, Captain.”

His mouth felt too dry to respond, so Seungcheol simply gave you a polite nod and entered your room when you held the door open wider. You were a few inches taller because of your heels now, but the volume of your skirt was what really made you stand out. It was impossible to imagine how you looked before after he’d seen you like this. 

“I’m nearly ready,” you said, picking up the sapphire necklace and holding it to your neck. “Could I trouble you for some help? This is a bit difficult…”

After a pause, you cleared your throat and Seungcheol realized that he had been staring at the floorboards for far too long. 

He sucked in a breath. “Right. Could you move your hair?”

After taking the delicate jewels from your hands, Seungcheol waited for you to move your hair off the back of your neck so that he could fasten the chain around your neck. He moved so that he was standing right behind you, right where he could see the curve of your cheek and the way your chest rose and fell. Then, he moved the necklace around you and pulled the ends back to clasp them together. His fingers brushed against your skin as he did so, and although he felt like he was holding his breath the entire time, the task was successfully accomplished without Seungcheol staring at your nape for too long. 

“There,” he said in a quieter, deeper voice. 

You fixed the chain to position the gem at the center of your chest. “Shall we get going, then?” You walked toward the window and gestured for him to head out first.

“Surely, we are not to take the window as our exit?” He almost laughed at how inelegant it felt compared to how they were dressed. 

“It would be best that we’re not seen. I would rather not be questioned on how we got our hands on these clothes.”

“Very well.” Seungcheol pushed open the pane and gestured for you to go on ahead. “Ladies first.”

The Puerta de la Montería was the grand entrance to the Alcazár. The high-rise stone walls separated the ornate palace from the bustling city, and the Gate of the Hunt was flanked by two lion statues that appeared to guard the entryway. 

Seungcheol used to study architecture in his spare time. His aunt was a patron of the arts, and she gifted him several books on the art of construction and composition—guides to Baroque and Palladin design that Seungcheol spent nights flipping through and immersing himself in. He loved architecture for the same reason he loved art; they were both so intertwined in the way they echoed cultural shifts across time.

The course of history—the very passage of time—was something he could witness from the mast of his ship, even; it was in art, the world around him, and the everchanging architecture from the lands he traversed.

As they approached the entrance, he asked you, “Are we again pretending to be a married couple?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“As we did in the square,” Seungcheol pointed out as a smirk tugged at his lips. “Do you recall, mi corazón?”

The withering look on your face nearly made him snort.

“Unfortunately, I do remember,” you replied, “and, yes, it appears we have no other choice.”

You slowed your pace to follow Seungcheol’s lead, but he grabbed your wrist before you could fall behind. “No,” he insisted, “we walk together.” He let go of you once you were by his side again. 

“Fine.”

“And if we are to keep up this… charade,” he started again, “I must at least get your name.”

“Ah, I never gave you my name, have I?” 

Seungcheol had only thought of referring to you as “the assassin” until now, and the very idea of you having an actual name had completely slipped his mind. 

“You have not,” he answered. “Are you allowed to disclose that?”

“Of all the matters I have had to disclose thus far, my name is the least worrisome. It is of no significance nor am I very fond of it, but you may call me Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he echoed. “A lovely name—very fierce.” 

“Look at that tower over there. Is it not a fine sight?”

“Changing the subject, are you?”

You sneered. “Take the hint, will you?”

“Well, if a shift in conversation is what you desire, I could go on at length about the architecture here.”

He was only half-serious, assuming you would find the topic to be completely dull, but your eyes twinkled with interest. “Do go on.”

“This palace was once a fort called the Dar al-Imara,” he explained as you two passed through the stone archway, following behind the couple that were well ahead of them. After receiving a nod of acknowledgement from the guards, they were permitted to pass through the gatehouse. Seungcheol didn’t realize he had been so on edge until he felt like he could raise his head high again. “It was home to the Abbadid king at the time.”

You quirked a brow at him. “How do you know that?”

“I know more than you think—I travel, I read, I study. There is only so much the world can hide from someone.”

A pause, then you said, “I see now. To be frank, I thought you spoke in a way that was more akin to a professor than a pirate. The innkeeper spoke of you as a feared captain whose name struck terror across the seven seas, but you are quite unlike the pirates I have encountered. It is not for the better nor for the worse; you are simply… not the kind of man I expected you to be.”

Seungcheol couldn’t respond for a minute, and perhaps it was because you hit the nail on the head. He was in academia long before he had turned to a life of piracy, so he had never been able to quite let go of the way he articulated himself for most of his life. It had always gone unnoticed, though, so he hadn’t ever expected it to be brought up. Not from someone whose name he didn’t even know.

“Never mind that, though,” you added, seeing how reluctant the captain was to answer. 

The two of you were silent as you watched through the courtyard, quietly admiring the cypress trees that hung over the crystal pools. Silent chatter and the running water from the fountains filled his ears. Among the noblemen around him, Seungcheol felt like he was just playing dress-up even as he adorned himself in the finest silks and satins. 

“I do have a question,” you continued once more. “How did you recognize the mark on my amulet?”

You must have been referring to the assassin’s insignia that Seungcheol still wore around his neck, tucked inside his garments. It didn’t feel right to leave it at the tavern, but it was all the more dangerous if he was caught with it here. 

As for his answer, Seungcheol saw no reason to lie. 

“My aunt was once a pirate,” he said. “After she left that life behind to raise me, she only kept a few treasures to herself. That amulet with that particular engraving was one of them.”

A horrified look crossed your face. “Then she…” You didn’t finish, but the implication in your tone was clear enough to him.

“There was no blood spilled for it to land in her possession, if that was where your assumptions were going,” Seungcheol replied firmly. He remembered it as clear as day—the memory of his aunt kissing the amulet, believing her nephew to be asleep at the time. “It belonged to someone dear to her, otherwise she wouldn’t have safeguarded it.”

His response seemed to absolve your misunderstanding, but then your interest was captured by something else entirely. “Your aunt was a pirate?”

“She was,” Seungcheol said with a surge of pride filling his chest. “She pretended to be a man most of her life because of it, but they eventually accepted her as she was.”

“What happened to her?”

“The Royal Navy told her she would be pardoned for her crimes against the Crown so long as she joined their forces to take down Wukou ships that were targeting their merchants. After they got what they wanted, they got rid of her. Never saw her or her corpse again. Simple as that.”

“I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol met your gaze. “Are you now?”

“I am,” you insisted, and he swore he could see a hint of sympathy in your eyes. “She must have been a brave and honorable woman.”

“Never thought I would hear someone use the word honorable by a pirate’s name.” From an assassin, no less. Before you opened your mouth to protest, he continued, “I jest. Thank you for saying that—really. It means a lot to hear someone speak well of her.”

It must have been ages since Seungcheol spoke about his aunt openly. He loved her deeply, but it was a sore subject that he treaded carefully on. The last time he had been this open about his feelings, it was after having downed a bottle of whiskey on a particularly dreary night on The Golden Corsair. He had locked himself in the map room, too, so that no one would see him in such a fragile state.

“Do you have a plan on sneaking into the study, by chance?” he asked. “Or are we entering Hell?”

“I do not believe that is appropriate to say on Holy Monday.”

“I do not believe sneaking into the royal palace is very appropriate, either.”

You gave him a pointed look. “We did not sneak; they saw fit to let us enter. Now, hold your arm out for me when we go up these steps here.”

Seungcheol did as you told him to, and you placed your right arm over his left to make your way up the staircase to the Salón de Embajadores, or Hall of Ambassadors. He couldn’t help but notice how measured and graceful your pace was, while Seungcheol felt as though he was scrambling to match your stride as elegantly as possible. Yet, he couldn’t match how effortlessly you managed to carry yourself. 

The ceiling of intricate Mudéjar woodwork and geometric patterns caught Seungcheol’s eye first. The Hall of Ambassadors was certainly fit for a royal audience with how the grand stage was illuminated in the vast room. The rest of the venue was packed with velvet cushions for the guests’ seating, and there was a throne for King Philip V at the back wall. His seat was on an elevated platform—perfect for you and Seungcheol to keep close watch on him throughout the show. 

The king hadn’t yet arrived by the time the room was starting to fill up. Seungcheol wondered if he would make his grand entrance later on, and just as he lost himself in thoughts of how uncomfortable his clothes were, the audience rose to bow in the presence of the monarch. 

“It’s His Majesty,” Seungcheol mumbled, nudging your side with his elbow. His eagerness got the better of him and he wound up elbowing you far too aggressively. 

“Ow.” You shot him a venomous look and muttered under your breath, “Perhaps you have not been around many, but it is improper to jab a lady!”

“A lady? But are you not an—” 

For lack of better wording, Seungcheol decided to hold his tongue. He figured it was the wiser choice to not reveal your rather scandalous occupation in a public setting—the royal palace, no less. 

A reverent silence filled the room as His Majesty passed by the nobles and elites to make his way to the empty throne. Next to him, you stiffened. A chill went down the pirate’s spine when he made brief eye contact with the King, realizing he had forgotten to lower his eyes out of respect. 

His eyes… something wasn’t quite right about them.

With King Philip and his men now at the back of the room, Seungcheol saw this as the perfect opportunity to slip away. “Now is our chance,” he told you as he sat down in synchronization with the rest of the guests. 

“You cannot possibly be thinking about making our move now,” you returned in a low voice. “We must wait until the time is right. For now, we are spectators.”

Seungcheol couldn't help the frustrated sigh that escaped his lips.

It was a slip of the tongue, but he really couldn’t be bothered to sit through an entire show. On his ship, his men entertained the crew with jigs that any sailor could bellow at the top of their lungs. Not that Seungcheol had witnessed many opera performances in his life, but he wasn't too keen on sitting through hours of the grating sound in his ears. It must have been an acquired taste, one for the upper class, and Seungcheol simply hadn't developed an ear for such music. 

He imagined his reaction would earn a glare from you, or maybe even a stab wound in the gut. You would surely rattle on about the importance of your mission until Seungcheol’s ears bled (and all before the opera performance even started!), so he braced himself for your wrath. 

But then you giggled.

He couldn't believe his ears. Seungcheol thought he would be less intimidated if you pointed your blade at his throat instead.

“Your impatience is truly remarkable,” you said in a hushed voice. “You mean to tell me they made you captain?”

“Oh, you must hear of my adventures, mi corazón. There was no question that I would become captain.”

“I see your abysmal lack of subtlety was not a deciding factor. We are pretending to be part of this world, remember?”

His gaze dropped to where he could see a glint of steel at your wrist. It was something that would've been altered to match your measurements had you put in the request yourself, but since your dress was really adjusted for some other noblewoman (who was most likely very distressed about her missing gown right now), the sleeves were a size too big on you. 

“My lack of subtlety? Sweetheart”—Seungcheol moved closer so that he could push the sharp tip of your blade further up your arm—“you could do a better job yourself.”

This seemed to properly fluster you, and you huffed before fixing your sleeve and turning your attention back to the stage. 

“That was intentional,” you made sure to note under your breath.

“Oh, yes—certainly.”

“It was hardly visible.”

“If you insist.”

“Has anyone ever told you what a piece of work you are?”

“No,” the captain said. “I have received no such complaints. Rather, the number of women I have unknowingly charmed is quite troublesome. That must be my only shortcoming.” Noting the unimpressed look on your face, he smiled and lowered his voice to quote, “But, ‘what a piece of work is a man,’ no?”

You raised a brow. “Hamlet?”

“Oh? Have you seen it? I was lucky enough to watch it at the Theatre Royal in London a few years back. Had a business partner who—”

But you were no longer paying attention to him. Right as Seungcheol was about to explain how he got the tickets, you pressed a finger to his lips and hushed him. Normally, he would be baffled by such a bold move, but instead he followed your gaze to where King Philip was whispering orders to the palace guards stationed around him. The lights dimmed and the opera singer walked to the front of the stage, rousing applause and cheers from the audience, but Seungcheol had a strange feeling that the auditorium wasn’t safe. 

One by one, he noticed, the king’s palace guards stalked off to examine the rows of seats. 

“They cannot possibly be suspicious of us already,” Seungcheol whispered—more as a joke, initially—but his amusement dropped from his face when he added, “can they?”

“I’d rather not test our luck,” you replied, peering over your shoulder to scan the perimeter for any discreet exits. He felt your lips ghost the shell of his ear. “Stand up and hold your arm out for me. If anyone asks, I felt faint and you were simply accompanying me outside for fresh air.”

“That will draw attention.”

“Naturally. You must have noticed how flattering this gown is on me.”

Seungcheol paused. “I have, but—”

“Good, so we are in agreement, then?” you hissed through your teeth. “Stand up.”

“We were not spectators for very long, were we?” Seungcheol returned miserably before he stood up, straightening his back and extending his arm out to you. He had been the one dreading sitting through an opera performance, but he was starting to prefer the vocalist over the palace guards hunting them down.

Seungcheol owed their hasty escape to how dark the room was. The few attendees in their row were disgruntled by the movement, but they managed to leave through the exit as quietly as they entered. The palace was eerily vacant with everyone in the Hall of Ambassadors, and you were making a great effort to keep your wooden heels from clacking against the marble. 

“Follow me,” you said under your breath before dragging Seungcheol by the wrist. He allowed you to tug him down the hallway and to the stairwell. 

“What are you looking for?”

“His study.”

“Right now?” 

Seungcheol stood firmly in place so that you would stop pulling him along. However, you simply let go of him and headed up the steps on your own. He sighed deeply and followed after you. 

“Pray tell, what were you expecting? Did you think I was taking you for dinner and a show?”

Seungcheol, feeling his face grow warm, opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. “Hold on for a moment. We cannot possibly just barge in. This is risky.”

You stopped in your tracks and turned on Seungcheol in the middle of the stairwell. “I thought I made it clear that this would be dangerous. If you value your life so much, then leave me behind and run, but I will not be stopping here.”

With that, you bunched up your skirt in fistfuls and kept walking upstairs. For the first time in Seungcheol’s life, he felt like had so much more to lose than his life. He had already lost countless men, his ship, and his pride. All he had left were three members of his crew and his own resolution to make it back to England, to bring some closure and peace to the families of the deceased pirates. He thought that since he was punished to keep living, he would at least do one last thing for his men and make it back alive. 

But Captain Choi Seungcheol would never dare leave an ally behind to save his own skin. 

Pirates had long been generalized as ruffians who only sought to pillage and plunder. That may have rang true for some, but for pirates like Seungcheol, who lived off of the thrill of adventure, words like yours only left him with adrenaline pumping through his body. Perhaps he was itching to feel that exhilaration once again.

Nimble on his feet, he jogged to catch up with you, crossing two steps at a time. You hardly made any gesture to acknowledge that he decided against turning his back on you, but Seungcheol swore he caught a small smile on your face before you turned to scan the perimeter. 

The second floor seemed deserted, but there were so many doors that Seungcheol already felt discouraged at the prospect of finding the King’s study. He leaned against the frame of the arched window behind him, peering over his shoulder to catch sight of the palace guards prowling at the entrance. He supposed they had been alerted to be on the lookout. 

As much as Seungcheol tried to push it down to think about later, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering just how the King and his men even caught onto them. He looked up at the paintings that lined the walls, staring right at the portrait of King Philip V. The pirate felt like he was being watched the same way the Bourbon King’s dark eyes bore into his. 

That was a concern for later, though; the predicament at hand was enough to make the pirate’s head hurt. There were so many doors that Seungcheol couldn’t see how they could possibly find—

“There it is,” he heard you say, much to his bewilderment. 

“How were you able to find it so quickly?”

“Come, pirate.” 

“Captain,” Seungcheol corrected in a grumble as he followed you inside the study. He closed the door behind him as quietly as possible, fingertips twisting the doorknob as if it were glass. “I would much rather you call me by my name. There is something that irks me about your formalities, for some reason.”

“Very well, pirate.”

Seungcheol waited until your back was turned to roll his eyes at your stubborn attitude. He decided to change the topic, asking, “Say, what do those—er… code pages look like?”

“Codex pages, and I would not know. I’ve only heard of them.” 

“What?” He looked askance at you. “How in God’s name are we supposed to find them, then?”

You were currently sifting through the papers that you pulled out from the folding front of the King’s bureau. Seungcheol could feel all hope for the success of this mission slowly dwindle as you simply shrugged in response. 

“So,” he started when it got awfully quiet, “you mentioned you watched Hamlet? I had no idea there were theatre companies performing Shakespeare here. Lope de Vega has been quite a sensation in Sevilla, or so I’ve heard.”

“You sure have a great deal to say.” Your tone was flat, and although you turned your head to continue skimming through the papers, you answered, “I’ve seen it in Paris. My mother took me when I was younger.”

“Your mother must—”

“She is of no concern to you.”

A subject most delicate, was what Seungcheol gathered.

Then, you leapt to your feet with an excited gasp. “Seungcheol, look!” 

He knew very well that you would intentionally avoid using his name if he pointed it out, so Seungcheol stayed quiet. However, if he was more honest with himself, he would’ve admitted that his heart jumped because of how you called his name rather than whatever your discovery was.

“Is it the Codex pages?”

“No, but these are official plans for Domingo de Resurrección. This is written proof that they are using that sacred day for something wicked,” you told him in an urgent breath, crossing over to his side to hand him the papers. Seungcheol ran his finger down the page, frowning as he skimmed over various decrees about regulating personal freedoms. “This is what they will announce and everyone will fall under their control. As long as they have the Apple, the people are doomed.”

“See this?” you went on, mortified. “The Templar Order intends to strip everyone of their freedom. They want to create a world controlled only by them.”

Seungcheol could hardly believe his eyes. The fine print read that refusing to comply with the new set of laws was punishable by law; that personal freedoms to choose one's occupation and future spouse would be restricted; that education would be manipulated to ban readings that promoted individualism and free thought! He had always known not to trust those in power, but this was corruption rooted deeper than Seungcheol thought was possible. It went far past the soil and embedded itself in the bedrock. 

It infuriated him beyond belief. Made his gut roil with hot acid. 

His aunt died because she was a pirate—died at the filthy hands of royal scum—and Seungcheol was never able to avenge her. It was almost laughable that he thought he could ever do anything about it, and now they would be able to cover up their dirty work entirely. 

And they were planning to censor the very knowledge from books? That was right—a human who couldn’t speak freely would end up fighting desperately to express themselves somehow. The Templar needed to control the very thoughts and beliefs of the people, too. Limiting the opinions and perspectives from certain readings would certainly inflict a controlled worldview upon everyone. 

The entire scheme was preposterous. It went against everything Seungcheol stood for, and he just felt wronged to lose so much in so little time. How could he possibly stand by and allow this to happen?

“You… you are certain of this, correct?” he asked, almost in a single breath. “Can the Apple truly manipulate minds like that?”

“It has been done before—many times over many years. It will start here, and it will spread across nations. The Templar’s reign will become ceaseless.”

His hands shook a little. He had to keep himself from gripping the sides of the pages too hard. If Seungcheol even lost a fraction of the self-restraint he was using right now, he would end up crumpling the papers and tearing them to shreds. 

“It truly is much more pleasant when you are oblivious to it,” you continued in a sort of wistful tone, a mirthless smile on your lips. “You cannot stop a man consumed by greed; if he wants power, he will do anything for it.” 

“What is the use of throwing away the world for power? When you come to realize that all has been lost in the pursuit of your own desires, then what remains?” After a beat, Seungcheol added, “What I mean to say is, they cannot get away with this.”

You gave him an uneasy look before thumbing through the stack of papers, pulling one of them out to show Seungcheol. It didn’t seem to be an official document, but it was a written outline of the events that would take place on Easter Sunday. 

“It says here that they plan on using La Giralda for their announcement,” you pointed out. “I want to put an end to this, too, but we only have days.”

The pirate shook his head and scoffed. He, of course, had studied the history behind the Giralda Tower after his first visit to Sevilla. The great bell tower was positioned right next to the Sevilla Cathedral. Back when the cathedral was known as the Almohad mosque, it originally functioned as a minaret where a muezzin would call for prayer five times a day. How ironic that they were planning to manipulate everyone into submission at the same location where Christianity was imposed in order to erase Islamic tradition and culture. 

“Incredible,” Seungcheol spat, “and I thought they could not possibly go any lower.” He bit down on his lower lip (far too harshly for he tasted blood almost immediately) while his brows furrowed. “Is it apparent when one is under the Apple’s influence? Visibly, I mean.”

“I am not entirely certain. It’s said there is a certain gleam in their eyes, as if they glow,” you confirmed before your expression darkened. “Why do you ask?”

“Earlier, when the King walked into the room,” he started. “I had a strange feeling when our eyes met…”

“Congratulations. It must be love at first sight.”

He fixed you with a glare. “Enough of that. I cannot explain it, but there was something off about the look in his eyes. It was exactly like they were glowing, like he had been possessed.”

“That must mean the Apple is already in their hands,” you said, and although you spoke calmly, there was undeniable horror in your words, “and the person controlling His Majesty is here.”

“Then we must find them!”

Although he spoke with a sense of unwavering determination, Seungcheol’s eyes unfocused and drifted to the window panel behind you. It was strangely perfect timing, but the distraction in the corner of his vision happened to be someone who looked undeniably dodgy. The pirate observed the odd person sneaking around the palace grounds with knitted brows as you spoke. 

“We must, but it could be anyone.”

“Or it could be that suspicious gentleman lurking around the building,” he pointed out, jerking his thumb out the triple-pane window in the direction of the mysterious figure donning a white tunic that fell to their knees. The Cross of the Templar Order was branded right across their chest in a brilliant red.

You whirled around to peer out the window. Sure enough, your eyes grew as big as saucers at the sight, and Seungcheol had to grab your arm before you turned to hurry out the door. He had caught the figure just in time, and whoever it was appeared to be slipping out of the palace grounds undetected. 

“That mark on his robes—it’s a Templar Knight,” you breathed out, attempting to wriggle your arm out of the pirate’s grip.

“Wait a moment,” Seungcheol said.

“But we must get down there before he leaves!” 

“First, we need to put the papers back where they belong,” he reminded, letting go of you to walk over to the desk. He then froze at the sight of the King’s bureau. “Where did you come across them again?”

“It was right—ah, hold on, allow me.”

And perhaps it was because Seungcheol was so overwhelmed by the load of information about the King’s plans that he hardly noticed the palace guard opening the door to the study. By the time they were gawking at the man from behind the King’s desk, the pirate knew this would end badly. He only hoped that there weren’t reinforcements following suit, but judging by the shock across the man’s face, it appeared that he just so happened to stumble across them while he was doing his rounds.

A scornful look clouded the guard’s face, his sharp gaze moving to the papers in your hand. “What business do you have here?” Not quite a question that waited for an answer, but a warning of what was to come. 

“Er…” Seungcheol paused. The situation they were in was not ideal; he had no weapons to defend himself, the assassin wasn’t doing much to feign innocence, and the palace guard before them was built like a beast. “We were trying to find the water closet,” he tried, careful. “I suppose this is not it.”

“Intruders,” the guard spat, guttural and dark, unsheathing his sword from its scabbard. “You have committed the grave crime of lèse-majestè, for which you must answer to His Majesty the King.” 

“I do believe we just did far more than simply insult the King.” Seungcheol said, just barely loud enough for you to hear. “Is it really that serious of an offense?” 

“It was merely contrived by men to spare them from criticism,” you replied in a dismissive, flat tone. 

Seungcheol circled around the desk, starting, “Listen, we just—”

Before he could get any other words out, the guard raised his blade and swung in their direction, managing to land a blow on a vase and shatter it. He dodged just in time to narrowly avoid the attack, but he needed to disarm the guard before things got out of hand. Someone would surely hear if they didn't silence him quickly. Judging by the lack of reinforcements, Seungcheol was assured that the guard hadn't called for assistance yet. 

He took the wind-up for the next swing as an opportunity to tackle the guard, driving his shoulder against the man’s gut to shove him to the floor. If Seungcheol had his cutlass, this battle would’ve been decided already, but he was now struggling to pry the sword from the guard’s fingers. 

The guard kneed Seungcheol in the side of his ribs, which the pirate returned the favor by swinging his arm to deliver a heavy punch to the man’s jaw. His sides ached, but the adrenaline was keeping the pirate from keeling over. His attacker let out a ragged breath, panting and wriggling desperately to free himself. When his lips parted, presumably to call for help, Seungcheol struck him right in the mouth. 

He was so caught up in pummeling the guard into unconsciousness that he just barely noticed the blade pressing against his midsection. Seungcheol caught the guard’s wrist just before the sharp tip was about to be plunged into his flesh. 

He then felt a searing pain in skull, soon realizing that the guard had bashed his forehead against his and pinned him to the ground. Seungcheol was hardly able to make out anything but scattered bursts of light behind his eyes that wasn’t quite enough to stop him from grabbing ahold of the guard’s wrist again, stopping him from driving his sword into the pirate’s chest. 

They struggled to fend each other off, gritting their teeth and mustering all of their strength to overpower the other. Seungcheol’s palms were being cleaved into by the sharp edge of the blade, but he had no choice but to grip the blade to keep himself from being slain. The tip of the sword pressed deeper and deeper against his sternum, daring to break skin and bleed crimson. Seungcheol felt his pulse in his neck jump dangerously as he tried to keep the guard from spearing through his chest. 

He couldn’t just die here. This couldn’t all be for nothing.

But just when he thought it was the end of the line for him, the guard stilled. The sword slipped from his hands so helplessly, as if all the strength had seeped through his body at once, and the blade slid to the ground with a clatter. Seungcheol watched him teeter, stagger, and then draw in a shaky breath that sounded more like a death rattle in his ears. He coughed once, spraying blood against Seungcheol’s face, and then he fully collapsed on top of the pirate. 

Dazed, he pushed the heavy corpse off his body, letting the guard’s body slowly bleed out on the floor of the study. The guard’s bleary eyes stared at the heavens above, unblinking. A burning sensation radiated from Seungcheol’s palms, white-hot anguish that nearly overwhelmed his senses. 

At the same time, you came into view above him. Seungcheol watched as you used the guard’s uniform to wipe off the remaining blood from your blade. Then, you flicked your wrist, triggering some mechanism that allowed for the weapon to retract back into your sleeve. 

“Now that he has been dealt with, shall we be on our way?” 

He thoughtlessly wiped the fresh blood that stained his face, although it didn’t do much considering his hands were still bloodied, too. “Ah, yes,” he responded. “Er, thank you—for saving me.”

“We were compromised. There was no other choice,” you said as you spied from the corner of the window. “The Templar Knight is gone, but he might not have gotten far. We must leave before someone discovers us with… the body.”

“Agreed.”

Seungcheol wasn’t quite sure whether it was because he was drunk off the combat or whether he was still disoriented from a near-death experience, but he grabbed the King’s papers with blood-stained hands and crumpled them into his pockets before they snuck out again. 

Unfortunately, the Templar Knight was long gone.

It was a pity, but Seungcheol had to bring you to see reason first, telling you that there was no point in chasing someone who left no trail. He understood your urgency, though. The King would soon discover that his papers were missing and one of his guards had been killed, and then there would be a bounty on both of your heads soon (if they ever managed to figure out the perpetrators). 

There were five days left until Easter Sunday. They needed to find a way to stop the Templar Order by then. 

As Seungcheol cradled his glass of rum at The Sleeping Bull, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way King Philip’s eyes glowed. It was something so subtle, like it could almost be mistaken as a trick of the light, but there was nothing in the room that could have reflected such a color. 

There were a lot more guests occupying the rooms in the tavern now. Joshua was right when he said that more people would be coming in for Semana Santa. Earlier, when Seungcheol snuck back in through the window of your room, he had to wait an unbearably long time for the hallway to clear out so that he could hurry into his room. Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung nearly yelled at the way their captain barged in without warning. 

He haphazardly stripped off his clothes, bunching them up and tossing them in a heap under the bed. His hands were still imbrued with blood, and although Seungcheol was no stranger to the sight, he couldn’t stop thinking about how the situation could’ve gone differently. Perhaps they wouldn’t have made it back if it wasn’t just the one guard that walked in.

It was pitch-black outside now—brilliant hues of sunset lost to a shroud of darkness. Sevilla was still in its rainy season, so the rainstorm that plagued the night wouldn’t stop pounding in his ears. He could hear claps of thunder every now and then, and surprisingly, Seungcheol never felt more comfortable. There had been countless storms they braved on The Golden Corsair, but the captain quite liked the feeling of being soaked to the bone and vulnerable under the sky. 

While he was lost in his own head, Seungcheol looked up to see Joshua setting down a small pouch in front of him, tossing the rag he had just used to wipe down the bar over his shoulder. “Your, er… companion requested this earlier—the pretty one. I thought it best to hand it off to you.”

“Are you making me do your work, you bastard?”

“You expect me to deliver this to your lover at such an hour?”

“Lover?” He barked out a laugh. “Do not jest.”

The innkeeper’s gentle eyes widened in a scandalized fashion. “Is she not? Then, could she be a lady of the night? A secret paramour, perhaps?”

Seungcheol snorted. “Not a chance. I suppose you could call us… partners.” It was silent for a beat, then he asked, “Do you assume every woman’s occupation has to do with serving a man?”

“Of course not. I just know you are not the type to entertain someone without reason.”

A wicked grin stretched across the captain’s face. “We have been friends for many years now, Joshua, and yet you think so lowly of me? But, I must confess, me and her are of mutual benefit to each other. I think I shall keep her near for the time being.”

Of course, the actual reason had to do with matters that he could not explain to Joshua just yet. He trusted the man deeply—after all, Joshua Hong was the man who put up with his pirate crew for years and risked his life to shelter them from authorities—but whatever was going on seemed far too complicated to get the innkeeper involved. For his friend’s own safety, Seungcheol decided he would keep this to himself.

“She is quite a mysterious one,” Joshua ruminated, “perhaps as mysterious as the King himself.”

Oh?

“The King?”

“Have you heard of the whispers concerning his children?”

Seungcheol kept a calm and even tone as he spoke, “Oh, yes, I caught word of his son passing away recently. Smallpox, correct?”

Joshua’s mouth set in a grim line. “Indeed. It truly is such a shame.”

“Eight alive and three dead—still good odds, I reckon.”

“And one is said to be in hiding, or so it is rumored,” Joshua added. “Word has it that his second wife loathes the children of his first. The story goes that the King, so fond of his first daughter, took it upon himself to hide her away, fearing the Queen’s fury might one day fall upon her.”

Seungcheol let out a snort before taking a swig of his rum. “Now, that is a proper mess of family affairs, if I ever heard one.”

“Curious, is it not? Five children sired by his first wife—three dead, one in hiding, and only one son left unharmed. There is something most peculiar about Her Majesty.”

No matter what Joshua told him, however, Seungcheol couldn’t find it in himself to care about the state of the King’s family matters. A bad person was a bad person—point blank. If this rumor really was true, though, then perhaps that meant the Queen was also someone worth looking into. After all, there had been whispers of her control over court politics due to her husband’s declining mental stability. 

“Yet,” Joshua went on to say, “at the very least, His Majesty has not made a mess of Spain like the Habsburgs did.”

“Not much remains to be spoiled, I daresay. What does the King do for the poor, for education, or for the economy?” Perhaps his words were especially charged because of the information they found in His Majesty’s study earlier, but Seungcheol was sure he was saying what needed to be said. “Look at how splendid the processions for Semana Santa are! People from vast lands could come to see them, yet the monarchy does nothing to share such marvels with the world.”

The innkeeper nodded in understanding. “And what a pity it is. There must be order, if we are to make progress. Without reformation, we shall remain stagnant.” He leaned back and sighed. “Yet, thus far, Sevilla has much to improve.”

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by one of the hostlers, Lee Chan, who came rushing in for Joshua’s assistance. Apparently, the horses were panicking because of the storm and they needed extra hands. Seungcheol was left to finish the rest of his drink in silence, quietly observing the guests who were gorging down their dinners. 

Interestingly enough, the same man from the previous night was sitting quietly in the corner. 

Yoon Jeonghan. 

After some minutes of pondering on what the mysterious stranger’s intentions were (which led him nowhere), Seungcheol grabbed the pouch that Joshua had left and retired to his bedchamber. Seokmin was sound asleep, his snores filling the room, while Soonyoung and Seungkwan were playing cards in the corner.

He would bring the pouch to you in the morning, he decided. It was far too late for him to be knocking at a lady’s door, especially at an inn, of all places.

Once Seungcheol laid down, he tried getting some shut-eye. He wanted to do nothing but succumb to his exhaustion, but his mind was restless; all that raced through his head was you, the King, and the Templar Order. Tonight was a lot colder—a lot more dreary, too. Maybe it was because of the uneven flooring, or maybe it was because the flickering light from the candle couldn’t quite reach him, but Seungcheol found it difficult to get comfortable and allow himself to succumb to his exhaustion. 

The only comfort he had was having his crewmates in the same room as him. It was something he would never admit out loud, oh no, but he had gotten far too used to having company. Back on his ship, whenever Seungcheol got restless at night, he could easily find a few of the men on his ship to keep him company. Since they operated on a watch system, there would always be pirates awake to attend to navigating the ship or keeping watch, or the occasional ones who were off-shift that the captain could drink and sing sea shanties with. 

Seungcheol begrudgingly came to the conclusion that he couldn’t quite cope with being alone. That was perhaps why he set off as soon as he lost his aunt. He would’ve taken walking off the plank and plunging into unforgiving, icy waters rather than having no one.

The draft from the window wasn’t helping his spiraling thoughts. Seungcheol felt the chill down to his bones and each time he exhaled, curls of silvery vapor dissipated into the air. When he got up to try slamming it shut, the window pane would stay in place for a couple seconds before flying open again. 

“The latch is faulty, Cap’n,” Soonyoung said. “We meant to mention it to Joshua in the morning.”

He grabbed the edges of the curtains. “Let me just draw the—”

Seungcheol went completely still when he noticed a figure standing several yards away, cloaked by the darkness. It was the same man from earlier: Yoon Jeonghan. The captain couldn't tell what the strange man was up to, but Jeonghan was just quietly observing the perimeter as he stood on the cobblestone pathway. Perhaps he was just lost in his thoughts as he was passing by, but this late at night? 

And he was suspiciously close to the window closest to his—your window. 

“What is it?” Soonyoung asked after Seungcheol closed the curtains in a flash. “Has the curtain torn, too?”

“There is a man right outside her window,” he said.

“Whose window?”

“The assassin’s.” The captain started making his way to the door. “I must warn her.”

Seungkwan grimaced. “Warn the assassin? You should be warning the man.”  

Seungcheol initially let the words pass over his head as a quip, but after knocking on your door and watching it creak open, the pirate captain started to question who the real danger was when your hand flew out from the shadows to grab him by the front of the shirt. In a flash, you swung Seungcheol around and pushed him up against the wall, kicking your door closed with the heel of your foot.

The sharp tip of a blade was pressing against the side of his neck, right near his jugular vein. The only move Seungcheol dared to make was to open his eyes, meeting your fierce glare. 

“What the hell are you doing outside my door?” you demanded, your breath hot against his skin.

He really should’ve told Yoon Jeonghan to be careful instead.

“Warning you about the person outside your window,” he returned with a grumble. “Mind putting the blade down, sweetheart?” 

With a flick of your wrist, the blade retracted back into your sleeve—the same fashion you wielded the weapon earlier. Now that Seungcheol could process it properly, it was rather marvellous; he had never seen such a weapon. The contraption allowed your blade to remain unseen with a simple flourish of your arm. So this was the stealth of an assassin. 

Still, he was slightly unsettled by the fact that you kept your blade under your bedgown. 

“I noticed him not long ago. I drew the curtains before he could steal a look.” You pulled back, leaving Seungcheol to readjust his shirt around his frame. “What are you telling me for, anyway? Must I go take care of him?” 

He realized that “taking care” of Jeonghan most likely meant something tragic and irreversible. 

“Er—no, don’t act rashly.”

Seungcheol’s eyes hardened. This was clearly a dangerous situation for you, and he didn’t think he would be able to get a good night’s sleep knowing that he left you with someone suspicious loitering outside your window. But, for one, the pirate valued his life enough to not sleep in the same room as an assassin. Secondly, it was highly improper for him to share a room with an unmarried woman—wait, what if you were married? Choi Seungcheol, you poor excuse of a man, it would be improper either way!—not that the pirate cared much about social expectations or his reputation, anyway. 

“How about I stay here for the night?” he proposed.

You gawked at him. “I beg your pardon? Stay here?” 

“I feel uneasy about that man outside. It is best you do not stay here alone, lest you wake up to trouble.”

“But that is… that is completely out of the question—and indecent.”

“Need I remind you that I am a pirate and you are an assassin? I cannot say either of us are very proper to begin with.”

“Regardless, I can take care of myself perfectly fine.” 

“I never said you could not.”

You gave him a strange stare, as if you were searching for a sign that you could trust Seungcheol. He was positive that you wouldn’t put your faith in someone you had just met on such unconventional terms. After all, he was getting a ship out of this before you two would go your separate ways. There was nothing warm in this partnership—not in the slightest. 

He noticed you swallow thickly. “What about your men?” you asked. 

“You want one of them to keep watch here instead? I shall fetch—”

“No, I meant that someone needs to protect them, too.”

Perhaps he sounded a touch too defensive, but Seungcheol couldn’t help letting out a huff and saying, “It would be in your best interest not to look down upon my men. To you, they may not seem like much, but they are a force to be reckoned with in battle. You ought to have seen how Soonyoung impaled two pirates with a—what? What is so amusing?”

A ghost of a smile tugged at your lips. “Forgive me, I was unable to hold myself back.” Before Seungcheol could get irritated at your words, you continued, “You seem to be rather fond of your men. I simply found it charming that you appear to see them as your own kin.”

The captain drew in a breath to calm his beating heart. 

“What I believe is that the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” he replied softly, so quiet that he could hear you swallow thickly. 

“Well, I cannot speak on that matter, but I share your sentiment,” you said with a dismissive wave. The only light in the room came from the soft glow of the oil lamp beside your bed, and Seungcheol noticed there was no warmth in your gaze. “As for what you said earlier, should you decide to stay the night, my bed is strictly off-limits.”

Seungcheol’s face felt hot. That, of course, wasn’t what he meant when he proposed staying in your room, but to even be misunderstood was embarrassing. He had several trysts in the past that never left him with shame burning his cheeks, but now he felt hot over a simple command that was never meant to rile him up in the first place. 

“I will be taking the floor, of course,” he said. “I do not have any intentions of sleeping in the same bed as an assassin.”

You scoffed, your words charged with offense when you spat, “And I do not have any intentions of sleeping in the same bed as a pirate.”

“Pray tell, why do you speak of pirates with such disdain?” 

“It was you who spoke unfavorably of me first!”

“Nay, but I distinctly remember our first meeting—”

“Meeting? You speak of the time when you so rudely dragged me into that alleyway?” 

“—‘I have never been very fond of pirates.’ Those were your words, no?”

“Possibly. What of it?” 

“Well then, what is your issue with us? Do you take us all for criminals?”

Your jaw clenched. “You are indeed a criminal, but I don’t fault you for that, for I, too, am guilty of the same. What it is you fight for, I do not know, but what I do believe is that violence is sometimes a necessary evil. Though the law may deem me a criminal, my intentions were never born of malice.”

“I have no intentions of hurting anyone without reason, either.”

“Then you will find that you and I are the same. I do not do this because I want to hurt people; I do this because I want to protect the freedom of the people—our freedom.”

“Yet, in order to do so, you are bound to hide who you are.”

Your eyes glazed over for a few lingering seconds. “That is right,” you responded in a softer, sadder voice, “and it is my only regret.”

When Seungcheol tried to put himself in your shoes, he figured that assassins were doomed to live a life of solitude. He was always surrounded by the warmth and familiarity of his crew, which sealed the wound that ripped open his heart after his aunt’s murder, so it was difficult for the captain to think about what he would be like if he didn’t have people around him. 

If Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan hadn’t survived that shipwreck, then Seungcheol surely would have lost his mind. He lived a life that relied on support from his comrades, and you sacrificed forming relationships because of your occupation. 

Still, even if Seungcheol didn’t quite see the full scope of your situation, he still believed everyone had a chance to carve their own path, no matter the decisions they made. He once chased a dream, too, when he gave up academia to become a pirate and carry on his aunt’s legacy. 

“As for the reason why I confessed my lack of fondness for pirates,” you went on, “it is because I envy you.”

He stilled. “Envy?”

What could possibly be there to envy? Seungcheol wondered if you had a few screws loose because no one in their right mind would want to covet a life where one had to constantly be on the run, never able to settle down and raise a family. You, on the other hand, kept your identity a secret, so you still had the chance to turn your life around. 

It just made no sense to him, but then Seungcheol thought of how you kept rattling on about freedom this, freedom that, how you reacted to his aunt, and the gears in his head began to turn.

He spoke with an assurance that left no room for doubt. “You want to be a pirate.”

“A fool’s dream that I never grew out of,” you confirmed. “I shall admit, my upbringing was one of hardship and disappointment. I longed for adventure and… a sense of camaraderie that I was never able to have.” When the pirate took too long to react, you mumbled, “Ridicule me all you want.”

“Why would I ever ridicule you for that?”

His words left the room quieter than it was before, the tension so palpable that it nearly suffocated the both of them. 

You hesitated before trying, “It is unbecoming of a woman—”

“There is no such thing,” he cut in fiercely. “If you think for one moment that I, of all people, believe such ridiculous notions, then you have me sorted out all wrong. I gave up my own academic endeavors to chase my aunt’s dreams—a woman with the same aspirations as yourself. If you believe it to be a fool’s dream, then we must be birds of a feather.”

Your lips parted ever-so-slightly, and Seungcheol reached around his neck to pull off the iron chain with the amulet, thrusting it into your hands. 

“This is more than a ship,” he said. “I refuse to be a puppet to those who threaten my freedom.”

After a pause, your face broke into a small smile that somehow illuminated the room brighter than the candlelight, rivaling even the glow of the moon, and Seungcheol knew that whatever stirred in his chest was something he had never felt before.

As expected, the ground was cold and hard on his sore back. Even the hammocks back on his ships were cozier. Even the extra cushioning he had in the room with his crewmates provided far more comfort than the thin sheet you gave him.

The previous night, after Seungcheol informed his men that he would be staying in your room, they nearly fainted on the spot. Whether it was because they feared for his life or thought it was an indecent arrangement, the captain truly could not tell. (He was leaning toward the former, judging by how they sighed in relief to see him alive and well the next morning.) Before he left his room to head to yours, he pulled the edge of the curtain back to peer out the window again, but not a soul was in sight. Somehow, that was all the more unsettling. 

He wound up handing you the pouch from Joshua, too, only to find out that it was a sewing kit meant to stitch up the gashes on his palms. The very thought of a needle and thread pulling together his flesh made Seungcheol wish he never gave it to you.

However, the fact that you requested it specifically for his wounds made the pirate feel oddly meek. You discovered that Seungcheol had hastily wrapped rags around his palms to hide the injury, but the cloth was soaked with blood and the cut would surely be infected if he took no further action. He ended up allowing you to take his hand in yours and sew the laceration together until it stopped bleeding profusely. 

On the bright side, the stinging pain helped him fall asleep almost immediately.

The processions for Semanta Santa carried on during Martes Santo, the streets alive with teachings and parables being shared. There had already been several in the morning, some of which were silent and some of which were accompanied by saetas sung in a capella. Joshua told Seungcheol over breakfast that Holy Tuesday was full of religious floats that were designed to look as if they had come right out of the Bible, and although the pirate didn’t consider himself to be extremely devout, he was still amazed by the amount of detail that went into the celebration. 

In exchange for their stay (that was completely free of charge, was what Joshua emphasized when he approached his dear friend), the innkeeper requested that Seungcheol help Chan in the stables. They were short on hands due to the influx of guests, so Seungcheol enlisted Seungkwan’s help to keep him company. 

Soonyoung and Seokmin, on the other hand, were to follow you. The captain was slightly nervous that you would ask too much of them, especially with how you impulsively took him into the King’s study the previous day, but he was more at ease when you stated that you three were simply looking for anyone that could be a Templar Knight. The one person you wanted to look into was Jeonghan, which you only concluded in the morning, thus you were slightly disappointed that you didn’t confront him last night.

However, the search for Jeonghan was fruitless. You, Seokmin, and Soonyoung ended up returning just before nightfall with dismal expressions, and Seungcheol and Seungkwan even more so because of all the horse dung they had to clean up. 

The next day bore similar results. The only thing remotely eventful was watching people play out The Passion—plays that depicted the events leading up to the death of Jesus Christ. Seungcheol was admittedly feeling much better about spending the day with you instead of being around horses, but no matter how long he strode across town and ducked into alleyways, there were no signs of any Templar Knights around. It was as if they were never even there, and he almost wondered if you and him had hallucinated the one knight. 

On Holy Thursday, Jesus was betrayed.

“I see no way forward from this,” you said with a resigned sigh after yet another round of scouting out suspicious activity. 

“But, Miss, you mentioned that this Templar Order would use the Apple come Sunday. The tower by the cathedral, aye?” Seokmin supplied. “If the worst comes to worst, we know where to find ‘em on that day.”

“That is true.” You let out a shuddering sigh, your shoulders still tense. You had been worrying at your lower lip all day—not that Seungcheol had been paying any extra attention to that portion of your face. “I am only concerned that they might carry out their plans sooner since they must have discovered by now that we stole the drafts of their schemes.”

We, as in Seungcheol. He started to wonder if he acted too impulsively. The papers were still stuffed in the pockets of the coat that he had strewn under the bed. Perhaps taking them was too obvious, but Seungcheol figured that the papers were safer in his hands than theirs. 

“We will put a stop to this,” the captain assured. 

With deep sincerity in his eyes, Soonyoung held up his hand and professed, “I solemnly swear it on Seungkwan’s life.”

Seungkwan scowled. “Swear on your own life, ye bilge rat!”

“I would rather not risk mine.”

Yet, the unease wouldn’t leave your brow. Once you noticed how fatigued the pirates looked, you said, “Return to the inn and get something to eat, you lot. I shall return after I’ve had a further look around.”

Seungkwan frowned. “Positive? Will you be all right to return on your own?”

Seungcheol found himself turning to you and saying, “I will accompany you,” before he even fully thought of the words in his head. 

Thus, he wound up walking the same path around town for the umpteenth time with you by his side. His energy was only sustained by the torrijas he had scarfed down earlier and the smell of orange blossoms that lingered in the air. 

“Say,” you told him, starting up a new conversation with a hint of embarrassment while they were passing by a group of children that were running about, “I am afraid I only vaguely remember the name of your ship. What was she called again?”

“The Golden Corsair,” Seungcheol answered proudly. “She was a real beauty.”

“What made you choose that name?”

“My aunt’s vessel was called the Golden Fortune. I took the first part of it… and I was eager to prove myself as a pirate in those days. I added ‘Corsair’ to the end for that reason.” He offered a fleeting smirk that was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Why do you ask? Were you envisioning yourself as part of my crew?”

“Not quite,” you said, and even though your hood concealed your face, he could hear the smile in your voice. They were past the square now, crossing a bridge that led them away from the lively crowd. “My dream was to one day command a ship of my own. I wished to name her ‘The Crown’s Revenge,’ but I suppose it is too bold of a name.”

“The Crown’s Revenge,” Seungcheol echoed to see how the words weighed on his tongue. “It suits you. I quite like it.” Then, with utmost caution, he pointed out, “Although, that is one way to put a target on your back.”

You laughed—a sound that he never really heard from you. It sounded rather nice in Seungcheol’s ears, much nicer than any sea shanty he’d listened to.

“If I am to make a statement, it must be bold, no?” 

He eyed you warily. “You must have a death wish with the way you—”

“Seungcheol.”

“—recklessly. I simply cannot help but worry about—”

“Seungcheol,” you interjected in an urgent whisper once again.

The pirate followed your line of sight down the dusty road they were walking on, and he shuddered in the humid breeze.

A Templar Knight stood right across from them, ever so still, and despite the fact that they couldn’t see a face behind the helmet, Seungcheol was almost certain it was the same one they saw at the Alcazár. Yet, oddly enough, the knight didn’t engage, simply observing them for a short while before turning to walk off. 

That was when Seungcheol noticed that inside his gloved hand was a golden sphere, emanating a faint glow.

He didn’t even have to look at you to figure out what it was.

Without another thought, he barked out a command for the knight to stop, running forward to catch up to him. He was sure he would regret such a hasty decision, considering he was weaponless, but before Seungcheol even found himself in arm’s length of grabbing the back of the knight, the bastard unsheathed his long sword and turned to swing at the pirate. 

Seungcheol dodged, missing the strike by a hair and stumbling over his feet. Once he regained his balance, however, the knight rammed the pommel of his sword straight into Seungcheol’s temple, causing his vision to momentarily go black with pinpricks of white light scattering across his vision. His teeth rang from the impact. His head throbbed in slow waves that nearly felt unbearable, and searing pain gathered right behind his eyes. 

He heard another shout, and when his blurred vision started to return with his rapid blinks, he saw you and the Templar Knight locked in combat. The pirate grumbled and scrambled to his feet. He used his foot to break off a wooden post that stuck out of the ground. The wood cracked and splintered off, leaving a sharp enough edge to attack the knight with. 

The pirate then staggered forward to bash his newly-fashioned weapon over the knight’s helmet. The wood split down the middle once it made contact with the metal. The Templar Knight grunted and held the side of his head, giving you an opening to attack again. 

In a fluid motion, your leg swept under the enemy, the ball of your foot striking the bone right above his ankle and knocking him off-kilter. Even when the knight attempted to remain upright, though, his knee buckled and his leg crumpled under him. 

The Apple of Eden slipped out of the knight’s hold, rolling across the ground until Seungcheol lunged to grab ahold of it.

But just when he thought they had the upper hand, the Templar Knight retaliated with a second card up his sleeve. You let out a choked cry when the knight twisted your arm—the one concealing your weapon—and he spun you around to hold you at knifepoint with your own blade. You struggled to free yourself, but the assailant pulled out a dagger with his other hand and held it to your gut. 

You couldn’t move an inch without either one of the blades pressing into you; it was either your own blade that would slice your throat, or the knight’s dagger that would plunge into your abdomen. 

When you freed one hand to fight him off, the Templar Knight slipped his dagger back into his tunic and used his free hand to choke you instead. You gasped and kicked at the knight’s shins in a desperate attempt to be released, but his grip was unrelenting. 

The Templar Knight kept staring ahead, and the pirate didn’t need to see his face or hear his voice to understand what the knight’s message was; it was either the Apple or you. 

Amidst your struggle for air, Seungcheol made out your lips framing a word that he suddenly wished he could not comprehend: Run.

Honestly, the decision he wanted to make was clear to him, but you were telling him to do the exact opposite. This could be their only chance to retrieve the artifact from the enemy. This could be their only chance to put an end to the calamity that was yet to happen. Yet, even though Seungcheol had the opportunity to do the right thing, he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to give you up. 

He scanned the perimeter. When he looked closely, there were various other Templar Knights hiding behind walls and crates, waiting for their cue to attack, like a predator stalking its prey. This wouldn’t end even if Seungcheol ran; the knights would hunt him down until they were able to pry the artifact from his cold, dead fingers. They were outnumbered—and hopeless.

He could run. He wasn’t sure how far he would get, but maybe if he ran fast enough, he could lose them.

“Please,” you begged out loud this time, your voice no louder than a croak, swallowing hard when the sharp edge of the blade pressed harder against your skin. “Go.”

Choi Seungcheol would do the right thing.

Choi Seungcheol would do the right thing.

The selfish pirate then realized that it was idiotic of him to think that he could ever be a hero. A man like him, who acted out of his best interests, couldn’t possibly save everyone. No, he could only think of himself first. 

So, with bated breath, Seungcheol paused before handing over the Apple of Eden to the knight.

The Templar Knight released you and shoved you to the ground just before your eyes were about to roll to the back of your head. You were unmoving for a moment before Seungcheol heard you gulping lungfuls of air. The knight took the Apple, looked between you and Seungcheol, and then turned around without another word. The pirate could only watch helplessly as the other knights in hiding retreated, too. 

He lowered himself to the ground to help you up. You refused his hand and got to your feet on your own, scowling as you did. There was something vicious about the way you glared at him, cold and unforgiving. 

“We lost the Apple,” you rasped out in disbelief, and then you turned to look at Seungcheol with clear disdain. Your shout bounced off the walls when you yelled, “You lost us the Apple!”

“There were others,” he said. “He was going to kill you.”

“Do you understand what you have just cost us?”

“What I understand is that I saved your life,” he got out through gritted teeth. “If I did not let him take the Apple, you would be dead!”

“Then you should have let him! There is absolutely nothing more important than that artifact being in the right hands, Seungcheol. Surely, you must know that!” 

“I do, but not at the cost of your own life.”

“Even at the cost of my own life,” you muttered darkly, “even if I am to meet the same fate as my mother.”

“Well, I refuse. I will not choose to let you die.”

“I am not giving you an option to choose me or the Apple. I am telling you right now that under any circumstance, you choose the Apple.”

He scoffed, bristled. “I really do not want to have this conversation right now. I cannot believe you are even saying this.”

“Well, I cannot believe you! The Apple was in our hands!” 

Something inside him burst with hot, fiery rage, sweeping through him in an icy wash, and he turned on you. “Do you really hold such low value for your own life? Say I sacrificed you for it, say I abandoned you and ran off with the Apple—what then? What will I do with it? You yourself said that the artifact cannot ever go in the wrong hands, so what makes you think that I would do any good with it?”

You swallowed hard, the hesitation clear on your face. You pulled off your hood so that you could look Seungcheol in the eye, and he had never seen you struck with such agony until now.

“Because I trust you.”

Seungcheol’s heart stuttered in his chest before he regained his composure. “Then I must apologize because I do not regret my decision one bit. Even if I had a second chance, I would choose you over the Apple again.” 

“I cannot… I cannot understand you one bit.���

He narrowed his eyes. “I thought I made myself clear. What is it you cannot understand?”

You were shaking now—whether it was because of the vulnerability of their argument or how you were seething, Seungcheol couldn’t tell. On the surface, it must have seemed like such an absurd argument; two people heatedly confessing how much they cared for each other, yet their outrage kept them from truly seeing that. 

“In that moment,” he started once more, “if it were me instead of you, would you choose to let me die or would you choose to save me?”

You could only stare at him in silence, almost statue-like if it weren’t for your bottom lip twitching in the slightest. The sky darkened with dark grey clouds rolling in front of the setting sun; there would be no brilliant splash of color across the sky for today’s sunset. 

“Even as an assassin, when you murder in cold blood for a cause, you still cannot give me a straight answer to this simple question,” he continued in a low voice. “Tell me, Y/N, would you choose me or the artifact?” Seungcheol waited for a few moments to pass before he said, “If you feel as I do, then I sincerely hope you never feel the harrowing ache of facing the decision that I had to make back there.” 

You and Seungcheol did not speak for the rest of the evening, not when you walked back to The Sleeping Bull, not when you ate dinner, and not when you headed to your respective bedchambers. Even when his men tried to press him for answers, he couldn’t bring himself to recount what happened because he knew it would just make him fume again.

Despite his exasperation, though, one thing had become more clear than ever: You had become too precious of an existence to Choi Seungcheol.

Seungcheol was still quite vexed the next day. It bled into his routine, too; he stabbed his meat with his fork far too harshly, he grumbled incoherently when he tried to dismiss his men’s constant questions about what happened, and he nearly broke the doorknob from how aggressive he was being. He assumed he would feel better in the morning, but when he discovered that you had slipped out of your room before dawn, the pirate was overcome with a bout of anxiousness. 

Moreover, his behavior was rather unmannerly for Good Friday. 

Joshua was especially worried when he saw Seungcheol in the morning. He even patted his head, which was an inane thing for an adult man to do to another adult man, who also happened to be one of the most fearsome pirates of the seven seas. In spite of that, the head pat did feel rather nice, he had to admit.

Most fearsome pirate, my arse, Seungcheol thought bitterly. I’m losing my damned head over a woman, and I dare call myself fearsome.

Since Joshua immediately picked up on Seungcheol’s bad mood, he let the captain off the hook when it came to work that needed to be done around the tavern. Instead, Seokmin, Soonyoung, and Seungkwan had to pick up the slack for him. The three men begrudgingly followed Joshua into the kitchen to get to washing dishes and cleaning the floor. 

Seungcheol had enough of loitering about, so he set out to look for you. To be honest, he wasn’t keen on talking to you, but he had been worrying about your disappearance all morning to the point where it was eating at him. After the stunt you pulled yesterday, he needed to find you before he damn near lost his mind.

He ended up walking around town for hours until he stumbled upon you—by total coincidence, no less. Seungcheol cut across a field to take a shortcut when he spotted you (well, he more so recognized you by your hooded cloak) at a graveyard, kneeling down on the grass.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he called. 

Startled, you nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. Seungcheol suddenly wished he hadn’t asked such a stupid question; it was Viernes Santo, for Christ’s sake, and you had already opened up to him about your dead mother. 

Your eyes were sharp. “How were you able to find me?” 

“Mere coincidence,” he answered. Seungcheol looked down to see that you had made a cross out of sticks, and although it looked small and flimsy, you were earnestly praying to it. He started to kneel down next to you. “Is this for your mother?”

There was a pile of stones supporting the twig that acted as the base for the cross. Seungcheol found a stray pebble beside his leg and gently placed it among the other rocks. 

“No,” you said with your head still low and your eyes shut in prayer, “it is for your aunt.”

“What?” His voice came out in more of a strangled breath than an actual, coherent sound. Seungcheol felt like the wind had just been punched out of his chest, and he could hardly breathe when he looked at you. “What did you just say?”

“Today is about honoring the deceased. You said you were unable to see your aunt’s body, so I assumed you were not able to lay her to rest or make a grave for her.” 

Seungcheol fell silent. The only sounds he could hear was the wind whistling through the tree branches and the blackbird that chattered softly in the distance. 

You made sure to add, “If I overstepped, I apologize. I simply thought it was a shame for a woman of such power to be denied a proper burial.”

“No,” he said, louder than he expected it to sound. Damn it all, Choi Seungcheol had braved storms and battle that not even the strongest of the Guardia Real could face, and here he was, about to cry over a gesture unlike any other. He hadn’t even thought to do something like this for his aunt. “No, Y/N, it is just…” After a few moments of floundering, Seungcheol came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t be able to find the words to express how he felt right now, so he settled for saying, “Thank you.”

“Well, go on and pray, then. I am sure your aunt would find comfort in hearing that you are alive and well.”

Seungcheol clasped his hands together and, for the first time in years, he prayed. 

There were years of stories that he needed to catch his aunt up on. He thought of all the good memories, all the battles won, all the friends he made, and he bottled it all up to send to Heaven. Seungcheol never quite understood what a connection to God meant, but with his head lowered and his lips framing a silent prayer, he felt as though an invisible string was keeping him connected to the skies above. 

Once he finished his soundless prayer and noticed that you were also done, the pirate asked, “What about your mother?”

“She is here,” you replied with a smile, “and, fortunately, she is very loved. I am sure she can do with my attention being elsewhere for now.”

“I want to pray for her, too,” he said. “Can I meet her?”

Your expression faltered, a visible tremor running through your body. 

“Then promise me something.”

“What is it?”

“Promise me you will not look at me any differently as you do now.”

“Why would I?”

You didn’t answer, giving him a wilting look instead.

The two of you stood up, and Seungcheol followed you to the far back of the graveyard. Right in the middle was a grand headstone, standing out from the rest, with several bouquets lining the base of the grave. Ornate patterns were carved into the stone, depicting figures which Seungcheol assumed to be her with her husband and children.

Maria Luisa Gabriella of Savoy. 

The King’s first wife. 

For a moment, Seungcheol thought you were pulling his leg, which really wasn’t a funny thing to do at a graveyard. However, when he saw the solemn look in your eyes, he quickly realized that this was all very real, yet it was difficult to even process. 

You were the hidden princess that Joshua was talking about. You were the first daughter that King Philip V concealed from his second wife.

“I do not remember much, honestly,” you started. “I remember her, of course—oh, I still cannot forget the way she sang to me, or the way she ran her hands through my hair—but, everything else—her death, my father’s mental afflictions, my step-mother’s harshness—it is all a bit blurry.”

Horrified, Seungcheol thought back to all the times he had insulted the Crown in front of you. All those times you simply let him call them such vile names, and you had been a princess this entire time. Come to think of it, that must have been why you knew exactly where the King’s study was; you had lived in the damn castle yourself. 

The Crown’s Revenge. It all made sense.

“After my father remarried and Her Majesty became my step-mother”—you spoke of her with venom in your tone—“he had one of his guards escort me from the castle in the dead of night—all the way to France. I lived with a new family who took little liking to me. They were of humble means; I suppose this was to ensure that my name would never resurface. They cared little for my preference, so I kept to myself. When I came of age and could hold my own, I left that household and never once looked back.”

It was exactly the way Joshua recounted, but it was just impossible for Seungcheol to wrap his head around the idea of you being the lost princess. 

Then, you pulled off your hood, tugging down the neckline to show your intricate insignia that Seungcheol recognized in a heartbeat, and as soon as he did, there was no room for any of this to be a lie. The insignia was made of a gold chain lain with intertwined Burgundian firestones, its pendant being a golden fleece that sparkled under the sunlight. No matter how much he racked his brain, there was no other way such an heirloom could be in your possession without alerting the city of a great theft.

It was the Distinguished Order of the Golden Fleece, given only to members of the royal family. The only reason Seungcheol could recognize it was because he had seen it resting on the chests of monarchs, and now it was on your neck. 

“My father gave it to me before he sent me away,” you told him. “Should I ever need to find my way back to him, I suppose… though I do not desire such a thing.”

He only realized you were crying when he heard you sniffle. 

Seungcheol wasn't sure what came over him, but he found himself pulling you into his arms so that your face was buried in his chest. You didn't resist nor did you pull away, so he wrapped his arms around your waist and kept you close. 

He pulled back just enough to cup your cheeks with his large hands, guiding your face to look up at him. “Choose whichever path you want; I will walk right beside you, no matter where it leads.” 

Shakily, you raised your hand to place it over his, and your expression melted into the same longing that was drawn across Seungcheol’s face. At this moment, he came to realize that this was probably the first time he was able to look into your eyes for so long, allowing himself to drown in their depths. He had seen stars in the night sky that were dimmer than the ones in your eyes. Seungcheol swore he could kiss you right then and there, but he didn't. 

In the middle of the graveyard, with blackbirds singing and the smell of orange blossoms lingering in the air, the captain held you in a tight embrace until your tears stopped. 

Afterward, when the sky was painted with an array of bright hues, you and Seungcheol set up graves for the rest of his crew lost to the shipwreck. He sat with them until the sun dipped below the horizon.

That night, Choi Seungcheol was restless. 

As he laid on your floor that night—far from your bed where the flickering light from the candle couldn’t quite reach him, not even if he stretched out his fingers—the emotion stirring in his chest, thick and soupy, was maddening. Every trace of longing he had felt, every shard of affection that dug itself deeper into his heart, became so all-consuming that he could not pinpoint any other feeling but pure, unadulterated desire.

Seungcheol had to get it out of him, even if it meant breaking open his ribcage to rip out the very organ responsible for this feeling. Bury those bothersome emotions before he could give name to them. 

For the past few nights, he succumbed to his exhaustion within minutes of his head hitting the ground. As a matter of fact, the pirate hardly waited to make sure you were safely in bed before heading to bed, which raised the question of what the bloody hell was the point of him sleeping there? Still, you didn’t ask, his men didn’t ask, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to say anything. 

Tonight, however, the two of you hardly spoke, and their tension, albeit not being acted upon, was charged with electricity. Seungcheol craned his neck to check if you were asleep, but from the way you were positioned, he couldn’t really tell. 

But just when he was about to give up and go to bed, you called out quietly, “Seungcheol?” And then, as if you were almost certain he wouldn’t answer, you hesitantly added, “Are you still awake?”

He cleared his throat. “I am.”

The two of you slipped into silence once again, with part of Seungcheol waiting for you to say something and the other half wondering why you even called out his name in the first place. It wasn’t comfortable silence; the air was dense with unspoken feelings, sticky and clinging to him like sweat-drenched fabric. 

To yearn for someone deeply, enough to keep a part of them with you—Seungcheol could start to understand how his aunt felt when she kept the assassin’s amulet with her all those years. But it wasn’t just a part of you he wanted, it was all of you. In this moment, he wanted to hold you in his arms and never let you go. In fact, he was afraid that, if given the chance, he would completely lose himself in you. 

Right when he was about to speak up again, you finally broke the ice.

“It would have served no purpose,” you said, turning to face him and clarifying, “running from that Templar Knight. There was nothing we could have done.”

He propped himself up on his elbow. “Finally seeing it now, are you?”

“Even if you were to run, they would have surely caught up to you.”

“Yes.”

“Even if you were fast enough, there were far too many of them.”

“Yes.” Seungcheol found himself sitting up properly now. “I should also mention that I was without weaponry. I had to use a mere piece of wood.”

“That is not my fault,” you said. “You ought to have taken the weapon off that palace guard.”

“At the time, I was not giving thought to taking a weapon off his lifeless body,” he grumbled. 

You two lapsed into momentary silence again before you ordered, “Come here.”

“Pardon?”

“Come over here. I cannot see your face when you speak.”

“But I was not speaking.”

You released an irritated sigh, rubbing your brow with two fingers. “Just come here, pirate.”

With a grunt, Seungcheol pulled himself to his feet and made his way over to your bed. He took careful steps, as if he was sure you would tell him to turn back at any time, but you seemed much calmer than he felt. Perhaps your intentions weren’t in tune with where his twisted mind was going. 

“Sit,” you told him, and Seungcheol took a seat at the edge of the cot. “Give me your hands.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Were you always so forward?”

“Give me your hands.”

Scoffing, Seungcheol let you take his hands in yours, turning them over so that his palms were up. He watched you as you carefully undid the wraps on his hands to look at the stitched-up wound. Now, his flesh looked as if it was pulling itself together, forming a pink scar where the stitches held. The discomfort didn’t quite bother him and he didn’t exactly need you to replace the cloth for him, but who was he to complain when you were so gently asking to hold his hands?

She was not very kind, he reminded himself. Nor was she asking. 

Seeing you before him, however, was quite the sight to behold.

“You must attend to this daily, lest it becomes infected,” you said.

“Y/N.”

“Wash it thoroughly—”

“Y/N.”

“—and use a clean cloth—what is it?”

“I think there is something wrong with me.”

Your eyes widened in alarm, fear swimming in glossy pupils, and you gripped his hands tighter. “What? What is it, Seungcheol? Do you feel unwell?”

“Not quite,” he said. “I cannot stop thinking of that moment when that Templar Knight forced me to choose between you and the Apple.”

“You had no choice, Seungcheol,” you said. “It does us no good to keep dwelling on such matters. We cannot change the past.”

“It plagues me,” he told you with agony drawing his brows together. “Humanity, as we know it, could fall under complete submission; yet, in the face of that, I believe my mind was already set.”

“Stop thinking about it.”

“From the moment he laid his hands upon you, I knew what I was going to do.” 

“Seungcheol, enough.”

He slipped his hands from your grasp so that he could hold yours instead, running his thumb across your knuckles, one by one. Seungcheol tried to focus on keeping the tension concentrated within him completely concealed, but it melted off his frame when his dark eyes met yours. 

“No matter how much I think about it,” he murmured, “there was no doubt I was going to choose you over the world.”

You drew in a breath. 

The flame on the wick flickered, its shadow cast across the wall. Seungcheol’s heart pounded frantically in his ears, and he begged for any sort of reaction to reassure him that you weren’t about to pretend that he wasn’t sitting right before you. He was fully expecting for his words to infuriate you, or perhaps you would deflect the conversation by telling him to get some rest, but what you replied with was something he never would have anticipated. 

“I shall not hold it against you. I, too, cannot say with certainty that I would have allowed something to happen to you, either.”

At first, there was silence, and then it happened faster than Seungcheol could think, before he even realized he had already wet his lips and dropped his gaze to your lips. He closed the distance, kissed you so lightly that he was nearly unsatisfied, and then pulled away before the kiss could escalate into something else entirely.

“I apologize,” he got out in a rush. “I was simply—”

“Enough with your apologies already.”

This time, you reached over and pressed your lips to his. 

It was soft. So soft that Seungcheol was sure this feeling would plague him for nights on end. He could feel your tenacity in the way you kissed him, but there was something meek about it, too. 

Something between a groan and a gasp was caught in Seungcheol’s throat as his hand found the small of your back, running his finger down the notches of your spine. The way he needed you, it was almost primal. Their kiss was a quiet hunger that could not be satisfied, and their motions began to lose their subtlety once he slipped his tongue past your parted lips. The pirate couldn’t get enough as his hands roamed your body, as yours gripped his hair, and as they began to tug each other’s clothes off senselessly. 

“I thought about this—all day—racked my head all night—” Seungcheol murmured, his words broken up by the kisses he started leaving down your jaw. “I needed to have you like this.” He let his lips drag down the column of your neck, inhaling sharply until you shuddered. He laved the tender spot with his tongue before sucking on it. “I cannot stop thinking about you. It drives me mad.”

“Seungcheol,” you gasped out, and oh, how the way you called out his name burned in his head like eternal damnation. 

He was all but ripping your clothes off, pulling them off your body without a care. You did the same, tugging at his shirt and undoing his pants hastily so that Seungcheol only had to kick them off his ankles. He ran his hand down your bare arms when he realized that you were missing the contraption.

“Do you no longer sleep with it? Your hidden blade?” he asked, leveling his gaze. 

You shook your head, and Seungcheol was overcome with the urge to kiss you again. His lips latched on to your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses across your skin as he continued to undress you. Once the garments were strewn aside, he had to catch his breath upon seeing you completely bare in the dim, orange light. 

Choi Seungcheol, hardened by years of battle and strife, was now utterly weak at the sight of your naked body.

Good God. You were a treasure like no other. 

He aimlessly traced your hip bone with his finger, moving lower and lower until his hand was at the apex of your legs. 

“May I?” he asked softly despite being seconds away from snapping completely.

You drew in an unsteady breath. “Yes.”

He grabbed both of your ankles and lifted them so that they were draped over his broad shoulders. Seungcheol wondered how long it would take him to map out your body in perfect detail, figuring out where exactly he needed to touch and kiss you to rouse such wonderful sounds from you.

A tremor ran through your thighs when he skimmed a finger across your engorged clit, and he smirked at how sensitive you had gotten already. As he pressed messy kisses to your neck, he moved two fingers in tight circles around your clit until you were whimpering for more. 

He then paused to bring his fingers to his lips, maintaining eye contact with you as he wetted them with his tongue, and then he slipped one finger inside your slit so slowly in order to watch your face crumple as he fingered you. He wanted to commit this to memory, to forever be haunted by the look of pure desire on your face.

After Seungcheol slipped another finger past your folds, he started pumping them at a steady rhythm, although he held your body with his other hand like it was fragile glass. He felt a little winded by your eagerness, each moan driving him closer and closer to the brink of madness, and just as he felt that you were about to orgasm, he pulled his fingers out of you. 

The mewl that escaped your throat made his blood rush to his cock. Seungcheol pressed a sweet kiss to your lips as an apology. 

“I want to taste you, mi corazón,” he whispered. He grabbed your hand and pressed more kisses to your palm as you whined for more. “Will you allow me?”

“Have me—please,” you breathed out, “but we must be quiet, Seungcheol.”

His lip curved into a smirk. “Ah, right. Had I not known any better, I might have assumed you took pleasure in being heard.”

“That is simply not true,” you tried, unable to look him in the eye as you said it. 

“I do not blame you. You have a most pleasing voice, particularly when you cried out—”

“Seungcheol.”

“No need to be modest, Y/N,” he crooned, “just allow me to take care of you.”

With a huff, you watched as his eyes flitted to your cunt, and then he lowered himself so that his head was situated between your legs. He pressed a surprisingly kiss to your cunt, grinning when you crooned in response. Pushing apart your thighs, Seungcheol experimentally rolled his tongue across your clit, and once he was satisfied with your reaction, he flattened his tongue and licked one long stripe along your folds. The moan that he got in return was a melody in his ears, and he couldn’t stop plunging his tongue between your slit to hear you sing again. 

Choi Seungcheol had been starved. 

He ate you out with precision, burying his face into your cunt and gripping your thighs tight as they wrapped around his face. Seungcheol was painfully hard himself, grinding against the bed as he devoured you for some friction that would relieve his ache. 

He wasn’t sure how long he had been lost in you, only that the way you chanted his name like a broken mantra was spurring him to keep going, but a particularly languid curl of his tongue had you shaking with pleasure right under him. He lapped at your folds throughout your orgasm, keeping your hips pinned down as you arched your back. 

In a lustful stupor, Seungcheol moved to slant his lips against yours again.

The back of your neck was slick with sweat when he grabbed it, but Seungcheol was more focused on how heavenly you tasted. He shamelessly grinded his hips against you, chasing the pleasure that he so desired. 

“Seungcheol,” you panted out after breaking for air, and you immediately lost your senses again as the pirate started leaving kisses on the swell of your breasts, then your nipples. “You bastard, won’t you just take me already?”

“Filthy words for a lady.”

You rolled your eyes. “This lady keeps a weapon beneath her bed, and she may well use it on you if you do not act swiftly.”

Seungcheol laughed. He would have to do some self-reflection later because it was rather strange that your threats only turned him on more. Still, there were more important matters at hand; one of them was how longed for you so deeply that it was almost painful. 

He lined up his stiff cock at your entrance, teasing your folds. With bated breath, Seungcheol held the side of your face and looked you in the eye as he pushed himself inside you. He moved his hand to silence the cry that nearly ripped from your throat, but he made sure to go slow enough for you to adjust. At his size, he needed to approach this carefully. 

Initially, Seungcheol’s motions were slow and torturous despite his fierce need to have you as he wanted. Admittedly, he was restraining himself, allowing you to adjust to how he fit so perfectly inside you, how your bodies connected like they were molded for each other. Advance, hold, fall back—he thrusted inside you at different angles, different speeds, assessing which one would rouse a bigger reaction from you. 

After some trials, however, he found a proper rhythm that you could keep up with. Seungcheol wiped the tears that streamed down your cheeks and left kisses in their wake instead. 

Through his muzzy haze of lust, he growled against your neck. “Y/N.” Although he called out your name with a sort of soft reverence, the sharp snaps of his hips were unyielding. 

Heat unfurled inside him as he pounded into you, and it was difficult enough that you had to feel so good wrapped around him and your voice kept stuttering with each thrust. Seungcheol almost found it unfair that you were so perfect for him. When you dug your nails into his back, blubbering about how close you were, his hands slid to hold your face and press your foreheads together. 

“Come for me, mi corazón,” he murmured against your lips. 

Your mouth fell open, but your orgasm crashed over you before any words could come out. Instead, your moan was the most beautiful sound that he had ever heard. In the haze of his pleasure, though, his hips bucked out of rhythm a few times before he was drowning in euphoria, cumming right as your walls clenched around his cock. Seungcheol did his best to fuck you through your orgasm with his sore muscle, helping you ride out your high for as long as possible, and then he pulled out once you were spent. The very motion made the both of you shiver.

The room was quiet now. Only the sounds of heavy breathing filled the space as Seungcheol pushed loose strands of your hair out of your face. 

Neither of you said anything, but it was clear where your feelings laid. Even if you acted like this night hadn’t happened the next morning, Seungcheol would tell you how he felt all over again until he got the point across. 

But he was sure that you wouldn’t pretend because when Seungcheol laid back down on the bed, you curled up next to him and buried your face in his chest. 

Ah, thought the pirate, this is the treasure I have been searching for my entire life.

Daylight poured in through the window, the leaves from the citrus tree outside painting dapples of sun against the wall. Seungcheol was ready to breathe in the smell of orange blossoms and hold you close until you roused from your slumber, but you wound up jolting awake from the sound of banging against the door.

Seungcheol practically jumped to his feet to pull on his clothes as fast as he could. You did the same, using the blanket to cover your chest as you reached for your garments that the pirate flung away from the bed. 

Soonyoung’s voice was loud and clear amidst the sporadic knocking. “Cap’n! Y/N! Open up, it’s us!”  

“One moment!” he yelled back, flustered. The unrelenting passion from last night came back in a flash of memories, and Seungcheol couldn’t stop looking back at you as he recollected the way your legs felt wrapped around his hips. 

Once you two were decent, Seungcheol hastily opened the door with an unenthusiastic look drawn across his face. His sailors had a penchant for choosing the worst possible times to get his attention, and one of those times was right now. However, once the captain laid eyes upon Yoon Jeonghan, who was scowling from under his hood, he immediately realized the gravity of the situation. He ushered them in quickly and closed the door before anyone else in the tavern noticed what was going on.

“Release him already,” commanded Seungcheol, who was wondering why Jeonghan was required to be held in place by three men; Soonyoung and Seokmin pinned his arms down his sides while Seungkwan had a hand clamped over his mouth. It looked like a rather unconventional embrace that neither party found comfortable. 

“Are you mad?” Jeonghan’s words dripped with scorn as he backed up from the five of them. He readjusted his hood so that his face was concealed properly before asking, “What business could you possibly have with me, pray tell, that necessitates surrounding and accosting me in a public bathhouse?”

The three men were met with awfully scandalized looks from you and Seungcheol. 

“We were clothed!” Seokmin tried, frantically. “We gave him a chance to listen, but the lunatic tried stabbing us!” 

“That could have marked the eighth time Seungkwan has been stabbed,” Soonyoung said, gesturing to the pirate who was nodding along solemnly. “Consider how he feels.”

Jeonghan, however, remained unimpressed. “Be grateful that was all I did. Had I thought you were an actual threat, I would have gouged out your eyeballs back there.”

“Putting… that matter aside,” Seungcheol started, hesitating before turning to face Jeonghan directly, “I have wanted to speak with you.” He spared you a quick glance. “We both have, actually.”

Rattled, Jeonghan straightened up. “Me? Whatever you wish to—”

“You are an assassin, too, are you not?” you blurted out. 

Seungcheol and his men exchanged appalled looks from behind you. Neither of them said anything but simply backed away to show that they had no intentions of asking the question you raised. Really, at this rate, they were doing a better job to mask your identity than you were. 

Moreover, Yoon Jeonghan already suspected the five of them were mad for basically abducting him, and now whatever you were spewing was making the lot of you look even worse. 

Jeonghan returned your question with an even stare, void of emotion. Just when Seungcheol thought your lack of subtlety couldn’t get any worse, you pulled the amulet with the assassin’s insignia off your neck and thrust it in the man’s direction. 

“A Hidden One,” he echoed. “So, you must be here for the same reason as I am, then,” Jeonghan, much to their surprise, said with traces of amusement in his tone. “This little exploit of yours surely contravenes the Creed, no?”

“No,” you replied. “I have not betrayed the Brotherhood.”

“An assassin must never compromise the Brotherhood,” Jeonghan recited in a dark voice. 

“I have not. I can promise you that my alliance with these pirates is trustworthy.”

“Then, where did they send you from?”

“France, but I came here out of my own accord.” You pointed your blade in his direction. That was right; only Seungcheol knew of your personal ties to this mission. “Now tell us where you came from.”

“Easy now.” Jeonghan held up his hands in surrender, a grimace on his face. “Syria.”

(“Terrible assassins, these two,” Seungkwan muttered. “No one practices proper anonymity these days.”

Soonyoung hummed in agreement. “Must run in their brotherhood.”)

Jeonghan pulled off his hood, revealing his dark hair that he kept tied back, and you slowly lowered your weapon. “How long have you known of my occupation?” 

“I had my suspicions. I believed you to either be a Templar Knight or an assassin. Yet, were you a knight, you would not take kindly to seeing us right now,” you explained. “Seungcheol and I were attacked by a group of Templar Knights a few days ago. We had been attempting to track you down due to my hunch, but you were imperceptible—just like an assassin.” You then asked, “Are you aware of what is unfolding in Sevilla?”

“I am indeed. The Templar Order intends to bring everyone here under their command tomorrow. If you value your safety, I advise you all to leave the city without delay.”

“We will not,” Seungcheol spoke up. “We will see this to the end. I have already put my life on the line for this.”

“There is no time,” Jeonghan said. “After tomorrow, everyone will be under their control.”

“They have the Apple of Eden!” you blurted out, your tone bordering on desperation. Appalled, the man fixed you with an unsettled look. “We only wish to know what you know.”

Jeonghan eyed them all carefully, eyes flitting from one body to the next. Then, he said, “It is a long story.” 

Although he looked reluctant to share, with their persuasion, he started to speak.

As Jeonghan started explaining, Seungcheol was almost convinced that the man was telling them some made-up story he created in his head. It sounded absolutely ridiculous, but his description of the Pieces of Eden matched up exactly with the way you recounted it.

According to the man, before humanity existed, there was an ancient civilization called the Isu—creators of the First Civilization. The Isu had capabilities and technological advancements far beyond our imagination, and they were the ones to craft the Pieces of Eden that had now been scattered across the world, holding unfathomable power. 

Jeonghan happened to be a descendent of the Isu. This was only discovered once he joined the Assassin’s Brotherhood, but he possessed the ability to sense the Pieces of Eden. The assassin, with Isu blood running in his veins, could feel the power of the artifacts when he was close. The only problem was, he couldn’t tell exactly where they would be—just a general idea. 

He then drew what the Apple of Eden was supposed to appear like on the floor, using his finger to trace the circular artifact and its intricate engravings.

“Oh, it is a ball,” Soonyoung observed. “I thought it would look more, er, appetizing.”

Jeonghan gave him a strange look. “Did you believe it would be an actual apple?”

“Or… apple-shaped, I suppose. It is in the name, is it not?”

Jeonghan ignored him and went on to ask, “You are certain the Templar Order is in possession of the Apple?”

“Yes,” Seungcheol replied. “We saw it with our own eyes.”

“The odd thing is… I feel its presence here.”

“What? You feel it in this room?”

“Its presence is not as strong in this precise location, yet whenever I approach this inn, I can sense that the Apple is here. I had once thought the Templars came here in search of the artifact, but now I believe they came to ensure that none others could claim it for themselves.”

“You believe it is hidden in this inn?” you asked, distraught. “Why would they hide an object of such importance here?”

“No one would suspect an inn,” Jeonghan said, “and no matter how long I have spent looking for it—sneaking into rooms here and watching Templar Knights turn out pockets—I cannot seem to find it.”

“There must be a hidden room of some sort, then,” Seungkwan said. “It must be like finding treasure. Treasure maps only provide the general layout, never the height or depth for where the riches lay.”

A shiver ran through Seungcheol’s body as a strange, foreboding feeling came over him. 

Astonished, you turned to Seungkwan with wide eyes, lips framing words that you hesitated to say for a moment. “The Apple could be above or below us.” 

Now, Jeonghan’s face was hard, taking on a serious tone laced with urgency when he asked, “Is there a cellar here? Or an attic?”

“I can go ask Joshua,” Seungcheol replied. “The rest of you should check the stables or—”

“Do that, but I have something to take care of,” Jeonghan said curtly. “If you find the Apple, make sure it stays in the right hands until I return. Remember: We do not breathe a word about the Pieces of Eden to anyone else. Understood?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I want to put an end to this right away.”

They had a plan, and it was set in motion. 

Alright, they sort of had a plan. 

Seungcheol was scouring the tavern to find Joshua, you and Seokmin were looking around the stables, and Soonyoung and Seungkwan were checking all of the rooms. On the bright side, most of the travellers were outside for Sábado Santo (although the atmosphere was eerily quiet from the vigils), so most of the rooms were unoccupied at the moment. It just so happened to be the perfect day for them to search the inn from top to bottom. That was, if they managed to find the artifact. Seungcheol was quite disheartened that Jeonghan, the only one who knew how to pick up on the energy from the Pieces of Eden, was the one who went out on his own. 

After asking Chan and several other workers about Joshua’s whereabouts, Seungcheol finally stumbled upon him in the kitchen where his friend was noting down the morning inventory. The innkeeper looked shocked to see the pirate with a heaving chest and flushed cheeks, and he raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

“What trouble have you found yourself in now?” Joshua asked, his tone remaining lighthearted, but his expression quickly shifted once he realized that Seungcheol wasn’t pulling his leg. “What is all this about, Seungcheol?”

He cut straight to the point. “I need to know if this inn has a hidden chamber somewhere—perhaps a cellar or an attic.”

“There is a cellar, though it has not been used in ages,” Joshua told him, brows knitting together into a frown. Deep concern hung in his voice when he asked, “Why do you ask?”

“I must see it at once. Do you still have the key?”

It took Joshua a while to sift through several drawers and cupboards, searching for the old, rusted key that looked as if it was about to crumble into pieces. Seungcheol was anxious as he watched Joshua insert it in the keyhole, half-expected it to split in half, but then the innkeeper pulled open the door to the cellar with a loud creak that made the pirate swallow thickly. 

“What is this about again?” Joshua held a large oil lamp to illuminate their way down the stairs, the wood under their feet creaking as they walked. The cellar smelled of mildew and something foul—as if something had died in there. He couldn’t imagine how many rodents and small animals had gotten in over the years. “If it concerns my inn, I would rather not be left in ignorance.”

At the foot of the steps, the space below opened up to a cluttered assortment of tables and books stacked on top of each other. He moved a marble paperweight to look at the stack of papers that were sitting around. Seungcheol examined some of them closely, trying to make out the handwriting in the dim light, but some of the documents were simply illegible. That was when he spotted parchment on the table with diagrams drawn in ink; most of the papers were full of scribbles and arrows pointing every which way, but there was something in particular that stood out to Seungcheol.

The Apple of Eden.

It was scrawled so messily, but once Seungcheol made out the words, he couldn’t mistake it for anything else. The drawing looked exactly as Jeonghan depicted and the same as he saw on the Templar Knight, too. 

It had to be a Codex page.

Horrifyingly enough, when Seungcheol took a closer look at the mess across the desk, he came to realize that this cellar didn’t look as abandoned as he formerly thought. In fact, judging by the empty cup with dregs sitting at the bottom, someone had been here recently. 

“I will explain everything soon,” Seungcheol told Joshua, albeit being completely distracted with his discovery, “but are you sure no one has—”

Just before he was about to finish his sentence, Seungcheol spotted something out of the corner of his eye. Something that made his stomach feel like a never-ending pit—falling, and falling, and falling. He could hardly move for a second, a cold wash sweeping down his back. 

Draped over the head of a chair was the exact white tunic donned by the Templar Knights. 

Seungcheol turned to look back at his friend, who was observing quietly from where he leaned against the wall. Slowly, the corner of Joshua’s mouth curved upward in faint amusement. 

On Holy Thursday, Jesus was betrayed by his closest disciple. 

On Holy Thursday, Joshua Hong was the Templar Knight that attacked him. 

“How did this come to be here?” Seungcheol’s voice was oddly steady as he held up the Codex page, although he had to speak over his racing heartbeat. Something froze him in place and sent a chill down his spine. In his head, he was still hoping there was another answer to all of this, that his dear friend was simply joking around. “Tell me, Joshua.”

“Why, I placed it there myself,” was his smooth answer, shrugging as he said it. 

“This was entirely your doing?”

“I confess, I never anticipated that you would ally yourself with an assassin,” he said, letting out a long-winded sigh. “It was never in my interest to turn on a friend—”

“You betrayed me,” Seungcheol interjected out of dismay. “My God. You have been feigning friendship, pretending to offer me food and shelter out of the goodness of your heart, yet all the while, you have been waiting to stab me in the back. Tell me, was it you? Were you the one who attacked us? Was it you who was present at the Alcazár?”

With that, Joshua reached behind him to pull out the small golden ball—the Apple of Eden—glowing faintly in the musty cellar. He confirmed Seungcheol’s gut feeling with a sick smile. 

The pirate let out a threadbare breath.

“Does this answer your questions?”

Seungcheol’s chest swelled with fury. “How did you—”

“To be perfectly candid, it was far too easy,” he crowed. “You led the assassin directly to me, making it simple to ascertain your whereabouts. What truly surprises me, however, is that you are acting surprised right now when I so plainly revealed my intentions.”

It was a cold punch to his gut. Time slowed to a crawl as Seungcheol thought back on his conversations with Joshua. Through the haze, the innkeeper’s words pierced into his chest and straight through his beating heart. 

“There must be order, if we are to make progress. Without reformation, we shall remain stagnant.”

“Bastard,” Seungcheol snarled through clenched teeth. Buried somewhere under layers of surging adrenaline and numbness was a mixture of dread and betrayal that he was sure to feel later once it sank deep in his bones. 

“You can join the right cause, Seungcheol,” he said, his face devoid of mirth now. “Do you truly believe the world should remain in such a state? The Templars share the same goal as your companion; we only seek peace for everyone.”

“You wish to eliminate free will and whatever threatens the control you wish to impose,” Seungcheol spat. “You aim to strip us of our freedom. This is not the ‘peace’ you claim to desire.”

“Do you truly believe that humans will not bring the world to ruination if given free will?”

“I believe that if you will not even give them a choice, then you will never know the outcome.”

“This is for the greater good, Seungcheol. We must steer humanity in the right direction.”

“What the hell would you know about the right direction? See reason, Joshua,” he begged. “We have known each other for many years now. This is not like you. What makes you think I would ever choose anything over my own freedom?” His tone took a cold edge when he added, “What makes you any different from the scum who took my aunt’s life?”

A muscle worked in Joshua’s jaw. “Stubborn to the very end. It appears we do not see eye-to-eye, then.”

“Then, what is it? Are you in league with the King? Is that the reason those documents spoke of punishing free speech and the pursuit of knowledge?”

“In league with the King?” Joshua parroted, a look of faux sympathy crossing his face. He held up the Apple of Eden with his fingertips, almost mocking the pirate. “My dear friend, I control the King. Every decision he makes is ultimately guided by my counsel.” 

Those glowing red eyes—it wasn’t a trick of the light. Everything that Seungcheol had seen was the work of Joshua’s manipulation, and the realization felt like a knife being pushed deeper inside him, inch by inch. He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from hurling curses that he knew would only make the situation worse. Seungcheol had to think. He had to pull himself together and decide what he needed to do next.

Earlier, he surrendered the artifact so easily to save your life, but now Seungcheol could only see vengeance ahead of him. He wouldn’t let this opportunity slip past his fingers again. 

Without any formal preamble, Seungcheol grabbed the marble paperweight off the desk and chuckled it right at the Apple of Eden, knocking the object from where it balanced on Joshua’s fingertips.

Joshua scoffed. “What are you—”

He was cut off by Seungcheol lunging at him, predator-like, and the two men were brawling on the cold, dusty floor of the cellar. The pirate straddled his body, pinning his chest down to deliver a hard blow to his jaw. There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears that was so loud that Seungcheol could hardly process the hits Joshua was landing on him, nor could he hear his own fist colliding with the Templar Knight’s face. 

Then, Seungcheol wrapped his hands around Joshua’s neck and strangled the man until he was red in the face. However, what he didn’t account for was that Joshua’s arm, which was raised over his head, had been trying to reach for the Apple of Eden that ended up rolling under a table.

Just as Seungcheol dug his nails into the tender flesh, Joshua slammed the metal ball against the pirate’s skull. Darkness curled at his vision, yet Seungcheol could still make out the knight murmuring something softly as he clutched the Apple.

Seungcheol grabbed the artifact to pry it out of Joshua’s hands, but the innkeeper didn’t look the least bit fazed throughout the struggle. Joshua used his legs to knock Seungcheol off-balance so that he was the one on top of the captain now. A malicious grin grew on the bastard’s face. 

“The Guardia Real will be here soon,” he taunted, “and His Majesty. Once they find you, they will give you a punishment befitting a lowly pirate.”

“And you shall not even have a gravestone to your name,” came your voice from behind Joshua. 

It all happened in a split second. You withdrew your hidden blade, jutting it in Joshua’s direction for him to dodge and grab your wrist. Seungcheol scuttled backward once Joshua’s weight wasn’t holding him down, and he looked around for something—anything—that he could use to help you out. 

Oh, that was right. The cloak. 

Seungcheol vividly recalled Joshua using a dagger against you that day. He slipped it back into the tunic when he had to put it away. In a haste, the pirate reached into the pockets of the tunic to pull out the dagger with the ruby-encrusted hilt. 

“Assassin, Hidden One, murderer—whatever you call yourself,” Joshua sneered. “I shall see to it that your corpse rots here for—”

It was then that Seungcheol momentarily let go of all fondness for his old friend and ran forward to drive the dagger straight into Joshua’s back.

“—eternity...”

He was normal for a breath—just the one. Then, Joshua stumbled forward, shakily, and then slowly turned around to look at Seungcheol. The Apple of Eden fell from his hands, his eyes following its path before he collapsed to the ground as he tried reaching for it. 

It was a pitiful sight to watch, really, but Seungcheol couldn’t tear his gaze away as Joshua clawed desperately at the artifact. This was a victory that Seungcheol couldn’t exactly celebrate because he had lost yet another friend, and it happened to be one that had been dear to his heart. 

“Seungcheol,” the innkeeper pleaded in a choked voice, “help me.”

Your eyes were sympathetic when Seungcheol looked at you, and you gave him a nod as if to assure him that you would handle the rest. He turned his head just in time so that he wouldn’t have to witness you finishing off Joshua Hong with your blade. 

Seungcheol only felt the passage of time start to move normally again much later; the events right after Joshua’s death were a bit of a blur, if he was going to be honest.

According to you, Jeonghan had come to find you after they all split up, confessing that he had always found Joshua to be suspicious. Apparently, he had been following the innkeeper for the past few days, but there was no reason for him to act upon that suspicion when he couldn't confirm anything. You ended up trailing Seungcheol and Joshua on your own because you couldn’t stop worrying while Jeonghan went to confirm his suspicions about a Templar Order base. 

As expected, there were several Templar Knights stationed in one of the buildings Joshua frequented, so Jeonghan called the Guardia Real on them. The knights were seized on charges of conspiracy after the building was searched, but Jeonghan was banking on the cellar under The Sleeping Bull to have more incriminating evidence. Seungcheol initially saw this as a rash decision, especially when he couldn’t let the guards get their hands on the Codex page, but he remembered the documents he had stolen from the King’s study. He had just enough time to replace the evidence, handing over the Codex page to you instead. 

Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan rushed in afterward (ironically right before the Guardia Real stormed the building), and Seungcheol had never seen them so crestfallen upon discovering that Joshua was the one behind everything. 

You used the Apple of Eden yourself after that, lifting whatever manipulation it had over the King, and then you made sure to hide it before His Majesty entered with his guards. They seemed rather disoriented, to be honest; earlier, they were overcome with a compulsion to go to The Sleeping Bull, and now that impulse had disappeared into thin air. 

Still, they were all very shocked to see the five of them standing around Joshua’s corpse.

What an odd family reunion, Seungcheol thought as he gripped your hand tightly, but you refused to speak or lift your head. 

At first, they were being threatened with charges for conspiracy and crimes against the Crown, but once His Majesty spotted the documents that Seungcheol planted, a disturbed look crossed his face. Something told him that they wouldn’t be condemned to death today. 

Due to the ordeal, the five of them were escorted to the palace—not as prisoners, but as guests. Until everything got sorted out, they were shown the slightest bit of hospitality instead of a prison cell.

Seungcheol never expected to find himself in the King’s study once again with His Majesty, standing in the same place where you killed one of his guards. In fact, if he moved his foot and looked at the carpet, he could see the mark of a faded bloodstain that wouldn’t come all the way out. 

You were with his three sailors in one of the large bedchambers. Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan were immediately swayed by the plates of food that were brought out for them, but you resorted to sitting stiffly in the corner until it was time to leave.

“You killed my guard,” King Philip V started in a stern voice, yet he didn’t sound like he was angry. He now had the full story that Seungcheol broke down for him (with your affiliation with the Assassin’s Brotherhood and the Pieces of Eden left out of the picture, of course). The pirate had to convince the King that Joshua’s involvement was not the work of an ancient artifact that controlled minds. “Not only did you disrespect me by sneaking into my palace, but you killed one of my men in this very room—right where you stand.”

It was actually you who killed his guard, but Seungcheol valiantly opted to take the blame instead. He wasn’t sure how your father would handle the truth about his daughter being an assassin, and he wasn’t keen on finding out. 

“To be fair, it was your guard who first attempted to take my life.”

The King let out a heavy, drawn-out sigh. “I suppose.”

He supposed? What a prick. 

Unexpectedly, His Majesty’s voice softened, taking on a tamer and gentler tone that almost sounded foreign. “Is Y/N well?”

Seungcheol stared at him, stunned. “You… you remember…”

“Of course. What father could fail to recognize his own child?” 

Perhaps one that abandoned her at such a young age, Seungcheol thought angrily, but he decided against vocalizing it.

“She is in good health,” Seungcheol assured, “but I do not believe she wishes to see you.”

The King sighed heavily, nodding in understanding. “That is only to be expected. A father should never forsake his child, which is why I cannot bring myself to punish you today. I have committed a transgression far greater than any that has occurred.”

“I do not believe you can undo the harm nor repair your relationship with your daughter, Your Highness, but a simple acknowledgement carries a great weight.”

“Back then, I could get everything I ever wanted, and it only cost me my precious child,” he told the pirate, “but, without her, I had nothing.”

It looked as if it hurt him to say, like a blade had slipped between his ribs as he was framing the words. And then, a sad smile crossed his face. 

“Is there anything as undoing as a daughter?”

Before Seungcheol could respond, there was a loud knock at the door. His Majesty commanded the palace guard to enter, and both Seungcheol and the King were shocked to see you by the guard’s side, your eyes cast down and the Distinguished Order of the Golden Fleece in your hands.

You looked up carefully, steeling yourself. “I wish to speak with you… father.”

The Crown’s Revenge was stationed proudly at the dock, its tall mast rising high over the crimson sails that flapped against the breeze. The mainsail billowed out as the wind filled it in, and as Seungcheol stood at the foot of the gangplank, he marvelled at the vessel’s impressive size. 

Following your conversation with the King, Seungcheol couldn’t exactly say there was no bad blood between you and your father anymore, but there was something brighter about your countenance now. Reuniting with him and healing old wounds must have done wonders for the grudges you held close to your heart, but you still had no intention of staying with your father and carrying out your duties as a princess. 

Your heart was elsewhere—with Seungcheol, with the sea. 

“She’s got more faces than a deck of cards,” Seungkwan had muttered when he found out about your royal upbringing. “Assassin, princess—what next? Pirate?”

It had not occurred to Seungkwan that you would be joining them on their voyage back to England, and when he was struck with the realization, he nearly turned over his dinner plate from his clamor. You had gotten rather close with his mates over the past few weeks, but they still harbored a fear that you could possibly murder them in cold blood whenever you wanted to. 

Seungcheol thought that it was perhaps a good thing that you kept them on their toes. 

As for Yoon Jeonghan, you returned the Apple of Eden to him, along with the Codex page that had been in the cellar. He left on a rather cryptic note, assuring that he would cross paths with you again, although neither of you were sure of his destination. You were adamant on leaving your life as an assassin behind, though, which meant that they would need to stop at France after sailing to England. 

His Majesty offered you riches beyond imagination. He clearly didn’t know what he could give you that would make up for years of separation, but you refused all of his gifts. Seungcheol, however, had a request that he could set aside his pride to ask for. That resulted in the five of them waiting two weeks for the kingdom to grant them a ship of their own. The rest of them were mortified by the name, but Seungcheol found it absolutely hilarious that he got the King to give him a ship called The Crown’s Revenge. It was something his aunt would’ve hollered at. Anything for the King’s daughter, he supposed. 

“You need not have used my idea for your ship’s name!” you exclaimed at the port, downright flustered. “I was just… I was simply—”

The pirate turned to see you with the wind blowing through your hair, a fierce look on your face. He couldn’t help but laugh—not because what you said was particularly amusing, but because he had never seen anyone look so beautiful whilst arguing.

“I did nothing of the sort,” Seungcheol said. “You named your own ship, Captain.”

Your entire body froze. “What?”

“This is a ship from your father, after all, and I believe the time has come for me to relinquish the role of captain. You have bested me more than enough times already.”

(“And now she’s a pirate, eh?” Seungkwan shook his head from where he was sitting on a crate, quietly observing all the while. “Funny how the tides turn.”

Soonyoung, however, was grinning ear-to-ear. “What are we bettin’ on next? Queen?”

“Shut it before she makes ye walk the plank,” Seokmin muttered back.)

“Choi Seungcheol,” you warned, “do not humor me.”

“You needn’t worry, mi corazón,” he told you with a gentle smile, taking the leather tricorn hat off of his head and placing it atop yours. “I have already made up my mind.”

“Cap’n!” Seungkwan called from afar, cupping his hand around his mouth to amplify the sound. You didn’t look quite sure if he was referring to you or Seungcheol until he scolded, “Try to not send us to Davy Jones’ locker in our sleep, aye?”

Your face broke into a smile. “Very well, but the blade shall remain with me!” you called back, raising your arm to show the hidden contraption that was still fixed under your sleeve. 

“Well, Captain,” Seungcheol started, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders, “I am following your command. Where would you like me stationed?”

“By my side,” you said, reaching up to hold the back of his neck and letting his forehead touch yours, “is that acceptable?”

“Of course.”

He leaned in, pressing his lips against yours—a quiet hunger that was never quite satisfied with just one taste. Cupping your cheek, though, Seungcheol knew that the way your lips felt against his was more valuable than any treasure he had coveted. It was the taste of freedom. 

Freedom was the wind in his face, the taste of salt in the sea, the ocean slipping through his hands like sand. In the grand scheme of things, people never truly changed across eons of history, but one thing rang true: The only way for humans to progress was to protect their freedom, to protect the freedom of others, and to rise against the resistance that threatened their freedom. Seungcheol had never been more certain of this until meeting you. It was so clear now; when he looked at the people celebrating in the streets of Sevilla, when he looked at the birds flying high in the sky, it was freedom that persisted above all. 

To him, freedom was you.

[dreamdragonkadia]

hello! may I request completely whipped percy x oblivious reader with just pure fluff? and they kiss at the end? tysm!!

Yes, yes! Of course! Thank you so much for your patience! p.jackson x reader

“This one is perfect too!” you murmured, eyes alight with excitement as you took the seashell from Percy’s outstretched palm. Your fingers brushed his in the handoff, just a soft touch, but it was enough to make his breath catch and his fingers twitch—like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to curl them around yours or pretend he was only shaking off leftover sand.

You didn’t seem to notice.

Instead, you turned the shell over in your hands with a soft hum of appreciation, already tucking it carefully into the little pouch you’d slung around your hips “Thank you,” you added without looking up, your attention already on the next wave to roll in, eyes scanning the foamy edge for another treasure.

Honestly, Percy still wasn’t sure how he ended up here, ankle-deep in saltwater and grinning like an idiot just because you’d asked if he “wanted to come find shells.” Of course, he’d said yes. He would’ve said yes to anything you asked. Jump in the ocean? Sure. Hold this slippery sea cucumber? Why not. Spend hours combing the beach just to help you with a craft project he didn’t entirely understand? Absolutely.

You had this way of saying things like they were the most important thoughts in the world, and Percy... well, he was helpless to resist.

“You always find the nicest ones,” you said suddenly, glancing over your shoulder with a warm smile that made his heart stutter in his chest. “It’s like they just wash up for you.”

He gave a sheepish laugh and shrugged. “Maybe they just know they’re gonna end up with you. So they try harder.”

You blinked at him, not quite catching the implication. “That’s kind of a weird thing to say, but cute. Thanks.”

He looked away, trying not to smile too hard. Gods, you really had no idea.

Another hour passed, and your bag grew heavier with little pastel shells, spirals and fans and chipped little half-moons you swore had “personality.” Percy didn’t even care what you were going to use them for. He just liked listening to you talk about them like they mattered. Like he mattered.

The sun had just begun to dip lower on the horizon when you sat down in the sand, patting the spot beside you without even looking. He dropped beside you without hesitation, brushing off his hands.

“I think we did good,” you said, holding up a shell to the light. “You’re really good at this, y’know.”

He let out a soft laugh. “I’m just good at following you around.”

You turned toward him with a puzzled look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Percy hesitated, a small grin tugging at his lips—but before he could answer, a loud voice carried through the calm of the beach.

“Yo! Dinner time!” one of the younger campers shouted from the top of the dunes, waving at you both. “Chiron says if you’re late again, you’re on clean-up duty!”

You blinked, the moment breaking like a bubble, and Percy let out a small sigh before pushing himself up.

“Saved by the bell,” he muttered dryly, brushing the sand from his shorts.

You chuckled, still clutching the little pouch of shells to your chest. “I guess we’ll have to finish this later.”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing at you with something soft in his eyes. “Later.”

The walk back to the dining pavilion was filled with the usual chatter and easy laughter, just like always—but Percy kept stealing glances at you, wondering if maybe—just maybe—you had some idea of what he'd been about to say.

You didn’t.

Not that evening, anyway.

It wasn’t until the next day that you finally found him alone again, leaning against the railing by the canoe dock, skipping stones across the lake with absent aim.

“Hey,” you said, walking up with your hands behind your back.

He turned to you, and whatever teasing smile he had ready vanished when he saw the look on your face. It was… shy. A little nervous. Kind of excited.

“I, uh—I made something,” you said, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “From yesterday.”

Before he could ask, you brought your hands around and held it out: a simple but beautiful bracelet made from the shells you’d picked together, strung together with careful knots and braided cord. It looked a little uneven in spots, like you’d redone it more than once, but it was undeniably you—and clearly made with a lot of heart.

Percy stared at it, stunned.

“For me?” he asked, voice quiet.

You shrugged, trying not to fidget. “Well… yeah. You helped me find them. It felt right. Plus, I mean, it’s not enchanted or anything, but I figured it could be your good luck charm? Or… just something to remind you of the beach.”

Percy didn’t say anything.

He just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you without warning, pulling you into a tight, warm hug that made your breath catch.

“You’re the best,” he mumbled into your hair. “Seriously. You have no idea how much I love this.”

You laughed softly against his chest. “You haven’t even put it on yet.”

He pulled back only enough to slide the bracelet onto his wrist, holding his arm up like he was showing off a medal. “Perfect fit.”

Your smile stretched wide across your face. “Good. I kinda guessed the size.”

“I’d wear it even if it cut off my circulation,” Percy said, dead serious.

You looked down at the bracelet on his wrist, then up at his face—and froze. Percy was already looking at you.

Not the casual, teasing look you were used to. Not his usual smirk or one of those lopsided grins. This one was soft. Unshy. Quiet in a way that made your heart stumble in your chest.

“What?” you asked, barely a whisper.

He smiled, but it wasn’t a deflection this time. It wasn’t hiding anything. “Nothing,” he said. “Just thinking I really, really like you.”

The words slipped out so gently you almost didn’t hear them. Almost.

You blinked. “You—you what?”

Percy’s ears flushed pink, but he held your gaze. “I like you,” he said again, steadier this time. “A lot. I think I’ve liked you since the first time you made me hold a crab so you could sketch it.”

Your mouth opened—then closed again, brain suddenly struggling to keep up. “Wait. You like me? Like—Like-like me?”

A laugh escaped him, warm and a little breathless. “Gods, you really had no idea, did you?”

You shook your head slowly, still processing. “I thought… I mean, I didn’t think you were just tagging along to be nice, but I didn’t think it was like that.”

“It’s definitely like that,” Percy said. “It’s so like that.”

He was standing so close now you could see the specks of blue in his sea-green eyes. And suddenly you weren’t sure what you were waiting for.

So you leaned in.

Just a little at first. Barely enough to count.

But Percy met you halfway, one hand coming up to gently cup your cheek as he kissed you—soft and certain, like he’d been waiting forever for the chance.

You didn’t pull away.

When he finally did, just enough to breathe, he was smiling. “Took me forever to work up to that,” he murmured.

You were still close enough to feel the warmth of his breath. “Worth the wait.”

And this time, when your fingers brushed his, he didn’t hesitate.

He laced them through yours like he’d been meaning to all along.

[quarterlifekitty]

little continuation of my idea for John in this post

imagine John scrolling through r/AITA. He likes a bit of drama. Likes to judge the relationships of people he's never met and will never meet. It's his reality TV. And in the sea of people who are too nice to break the kneecaps of their woefully shitty partners, he sees a post from you:

It's about your boyfriend throwing out some empty jars you'd saved even though you'd told him you were planning to use them, he'd insisted they were taking up space-- that you were essentially hoarding trash. And he could tell just by reading how sad it had made you, and it infuriated you how willing you were to accept the blame-- that maybe you were being the asshole and your dickhead boyfriend was just trying to be helpful.

As more people asked questions for context, he learns more about this sham of a relationship. Three years and this guy is just a boyfriend? John's livid. Such a shitheel of a man leading on a sweet little thing like you. Liked making candles and decorated pen holders from the little jars your yogurt came in. And he hadn't even locked you down! John would've had a ring on your finger after a couple of months, max. You'd be on your second or third baby if he was the one looking after you the past three years.

You're using a throwaway account, but it's not hard for him to pull a favor or two and find your main account. And he sees you doing all these adorable little things. Showing off your crafts, how you like to reuse things, how you like to neatly budget yourself and how you can't resist a sale-- he sees this full record of all the little troubles and treasures you come across. Troubleshooting a new computer program, asking if this little patch on your bathroom wall looks like mold, your good humor when showing off your messy first attempt at using a russian piping tip while frosting cake flowers. And in every little detail he finds another thing that should be cherished, another worry that should be set right for you, another thing that should be taken care of before you even have a chance to think of asking strangers online for help.

You post a lot of pictures. It won't be hard at all to find you and show you how things should be.

[yanderenightmare]

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: captive reader, no-name character deaths, Sukuna in general

fem reader

Sukuna, in his true form some thousand years ago, carrying you on his arm so that your feet and dress don’t stain with the blood on the floor. A sea of carnage he’d laid to waste only a moment ago—soldiers sent to slaughter the monster’s concubine, a heathenness whore. They’d fallen no different from flowers trampled underfoot.

It's a tragedy. If anyone could free you from his prison, it would have been them.

A heavy finger catches the tear dribbling down your face before it can fall to join the red below. “Don’t water them with your tears,” he says, bringing the droplet to his lips. “Not even in death do they deserve it.”

You view his second face—the warped array of eyes upon an inhuman mask—as a punishment from the Gods for his vile ways. 

“Did you think I’d find it flattering?” you ask sharply through the sorrow. “Murder in my name?”

Nothing betrays the look in his garnet eyes, nor does the way he holds you. He simply lets you sit there, upon him like a thrown, admonishing him no less—as if he hadn’t just saved your life from a thousand swords.

“I don’t,” you bite out when he doesn’t answer. “It sickens me. I curse whichever part of me attracted such a monster.”

That makes him smile. “I’m afraid that’s all of you, turtledove.” He turns you around in his many arms and lays you to rest like a bride. “From your toes to the finest hair atop your head—I covet it all—like treasure.”

He doesn’t rush while wading through the filth who’d tried to take you away from him, basking in their still-warm blood as if soaking his feet with their failure. He would have made it long-lasting if they’d come close enough to breathe the same air as you. But since you’d begged for him to spare them, he’d acted with mercy—making their deaths quick and all but painless.

The things he does for you.

“Does it frighten you to be the only one I care about?” he asks.

You look disgusted. He finds it rather cute.

 “No,” you reply. “It simply hurts.”

He throws his head back and laughs then—boisterously. The echo rings throughout the temple, even making ripples in the red. When he looks down at you again, he bears a great smile.

“Fine then, as you wish.” Evidence of his amusement remains while he speaks. “I won’t subject you to any more carnage from this moment onward.”

You know better than to take him for his word—especially when that awful grin stretches his face.

“No, I shall rather keep you tucked away where no one will ever dare go looking—and before I even dare come see you myself, I’ll make sure to have washed the filth off first so as not to trouble your pretty head with my savage habits. Now, does that sound satisfactory to you, my Queen?”

He’s mocking you, you surmise—cooing at you, laughing at the way you mourn. But it shouldn’t surprise you. If he can rip people to shreds without so much as batting any of his eyes, making light of their deaths isn’t all that more of an offense.

“All this inanity has given me an appetite,” he states with a hearty sigh—dismissing any further argument. “Let’s find Uraume and eat.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[obeymeluv]

How You Spend the Night Together [Azul, Kalim, Vil]

Not proofread. I stayed up late writing this because I'm off tomorrow. Will proof-read tomorrow. Just wanted to get something out.

Azul had seen paintings of people in love. People being intimate. He'd salvaged unsent notes and journals while hunting for coins in the Coral Sea. He knew the definitions of words like passion and adoration but none of it made sense until he looked at you. You were half asleep, gazing at the aquarium wall built into his Housewarden room.

Taking on the mantle of Housewarden meant embodying the Sea Witch's spirit of benevolence and assuming care of the aquarium wall. As much as he believed creatures of the sea should be free, Azul took aquarium cultivation very seriously. The array of creatures and plants in it were depending on him! Much like Jade and his terrariums, Azul's budget was more flexible when it came to the wall. He and Sam had modified it (with Crowley's permission) so he could actually swim around in said wall when he wanted.

Part of the modifications included remote-controlled ambient lights. They were on a dimmer setting tailored to his own sleep schedule. You were bathed in blues, undertones of crystalline teal, and one of his hearts lurched painfully in his chest (he wasn't sure which one). Your eyes seemed to glow against the patchwork of blues, and all it once it hit him.

This is what the painters felt. It was something that could only be painted because words paled in comparison. Sure, things like adoration were close--certainly relevant--but not perfect.

You were, though.

The sheets piled around you reminded him of seafoam. All rumpled and wild twists. He could almost imagined you'd washed up on shore from the sea. Maybe he saved you from the sea itself.

"Are you reverting?!" you snapped up when he registered in the edge of your vision. He was just standing there, not responding! Suddenly you were throwing the top cover and sheets out of the way. Azul heard you fall. "Do I need to get Floyd? Jade? The potion's in your desk, right?"

"No treasure, I'm fine." Azul laughed, crawling onto the bed to stare over the edge at you. You were hopelessly tangled, one leg still swallowed in the silk. He hauled you up awkwardly, grabbing you by the leg and pulling you up with one hand as you relaxed with a heavy sigh. "Just mesmerized. That's all."

He pulled your leg into his lap, picking at folds in the sheets like he was prepping napkin rolls at his mother's restaurant. The heat of your skin was muffled and he relished the random brushes in the quest to set you free. Your skin was soft against his hands. Funny how he was setting you free when he was utterly trapped by you, hm?

Your leg now free, you laid back with him. Azul placed his glasses on the nearby nightstand, turning to face you and slide down into the sheets in one smooth motion. Yeah he had to squint to see, but getting close to your smile was worth it. "Good night, treasure."

You kissed the bridge of his nose and he wrinkled it reflexively. His eyes were an unfair kind of blue. A blue only Corelians could have, you thought. Your bodies moved together unconsciously, caught in a current of longing to be together after an even longer day. Azul snugged into the hand cupping his cheek as his looped around your waist. Come the morning your legs would be tangled together like something unholy but that was okay.

"Goodnight, Azul."

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

Spending the night with Kalim wasn't just as simple as 'get changed, go to bed.' It usually involved helping Jamil tidy up Scarabia after another party. Jamil insisted time and time again that you didn't need to help, that you were a guest, but you famously told him 'then as a guest, I decide to help' and that was that. He secretly appreciated the help and Kalim found himself admiring your unapologetic assistance.

He didn't know how to describe it but you were like Jamil--fluid and natural to everything. You didn't miss a step cleaning up a room, straightening a pillow as you scooped another plate onto your stack and added a napkin to the wad in your other hand. Kalim trailed behind you like an excited puppy, trying to find something you or Jamil hadn't done so he could contribute.

When you're handed everything you could ever want and have the ability to do whatever you can think of, you don't realize how much you don't know. You don't know how much effort goes into things because it just shows up.

He wanted to show you that he could provide financially and physically. Kalim wanted to learn the independence his family was too scared to give him. Jamil let him do small things now and then but it was hard for the long-haired boy to beat down his lifelong training. His current task was splitting the stack of plates with you--he tried to take the whole stack but you refused because you were competent and stubborn--and taking them into the kitchen to be washed. When Jamil determined there were no more knives left in the sudsy water, Kalim was allowed to wash and dry them with you.

It was the most he'd done in a kitchen, he thought. Aside from chasing his siblings in and out of one or stealing snacks before a banquet. You'd more than proved yourself to Jamil by now; he knew it was safe to leave Kalim in your care while he retired for the night.

It's just as well; Kalim has a habit of sending him away when he wants to be alone with you. He tries to give Jamil as much freedom as he can without either of them getting in trouble. Dishes done and kitchen tidied, you gave him permission to get ready for bed.

He's not sure why that filled him with such excitement but it was like the first time every time. Kalim thought it weird a handful of times, when it would hit him like a spelldrive disk, but it didn't bother him.

It was a happy weird. One that would send him blabbing Jamil's ear off about your potential wedding until he was ready to strangle him.

What if every night was like this?!

Another giggle escapes him--you shush him lest he wake his dormmates--as you pull him into his Housewarden room. It's a massive, beautiful room with arching windows that open onto a balcony. The door is heavy and you shut it as quietly as possible. Moonlight illuminates the room, sliding over the desk and luxurious canopy bed until it touches the bathroom.

You change behind the large curtain framing the windows; it's thick enough to give a suggestion of you but not a peek. Kalim curses softly in his language, looking away from you to free his arm from the now-tangled scarf.

That's what happens when he tries to take off too much at one time.

"You look so pretty, qalbi!" Kalim peppers your face with kisses as you meet him in the middle of the room. You giggle, hugging him and swaying.

"You act like you've never seen it before! You bought it!"

It was some kind of fancy nighttime set popular in the Scalding Sands.

"Still pretty." Kalim hums, his head against your shoulder as you walk him to the bathroom. He undoes the ribbon and bejeweled circlet, revealing messy white hair. You slide a headband onto his head as he places the circlet on a velvet pillow. The sink in his Housewarden bathroom is basically big enough to be a counter! Jewelry holders of all shapes and sizes lead to the faucet, the other side framed with hygiene products.

Kalim can do it with his eyes closed and has done it a million times before but he always stretches the moment. He tilts your head this way and that, tickling your chin and cupping just underneath it as he fashions his ribbon into something that will hold your hair and frame your face. It's supposed to keep your hair safe while you sleep. You open some rose-scented toner pads one of his sisters sent, sticking them on his cheeks and forehead. He returns the favor before setting out a bowl and mixing a handful of things his mother gave him.

"It's for your hands." he's mixing and checking, mixing and checking until he's satisfied. He scoops some in his hands, coats his, and grabs yours. This was a new thing but it very appreciated! He's massaging your hands and you're melting in his. You're very close to sleeping standing up when he turns the water on and washes your hands for you.

You blink awake as he's picking the toner pads off your face. "To bed, hayati, to bed." he takes your super-soft hand and you climb into the bed together. You feel yourself dissolving into the piles of plush pillows, your last conscious thought is Kalim pressing tight against you and being deathly still as Jamil starts to open the door and check on you.

----- ------

An evening with Vil was scheduled but relaxed. It was a result of growing up in auditions and networking. "There's always time for something," he liked to say, "And it's whatever you choose to make time for."

You catch yourself staring at him like the lovesick fool you are, not because he's THE Vil Schoenheit, but because he's made time in his schedule for you. At this point in the evening, Pomfiore has finished dinner and their post-meal stretches. He's done his rounds as Housewarden and checked on his dormmates. Everyone has retired to their rooms for the evening, pursuing whatever their hearts desire.

He leads by example, as a good Housewarden does. His little desire is at the edge of the bed making smoochy eyes at him.

Well...you looked at him like you loved him and that was fine, too. He'd be okay if you actually wanted to give him smoochy eyes. You would if he could be as reckless and free as Rook encouraged. It was a near-daily conversation you weren't aware of. Vil was confident on runway, the stage, and the screen but he couldn't bring himself to kiss you spontaneously or bury you under a mountain of love notes even though it was a constant thought.

He was just too regimented for that. Romance is supposed to be planned and grand, not hasty and rash! The idea of sweeping you into a crushing hug or swatching his lipstick collection all over your face behind a locked door was extremely tempting. He's just at a delicate spot with his career and can't afford to be passionate and free; it may lose deals and get you a lot of unwanted attention.

Vil looks at you over the edge of Perfectly Wicked Potions and Poisons, grinning to himself. His eyes crinkle at the corner and he can't even bring himself to fret. You just inspire that much joy in him. Future crow's feet are a small price to pay for these little moments where he doesn't have to worry about agents, managers, or devout fans.

Like Rook, your presence soothes him. He delights in having you nearby.

"What are you doing, Potato?" Vil tries to focus on the words in front of him but it's not working.

"Just looking at my boyfriend being all relaxed."

It's such a simple answer but there's no crazed-fan gloating in it. It's genuinely touching.

"Relaxed but lacking," he laments, book tilted towards his still-painted lips but careful not to touch. "I'm in need of my Potato."

You giggle, squishing yourself into the padded armchair with him. He laughs, cradling you with one arm as you slide your feet under the other to hang off the chair. The armchair is deep enough that it works. Your back is supported by his arm and the chair, he gets to put his chin on top of your head. Vil plants his elbow gently into your thigh, bringing the book back up to his face. Comforted by warmth and weight, he makes it through a few pages until you knit yourself ever closer and reach behind him to remove the ornate hairclip.

He'd forgotten it was in there, honestly, and it feels good to have his hair down. Vil hums, book threatening to slide out of his hand as you work his scalp gently with one hand. His violet eyes slide shut, head tilting back. "I didn't see anything about wicked potatoes in my book but wicked you are, my darling." Vil murmurs.

"Want me to stop?"

"In the chair? Reluctantly. In the bed? No." Vil summons the energy to put the book down, breezing over to the bed with you in his arms. He taps you on the nose with a painted nail, smirking at you as he disappears to hang his Housewarden outfit up. You close your eyes as he changes, only opening them when he's at the bedside pinching your shoulder gently. It starts a small trade-off of shoulder massages.

His alarm goes off about twenty minutes later. You follow him to the attached bathroom, brushing your teeth as he washes his face. Vil puts undereye patches on the two of you. He relaxes into the bed like he's boneless, content that he's done everything on his schedule for the day.

He's rewarded with completionist's satisfaction. He'd also liked to be rewarded with more hair-playing. Cheeks blooming pink, Vil nudges his head towards you. Half asleep now, you bring your hand up to massage his scalp. "Goodnight, Vil."

"Goodnight, Potato."

[haerenven]

Pairings. M.D.Luffy - R.Zoro - V.Sanji - Nami - N.Robin - Shanks

summary. Them with curly headed reader

— (a/n): consider this a gift for my gorgeous curly girlies ₍^. .^₎⟆

MONKEY D LUFFY

- Endless Fascination with Your Curls

Luffy is obsessed with your hair—not in a poetic, admiring-from-afar kind of way, but in the most Luffy way possible. He tugs at your curls just to watch them bounce back, sometimes even poking them with a finger like he’s testing if they have a mind of their own. “Whoa… they’re like little springs!” he exclaims every time, as if he’s just discovered it all over again. And if you ever get annoyed? He just laughs, completely unbothered, and does it again.

- Zero Concept of Personal Space

If he’s tired? Your curls make the perfect pillow. If he’s hungry? He’ll lean against you, idly playing with a strand while thinking about meat. If he’s excited? He’ll grab you, spin you around, andsomehow get his fingers tangled in your hair in the process. Luffy doesn’t care about boundaries—he’s always close, always touching, always acting like he has every right to be tangled up with you, just like your curls are with each other.

- Unfiltered, Genuine Compliments

Luffy doesn’t have a poetic bone in his body, but when he compliments you, it’s so real that it sticks with you forever. “Your hair looks like a whole adventure!” he grins one day, staring at the wild way it moves. “Like if I followed every curl, I’d find treasure at the end!” It’s ridiculous, but he says it with so much excitement—so much Luffy-ness—that you can’t help but smile.

- Doesn’t Understand Hair Struggles but Tries Anyway

If you’re ever frustrated with your hair—too tangled, too frizzy, too much—Luffy doesn’t get it, but that won’t stop him from trying to help. “Just leave it like that!” he suggests with a grin, fully convinced that you look amazing no matter what. And if you insist on fixing it, he offers solutions that make no sense. “What if we dunk your head in the ocean and see what happens?” (Spoiler: Bad idea.)

- The Ultimate Protector—Even Against the Wind

Luffy doesn’t care much about the wind messing up his hair, but when it comes to you? Oh, he takes it personally. If a strong gust blows your curls into your face, he immediately stretches his arm out like a shield, standing in front of you with a dramatic stance. “I GOTCHA!” he shouts, as if he’s just saved you from mortal danger. It’s completely unnecessary, but he’s so proud of himself that you just let him have his moment.

- Plays with Your Hair Absentmindedly

Whenever he’s deep in thought—rare as that may be—his fingers somehow find their way to your hair. He absentmindedly twirls a curl around his finger, stretching it slightly just to watch it spring back. He’ll braid random sections (terribly), tie tiny knots (that you definitely have to untangle later), and sometimes just hold a curl in front of his face, squinting at it like it holds the secrets of the universe.

- Unapologetic About His Preferences

One time, Nami tries to brush your hair out into loose waves, and Luffy immediately pouts. “Nooooo, put it back!” he whines, reaching over to mess it up again. “I like it all poofy and crazy!” He doesn’t care about what’s fashionable—he just loves you, exactly the way you are.

- Loves How Your Hair Feels Against Him

If you ever rest against his chest, he immediately buries his face in your hair, rubbing his cheek against it like a cat. “It’s so soft!” he laughs, nuzzling into you without shame. If you try to push him away, he just stretches his arms to pull you right back. “Nope! I live here now!”

- A Love That’s Loud and Unshakable

Luffy doesn’t do subtle. If he loves you, everyone knows it. He shouts your name across islands, tackles you into hugs that leave you breathless, and brags to strangers about how cool your hair is like it’s his greatest discovery. And when it’s just the two of you, when the sea is quiet and the stars stretch endless above you, he tugs at a curl, grinning softly. “I dunno,” he murmurs, his voice softer than usual. “I just think everything about you is perfect.”

RORONOA ZORO

- Absorbed in the Movement of Your Curls

Zoro is not a man prone to idleness, but when it comes to you, he finds himself drawn to the subtle movement of your curls, as if they’re the sea itself—wild and free. In those quiet moments, as the crew rests, he may sit next to you, his hands absentmindedly finding a strand of hair to twist between his fingers. His touch is unthinking, almost a part of the background, but there’s a quiet fascination in the way he does it—his rough fingertips tracing each curl’s path, not because he’s trying to tame it, but because he finds it impossibly captivating. If you tease him about it, he’ll turn away, muttering under his breath with the same gruffness he’s known for. “It’s just… bouncy,” he’ll say, though the pink in his ears tells a different story.

- A Shield Against the Wind

Zoro observes, always quietly aware of his surroundings, and he notices how your curls seem to fight against the wind, their natural beauty battling the elements. While others may not notice, he does. When the wind picks up, he’ll subtly shift his position, always placing himself between you and the gusts, blocking the worst of it with his broad frame. If you ask him why, he’ll scoff, “You could move, y’know,” but his stance remains unchanged. It’s his way of silently protecting you—and your curls—from the chaos outside.

- Comfort in the Aftermath

After a fierce battle, when the adrenaline that had once sharpened his senses fades into a quiet exhaustion, Zoro finds solace in your presence. He doesn’t need to say much—his actions speak for him. With a quiet breath, he’ll reach for you, running his fingers through your curls, feeling the softness of each strand as his hand tangles within them. It’s not about comfort; it’s about grounding himself, reminding himself that you’re still there, still safe. In those moments, his touch lingers just a second longer than necessary, and though his eyes may not meet yours, the weight of his affection is undeniable.

- Uncomplicated Praise, Deeply Felt

Zoro is blunt, his words seldom adorned with the sweetness others might offer. But when he compliments you, it’s grounded in truth, uncomplicated yet deeply sincere. When you’re struggling with the tangled chaos of your curls, his gaze will lift to you, and with a grunt, he’ll say, “Looks fine to me. Don’t change it.” It’s not flowery, but it’s Zoro in its purest form—honest, no frills. On rare occasions when you take care more of your hair and styling it, his eyes might linger a moment too long, before he clears his throat and mutters, “You look… good.” Simple words, yet they carry the weight of his admiration.

- The Battle of Haircare

When you mention needing new hair products, Zoro’s mind immediately shifts into a mode of confusion. He’s never thought about something as trivial as shampoo, but his love for you has him trying—if only to see you smile. In the aisles of an unfamiliar island store, he glares at the endless bottles, trying to make sense of them. “What the hell is ‘hydrating curl cream’ supposed to do?” he mutters, but when you ask him to help detangle your hair, he takes the task more seriously than anything else. His brows furrow in concentration, fingers working through the knots with an intensity only rivaled by his swordsmanship. Each strand is handled with an unexpected patience, proving that even in the smallest things, Zoro will always give his all.

- A Silent Protector

Zoro’s way of protecting you isn’t flashy or showy. He doesn’t need to make a spectacle of it. But when your curls are threatened—by the wind, by the crowd, by something as simple as an ill-timed brush of someone’s hand—he steps in without hesitation. With a firm but gentle hand, he pulls you closer to his side, shielding your hair from harm, acting as if it’s no more than a casual motion. If someone dares to touch your curls without permission, his gaze is enough to make them rethink their actions, his glare sharp enough to cut through any pretense.

- Loyalty Shown in the Quiet Moments

Zoro’s love for you is shown in the quietest, most sincere ways. If you run out of your favorite hair product, he’s the one to notice, somehow keeping track of the small details that others might overlook. One evening, he’ll appear beside you with a new bottle of your favorite oil, placing it gently in your hands as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. If you’ve had a long day and your curls are more unruly than usual, Zoro will offer a gruff, “Sit down. I’ll take care of it.” The way he works through your hair is slow and deliberate, as if he’s taking the time to tend to something precious. It’s not about the task—it’s about the way he quietly shows you that, no matter the day or the chaos, he’s there for you, always.

VINSMOKE SANJI

- Adoration in Every Strand

Sanji’s fascination with your curls borders on obsession. The moment you walk into the kitchen or sit down at the table, he can’t help but be drawn to the way your hair naturally moves, the way it defies gravity, as if each curl is a work of art in itself. “Mademoiselle,” he’ll sigh dreamily, gazing at you with the adoration of a man utterly enchanted. “Your hair… it’s like a perfect symphony of elegance and chaos—so wild, so effortlessly beautiful.” He could spend hours simply staring, but when he’s around, you’ll always feel like the most stunning creature to ever exist.

- The Art of Curly Hair Care

Sanji may be a chef, but when it comes to your hair, he becomes a meticulous artist. He knows exactly how to make it shine, how to take care of it with tender touches, and he’s the only one you trust to give you the perfect trim. Whenever you ask for help with it, he responds with complete seriousness. “Of course, darling, it’s my honor to ensure your curls remain as perfect as they deserve to be.” His hands are always gentle but firm, his focus intense as he works on keeping your hair looking its best.

- Flirty Comments with a Side of Gentle Touch

His flirting knows no bounds, but with you, it always feels different—genuine, tender. If you catch him staring at your hair, he doesn’t even try to hide it. “How do you make your curls look so good?” he’ll ask, his voice thick with admiration, leaning in as if he’s trying to discover the secret. “Are you sure they’re just hair, or do they have a mind of their own?” he’ll muse, his gaze so intense it feels like he’s searching for the very meaning of life in your locks.

- Curly Hair, Perfect Partner

Sanji’s love for you goes beyond superficialities, but the way your hair frames your face? He can’t help but be captivated every time. You’re a vision—whether it’s in the kitchen, surrounded by the smell of his best dishes, or on the deck under the golden sun, your hair always perfectly wild and untamed. “How did I get so lucky?” he’ll whisper to himself, caught in a moment where everything seems to revolve around you. “My perfect, beautiful mademoiselle…”

- The Hair-Ruffling Ritual

On rare, quiet moments, when you’re sitting together or sharing a peaceful moment, Sanji has this little ritual. He’ll reach over, carefully running his fingers through your curls, smoothing them down as if it’s his responsibility to protect them. When he does this, there’s always a soft, affectionate smile on his lips, as if he’s savoring a secret joy no one else gets to see. “I swear,” he’ll say with a soft chuckle, “if I could, I’d make sure every curl stayed as perfect as the first time I saw it.”

- Teasing with Adoration

Even in his playful teasing, Sanji’s love for you is clear. If your curls are a little out of place, he’ll make a show of dramatically fixing them, acting as if it’s a matter of utmost importance. “There’s no way I can allow such disarray on my lovely lady,” he’ll say with a smirk, his fingers carefully tucking a curl behind your ear. You know he’s teasing, but the care with which he does it shows just how much he values you.

- A Man Who Wants to Spoil You

He doesn’t just want to cook for you—he wants to pamper you. He’ll surprise you with special oils, conditioners, or hair accessories that he swears will make your curls even more radiant. “Only the best for my queen,” he’ll proclaim as he carefully places a luxurious bottle of hair serum in your hands. “A woman as beautiful as you deserves the world, including perfect curls.”

- In Private, He’s Your Rock

When it’s just the two of you, away from the prying eyes of the crew, Sanji’s admiration for you feels like a soft, steady thing. In moments of quiet, when you’re lying in his arms after a long day, he’ll press gentle kisses to the top of your head, letting his lips linger just long enough to enjoy the feeling of your curls against his face. “You know…” he’ll say softly, “I’d protect every single curl on your head if it meant keeping you safe.”

CAT BURGLAR NAMI

- Strategic Observations of Your Hair

Nami is always keenly aware of your curls, though she rarely shows it. She’s more practical than emotional, so she admires the way your hair moves with the wind or the humidity with the same precision she’d use to study a map. “so gorgeous,” she’ll say, a faint smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth as she watches a few stubborn strands fight against the breeze. You can see that spark in her eyes—Nami loves a challenge, and your curls are one she enjoys mastering in subtle ways.

- Curly Hair Care Expert (Without the Compliments)

Nami isn’t one to shower you with over-the-top compliments about your hair—she’ll leave that to others like Sanji. Instead, she’ll approach your curls with the same pragmatism she applies to everything in her life. She’ll be the first one to suggest a new hair product when your curls are looking frizzy, her voice casual as if she’s offering you an extra map for your travels. “Try this—works wonders with humidity. Trust me, I’ve tested it.”

- The Subtle Tease

Nami loves to tease you, and your curly hair is a prime target. “It must take you forever to untangle that mess in the morning,” she’ll comment with a smirk, clearly enjoying the light-hearted jab. But when she says this, you know there’s affection behind the teasing—Nami isn’t mean-spirited, she’s just playful. Still, you’ll catch her grinning as she watches you attempt to fix one particularly stubborn curl.

- The Subtle Compliment (When You Least Expect It)

While she’ll never openly gush about how beautiful your curls are, she’ll show her admiration in small, subtle ways. When she notices a particularly well-placed curl or a new style you’ve tried, she’ll make a nonchalant comment. “Okay, I’ll admit it,” she’ll say while adjusting a map or focusing on something else. “That curl right there—looks good.” She’ll never go overboard, but you can hear the sincerity in her voice.

- Curly Hair, Practicalities First

Nami’s practicality takes over when it comes to your hair. She’ll often have hair ties and clips on hand, offering them to you without hesitation. If your hair starts getting in the way during a storm or a chaotic situation, she’ll hand you one with a knowing look, as if it’s just another tool to make the day go smoothly. “Trust me, it’s easier when you don’t have a ton of hair in your face while navigating through this mess.”

- Shared Moments in the Sun

On those rare, peaceful moments when the crew is relaxing on a beach or under a tree, Nami will sit beside you, eyeing your curls with a kind of fondness. She’ll reach over to lightly tuck one curl behind your ear, the touch soft, almost intimate. “Your hair’s wild,” she’ll comment with a small smile, “but in a good way. It suits you.” These little moments of connection, where Nami’s usually cool demeanor softens, are a quiet but important reminder that she values you, in every sense.

- In Private, She’s Surprisingly Gentle

When it’s just the two of you, Nami can be surprisingly tender. If she catches you adjusting your curls in frustration, she won’t let you do it alone. “Let me help,” she’ll say quietly, gently moving to fix the curls you’ve been trying to tame. You’ll feel her fingers brush your scalp, working in silence with focused care. For someone who doesn’t always show her emotions, her actions speak volumes.

- Nami’s Way of Saying “I Care”

Nami doesn’t always wear her affection on her sleeve, but when she does, it’s in these small moments with you. After a rough day, when the rest of the crew is busy or unwinding, she’ll settle beside you. Without saying much, she’ll gently adjust your curls, fixing them in a way that feels almost soothing. “You’re fine. Stop stressing,” she’ll whisper with a calm smile, her touch tender but firm, reminding you that she’s there.

NICO ROBIN

- Admiring Your Curls from a Distance

Robin, being observant as always, notices the subtle beauty in your curls, though she’s not the type to openly gush about them. When she’s deep in thought, her gaze will often drift to you, to the way your curls frame your face so perfectly, as if each strand is in its rightful place. She’s not one to speak often, but when she does, it’s always with a calm, almost meditative tone. “You have a way of making chaos look beautiful,” she’ll say, the softness in her voice making it clear that it’s more of an observation than a simple compliment.

- Gentle Touch and Care

Robin isn’t the kind of person who’s outwardly affectionate in the traditional sense, but when she does show her care, it’s in the smallest, most delicate gestures. If you’re struggling with your curls, or if the wind has made them unruly, she’ll quietly take a seat next to you, her hands moving to adjust a few strands with meticulous care. She doesn’t rush, allowing the moment to feel intimate, her touch feather-light as she smooths down a particularly stubborn curl. “There. That’s better,”she’ll say softly, her eyes lingering on you with that serene, knowing expression.

- The Quiet Compliment

Robin doesn’t give many overt compliments, but when she does, it’s always in the form of quiet, thoughtful remarks. If your curls catch her attention—perhaps when the sunlight hits them just right—she might lean in ever so slightly, her lips curving into a subtle smile. “You always seem to look the most radiant when the wind plays with your hair,” she’ll comment, her voice low, as if she’s sharing a private thought.

- Her Subtle, Intimate Observations

Robin’s way of showing admiration is to notice the things that others might overlook, the subtle movements, the small details that make you unique. She’ll watch your curls bounce as you move, and though she might not comment on them every time, there’s a certain glimmer in her eyes that lets you know she’s taken note. “Your curls have their own rhythm,” she’ll muse, her voice a soft hum as she watches them shift in the breeze.

- The Quiet Protector

Though Robin is typically reserved, when it comes to you, she’s remarkably attentive. If she notices you becoming frustrated with your curls, especially in the heat or humidity, she might offer you a calming smile, her hand gently brushing your hair out of your face. “Don’t let something so simple trouble you,” she’ll say, her voice as smooth as silk, her touch both soothing and reassuring.

- The Curiosity About Your Hair

Robin’s intellectual curiosity extends to you as well, and she’s often fascinated by the way your curls seem to have a life of their own. “It’s remarkable,” she’ll say with a quiet tone of wonder. “How do you keep your curls so full of life?” She’s genuinely interested in your haircare routine, as it represents the unique qualities of your personality that she finds so intriguing.

- A Gentle Bond in the Quiet Moments

In private moments, when the noise of the world fades away, Robin enjoys the soft serenity of your company. She might run her fingers through your curls, not in a rush but with a calm, soothing touch, as if she’s cherishing the peacefulness of the moment. “Your curls remind me of the ocean,” she’ll say, her voice almost distant as if lost in thought. “Full of mystery and depth.” It’s her way of expressing how much she values you, in her own quiet, graceful manner.

- Noticing Your Efforts Without Saying Much

Robin is keenly aware of the effort you put into your appearance, especially when it comes to your curls. She notices when you take extra care, or when you’re struggling with them. If you’re frustrated with the way they’re behaving, Robin will gently offer assistance, her tone soft but sure. “I’m sure they’ll settle. It’s just a matter of patience.” She understands the small, quiet frustrations that others might overlook, and she offers support without making a big deal of it.

- The Protective Quietness

In the rare moments when someone else dares to make a comment about your hair—either teasing you or offering unsolicited advice—Robin is quick to defend you. She’ll raise an eyebrow and speak with calm authority, her words firm but never harsh. “I don’t believe they were asking for your opinion,” she’ll say, her gaze never leaving the person who dared to intrude on your space.

- Help with Your Curls

Nico Robin’s Devil Fruit powers, the Hana Hana no Mi, allow her to sprout extra limbs from almost any surface. She’s not one to show off, but when she notices you struggling with your unruly curls—perhaps a particularly stubborn knot or frizz—she’ll use her powers in a subtle, gentle way to assist you. With a calm, focused expression, Robin will sprout delicate, flower-like hands from the back of your head or from the side of your shoulder. “I’ll help you with that,” she’ll say, her voice serene. These hands will deftly smooth through your hair, massaging out any tangles or gently pushing stray curls back into place, working with the same care and precision she’d apply to her own tasks. The hands, sprouting from places like your shoulders or even from behind you, are soft and graceful—never overbearing or intrusive, but more like a quiet offering of help, her calm presence easing away any frustration.

It’s a gesture that’s almost poetic in its execution—Robin’s powers are used not for grand battles or dramatic displays, but to ease your mind and make your hair fall just a little bit more perfectly, with a soft smile on her lips.

RED-HAIRED SHANKS

- A Love as Wild as the Sea

Shanks has spent his life chasing the horizon, but when he looks at you—when he watches the way your curls catch the sunlight, wild and untamed—he swears he’s found something even more boundless. He cups your face in his one strong hand, his thumb tracing over your cheek as he gazes at you with that easy, knowing smile. “The sea’s spent its whole life trying to move like you… and it still doesn’t come close.” he murmurs, voice dipped in quiet wonder, as if he’s found the only treasure that truly matters. Your lashes fluttered as you blinked, once, twice, before giving him a look somewhere between amused and skeptical. “You always this smooth, or did the sea teach you that too?” Shanks’ grin deepens, his thumb still tracing lazy circles against your cheek. “Nah,” he muses, voice low and teasing. “The sea just taught me how to chase what’s impossible to resist.”

- His Fingers Lost in Your Curls

His hand is calloused, rough from years at sea, yet when it finds your curls, his touch is impossibly soft. He has a habit of playing with them absentmindedly—twisting a strand between his fingers while deep in thought, brushing them from your face with the backs of his knuckles. When you sit beside him on the deck, he leans in just enough to let the scent of salt and wind in your hair lull him into contentment. If you ever rest against his chest, his hand naturally moves to cradle your curls, holding you there like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

- A Sailor Who Studies the Storm

Shanks is a man who understands the sea—its tempests, its serenity, its unpredictability. And when he looks at you, at the way your curls shift with the wind, full of their own wild defiance, he understands you in the same way. He watches as they move in the ocean breeze, never trying to tame them, only admiring the way they mirror your spirit. There’s a quiet reverence in the way Shanks watches you, as if memorizing every twist and turn of your curls the same way a sailor memorizes the tides. He never tries to smooth them down, never seeks to control them—because to him, they are a perfect reflection of you. Wild. Free. Untamed by the world. When the wind picks up, pulling at your hair like the ocean reaching for the shore, he only chuckles, his hand instinctively finding its way to you. With an easy touch, he tucks a curl behind your ear, his fingers lingering just long enough to make you feel the warmth of his calloused palm against your skin.

- Sheltering You from the Wind, His Own Way

Shanks doesn’t just pull you close when the wind picks up—he does it casually, as if he has every right to. He’ll throw his heavy cloak over your shoulders with a smirk, shifting his body just enough to block the strongest gusts. “Can’t have the wind stealing my favorite sight,” he muses, tucking a stray curl behind your ear with his thumb. He may be missing an arm, but that never stops him from holding you the way you need—as if the sea itself could never sweep you from his grasp.

- The Scent of Salt and Memory

He’s drawn to the scent of your hair in the same way he’s drawn to the ocean—something comforting, something constant. When he embraces you after weeks or months apart, he buries his face in your curls, inhaling deeply before exhaling a slow, content sigh. “Smells like home,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and unguarded. If you tease him about smelling like rum and mischief, he only chuckles, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “Then I guess we belong to each other, don’t we?”

- Taming His Hands, Not His Heart

He may only have one arm, but when he touches you, he makes you feel as if he could hold the entire world. If you ever struggle with your curls, he’ll offer to help, his fingers threading through them with surprising patience. “You trust me with this?” he teases, though his touch is careful, reverent. If you let him, he’ll tie loose sections away from your face, securing them with a scrap of ribbon he cut from his own coat. And when he’s finished, he leans back, studying his handiwork before murmuring, “Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

[thefreakandthehair]

you could be bad, but I wanna find out.

written for @steddiemicrofic ‘guard’ | wc: 532 | rated: mature | tags: goalie!Steve Harrington, fan!Eddie Munson, alternate universe- no upside down, different first meeting, meet ugly (but it's still cute), bars, alcohol mention, description of sexual activity, humor, big mouth!Eddie Munson, long-suffering besties Gareth and Jeff

The bar is buzzing with excited fans, humming with an energy that makes Eddie feel looser and lighter than the Budweiser ever could. Surrounded by a sea of black and red jerseys that line the long, narrow bar, Jeff and Gareth laugh and shake their heads. 

Eddie hasn’t stopped rambling since the Blackhawks won, and he has no intentions of stopping anytime soon. 

Not after a win like that— a shutout win that tore the roof off of United Center. 

And certainly not after the Blackhawks goalie guarded the net like it was his treasure and he, its dragon. 

Sure, it helps that Steve Harrington is definitely the most beautiful man to ever grace an ice rink, but it’s the competence that gets him. Watching Harrington bend and stretch his limbs into pretzel-like shapes, coming up with the puck and an unhinged grin, really gets his motor running.

“I mean, did you see him?” Eddie asks for maybe the tenth time since sitting at the shiny, shellacked bar. “Jeff, you get it, right? You see what I’m seeing, right?” 

“I see a guy who’s really great at his job, and I see another guy who sounds insane. Guess which one you are?” Jeff snorts into his beer and takes a sip. 

“Gareth, buddy, surely you can understand where I’m coming from. Remember the first time you saw Lars Ulrich?” Eddie turns, knocking his shoulder against Gareth’s. 

“Duh, dude,” Gareth leans forward and yells in response, the bar erupting into cheers and more drunken celebrations. “The difference is that I wanted to be Lars Ulrich. You want to fuck Steve Harrington.” 

Eddie clutches his chest in feigned offense and feels himself being pushed against the bar as the building fills up with what must be the final wave of fans leaving the stadium. The bartender nods behind him with a knowing smile and passes a draft beer over Eddie’s shoulder into a large, veiny hand. 

“Okay, fine,” Eddie concedes, resting his own drink on the bar. “You’re right. The way I would fuck Steve Harrington is obscene. I’d let him violate whatever obscure, unknown Bible Belt laws he wanted. He's a ride I wouldn't survive. The wheels would come right off.”

“Uh, Eddie?” Jeff tries to interrupt but Eddie’s having none of it. 

“Nope, I’m not done. That split save? The way he guarded his crease? And for a fucking 36-save shutout? Holy shit.”

“Ed—” Gareth tries but Eddie steamrolls him, too. 

“What is it you call it, Gare? A competency kink? Well, sure. Fine. Call it what you want, but he’s so good at what he does. I need him in a way that would disappoint my grandmother, and not just because she was homophobic."

A hand— the same hand that had reached over him to grab the glass just a few minutes ago— pats him on the shoulder and when Eddie turns around to see who the fuck is touching him, he nearly falls off of the wobbly stool.

Steve Harrington grins, a drink in one hand and the other still resting on Eddie’s frozen frame. 

“I think your grandmother would’ve liked me,” he shrugs. “I have a way with families.” 

[povcastiel]

˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

The King of the Pirates and… His Queen

Tags | Monkey D. Luffy x Siren Reader

Warnings | Sexual content, fluuuuuuufffff

MDNI

[ Soooooooo, I really had to get this out. ILY <3]

Realization…

Monkey D. Luffy is oblivious.

Between his constant thought of a tasty meal, finding the One Piece, and claiming his rightful title—he can’t be bothered to notice subtle signs of love… of lust.

He adores you, that much is true, (in his own unhinged way) but even Sanji couldn’t be successful in dropping the Captain hints.

That’s all until the world tilted on its axis and you saved his life. Lucky fins and all, Luffy doomed by the Devil Fruit in his veins. Cursed by the sea, his only refuge had been in your arms. Not daring to abandon his precious straw hat, as you reached the wet sand of the beach. You’d forgotten all about the chaos that landed you here when you looked over his peaceful face. The scar beneath his eye so prominent, and his raven hair clinging against his forehead. Red shirt undone, abdomen muscles shinning in the sun. He looked like a man from one of those romance novels Robin let you borrow from time to time.

Luffy eventually came to, opening his eyes to the beauty that was you and the rest was written. From that moment on, Luffy owed you everything and in return, he silently made his own claim over you.

No turning back…

Luffy seized his opportunity, sooner rather than later. All it took was another flirty look from his cook and every ounce of jealousy within him came to a head.

And you’ve never seen him so possessive. Especially after he dragged you off to the men’s quarters. You’d only witnessed this kind of determination during the many impulsive fights he threw himself into.

It was all teeth and desperation. Nips and rough bites against your skin, blooming bruises that left you scolding him. Luffy would offer his signature “sorry…” and repeat the motions until you gave up altogether. Which was all he needed to completely devour you, to ruin you.

Really... you regretted letting him get a taste so soon. You’re familiar to tear stained cheeks, because Luffy promises after every high that it’s the last time. Muffled words against your sweet sex. "One more f'me sweetness..." He lied… He’s starving and you’re enduring it all until your fingers are tangled in his hair, tugging him away. (Not without a fight from your whining Captain.)

"Please baby, you can take it..."

Your his, he’s yours…

Aside from Zoro, your loyalty is everything to him. He’s carved out a spot just for you, within his heart. After everything, you couldn’t dare turn your back on him.

He hasn’t misplaced the memory of your first encounter. Stranded on an island, damaged fins from ruthless pirates. He wasn’t like them… his bouncing enthusiasm was infectious. Chopper was a life saver — the cutest reindeer you’d ever seen. You weren’t sure how to repay him, but many cotton candy clouds later… you think you’re even.

Who knew Monkey D. Luffy was such a simp? He wants you close every chance he gets. He’s possessive, over protective, and in times of trouble… he doesn’t even think of leaving you.

You’ve earned the golden status. Shown off to everyone. A chance encounter with big brother Ace? You’re the first one he’s introducing. You’ve even got Shanks’ stamp of approval.

Luffy’s dreams have broadened. The throne he desires is now yours, but don’t expect a second chair.

Monkey D. Luffy’s got it pictured in his mind. Crowns to adorn your heads and his most prized treasure of all is you… right on his lap.

Oh- Sanji thinks you're waaaay out of Luffy's league... ;)

[whirlybirbs]

Do you have anymore sharpshooter/zoro thoughts? I don't even watch one piece but that drawing was so cute and I want to hear more!!

— SWAN DIVE ; RORONOA ZORO ; ぞろ

summary: port d'beau proves to be anything but an easy job. you almost drown, zoro saves you. [set post-arlong, pre-alabasta] pairing: roronoa zoro / f!reader ; straw hat pirate wc: 2.7k tags: shameless potc reference, reader has a backstory, frenemies-to-lovers, an "oh" moment, mutual pining, the corset is a plot point, t+, no use of y/n a/n: i drew this a few days ago and here we are. i'm sure we've all seen the source material for this one — this scene actually altered my brain chemistry as a child and i'm still unpacking that to this day.

It was supposed to be an easy job.

Port d'Beau proves to be anything but.

Roronoa Zoro crosses his arms and leans back into the scarce shade on the Going Merry's deck. The mid-day heat is suffocating — and the swordsman can't help but pity the two girls high up the marina's cliffs. 

The sounds of a party float through the air. Slow waltzes on strings, the tinkering of silver on porcelain, and laughter far too refined for his taste. 

Overhead, the furled sails of the four-cannon caravel flap in the meager breeze rolling in off the sea. Waves lap at the ship's side and somewhere at the bow, Zoro can hear Luffy fidgeting. Sanji is no better, pacing and mumbling something about the heat. Usopp, to his credit, has given up entirely and surrendered himself to the shade with nothing but a peep.

The boys were forced to stay back while you and Nami played dress-up. 

In all fairness, Nami did have a point when she shoved her finger in Zoro's face and said he was too well-known to pass as some upstanding gentleman. On top of that, news of Luffy's brand new bounty of thirty million berries is sweeping ports across the East Blue. There's no doubt the Marine branch stationed on this island — the Thirty-Ninth Division — would recognize their captain immediately. Sanji did whatever Nami said, like an obedient dog, and Usopp needed no convincing to tag along once he heard about the Marine presence. 

Nami's plan was simple. 

The papers had boasted about Port d'Beau's annual gubernatorial luncheon. Hundreds of high-standing families across the East Blue were invited to celebrate Governor Bidon's re-election and his daughter's engagement to the 29th Marine Division's Commodore. The guests pocket purses and that engagement ring was a sitting duck, just waiting for Nami's sticky fingers. 

She'd sneak in alongside you — a key piece in the puzzle. You were a lady once, the daughter of a politician. You knew the ins and outs of the upper echelon's etiquette and formalities, something Nami had little grasp on when it came to burglarizing.

Once in, the entire banquet was theirs for the taking. Nami would steal what they could off the unsuspecting patrons, you'd keep the targets busy with idle chat over tea, and they'd high tail it out of there before dessert even hit the tables.

Easy. 

Quick. 

Fun, even. 

The day proves to be anything but that for you.

The heat seems like proof you're in hell — and you furiously fan yourself as some Lieutenant named Pinard leads you away from the bustle of the party. The afternoon sun beats down on your shoulders and you exhale tightly, wishing for an inch more room in this corset. Nami tied it a bit too tight in her zeal.

Your lungs and ribs ache and you heft the petticoats beneath your skirt up into your hand as you step up onto the overlook. 

Though the view of Port d'Beau is beautiful, it's one you've always sought comfort in — the view of the bustling port, the rolling waves, the marina below...

Lieutenant Pinard offers you a sweaty hand and you accept it with a grimaced smile. Keep up the act. Just about now, Nami is slipping away with a bundle of treasure and headed to the docks. Soon, you'll be out of this dress and back on the Going Merry.

You flutter your fan a bit harder as you swipe away a bead of cold sweat that runs down your temple, avoiding the wistful and adoring gaze of the spindly Lieutenant. 

You're selling this whole act a little too well, but who can blame you?

Your whole life you've defied the expectations placed on a woman of your station. You have had no intention of sitting idly by like a wallflower. Etiquette classes were overshadowed by marksmanship. You had a gift for shooting, and though sport was rare on the cluster of islands making up your home, you excelled. Trophies and ribbons are half the proof of the shot you are. 

The moment you stepped aboard the Going Merry, you thought you left petticoats, gossip, and high tea in the past.

And yet, here you are.

Your sweaty hand in Lieutenant Pinard's sweaty hand.

The heat feels worse up here. You wonder if Nami's made it to the docks yet. Just hold on a little longer, then you can excuse yourself from the party and disappear. 

The chiffon ribbon beneath your chin, tying your hat to your head, flutters in the breeze — and you try to gasp in some of the cool air before it dissipates back into the stagnant summer heat. Sweat runs down the back of your neck and beneath the collar of your dress.

You fan yourself a little harder as Lieutenant Pinard begins to speak.

You can't bring yourself to look at him.

Instead, you try to breathe and lean against the cool stone of the battlement. 

Port d'Beau has long since boasted about its impenetrable Fort Beaumont. 

Zoro, as he tips his head back into his palms, understands the reputation. From the marina, Fort Beaumont has a bird's eye view of all the ongoings. That was why they were so quick to furl their sails, hiding the Straw Hats flag deep in the gulley, as they tied off in the marina under the guise of merchants. 

He closes his eyes and wonders if he'll be able to get a wink of shut-eye in this heat. Nami should be back by now, with you in tow.

Up above him, on the cliffs, you're trying to swallow down the roll of nausea threatening to bring up the meager few bites of a finger sandwich you had an hour ago. 

Your mouth is dry.

You can't breathe.

"—That is why I wanted to speak with you privately, my lady," the Lieutenant drawls on as you flutter your lace fan faster and faster, feet wobbling; he turns his back to hide his apparent flush, "I have never met a woman as beautiful, and... daring, I may even say—"

Suddenly, the world tips.

It's enough that you stagger and press your hands against the limestone battlement. Then, the world tips the other way. Your head feels funny; your body feels like it's diving headfirst into vertigo.

Oh. 

Oh, you're fainting.

Annnnnnd, now you're falling.

SPLASH!

The Commodore blinks.

He turns around.

And you're gone.

Nami's got one foot onboard the Going Merry when you hit the water.

Zoro's head snaps up, his eyes widening at the sound of the splash from the cliffs; he's not the only one. The entire crew is rushing to the railing of the deck with confusion and panic on their faces.

"Nami—" Zoro begins, his voice is a low warning. He's already stripping his swords from his belt. 

The thief gasps in horror.

"—Where the hell is our sniper?" he grits, deep and unamused. Zoro's eyes don't leave the splash once — because deep down, he already knows the answer to that question.

Nothing ever goes to plan with the Straw Hats.

Nami spies the sudden cluster of Marines up on the battlements and her gut sinks. Her hoard of stolen goods tumbles to the deck as she throws herself against the railing.

"Shit! Zoro, she can't swim!" Nami screams, frozen in fear.

The last of his swords hits the deck as he barks: "I know that!" 

Zoro's eyes snap to the white echos of a wave from the splash, and a floating hat with a streaming emerald ribbon catches his eye. 

Not good.

Not good!

What's worse is that Luffy sees it too, and the idiot is two beats from throwing himself off the edge of the bow before Zoro hauls his shirt over his head and smacks the Captain in the face with it.

"Don't even think about it," he grits out, wagging a finger in Luffy's face, "I won't drag your sorry ass up from the bottom too."

Any protests (whines) from Luffy are drowned out by the sound of Zoro's boots on the wooden deck as he takes a running start.

Sanji's tripping over his boots, trying to follow Zoro in, but he stops completely when Usopp calls out and points to the cliffs. "We've got trouble!"

The Marines are mobilizing.

"Sanji, time to get going," Nami panics, backing away from the railing as she realizes they will need to get you out of the water fast — and get the hell out of Port d'Beau faster. 

"On it!" Sanji agrees, calling out to Luffy, "Time to move, Captain!"

Fast and strong, Zoro makes a break. With two long strides, he plants his boot on the railing and pushes off the bow to cut into the waves with a sharp dive. 

The clear blue water is cool — enough that the initial splash makes Zoro's heart pound. But, what's worse for his heart is the sight of you rapidly approaching the bottom of the marina faster by the second, weighed down by a plume of petticoats and silk. 

He curses to himself and pushes himself to dive faster as a harsh stream of air leaves a trail back to the shimmering surface above you both.

Now, as he barrels deeper into the water and tries to save their marksman from drowning, is probably not a good time to confront his feelings for you. 

It's certainly not time to address the fact that the manufactured malice he fronts aboard the deck toward you is just that: fake. It's certainly not time to address the fact he has a well-guarded soft spot for you, nor the time to address the fact he can't help but wonder how one person can make him feel so damn weak.  

So, he pushes them away, ignores the burn in his chest, and equates it to nothing more than a lack of oxygen.

They'll be time for that shit later. 

Right now, he's busy wrapping his hands around your waist and trying to urge you up to the surface.

It proves to be an easier idea than in practice, though. Zoro huffs out an exhale of frustrated bubbles as your skirts tug him — and you — back down to the bottom. 

And so, he ignores the guilt gnawing at his brain as he unceremoniously yanks the front seams of your dress open and clumsily slips you out of the layers of silk with his last breath. Calloused knuckles knock against the boning of your corset and the rough drag of fabric stings his knuckles.

The swordsman breaks the surface, gasping and coughing, just in time to spy a throng of Marines headed down the beach. In his arms, your head lolls back onto his shoulder. You haven't moved — not once, and Zoro's panic is only rising. Wet tendrils of your hair tangle across his neck as he hauls you towards the docks, your body hefted over his shoulder as he scrambles. 

Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go. 

One hand is on the back of your thighs. Your torso is thrown over his back. Your arms sway as he breaks into a controlled jog.

Up the plank, across the threshold of the dock, onto the hot deck of the Going Merry. He makes it, just in time for the lines to be cast and the sails to unfurl, but Zoro isn't even close to relaxing.

"If you die, I will kill you," he can't help it — his voice is stern, the low timbre snapping like a slap as he gently sets you down on the dock's wooden deck and pants. His hand braces against the back of your head as his body bends to hover over you. 

You're not breathing, and water drips off Zoro's nose and lands on your cheek as he starts to panic — and then his eyes land on the tight front lacing of your corset.

Immediately, he's barking at Sanji. "Sanji! Knife, now!" 

It's sacrilegious, sure, but Sanji doesn't really give a damn if it means you don't die. The pairing knife is handed off to Zoro in a flash, and the swordsman holds it like a weapon and not like a cooking implement. There's something poetic about that, but Sanji doesn't have the time to mull over why Zoro is so ready to wield a weapon for you.

Some other time, maybe.

Nami is barreling down the deck, her eyes wild. "What the hell are you doing—?!"

The lacing is sliced clean through in a flash of the steel blade. Your corset blooms open, and immediately you gasp — and water bubbles from your throat in a panicked cough that rifles you awake immediately. 

You writhe, twisting on the deck to brace yourself on your elbow as you hack and cough. Your lungs burn and your throat is on fire and everything tastes like seawater. Hair hangs in your face while you try to breathe in that puddle on the deck of the Going Merry. 

Zoro leans back on his knees, shoulders sagging, and feels a wave of relief wash over him as he hands off the pairing knife to Sanji. The swordsman is also trying to catch his breath — water running down his chest and arms — as his boots squeak against the deck. The cook takes it slowly, his mouth agape, as he lets out an exhale.

Then, gently, Zoro places a hand on your shoulder.

Slowly, you lift your head.

He's haloed by the sun and the bluest sky you've ever seen. 

Roronoa Zoro looks beautiful. 

It feels like you're seeing him for the first time — like you've been slapped across the face by divine intervention. It's like the ocean shook you by the shoulders and made you look directly in his eyes. 

Maybe you're dead.

"Are you alright...?" he asks roughly, his eyes inspecting you over in a way that makes a newfound heat thrum through your veins. The sound feels different than all the other times he's spoken to you (i.e., snapped at you). This time, it's softer. Low and warm, like a warm meal. His earrings glint in the sun, and a drop of water runs down his neck and down, down, down his sternum.

You stare.

Then, like you suddenly realize just what sort of position you're in, you blink down at the thin chemise clinging to your figure. Every curve, every dip — it's all on display, and you can't help but go rigid. 

Doesn't help that Zoro is realizing that little fact too. Your chest heaves out a panted breath and he has to physically tear his eyes away. 

"I'm fine," you manage to grit out, turning your cheek as you slowly sit up, "I—"

"Go slow," he urges gently, his hand coming to fall along your lower back, "You took a pretty hard fall."

You push the wet, tangled hair out of your eyes and ignore the bloom of goosebumps his hand ushers in. You lean on your palms. Water runs off the tip of your nose. 

When you speak, it's so soft it's nearly a whisper.

"...Thank you, Zoro."

Sanji shifts awkwardly above the both of you.

What the hell is going on?

Mosshead and the crew's beloved sniper never go more than two sentences without ripping into each other — everyone knows that. It's the way it goes. They can't stand one another. Zoro thinks their sniper is a delicate, spoiled, little princess, and their sniper thinks Zoro is a bullheaded, impulsive brute. Tit-for-tat. Grounded in reality. Unlike whatever the fuck is going on right now before his very eyes.

The swordsman's ears go red.

Sanji can't fucking believe it.

Zoro catches your eyes for a beat longer than he should have, and he swears something in the air just changed. 

And you smile at him. 

"Let's get you covered up," Sanji breaks the moment, half-tied between disbelief and fear. Maybe you did hit your head on the way down. The cook's jacket comes across your shoulders like a blanket.

Never in his life has Zoro ever been so thankful for shitty cook's interruption, or Nami's shouting, or Luffy's laughter, or Usopp's wailing. The entire crew spills onto the deck around you, sweeping you into worried hugs and doting touches — leaving Roronoa Zoro to wonder what the hell just happened.

It was supposed to be an easy job.

Port d'Beau proves to be anything but.

Because Zoro can't stop wondering if he should confront those feelings in his chest, and you can't stop wondering when those feelings for him ever took root in your own. 

[darlingdekarios]

no place like home.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 17,578 content: The Homelander x f!reader, dead dove do not eat, dark themes [kidnapping, dubious consent], Homelander is very much so Homelander, controlling behavior, smut [masturbation - public for Homelander, fingering - receiving, oral - receiving, unprotected p in v], kink(s) [breeding, semi-public]

Homelander doesn't just want to be loved by everyone, he needs to be loved by everyone...but most of all, he needs to be loved by you.

“Homelander saves the day once again.”

“Homelander is our hometown hero after another heroic weekend.” 

“Welcome home, Homelander!”

One of his favorite things to do when he returned home was to flip through the news channels, swimming in the sea of compliments all for him…for whatever they’d scripted for him to do this time. He often found himself wishing he could drown in this sea - if he weren’t so fucking good at everything, maybe he could. This was always his favorite way to pass the time. The high he felt from the various phrases of approval for him would give him enough gratification until the next time he was let loose to do exactly what he was created to do. Your voice flooded his ears on a particularly cold mid-October afternoon, yet the sweet sound only provided poisoned words. 

“Homelander - Hometown Hero or Homegrown Hoax? On this episode we’re-”

A hoax? Despite the chill of the day, Homelander found his body immediately surged with heat at your selfish words of disapproval. Not that these petty chores were any real risk to him, but there was no law that he had to help people. In fact, he could choose to never help a single person ever again with his gifts, and there was nothing anyone else could do about it. Who was strong enough to stop the Homelander from doing exactly what he wanted? And yet, here you were, with a voice entirely too sweet to be saying such ugly things about him – about the one true god of this sorry planet. 

Failing to drain out your words, he found himself turning his attention away from the news channels on his tv praising him, and instead focusing on the laptop in front of him – on pulling up the video for your silly little podcast. He had to see what the woman who dared speak of him this way looked like – to see who such a sweet voice could belong to. And he was quite possibly the furthest thing he’d ever been from disappointed when his eyes finally saw you for the first time. 

You were so beautiful, so tempting and delicious, and yet you were tarnishing all of the perfect things you presented about yourself by speaking so poorly of him. Who were you, with your insignificant podcast, to sit here and pass judgments about anything he’d done? Who were you to threaten to expose the things he deserved to do – the things that were his right to do? You were nothing, and yet right now, you were everything that consumed him as he wrapped his mind around your words, as he tried to process the hatred you felt you could so freely spout for him. 

The half an hour show felt like an eternity as your words washed over him like fire. He was red hot by the time the show wrapped up and he found himself breathing heavily through clenched teeth. Pausing with his eyes glued to the frozen image of you the ending video had left on his screen, he found himself rising to pace the room, eyes never leaving the screen. He’d saved an entire bus load of stupid kids tonight, and this is what he came home to? To this entitled little bitch talking about the things you thought he did wrong? Right or wrong – it didn’t matter, because it was what he wanted to do. 

He found himself unable to rest. For the entirety of the day, it seemed, he worked his way through the archive of your work – from the beginning, desperate for any mention of his name falling from your negative lips. Episode after episode took up hour after hour of his night as he set out on his treasure hunt, becoming desperate as years worth of cookie-cutter journalism flooded his ears. But there was nothing. No comments about The 7, no comments about Vought, no comments about him…he almost found himself wishing to hear his name slip from your lips dripping with hatred rather than he wished for you to ignore him completely. 

His efforts were not rewarded until he reached a podcast dated November 07 of one year prior - the last episode uploaded until about a month ago. It almost made him giddy to hear his name on your lips again, and the feeling didn’t falter as the story of the short-than-usual episode took place – you were sorry you hadn’t updated the channel in a while, and let your loyal followers know that you would be taking a break from journalism to work through some personal trauma. The trauma was that in October of last year, Homelander had been told “no” a few too many times and decided to throw a tantrum to get his point across – laser beaming into a building full of innocent people without regard for their safety…without regard for their lives. Amongst the dead that day was a young man, the one with whom you’d planned to spend your life with. 

This wasn’t the story Vought told, of course – they could never tarnish the shining reputation of their golden boy who simply needed to learn how to accept disappointment sometimes. The story that capitalistic cunt-filled company twisted into the media for themselves was that Homelander had tracked an extremely dangerous group of gun-wielding terrorists to the building and taken the route with the least amount of damage by using his laser eyes to take out the terrorists (and half of the building with them in a tragic loss). He’d rehearsed the speech the company had written for him enough times to where his apology sounded sincere, though you seemed to see right through that little façade, according to your podcast. 

He could feel the hollowness in your voice as he watched you speak about how the last couple of weeks had been for you - about how you’d been feeling since you lost Adam. Homelander found that every time the name Adam fell from your lips, every time you mentioned how good of a man Adam had been , his eyes gave an involuntary roll. I mean, honestly, he worked in some totally unspectacular building on an unspectacular street - how special could he honestly be? This nobody was good enough for you to speak so highly of on your podcast, yet Homelander wasn’t worth an ounce of that attention? Who the fuck cares about Adam when Homelander exists?

The first episode you’d uploaded since then was from a month ago, and Homelander had to admit that the anger forming in your features as you spoke about him made you look so deliciously pretty. To his absolute pleasure, you hardly seemed to even mention Adam by name all this time later, but Homelander fell from your lips like a symphony…no matter how angry it was. He could listen to you say his name laced with every emotion for hours, and he desperately wanted to hear how you’d sound saying his name with praise. 

But you had no words of praise for him, not a single one. Every good thing Homelander did was scripted, and you pointed that out frequently. The real Homelander was the one who threw tantrums and killed innocent people. A hoax. You’d called him a hoax a lot over the last month across several episodes, and that word was not particularly pretty when you were saying it about him. You hated him. He was “everything wrong with being a superhero”, and a “mockery of the word hero”...blah, blah, blah. The feeling surged through him like fire and he swiped the laptop from his desk, sending it crashing into the nearest wall and snapping. No one talked about him like this. No one dared speak his name alongside such negativity, alongside such open anger. He was outside and landing on the roof at Vought in almost no time at all, making his way down to crime analytics - to Anika. He knew she could never refuse what he demanded. Dropping an image of you he’d printed on her keyboard he placed his hands firmly behind his back. “I need an address for her,” he snapped, tone serious enough to let Anika know the man wasn’t in the mood to wait today. “If an address isn’t possible, I need somewhere to find her. Today .”

All Anika could do was swallow and nod as she immediately began her work, searching for a trace of this poor woman who, for some reason, had Homelander’s attention. He never gave a backup option without her suggesting one, and the fact that he suggested anything other than an address meant he was desperate. Anika – and everyone else in the room – could feel the tension dripping from the dangerous Supe as he waited. Anika almost regretted handing over the information he asked for, but dared not to deny him what he asked. 

It was a genuine joy when he found himself outside of your meek apartment, gazing into the privacy of your home. It was getting late, well after 8pm now, and yet you still weren’t home. Just as the possibilities began swimming in his head about what could be keeping your attention this late at night you walked through the front door, dropping your keys in a bowl on the counter and immediately walking to the bedroom. He gulped down as you pulled your shirt over your head, reaching behind yourself to unclasp your bra. You lived high enough up in the building to where you felt safe enough to do this – to undress in front of an open window, free from the prying eyes of the streets. But you weren’t free of him now. You’d probably never be free of his obsession again. 

You wiggled your hips as you worked your jeans down the curve of your hips, your thighs, dropping to the floor and giving Homelander a glance of what you had to offer him – though with your back to him, he still couldn’t see what he wanted the most. Still, the view was enough to make him begin to tent his pants despite the cool evening air on the rooftop. You let your hair down from the messy updo it had been in all day and run your fingers through your hair as you walked to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of wine in your underwear. Taking in a big drink you turned to walk back to your bedroom, and Homelander couldn’t help but push his pants down, face cold and emotionless as he watched you parade around your apartment looking delicious for him.

You walked to a record player and began an old jazz album before walking to the bathroom to run some water for a bath, right as Homelander grasped his cock in his fist, hissing at the feeling into the dark night. You swallowed another large drink of your wine and walked back into your bedroom, grabbing a vibrator from the nightstand and laying back on your bed. You would be sick to your stomach if you knew you were on complete display for him like this and the thought made his cock twitch in his hand as Homelander began working an orgasm from himself right as you ran the toy along your folds. He had never been more thankful for his sense of hearing than the moment he heard a moan fall from your lips. 

Groaning at the combined visual of the vibrator slipping into you and the beautiful sounds you made (which he felt was a much better use of your pretty mouth than your little podcast), he began to pump himself faster and harder, eyes briefly rolling back into his head before he pulled himself together again. His eyes needed to stay glued to you right now – needed to watch you pleasure yourself. Clearly your life wasn’t so fucking miserable, after all.

Homelander didn’t last long before he came into the air, not giving a single thought as to where it would land as it fell from the building’s roof, nearly yelling out a groan as you moaned once more. Allowing yourself a moment to come down from your high you then slipped the toy from your sopping core before throwing back the rest of the wine and walking your way into the bathroom to finish unwinding from your day. When you disappeared into the bathroom where Homelander could no longer see you he took this as his opportunity to return to his own home. 

It was infuriating for him…wanting you to adore him as everyone else should, knowing you despised him, and witnessing how fucking hot you could be. It was obvious your life couldn’t be so bad considering you appeared to have a job, an apartment, and enough drive to pleasure yourself the moment you got home. For a moment Homelander wondered if you had been with a man who couldn’t please you tonight, so you finished the job yourself when you returned home – but he pushed the thought from his mind when he felt the anger boil within himself again. 

It just wasn’t fair. He should be allowed to have whatever he wanted – he was a god, and god didn’t have to ask for things. They shouldn’t have to convince anyone to love them. Fear and respect for those superior should come naturally to everyone, and yet here this weaker non-super powered human was having the audacity to say such horrible things about him…having the audacity to ruin his homecoming this way. All he’d been able to focus on since he got home was you and your hatred for him when he should’ve been masturbating on his couch to all of the beautiful things people had to say about him. A journalist in his city as beautiful as you who only had negative things to say about him? That wouldn’t do, and he would get you in line no matter what he had to do. He would do anything to hear your praises, including putting in a phone call to an old acquaintance for a favor involving kidnapping his pesky journalist to get a point across – and he didn’t even have to ask nicely. 

And so as you slept that night a nightmare came true as a stranger crawled through your window to do Homelander’s bidding.

There wasn’t much to decipher about your current situation, and as day after day passed you began to lose that fighting spirit you usually displayed with pride and the pit  in your stomach seemed to grow. You were fairly certain you’d been on this concrete floor in a windowless room for at least 3 nights now, and you were beginning to come to terms with the horrible facts about your situation – you probably weren’t going to like whatever came next, whether it was trafficking, or worse. You hadn’t heard another human voice in the time here, despite the fact someone – a man – stuck his arm in through the door to hand you food and water. It wasn’t exactly comforting to know that he was trying to keep you alive. 

The time passed slowly in isolation and only seemed to pass slower as new aches and pains sprang forth everyday from the harsh concrete beneath you. It felt like every couple of hours you were crying again, desperate to be home and in your bed, desperate to feel the sunshine on your face, desperate to hear someone, anyone talk to you. But reality was often cruel to you and now was no exception. Fortunately for your breaking spirit, the third sleep would be your last. There was no way to discern what time it was when crashing sounds could be heard above you, startling you and immediately sending you into a panic attack. Whatever it was upstairs sounded horrible – like the tossing of furniture, yelling, loud thuds – and you were certain this could only mean bad things for you. 

As the door to the small prison you found yourself in was ripped off its hinges you felt the tears flow down your cheeks faster than they ever had, a sob leaving your lips as you buried your face in your knees, fearing for the worst. The sound of boots came closer and it felt like your heart was going to stop before that voice filled your ears – a voice you knew well, and often wished you didn’t, but right now it was the best sound you’d ever heard. 

“Uncover your eyes, ma’am,” his overly-confident voice slipped into your ears, his tone even and soothing in all of the uncertainty you’d been feeling. “You’re safe now.”

You uncovered your eyes from the curtains of your shaky hands and they found their way to his outstretched hand before settling on the two sapphires that embedded themselves as eyes in his skull. You reached out one of the hands to his, which he used to firmly, yet surprisingly gently, lift you to your feet, pulling you against him to steady you as your legs began to give out. You hadn’t gotten to do much moving the last couple of days, and the concrete had done your muscles and bones no favors. 

Supporting your full weight against his solid frame with an arm around your waist the strongest man in the world helped you outside, failing to push the thoughts of how your body felt against his from his mind to try to be the best hero he could for you right now. When the cool, fresh air sucked into your lungs for the first time in days the tears came harder. Your mind continued to go into hyperdrive as the sirens surrounding you flooded your ears and the cameras of far away yet too close news vans. Your chest began to rise and fall faster as a sob fell from your lips, your lungs desperately attempting to find stability. 

He turned to you as your breaths became more desperate, your eyes darting around at all of the different people, all of the noises, everything happening , frantically trying to make sense of things you didn’t understand – that no one should have to understand. His hands reached to cup your cheeks in his hands and he turned his head down to look at you fully, eyes burning like ice into yours. His thumbs brushed themselves over your cheekbones lightly as his voice dropped so only you could hear him. 

“Hey now, miss,” his voice was gentler, less arrogant yet still confident as he tried to bring you back to Earth. For the first time you understood how so many people could find comfort in this Adonis of a man – this close to him the world didn’t matter because there was nothing that could ever hurt you, because there was nothing that could come close to him. “I need you to breathe with me. Deep breaths, right with me. I know you can do that.”

He was so reassuring, and hearing this man that could truly do anything instill confidence in you being able to do something with him gave your brain a moment of clarity. You nodded your head in his surprisingly soft hands and found yourself incapable of looking away from his eyes as he began to coach you through deep breaths, your body relaxing as the oxygen settled within you and thanking this man by relaxing into the safety of his grasp. When your breathing steadied enough you clenched your eyes closed, tears spilling onto his hands. At another time, in another place, he’d have licked the salty liquid off to sample what you had to offer, but here, in front of these cameras, he was intent on being your perfect hero. 

“Thank you, Homelander,” you managed out with a shaky, unused voice that caused his eyes to close, his fingertips to sink into your skin at your cheeks just a little deeper before he remembered himself and stepped away, swallowing a whine at the loss of warmth beneath his hands. His eyes opened again to meet yours and he gave you his best smile, one that you couldn’t deny made your heart skip a beat, despite where you were and what you’d lived through the days prior. 

“I need you to go to Vought to file a report…to have photos taken of your condition…before we can get you home. The best doctors in the city will take care of you if anything is wrong,” he spoke dutifully, like he had done this a million times because he had , but this time it was more important to him than ever to ensure his words carried weight. To ensure that you felt the safety of him. He dropped his voice lower to continue, “I will be there to take care of you every step of the way.”

All you could do was nod and relinquish yourself to this man – this man who you knew was so dangerous. The reasonable voice in the back of your mind was screaming at you to remember your hatred for him but the horrible, terrified part of your soul that longed to be cared for latched itself onto him, anchoring into the act he was putting on display for you. He steadied you against his frame just as he had before to escort you to a black suv, helping you into the backseat before leaning against the roof to speak into the car to you. 

“These drivers will take good care of you,” his voice was soft, reassuring, coaxing you into relaxation you craved as you felt the first soft surface against your body in days. He noticed how your features relaxed and a light smile played out on his lips briefly. “I will meet you at the Vought medical center when you arrive. I’ll arrive before you.”

“N-no,” your voice was louder than it had been before, desperate to silence the plan he had in mind. Your hand reached out to grab anything you could on his suit, and when the fabric wouldn’t give your hand found its way to his shoulder, grasping like he may disappear at your fingertips at any moment. “Please.”

You were tired and it was all you could manage, but he didn’t need to hear more than those two words from you to understand what you wanted of him – what you needed of him. Your eyes were once again widened with worry, and he found himself slipping into the backseat of the car next to you, shooting a look to the cameras as he went. He didn’t know why he did it – perhaps it would make him look good to be with a victim every step of the way, gain him more points with women. Deep down, however, the supe knew that the real reason he found himself riding in a fucking car to Vought for the first time in so long was because you had choked out the most broken, desperate ‘please’, and he just couldn’t bring himself to refuse you what you wanted. 

It wasn’t long into the drive that Homelander was rewarded for his desperate ploy for your attention when you succumbed to the comfort of the vehicle, falling asleep with light breaths cascading from your lips as your head rolled from the headrest to his shoulder. He’d never felt more justified in his actions than in this moment. He started dreading moving you away from him prematurely, and instructed the drivers to take a longer route. He deserved this moment to last as long as he wanted it to. 

When he was content with the length of the drive, content with the way you seemed to melt into his side as your sleep deepened, he allowed the drivers to return to Vought, where he gently reached a hand up to touch your cheek, voice gentle as he spoke your name to bring you back to consciousness. Forgetting your safety momentarily you jolted awake, hand shooting out to grab his where you clutched it against your face, eyes finding his and realizing yourself again. His hand melted against your cheek and he didn’t mind your grasp around it in the slightest – it’s not like you could ever hurt him or stop him if you really wanted to, and your hands were soft. 

Giving you a moment to center yourself and taking obvious, deep breaths beside you, in this proximity he enjoyed the flecks of color in your eyes and the freckles that formed constellations across your nose and cheeks. He hadn’t noticed these smaller details about you before, and he wondered how many more small details he could find decorating your body, but he once again pushed the thought down before he became too eager. His performance of the day was far from over. 

He released your face from his gentle hold and exited the vehicle first, shooting a look over to the crowds of people holding cameras and phones to see their favorite hero do what he did best. As the door opened you heard the noise from the building again and your breath seemed to catch in your throat again. The bewildered, frantic look returned to your eyes that reminded Homelander of an animal stuck in the path of a predator, and he exhaled deeply, turning back to face the crowd and analyze the best way to address this situation. He’d never turn cameras away from capturing his glory, but you needed to be taken care of by him. 

He offered his hand to you again to direct you to exit the car. You hesitated, unwilling to feel crushed by the weight of the world around you outside of the vehicle, but ultimately slipped your hand into his and allowed him to assist you off of the comfort of the soft seat. His eyes flickered down into yours as he kept you between the car and himself, blocking you from the cameras that awaited your arrival. What a world you lived in where you couldn’t be rescued from being kidnapped without your image being everywhere.

“We’re going to have to walk past them,” he spoke low and direct, leaving no room for a counterargument to his plan. All you could do was stare up into his eyes, surrendering to the fact that you would ultimately listen to whatever he asked of you, not that he really asked. “If you trust me, I can make it more comfortable for you.”

Your head bobbed in a nod before you really thought about what you were agreeing to, unsure still due to the lack of details until he pulled you under his arm, keeping a firm hand around your shoulders as he used his other hand to reach down and wrap his cape up to cover you, shielding you from the harsh world. He smiled his most dashing smile for any cameras he could, all the while speaking soft praises about how well you were doing as the two of you walked toward the building. Several times he declined to stop for a selfie with those who asked, stating that he had a more important job to focus on right now. 

This was definitely why millions of people loved him. This is why people had spent the past year relentlessly attacking you online, saying you had no idea what you were talking about when it came to your criticisms of him. You had said so many horrible things about him and yet today he ripped a door from its hinges from you, and now he was ensuring you made it into the privacy of the building without slipping into another state of panic. He was a hero. Right now he was your hero. 

Once inside he released you from under his cape and spun you back around to face him, his hand resting on your shoulder as his eyes met your face again, scanning for any sign of discomfort. The two of you were immediately joined by a team of people, primarily medical professionals and the Vought equivalent of detectives who started to maneuver you into an elevator. You desperately reached for his forearm, not ready to let him go and relinquish the safety net that he had enveloped you in. He was happy to oblige your need for him and he stepped next to you, mentally noting how your fingernails sank into his skin. He could get used to that.

He stayed next to you for the majority of the day after that. While you were being examined he’d gone to get you water – a whole 32 ounces of electrolyte balanced water and he’d asked you so nicely to drink it. After the medical examination and clearance (you had some bruises he definitely wasn’t privy to or happy about, but that could be addressed later), he’d gone to fetch you some wet wipes and a change of clean clothes, wishing for once that he had a real shirt to provide you with. Of course, he’d stashed your underwear in his suit instead of turning it in with the evidence…surely someone would ask, but it could be covered up. It could always be covered up for him. 

You’d been offered many places to stay tonight other than your own apartment – Maeve’s spare bedroom, Starlight even jumped in to offer her bed (she’d take the couch), Vought offered to pay for a hotel room after being urged to by Homelander. You’d passed on every offer, insisting that you wanted to sleep in your own bed, that you needed to use your shower. You did have one, simple request, however. 

“I…would feel better if you came with me, Homelander,” you’d barely spoken above a whisper, your voice still coarse undoubtedly from the screaming you’d certainly done throughout your ordeal. He couldn’t stop the light smirk that fell across his features at your request, his ego feeling the boost of your desire for him. “If you could check my doors…and windows.”

And so he had escorted you home, once again joining you in the back of an SUV and once again enjoying the heat passing between the closeness of your bodies. Walking into the confines of your apartment punched him in the face with the overwhelming scene of you everywhere, all around him, and he had to close his eyes in the doorway to pull himself together before he set off on his final job of the night – making you feel safe in his absence. 

The door was checked twice, and he pointed out that he would have the locks changed the next day. Each and every window was inspected top to bottom, locked and pulled on, and checked for any cracks before he returned to where you sat on the couch, curled into the corner with a glass of wine in your hand, staring at nothing, your mind actually miles away. He moved to the side of the couch and crouched down, reaching out to touch your arm gently to coax you from your trance. With another jump your eyes found his and a relieved breath passed through your lips. 

“Everything is locked tight…no one is getting in here. I put my phone number on your nightstand…just in case,” he was choosing to act so nonchalant but in actuality his insides were marveling at the way you seemed to be holding on to his every word. Your eyes found his again and he could see the conflict in them, and briefly considered asking you to stay with him, to allow him to protect you…but he knew you’d say no. Staying with him would be too much on top of the last four days. “Try to sleep tonight, your body needs it.”

You nodded and finished the glass in one swift drink, setting the glass on the coffee table before turning your head to look back up at him again, contemplating the questions in your mind that you weren’t entirely ready to face. As you attempted to stand your knees gave out, muscles caving to the pain from sleeping on the concrete floor and from walking the most you had in days for hours. Luckily your hero was there and he had the best reflexes on the planet, and he only had to reach out one arm across your waist to stabilize you, pulling you close to his chest in the process to ensure you didn’t actually fall. As he looked down at you his eyebrows furrowed so quickly a camera would miss it in a genuine show of concern for you. 

“If I leave here tonight, are you going to start falling all over the place?”

You couldn’t help the light laugh that left you with a huff of breath through your nose, and you shook your head, rolling your eyes at his light humor. Laughing at him and enjoying his attention felt wrong, but the part of you that craved his protection shoved the guilt down. “Maybe you can just help me to bed? I probably won’t move once I’m there.”

With a nod he faced you forward and took his place by your side, wrapping an arm across your lower back to steady you as he took you to bed, head swimming with the many different ways he’d rather be carrying out this task – but to truly win you over, he needed to be kind. A gentleman. A true American hero – and he had practice. Once you were comfortably laying against the familiarity of your own bed you released the most delicious, pleasured breath from your lips and Homelander’s heart wrenched at the sound, filled with the desire to work those sounds from you himself. He kneeled next to the bed, face close to yours, eyes serious as he wished you a goodnight in the best way he could while playing this role. 

“I will catch the man that did this to you,” he assured, and noted how your eyes seemed to melt at his declaration of intent to seek justice for you. “And I will make sure he can never hurt you again.”

It had been four days since Homelander had left you alone that night. You opted to stay home, only leaving the walls of your apartment to meet delivery drivers for food. Going to the grocery was not something you were quite ready to tackle. To your surprise, Homelander had not returned (to your knowledge, at least – in actuality he had returned every day, sometimes twice a day, just to peek through that wide open window and hope to see a glance of you) since he’d brought you home that night. While you repeatedly reminded yourself that he was likely trying to capture whomever had done this to you. 

Even still, you found your mind frequently wandering to him – wondering when you’d see him again, swallowing the disgust you felt toward yourself for wanting to see him again, thinking about how safe it felt to be held against him. This fourth night was particularly difficult – you were lonely, yet weren’t ready to face the questions of your usual friends or leave your apartment, for that matter. As you settled yourself onto the couch for yet another old black-and-white film, a knock at the door caused your heart to jump and your stomach to sink. Standing and walking toward the door cautiously, you decided to use your voice before unlocking the new locks that had been installed three days before. Just because Homelander hadn’t been around didn’t mean he wasn’t upholding promises. 

“Who is it?” You tried to sound intimidating, you really did, but the fear was rising in your torso and settling in your chest and you suddenly felt like you weren’t breathing enough at all. You tried to suck in a steady breath, remembering the way Homelander had taught you to do so just days before, as the voice you most wanted to hear sounded through the door.

“I wanted to let you know I found the man,” he stated simply, ignoring the question you’d asked altogether. You didn’t need him to answer it, anyway – the moment you recognized the familiar ring of his voice you were unlocking the doors, and were soon face to face with him. You gulped as you realized this must have been recent, as he was covered in dirt, and a mixture of blood and sweat painted his face and caused pieces of his hair to cling to places it normally didn’t. He continued as you opened the door and his eyes met yours, “he fired a gun at me, so I had to eliminate the threat. He won’t be bothering you again.”

You released that breath you’d been trying to focus on and leaned against the door frame, closing your eyes to take in the news for a moment. Maybe you could go outside again. Maybe you didn’t have to be so afraid. Maybe you’d never meet another man like that again – one willing to create this fear in you. Maybe Homelander would always be around to protect you now. 

And he would. Mentally he knew that now. He couldn’t stay away despite any effort he put into the task. Yesterday he’d told himself he would only stop by your apartment once to check-in on you, needing to put some distance there, needing to get over this infatuation he had. Instead, he’d shown up at your apartment four times that day, finding himself rubbing his cock fiercely and coming over a photo he’d printed of you and him – it had printed in the newspaper and was of the day he rescued you, with his hands cupping your face as he reminded you how to breathe. He was trying to stay away from you, from this human who had created such a response in him, but he couldn’t help himself any longer. He needed your attention, he needed your gratification, he needed to hear you praise him…he needed you to need him. 

And so he’d done what thousands of other men have done in history: he murdered a man to impress and win a woman. He reached out a gloved hand to you to lightly tap your chin, asking you without words to look at him. He needed you to look him in the eyes – he needed to see how you flushed under his attention. You granted his wish and he noticed the tears in your eyes, tears that appeared not to be from sadness, but from gratification. Of relief. Of sheer joy. And it was all because of him. 

“Thank you. I don’t know what to say other than…thank you,” you were bashful under this intense gaze from him and tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as he gave you a smile somewhat different from his normal – somewhat genuine. Somewhat natural. He couldn’t stop himself from catching the tear that fell from one of your eyes on his gloved finger, and he fawned at the way your lips fell open at that simple gesture. His mind could only wonder what your reactions to more serious actions from him would be. Ignoring the thick tension between you he leaned slightly closer, his arm resting above yours on the door frame, towering over you. 

His eyes met yours as he spoke, the smell of him entering your senses – the sweat, the dirt, the blood, but something else there…something alluring. You had to swallow the thought down as his suddenly unscripted, unpracticed, uncalculated words slipped an invitation to hell with him into your ears. “To thank me…you could come to a Vought fundraiser. Tomorrow night. It’s short notice, but I want you there.”

Your lips parted in that way that made them look so kissable again, and he had to resist the urge to dip his head down and sink his teeth into that tempting bottom lip. You seemed to accept that you were in no position to deny him, in no position to question anything he could ask when he’d proven to be your hero, proven to keep his word to you…you would never be able to say another bad thing about him again, and you knew that. He had ensured that the world knew he was your savior, and truthfully, you didn’t mind. He was your hero. He had righted the wrong that was done against you. 

You nodded and tucked another falling piece of hair behind your ear, breathing in the scent of him again and beginning to feel slightly warmer than normal under this intensity of his gaze. “If you have someone send me details, I’ll make sure I’m there. Since…you asked so nicely,” he smiled again as you spoke and you couldn’t help but swoon at these genuine smiles he was giving you so freely right now, wondering how many other people got to see them. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow to…make sure I know what to do?”

You’d call him. The words repeated themselves in his head as he nodded. They repeated themselves for the hours that passed before he spoke to you in the morning. A dress would be at your apartment that afternoon. A car would pick you up for the event at 5:45. The event started at 6:30. And so the hours passed as both of you prepared for the event, both of your minds occupied with the possibilities an evening like this could hold – both of you unsure what these thoughts you were having meant. 

Homelander had followed through and sent you everything you needed – including a dress that felt far too expensive for you, shoes, and a necklace that had the most beautiful, unique white gemstone cut into its center. It was all far too expensive – far too nice – for you, and you elected to opt out of wearing the necklace, feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of the extravagant gifts. It was easier to collect yourself, to remember the stance you’d had on him for over a year now, when you weren’t frozen in his gaze. If you knew the truth of the desecration that went into Homelander’s chosen attire for you – that he’d rubbed the dress all over his body to cover you in his scent and that the unique gemstone was actually his cum encased and designed to look like a gem – the grand gestures would seem so wholesome and kind. In his mind, however, this was affection…or at least a form of affection he could provide. 

He, of course, arrived at the event far before you did, far before most people did, but immediately began his waiting game for you, itching to see how you looked in the dress he’d chosen for you. When he caught a glimpse of someone’s watch, his jaw briefly clenched, despite the mask he was trying to present to the world right now. 

Where were you? He couldn’t pay attention to whatever this dumb whore was talking about because his mind was burning with questions – were you just running it dangerously close to being late, or were you not truly coming at all? Just as the rage started to bubble in his stomach a new heartbeat entered the room and his head immediately turned to find its owner. When he saw you, he couldn’t have taken his eyes off of you if he wanted to. He gently moved shoved the woman who had been trying to work for his attention out of the way so nothing was in the way of your view of him as you made your way further – closer to him. 

It wasn’t that he was particularly stylish, but he understood what made people look good, and that fact was proven once again by the way that the dress he’d chosen for you made you look tonight. The thin, metallic gold fabric clung and flowed around your body in a way that mimicked liquid. The v-cut line gave enough away to inspire Homelander to drag his tongue across his lips and stand a little taller, but kept enough up to the imagination that he didn’t feel the need to rip the heads off of every man who looked at you. 

But you got closer and more of his senses kicked in, and he soon realized his earlier actions had been rewarded and you smelled so deliciously like him , mixed with the sweet scent of you. As the scent consumed him his cock twitched in his pants and he had to force a smile to cover the real things he was feeling, though anyone would be a fool to think he, or anyone else for that matter, would feel differently looking at you right now. You moved so gracefully, so lavishly as you made your way to him, a small smile dancing on your lips despite your best efforts. It wasn’t often you held the attention of the most famous man in the world.

There were too many eyes on you that weren’t his own and though there was comfort in the delicious mingling of your scents, he needed the room to know you looked this way for him tonight. You wore this dress for him, you’d clearly had your hair done for him, you were wearing the perfect shade of red on your lips for him…it was all for him. You were all for him. Maintaining what slight composure he could hold over himself when you looked like this, he covered the distance between the two of you and looked down at you over his nose, his blue eyes sparkling with something sinister as you looked up at him. 

“I was beginning to worry you weren’t going to show,” his confession caused you to still, your mind still not quite able to process these niceties from him, unable to comprehend that you may have been wrong about him. Giving you his best smile he enticed you to fall deeper into his trap, like a bee clumsily finding her way into a venus fly trap. He offered his arm to you and despite the parts of your brain screaming no you took it, wrapping your hands to clasp together around his bicep. His gloved hand found its way to your lower back, where the dress dipped to right above the curve of your ass, and he made a mental note to himself to take his gloves off at some point in the evening. “You didn’t like the necklace I sent you?”

Your cheeks burned red as you started walking with him, highly aware of all the eyes on the two of you as you made your way to the front of the room where a small stage awaited, surely, him. You shook your head and glanced up at him, voice still soft and timid since your ordeal. It only made him make another mental note – to find a way to make you be louder later. “Oh, it was lovely, I just…”

“Didn’t appreciate it?” 

It was, in some ways, the same arrogant tone that he always used and yet different – insecure, questioning, maybe even a little frightened, and certainly much quieter than usual, much more intentionally for you alone. Your eyes glanced up to his face to find him facing forward, jaw set in a harsh way you hadn’t seen on him in person yet. He always looked so happy, so pleasant, so perfect around you…but now, he looked like a man fighting his own battles like everyone else. 

“I loved it. It was so lovely. Everything is so…lovely,” fell from your lips in a desperate plea for his face to soften, for him to lighten the tension passing between the two of you. His features faltered slightly and his eyes glanced down at you briefly before r eturning to his hardened position. You lowered your voice to ensure only he could hear you. “Everything smelled so…good…when I opened the box from you earlier. That was a nice…touch.”

His lips parted slightly as his head turned down to look at you, shock written clearly across his face from your words of praise for him, in front of all of these people. When he remembered the surrounding guests he closed his mouth but immediately smiled, turning his eyes forward again to lead you abruptly to the right, away from the crowd. Sucking in a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Homelander chuckled softly, shaking his head slightly. 

“You have no idea what you just did to me,” his voice was low, rumbling, and yet dripping with desperation as he led you away from the event. Finally reaching an elevator he dragged you inside, pressing the button for the floor he needed. Waiting for the elevator to rise for a moment he connected his fist with the emergency stop before turning to face you, placing your body between the wall and him. His eyes dragged down you so slowly as he leaned forward to inhale deeply, allowing a quiet groan to slip through his lips as he exhaled. “You should smell this way all of the time.”

Your body seemed to reach a boiling point immediately at his words, at how close he was, and how he felt like he was staring straight into you, examining exactly what made you tick – it was the only explanation for how he seemed to know exactly what the worst parts of you were crying for deep within. Pulling a glove from one hand he reached out to drag his fingers along your clavicle before flattening his hand at the base of your throat, sliding it up to grasp your jaw and tilt your head back to look at him fully. As he slipped his hand around your head and into your hair he dropped his voice again, “who do you look so gorgeous for tonight? Who made you show up looking so delicious?”

“You,” the affirmation came out as the saddest, most desperate moan that had ever passed through your lips and he smiled, his fingers gripping your hair at the back of your head and bringing you closer to his face. His eyes darted across your face, paying particular attention to your lips, as his free hand reached behind to start the elevator again. “Where…are you taking me?”

“Wherever I want,” was the reply that came from his mouth, quickly dismissing any idea of argument you had in your mind. He leaned his face closer to yours and breathed in deeply, groaning when the elevator door opened. Stepping away from you he gestured for you to exit ahead of him. “Through the door down the hall.”

For a moment part of your brain that was probably correct told you to refuse, to stay on the elevator and take it back down to the event you were here for, to avoid whatever Homelander was shepherding you toward. Your feet, and the embarrassing heat growing in your stomach from how he’d touched you and groaned for you betrayed your brain and delivered you exactly where he’d desired – The Seven meeting room. 

Ignoring the door entirely and closing the distance between you when the realization hit he grabbed you by the back of your head again, voice quiet as he spoke, “why can’t you say nice things about me all of the time, hmm?”

His hand that wasn’t tangling fingers into your hair snaked its way down to your side, pulling you flush against him to which you both released a strangled, breathy moan. The room was on fire and you felt like your skin was melting as he walked you backward toward the table, forcing you to sit on the surface when you got exactly where he wanted you. Leaning over you fully he gave you no time to protest as his lips sought yours in desperation, releasing another groan at the feeling. Everything about him was pulling you in, anchoring you into him further and further and you couldn’t stop yourself from returning his kiss – from giving him what he wanted. 

He didn’t ask to slip his silver tongue into your mouth but you didn’t deny him it either as his hand slid from your hip up to your left breast, squeezing firmly and moaning into your mouth once again. You pulled back, desperate for air right as his fingers pinched your nipple through the fabric of the dress he’d given you, and the most earnest of moans slipped from your mouth as your eyes rolled back, desperately grasping the edge of the table with your fingers. His voice was hurried, flustered, needy and yet so commanding, so precise as he leaned forward to speak in your ear, “you need to take this fucking dress off right now before I tear it to shreds. And I will.”

Your heart skipped and you felt how he huffed out a laugh against your neck briefly before pressing his lips against your neck, eliciting another moan from you. This was all it took from him to make you come undone? He chuckled again as he dragged his lips lower, to that tender spot where your neck and shoulder met where he dragged his teeth lightly, breathing in deeply. Your voice could hardly reach you when you managed out a hurried, “I…I’m not sure if…if this is okay, if we should…be doing this.”

The sound that left him was nothing more than a growl as he stood back over you, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head. His eyes had become the ocean on a stormy night and he looked so dangerous, so much like a predator as he looked down at you, releasing his hold on the back of your head and sliding both hands to your hips. His voice was low, matter-of-fact and offered no hint of compromise as he repeated himself, “you need to take this fucking dress off. Right now. Before I tear it…to little…tiny…shreds. And I will.”

Your hands had already found the zipper at your side before he finished speaking and you lowered it, trying to shimmy the tight fabric down your body as you sat, unwilling to tell him you needed help. He was more observant than that and saw your struggle, lifting you to your feet and effortlessly lifting you up, smirking as the dress fell down your body. Sitting you back on the table he took a step back, drinking in the sight of you on his fucking team’s table. He crossed his arms, raising a hand to rest his chin on it as he looked at you in adoration before continuing with a lighter tone. “That’s better. We just have one thing to talk about.”

As your mind instantly went into a state of mild panic at what he could possibly want to talk to you about he moved to run his hands to your thighs, giving them a squeeze. You couldn’t help but moan quietly and found yourself unable to voice your protests as he used his knee to bump your legs apart, running the hand that remained gloved to your core, slipping it into your panties. As the gloved finger found your clit he pressed firmly, earning another desperate cry from your lips as your eyes widened up at him. He smiled his false innocent smile and rubbed that same finger in a circle, pausing when exactly one circle had been completed. 

“You have said so many mean, ugly things about me on that little podcast of yours,” his voice was laced with disappointment, with genuine anger and a whininess you weren’t aware he could speak with. He rubbed another circle and finally took direction from the gasp that fell from your lips to slip his gloved middle finger down and straight into your pussy. You momentarily clenched at the intrusion but when the sweetest whimper fell from your lips he smirked, and removed the finger all too quickly. “I think I have been the perfect gentleman to you, and I would appreciate it if that depressing podcast could be erased. All of it.”

He reached to switch hands and slid his ungloved hand into your panties, immediately slipping his index finger into you as his gloved hand reached your mouth and he stuck the finger that had been inside you moments ago into your own mouth, groaning at the dumbstruck look that formed on your features as you tasted yourself. Keeping his finger in your mouth he forced your head to nod by placing his thumb under your chin and he looked so proud of himself as he added a second finger and began pumping them in and out of you, cherishing the flustered sounds of mild protest that came from your lips. 

“That’s right, just agree. There’s no use telling me no,” his voice was teasing, low and laced with a sinister tone as he began pistoning his fingers in and out of you, looking down to watch how the digits disappeared within your tight, slick cunt. When he curled his fingers to rub the spongy patch deep within you the moan that left your mouth around his fingers was your loudest yet and he smirked, the blue pools eyes flickering back up to yours. “You sound so fucking pretty for me. Tell me how it feels.“

He removed his finger from your mouth so you could have free reign of your responses now, and he slid that now free hand back to your chest. He cupped a breast in his hand as his head followed the pursuit, leaning to slowly flick his tongue across your nipple, earning a gasp from both of you. You knew if you didn’t respond to his orders he was just going to get angry. “God, Homelander…your fingers feel so good. You’re so good at that.”

Your words of praise went through him like a knife and with a wanton groan his mouth attached itself to your breast, suckling your nipple and flicking his tongue across the sensitive nub as his fingers continued their assault. His fingers pumping in and out of your cunt were causing the most downright pornographic noises from your body as you continued to grow impossibly wetter, your body preparing for the sweet high of release. When his thumb connected with your clit and began rubbing rushed circles he removed his mouth from your breast to look deep into your eyes. 

“I want you to come for me before you take my cock,” was his simple statement as his fingers inside you curled again, hellbent on discovering what made you come undone for him. He could feel your clenching walls around his fingers and the moans falling from your lips told him he’d have you under his spell. “I want you to tell me you’ll delete the podcast, and I’ll let you come, and then I’ll reward you with my cock.”

You couldn’t stop his name leaving your mouth as a moan which only pushed him further — only made him want you even more. With a low growl the speed his fingers were moving picked up as he connected his lips to your neck again, sucking softly at the skin over your pulse. If they didn’t know already, everyone downstairs would certainly know who you belonged to when you returned with his purple masterpieces covering your neck, chest, and shoulders. As the building feeling deep within you reached the point of no return your walls clenched around him and you whined as his fingers left you fully, his eyes glancing up expectantly at you. He wasn’t going to continue without you giving him what he wanted. 

“P-please don’t stop,” were the desperate words that left your mouth as you planted a half kiss against his lips, your breath still leaving you in gentle pants. The heat inside your core was too much and being on the edge wasn’t enough — you needed him to push you. “I’ll delete it. You can delete it, we can delete it just please let me come for you.”

You weren’t coming for yourself, you were coming for him, and your confession earned his fingers entering into you again as he groaned, leading you toward your orgasm as he reached to work his cock free from his pants. With a cracking moan your walls clenched impossibly tighter around his fingers as your orgasm washed over you, panting breaths falling from your lips as the world seemed to melt around you. There was no time to waste (he did have a speech to make, after all) and the moment your orgasm finished you found his fingers exiting to make way for the head of his cock slipping into you. You’d hear the grunt that fell from his lips into your ear for the rest of your life. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he praised, his eyes never leaving the sight of inch by inch of his cock disappearing into you as you moaned again, your hands grasping his shoulders in an attempt to steady yourself. If there was any point in arguing you’d tell the man he had to wear a condom, but you knew giving him orders would be futile. His thumb still attached to your clit rubbed a circle again, his lips meeting yours in a gentler kiss as he bottomed out within you, groaning as the head of his cock pushed at your cervix. Surprisingly, he did still to allow your body to adjust to his impaling. “Tell me how it feels.”

His words were desperate, pleading against your lips as one of his hands gripped your waist impossibly hard, surely leaving more purple in their path. The feeling of him stretching yours wall combined with this being the first you’d felt an unprotected cock inside of you had your chest tight, your heartbeat fluttering as you searched for the words he deserved. The words left your mouth in a pleasured sigh. “You feel perfect inside of me, Homelander . Please, please move.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. No longer needing to see how your face reacted to him claiming you, he forced you to flip on the table, your stomach against the cold material as he began to thrust in and out of you, his hips finding the pace that worked for you both almost immediately. His groans were damning and your moans only matched his sin as you pushed back into him, coaxing him to use your cervix as a punching bag. 

One of his hands maintained its position at your waist as the other slid to connect with your neck, moving it to loosely wrap around your throat. The gasp that fell from your lips at the slight pressure of his hand told him to move faster and he did, plummeting into you like this was the only time he’d get to claim you. Without words the two of you knew that would never be the case. You were his now. 

“That’s a good girl,” he purred out as he leaned down to connect his lips to your shoulder blade, sucking a mark in the spot for good measure. You took his praise as scripture and pushed back into him again, earning a deeper angle that resulted in a groan to erupt from his chest again. “That’s my good girl. My golden girl. Are you going to come for me again?”

You could only moan as his hand that had been on your hip slid south to reconnect a thumb to your swollen clit, beginning to rub relentlessly against the nub as his cock continued to be milked by your cunt. It was a good thing you had an implant, because convincing this man to spill his cum anywhere other than deep within you would have been pointless. To him, the best reward he could give you when you were being so good for him was his hot load deep within you. You should be so lucky to have his seed inside you. 

“Yes,” you managed to breath out, your words hinting at your desperation for another release. His grasp on your neck tightened and despite that you fought to coax him toward his own finish alongside you. “You feel so good. You fuck me just right. P-please give me your cum, Homelander.”

The sound that erupted from him was probably best described as a roar as he picked up his pace, trying to remind himself not to break you but unable to stop the ferocity at which he began pounding into you. As the world shrunk to only this room and the two of you in it the euphoric state began to wash over you once again and you felt your walls clench around him, his name leaving your mouth as a scream. Hoping that everyone downstairs could hear you, hear what he was doing to you, he gave another harsh thrust before painting your walls with his cum, his movements becoming sloppy as he worked every last drop out of himself. 

When he was certain he’d finished he removed himself from you, tucking his cock within his pants and grabbing your panties from around your ankles and raising them to their rightful place again just as his seed began to leak from you. His hand found its way to your cheek and his thumb brushed a gentle line across your cheekbone, his lips lowering to yours in a kiss. His words showed no sign of tiredness from his time with you.

“You’re going to keep those panties on and my cum is going to stay in them all night,” he placed another kiss to the corner of your mouth before continuing. “We’re going to go downstairs, we’re going to be the perfect couple for these fucking ingrates, and then you’re going to take me to your apartment so we can delete that podcast.”

As you re-entered the elevator with him your eyes connected with the smashed emergency stop button before drifting back up to him, soaking in the proud look that covered his face as he leaned against the elevator wall. A realization washer over you as your eyes cling to him like a sculpture in a museum — you were completely fucked.

Fucked, as it turned out, was a slight understatement. The moment the elevator doors had opened and the two of you stepped out he had wrapped an arm securely around your waist, holding you against him as he made his way back to the center of the room where a round stage was awaiting him. The event had gone on in your absence and the room was full to the brim with Supes and people kissing their asses. 

There was no rush to his step as he proudly displayed you to everyone who could see, stopping to say hello and make pleasant, drawn out introductions to seemingly anyone who asked. His arm maintained its hold around your waist the entire time, his fingers occasionally pressing harder into you. The purple hickeys decorating your neck and shoulders went unnoticed by none.

By the time you made it to the center of the room it was time for him to give his speech, and he made sure to give your side a brief squeeze before leaving you next to The Deep…one of the only idiots he still felt he truly had control of. His eyes connected perfectly with camera after camera as he monologued for several minutes about the honor it was to protect New York City. When it was clear he was wrapping things up he stepped to the edge of the stage in front of you, his eyes meeting yours once more as he tapped your nose.

“Mostly, I have to say the best part about the job is getting to save the beautiful people of this city,” he practically cooed, his gloved hand cupping your face in a gesture that caused the cameras around you to flash and several voices to "aw."

There were immediately noticeable perks to being this close to Homelander, and even you couldn’t ignore him. People were more respectful to you, and consistently prepared to shower you with compliments at his prompt – “Doesn’t she look so lovely tonight?”. Men kept their eyes anywhere away from anywhere that wasn’t your face, afraid what offering true appreciation toward you would bring unto them. You were constantly brought snacks on trays to choose from and had three glasses of champagne before he decided to cut you off.

“I don’t need my golden girl sloppy for me tonight,” he tutted quietly, leaning from behind you so his mouth nearly connected with your ear. You could hear the smile in his voice that formed when your heart rate picked up and goosebumps decorated your skin. “I hope you haven’t forgotten that I’m not done with you.”

It was only a mere two hours before he decided it was time for the two of you to leave. It took a considerable amount of back and forth between the two of you before he conceded to allow you to take a car back to your place. As he helped you into the back of the SUV with a hand on the small of your back he pressed a firm kiss to the side of your head, leaning in to buckle you into the seat. His voice was once again lower, free of the light lilt he used to be camera ready.

“You know,” just those two words dripped with sarcasm and you knew whatever was to follow would match. “You’d be safer flying with me than driving around in these big metal death boxes. Some junkie could hit you with a truck…and what, you really think I’m going to drop you?”

A soft laugh fell from his lips before he pressed a final kiss to your forehead, withdrawing from the car before taking off into the sky. Finally alone you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, laying your head back and closing your eyes as you soaked in these moments alone, processing the evening. The more familiar your surroundings became the more your worries grew, remembering what he had promised to do. Your heart was pounding by the time you stepped out of the car, the cool air sending a chill down your spine.

From the sidewalk you could see the silhouette of Homelander standing on your rooftop, awaiting your arrival with his arms crossed firmly behind his back. You were certain he could hear you as you made your way inside, leaning against the wall of the elevator and preparing yourself for what awaited you – not that anything could really prepare you for what awaited you. When you exited the elevator and rounded the corner toward your apartment you nearly froze at the sight of your door wide open, his star-spangled back waiting for you in the doorway already. 

When you approached the doorway yourself he finally turned, his eyebrows pulled together and his mouth set in a hard line. The annoyance in his voice was evident, and now that you were truly alone his voice was free of any mask. As you closed the door his right hand raised, the necklace he had sent to you dangling from his fingertips, his gloves having been placed on one of your counters.

“I wished this was on you all night,” his voice rumbled in your ears as he stepped closer to you, circling around you much like a predator. As he stepped around behind you he brushed your hair away from your neck, placing himself right up against your backside. “Hold up your hair so I can see how perfect you could have looked.”

Your cheeks burned hot as you reached behind yourself to lift your hair into your hand, your fingers shaking lightly with the nervousness of the situation. The metal of the necklace was cool against your skin as he placed the delicate chain around your neck, fastening it with little fuss. His hands slid across your shoulders and down your arms before turning you to face him, his eyes eagerly dragging downward toward your chest.

His hands reached to grasp your hips, pulling you forward toward him with a hum of approval as he soaked in the experience that was you wearing exactly what he wanted and already covered by purple hickeys from him. Lowering his head he crashed his lips into yours, grasping you tighter as if he feared you may try to stop him – not that you could. Your lips were still tender and lightly bruised from your earlier kisses and yet you pushed yourself to return his kiss, unwilling to leave him feeling rejected. 

As his tongue worked your lips open one of his hands slid to work the zipper to your dress, eager to see you on full display for him again. As he tasted the remnants of champagne and chocolate on your tongue the dress fell to the floor, making up for you removing your heels by lifting you to his height with ease. As he pulled away from the kiss he released another hum of approval at the warmth of your body even through his suit – but it wasn’t enough. 

Taking a few steps further into your apartment he placed you on the kitchen island, spreading your thighs when you instinctively closed them. His voice was firm, commanding, and somehow laced with desperation as he took a few steps away from you, beginning to remove his suit. “That bra and those panties better be off by the time I make my way back over there…” he huffed out, his eyes now cloudy with lust as he watched your fingers immediately set in on the task. 

When you released your breasts from their restraints and tossed the fabric to the side you noticed how his hands faltered, his breath catching at the full sight of your breasts accompanied by the necklace hanging just above them. Running his eyes down you again he removed his own boots, lifting the torso of his suit up and off with slight hesitation. 

He hadn’t been barred to you this way before and he caught the way your breath caught in your throat and your heart rate skipped momentarily at the sight of him. The way your body responded to him was a sweet compliment, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the need he had to hear everything you were thinking. It was impossible to mask the desperation in his voice as he barked out another order to you, his voice slightly breathless. 

“Tell me what you think,” he begged, his blue eyes meeting yours as he worked his boots off, kneeling as he did so. It ended up being the perfect height for him to receive the beautiful view that was presented by you removing your panties and tossing them across the apartment. “About how I look without the suit.”

Feeling self conscious about how exposed you were to him as he stood up and dragged his eyes across your body you moved to play with your hair, aware covering yourself would make him angry. His hands moved to work his pants free from his body as you bit your lip, your cheeks heating up as he truly started to just look like a normal guy, albeit an incredibly attractive one. His eyebrows beginning to pull together again was your cue that you were taking too long to respond.

“You’re…a very attractive man, Homelander,” you breathed out, an unfamiliar tone of submission filling your voice. His pants dropped to the floor at your words and his cock sprang free, giving a slight twitch at your compliment. Your eyes met his and with that simple look you knew what you’d given wasn’t enough. At the same time, you found yourself unable to give more, unsure what words would be enough for him and still figuring out how to navigate around him. 

Resorting to a more universal language you beckoned him forward, your hands seeking out the firm muscles on his biceps to pull him closer to you as you placed a soft, experimental kiss to his chest. Tilting your head barely backward, your eyes sought his to find his filled with hunger, his hands finding your shoulders to hold you closer. Leaning downward he placed a firm kiss to your forehead which instantly buried your worries that you weren’t doing enough, only to have them reignited as he pulled you from the counter, carrying you across your apartment. You assumed he was headed toward your bed, but as he approached your desk and sat your ass against the cool glass top you were quickly reminded of his real reason for being here.

The podcast.

Sinking into the chair you’d spent so many hours of your life in he clicked your computer to life as his eyes scanned every inch of your torso that he was granted access to earlier in the evening. Keeping his right hand on the computer mouse he reached his other hand lazily to your chest, cupping one of your breasts and rubbing his thumb over the nipple as he pulled up various websites – your website, your YouTube channel, Twitter, and the DropBox you kept everything stored in. Once satisfied he had everything on the screen he needed he pulled you closer to the edge of the desk, sliding the chair to the side to sit in front of you. 

He hadn’t gotten the proper opportunity to showcase to you exactly how much he appreciated your breasts, and decided the podcast could wait just a few minutes longer while he took this moment to do so. His hands – almost lovingly – slid up your stomach to eventually cup both of your breasts, an appreciative hum rumbling in his chest at the feeling of the soft tissue beneath his fingertips. Satisfied that he couldn’t fit them in his hands fully he began to knead into them lightly eyes seeking yours again. 

His mouth pressed hot and wet kisses down the space between your breasts before he turned, eagerly taking your already hardened nipple into his mouth and circling the nub with his tongue. With a moan he began suckling, rolling your other nipple between his fingers in his other hand. He continued his attention on your breasts for a few moments before pulling his mouth away, dragging your nipple between his teeth as he did so. His voice was desperate, unhinged, and a tone you had only heard him use for you – in a way, it was special, and you recognized it as such.

“Come here, you remarkable little -” he tried to purr before he cut himself off, forgetting his intended term as he chose to suck a purple mark into the side of your breast, easing the brief pain with a light brush of his tongue across the skin.

Grasping his cock in his hand he motioned for you to come to him, which you found yourself almost eager to oblige. Climbing into his lap to straddle him you found the head of his cock slipped into you almost with ease as you were already embarrassingly wet from the attention he had been providing you with. A sinful groan slipped past his lips as your walls welcomed him in again, both hands grasping your hips to steady you. 

“So fucking tight,” he practically whined, lowering his face into your neck to make an attempt at covering such a pathetic noise. As you accepted inch by inch of him again another whine left his chest and his teeth brushed against the hollow of your neck before you’d taken all of him, his well-trimmed curls brushing against your clit. When he was completely inside you he reached behind you to press play on one of the podcast episodes, using his other hand to hold you still. He chuckled at your feeble attempt to move your hips against his, forgetting for a moment who was holding you. “I wish I could fuck you, sweetheart, but…we have to take care of this podcast first, don’t we? I wish we didn’t, but we do.”

You whined and stilled your attempt at movements as your eyes met his, a small nod giving him enough of a response at the current moment. Bringing your hands up to his shoulders you clutched to him, prepared to raise yourself off of him at his instruction. Another chuckle left his lips as he shook his head, his hand holding you down to him. His voice, while still low and desperate, was now full of affection and adoration as he spoke to you. 

“Oh no, baby…you’re staying right here, with me inside of you…feels too good,” he breathed out deep, leaning forward so your foreheads connected in a moment of what at any other time would be considered intimacy. Now, however, your own voice was filling your ears from the speakers of your computer, an episode of the podcast you’d made months ago playing in the background. “But you’re going to apologize for all of these mean things you’ve said about me.”

Almost on cue your voice from the past said words you remembered saying well – “Homelander is everything wrong with superheroes.” His eyes were pained as he heard the words once again, his head shaking. To his surprise, he didn’t even have to prompt the words from you. 

“I’m sorry, Homelander,” you breathed out quietly, closing your eyes tightly and anticipating an explosion from him as he withdrew his forehead from yours. With firm and swift movements he pushed your head against his shoulder, his fingers lacing into your hair to hold you against him as he focused his attention on deleting content.

It went on like that for over an hour, with him inside you, holding you closely and playing clips of your own words while you apologized to him with words, gentle kisses, and soft caresses. Eventually, there was only one episode left – and you recognized the episode from the title alone when he read it aloud. 

“This is what confuses me, darling,” he stated plainly, pulling your hair slightly to tilt your head back to fix your gaze on his. His other hand pressed play as his icy eyes met yours once again, his eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. “In parts of your podcast you say some really intelligent, hard-hitting stuff.”

“If there’s anyone on this planet who is a bigger fraud than Homelander it is Stan Edgar himself, who should absolutely be looked at for a litany of legal and ethical issues – yet somehow manages to live above everyone.”

“I was so proud of you the first time I heard you say that,” his words were genuine, the look in his eyes matching the tone as he brought one hand up to cup your cheek. He paused the podcast for a moment to brush his thumb across your cheek, his movements slow and intentional. “How could you possibly say something so intelligent, so brave for someone with no powers…only to follow it up with something as cruel as this.”

He didn’t need to press play for you to know the words you were about to hear from yourself.

“I do have to say that some days I just feel bad…because Homelander is definitely the result of someone who wasn’t hugged enough as a child.”

As soon as that phrase was done he pressed delete, removing the last of the official evidence of your podcast from the internet. His eyes stayed on yours and you noticed how his features twitched involuntarily, a trait that seemed to happen when he was attempting to cover an annoyance. Was there an apology that could suffice for that one?

“Homelander, I -”

“Shut up,” it was firm, unquestionable and even slightly threatening as he stood from the chair, keeping his hold on you steady so his cock remained buried in you as he made his way to your bed. To your surprise he laid on his back, allowing you to straddle his waist and lean over him. His eyes immediately went to your breasts, his tongue darting out to slicken his lips. “Do you want to apologize to me?”

“Yes,” your response was pathetically fast and little more than a whine, eager to do anything to take the edge off of his voice again. You would have never guessed his next words, nor would you have expected the dripping desperation in his tone. 

“Use my cock to come,” he whined, his hands now eagerly grabbing for your breasts to pull you closer, his mouth seeking the soft flesh of your breasts again. His face was mostly hidden by the flesh of your breasts as he ran his tongue over one of your nipples, his voice barely audible as he begged in a way he had done for so few in his life. “Please, take what you want just…tell me how good I am.”

Finally free to move as you pleased you immediately ground your waist down into his, moaning at the feeling of him finally moving inside you slightly. With a moan of his own he took the nipple he’d yet to pay attention to into his mouth, suckling eagerly and stealing a glance up into your face. As the two of you reached orgasms together, his eyes rolling back as his hands grasped your hips in an impossibly hard grasp, his hot seed painting your inner walls like his own personal art display. Finally releasing his mouth from your breast he whined quietly as his head leaned against your chest, soaking in a true moment of comfort. He had only experienced a few moments like these in his life, but this one was the most authentic, the most unscripted, and Homelander resigned himself to having at least a thousand more moments like these.

You had a new routine to get used to over the following weeks, and by the time December came around there was no leaving your apartment without the flash of cameras or strangers pretending they knew you. It was often too much, the attention and niceties you were paid everyday by people who weeks ago would never have paid any mind to you overwhelming you and making you wish for a moment to yourself. If you were lucky, Homelander would show up in these moments and instruct those around you to “stop their fussing”, adding another entry onto the perks of being with Homelander list.

In these beginning weeks he was being kind enough to allow you your own space still, and you had continued to sleep at your apartment, though it was seldom alone. Which is why when he told you that you’d be alone for two weeks while he accompanied a politician to Europe, it was almost panic-inducing to think about 14 days without him, and what that would mean for you. It wasn’t surprising when he instructed you that you’d spend the time in his apartment, which you had only briefly stopped into once thus far. He promised Ashley or The Deep would check-in on you daily and that you’d have everything you needed (except for him). 

The night before he left he had displayed a moment of fear and weakness for you again, this time choosing to act out the frustration by fucking you so hard on his couch you’d be forced to stay in Vought Tower for at least a couple of days. For the first three days he was rewarded for his efforts during your nightly calls to hear that you’d really stayed in his apartment thus far, lounging on the couch and whining that he’d bruised you with his “super dick” – you could hear the smile and pride in his voice at your words, though you hardly meant them as a compliment. On the fourth day you were in better spirits, and had apparently invited The Deep to stay around for dinner – it was the first time Homelander had been forced to feel jealous over you.

“Well, I guess you don’t need me to come home, then,” he tried to cover the pain in his voice with indifference, though at this point he couldn’t get away with that with you. Still, his pride insisted he try. “I guess you prefer The Deep’s company, hmm? You replaced me quickly.”

“There is no replacement for you, Homelander,” you’d cooed, instantly soothing over the insecurity he felt and reassuring him that he had truly won you. There was no fighting the smile that spread on his face as you giggled, continuing with your kindness toward him. “As if The Deep could ever compare to you – as if anyone could come close to you.”

That particular phone call had stretched out to over an hour of you giving into his need for reassurance, filling the passing time with compliments and wishes that he would come home – filling the passing time with whatever he needed. Thus far, you had mostly managed to avoid driving him too far to anger, and he did reward you lavishly by ensuring you continued to want for nothing. The phone call ended with you confirming you were still sore from your last morning together, which had made his cock twitch in his pants.

After a week of you still feeling sore he was beginning to worry that he may have taken it a bit too far, and had even nearly expressed such when you whined on the phone to him once again, but insisted that you would be fine. For one of the first times in his life Homelander was genuinely worried about someone, and opted to call you on the ninth day much earlier than he had thus far. He expected you to sound surprised, yes, but he didn’t expect you to not be in his apartment – and he especially didn’t expect you to not be alone. 

The voice he heard in the background of the phone call was clearly a man, and he was telling you he hoped you’d feel much better now. Despite the fact that Homelander desperately wanted to hear your voice he had hung up the phone immediately, leaving the boring, old ass building he was stationed in for the remainder of his trip to launch himself into the sky, his only focus returning to you – Vought and the entire U.S. government be damned. Seeing as you couldn’t get Homelander to answer your return call, you figured he must have gotten busy and had returned back to his apartment once your afternoon of errands was complete, intent on finally relaxing.

When he landed on the main balcony attached to his own apartment the sun had set, and yet none of the anger boiling within him had subsided. He stilled for a moment, focusing his ears on the sounds he could hear from inside. On the surface there was enough going on for him to know you were inside – a record from the 50s he recognized from you playing it before, the sounds of water filling a tub…you were inside relaxing in his apartment after having the audacity to betray him. Focusing deeper, he finally heard your heartbeat – alone – and the soothing rhythmic beat he’d grown to recognize and adore over the last few weeks nearly calmed him. Nearly.

Forcing the door open he stepped inside, his anger nearly faltered once more at the lingering smell of you overwhelmed him. Hearing the broken door had caused you to rise from the filling bath, turning the water off and clutching a towel around yourself as you walked with wet feet into the dark hallway, calling out a soft ‘hello’ into the night. You weren’t greeted with words – instead, from the darkness emerged two glowing red lights, and as they approached closer you backed yourself against a wall. 

The red glow against his features, all of which were hard set in clear annoyance and anger, made you remember the horrible things he was capable of, none of which you were equipped to handle. When you realized there was nowhere left for you to step, you closed your eyes, holding a deep breath as you prepared for whatever was to come. When you felt him in front of you you were certain your heart would burst, until you felt his hand on your cheek, and heard the pain behind his voice. 

“Who is the man you were with today? And don’t you dare fucking lie to me,” his fingertips dug into your skin lightly, your eyes still closed tight for fear you’d be met with glowing red. “I’ll know if you’re lying to me. Look at me.”

With an elevating heart rate you slowly forced your eyes open, and despite expecting your own pain, instead you were faced with his. His blue eyes were wide, contrasting to the harsh line of his mouth, and tears were threatening to spill down his cheeks. Where you had expected to find anger and harshness you were faced with the broken pieces of him, which only raised a further question – which was worse between his red-hot anger or his jagged, broken edges?

You began to raise your hands to his shoulders tentatively, your fingers shaking as your brain screamed at you to just stay still and answer him. Honesty, however, was not the only thing Homelander needed – he needed love, and the look behind his eyes proved it to you. This was him – the real him. The realization that you were wearing his necklace had helped level his head somewhat – but the sternness in his features let you know you needed to answer, quickly.

“The man you heard in the background was the pharmacist,” your voice was soft, hands settling on the sides of his neck lightly in the hopes that skin-to-skin contact would settle him further. “I went to the gynecologist this morning because I was still…sore. From the morning you left.”

His features noticeably softened, a new look of curiosity forming on his features that pulled his eyebrows together slightly. So far, he was content that you were being honest – but you weren’t giving him enough information, either, and the annoyance that lingered was evident in his voice. “Did the doctor have an answer for you?” 

Nodding, you hesitantly reached up to lace your fingers in his hair with one hand, your eyes cautiously watching his every reaction. Still, you held strong and continued your commitment to answering his questions – despite the fact this was information you had initially planned to keep from him.

“I…we…you,” you breathed out carefully, choosing the words for your explanation carefully. “You…broke my birth control implant…probably that morning based on when the pain started. It had to be removed and so…they prescribed pain medication for a few days.”

It was impossible to miss the hunger that flashed in his eyes, or the low rumble to his voice. “And did they replace it? The implant?”

“No.”

His hand left your cheek and he took a step back from you to drag his eyes down your body. Aware that meant he was likely being invasive and using x-ray vision to see for himself you suddenly felt incredibly embarrassed, and your cheeks burned red to emphasize the fact. When his eyes met yours again he was pulling the gloves away from his hands, tossing them to a nearby surface so he could step close to you again and cradle your face with his bare hands. 

For a moment his eyes expressed only conflict as they burned into yours, his fingertips digging a little too deeply into your skin as he analyzed the conversation – as he thought about his feelings. Moments of silence passed before his emotions seemed to land on entirely new territory – new territory for you, at least. His thumbs tenderly brushed along your cheek bones, his grasp lightening as an almost sinister smile spread across his face. 

“So exactly what is going to stop me,” he started, leaning forward to brush the tip of his nose against yours lightly. You were keenly aware that he was being entirely too nice. “From getting you pregnant?”

A shaky breath slid past your lips as he placed a light kiss to the corner of your mouth, sliding one of his hands down to take hold of the towel that was wrapped around you. Your voice was embarrassingly small. “I guess...you’ll have to…to use a condom or pull out?”

A deep laugh burst through his chest that rumbled against your own torso now that he was flush against you, his lips kissing a small trail to your ear where he pulled the lobe between his teeth for a moment before growling out a quiet, “No.”

One swift movement from his hand and the towel was on the floor, goosebumps immediately forming across your skin at the cool air. With a hum of approval at your lack of covering now he turned his head, connecting his lips to yours in a starved kiss. It was nature now for your lips to part for him and allow his tongue entry, and the two of you shared a heated kiss until you were breathless as he carried you to a room you’d yet to see, as you had spent your time in his apartment in a guest room – his bedroom. 

“You were supposed to be gone for five more days,” you breathed against his lips, working some of the few buttons on his suit that you’d grown to understand. Pushing you onto an oversized bed with satin sheets, he began to work at his own suit, a cocky smirk covering his face.

“If you think I’m going to stay away when I hear another man in the background on my girl’s phone…you must not know me very well,” he shook his head as his boots were kicked to the side, his movements a little more desperate and uncalculated than they’d previously been with you. When his pants were pushed to the floor he continued. “You’ve got another thing coming, doll.”

His torso took too long to free and by the time he was climbing onto the bed with you he was starved, desperate to devour any part of you his mouth could connect to. His lips pressed firm and intentional kisses along the insides of your thighs as he made his way to your sweet core. Running a stripe through your folds with his tongue his eyes searched for yours as his hands reached to caress your breasts, a quiet hum vibrating your skin as a moan left your lips. 

It was truly as if he hadn’t eaten for days, his tongue thoroughly swiping along every inch you had to offer, savoring every drop of arousal that came across his tongue, alternating to suck your clit softly. He hadn’t been this hungry for you until now, and it took him no time to cause a rising heat to build in your core. Your fingers found their way into his hair and you threw your head back as he began to fuck into you with his tongue, moaning in appreciation at the noises you made for him. 

His way of thanking you for not needing the instruction to come against his tongue was to slip a finger into you, curling it right against your tender spot deep within as you threw your head back for him. “ Oh, god… ”

Sucking your clit into his mouth once more with a sinful noise his eyes found yours once more as he leaned back, grasping his cock in his hand. “No, not god,” he breathed, beginning to stroke himself in preparation for you. He leaned down to press a tender kiss to your lips, his eyes closing as he rubbed the head of his cock against your opening. His voice was hardly above a whisper against your lips as he began to slip inside of you. “Not god, not Homelander…John.”

You moaned out his name for the first time, and he clutched to your sides as he forced himself to behave tenderly and slowly with you, aware that you must still be sore. Burying his face in your neck to place soft kisses he eased in inch by inch until he was fully within you, finding the comfort that only you could bring him. For a moment he stilled, enjoying the feeling of simply being encompassed by your warm walls, before he slowly, lazily began dragging his hips back and forth. 

He hadn’t been rhythmic like this with you before, his movements always thought out well in advance for the maximum impact. Now, however, his movements only aimed to bask in this moment with you, this moment where he could truly claim you for the first time in his mind. Lifting your hips and wrapping your legs around his waist to beckon him deeper you found yourself unable to do little more than moan his name and claw at his back. 

Trying impossibly to push into you deeper he held you against him, leaning down to suckle one of your nipples into his mouth as his movements picked up some speed. As he flicked his tongue over your nipple his blue eyes gazed adoringly up into your own, grinding against you to hit that perfect spot deep within you. You rewarded him for his effort by moaning out his name again and clenching your walls ever-so-slightly tighter, but he was greedy for everything you had – and he needed more. 

“Please,” was all he could beg you for, his hands grasping at your hips as he tried to do anything he could to pull you closer. His lips reached for yours in a wet, heated kiss which he cut shorter than he truly wanted to await your response. 

“I missed you inside of me so much,” you whined, meeting a couple of his thrusts by raising your hips at the same time, moving one hand to the back of his head. Pulling your head back slightly you were able to take in the sight of his sweat-slicked, messy hair and the way his lips were parted slightly. Seeing him this way, in a way you knew could only truly be for you, added a new depth to the dynamic between the two of you – and though for you that could go unspoken, for him, hearing it was everything. “Want…want you like this every day.”

His fluid movements were coaxing another orgasm from you and your words could hardly leave as more than strangled whines, but you had given him everything he needed and in a sign of appreciation he picked up his speed. Normally, he only restrained himself enough to not completely break you, but tonight he was truly making an effort to reign in his strength and make sure his thrusts were enjoyable for the both of you, and you could tell. 

His grunts confirmed that this worked for him, too, and it wasn’t terribly long before your legs were shaking around him, a second orgasm rushing through your body. When he felt your walls tighten around him as you rode out your high by thrusting sloppily up into him he could barely restrain himself, knowing that his own release was chasing yours. 

“Tell me…tell me that you want my cum,” he moaned, burying his face in your neck in preparation of being unable to hold back anymore. All you could manage in your fucked-out buzz was was a quiet ‘yes’ and a kiss to the top of his head as his orgasm rushed through him, painting your inner walls white with hot ropes of cum. 

When he was certain both of you had finished your orgasms he slowly removed himself from you, laying on his side next to you to keep his gaze transfixed on your bliss-filled face as you returned to earth. With your eyes closed, you had no visual warning when his fingers slipped back to your core, his middle finger pushing the cum that was leaking from you back inside. When your eyes flew open in question he leaned over to place a soft kiss to your lips, leaning his forehead against yours in a moment of intimacy. 

When he was satisfied with the amount of times he’d repeated this motion he left only long enough to get a towel for you, tenderly wiping your legs and discarding the towel before crawling back into the bed next to you. Laying his head on your chest he closed his eyes as you began running your fingers through his hair, enjoying a rare true moment of peace. Eventually, he pulled you to roll you to your side, his hand finding its way to your cheek again.

“I would like…” he started, clearly having been deciding on his words for several of the quiet moments that had passed between the two of you. Sliding the hand that was on your cheek back into your hair and running his fingers through the strands gently he continued on, his normal confidence wavering slightly. “I would like for you to call this home.”

masterlist.

[little-fae-hero]

Linked Universe, Hero of the Winds

My headcanons/aus

Art by Atro Avis

Colored Version.

Long talk/ideas under the cut. Warning for general game violence and kidnapping. (Note: I may add stuff overtime but I will never delete from the list).

Twilight. Sky. Legend. Hyrule. Four. Time. War. Wild.

Wind (Wind Waker/Phantom hourglass). Other Nicknames: The Sailor, Pirate, The baby (hates this), Guppy (hates this as well), Island boy, Ocean child.

Hero’s Title: Hero of the Great Sea, Hero of the Winds, Hero of the Great Sea, Holder of the Wind Waker

God that has claim over his soul: Hylia (for the wisdom to actually find the pieces of the triforce)

Part of First’s soul: Childish Wonder (smallest piece).

History:

Link lived on an island with his sister and grandmother, and had a peaceful life like everyone in the great sea. He was given a green tunic when he turned 12, much to his annoyance. However his sister Aryll was kidnapped on his birthday, taken by a bird monster and he joins up with a pirate by the name of Tetra to get her back.

Through trying to get his sister back he learns that the Gerudo King Ganondorf is back, hunting for the Triforce, the Red king of the seas asks Link to take up the mantle of the hero. To which the young boy does, to make the seas safe for his family. He later learns the man’s reason, a place for his people; however he still tries to kill the hero and the princess. They actually succeed and plan to start another hyrule.

However This plan gets put on the back burner when Tetra and Link run across a ghost ship and Tetra goes missing, causing Link to start another adventure. Link get’s the phantom hourglass and a fairy and they go through the palace of the ocean king. He saved the great seas from the parasite known as Bellum and was finally able to go back home.

Death: Unknown…

Interesting Stuff/Headcanons:

has a sailor mouth from living around pirates. Others don’t let him swear (like grandma) but Time does.

The best thing to heal him is his grandmother’s soup. The chain learns how to cook it when they visit the Great Sea.

Link has a good sense of direction, to the point of it being scary. He doesn’t even need a map; it's like the wind tells him where to go.

Wind deals with a lot of self-doubt, he wasn’t born with the triforce of Courage, he had to find it and put it together unlike Tetra. So, he often feels like a fake.

He looks up to Time, since he was the hero of Time who once defeated Ganondorf, plus he also doesn’t treat Wind like he will break at any moment.

The others have a habit of jumping in to protect him, mainly because he reminds many of them of themselves of when they first started their adventures.

Wind actually prefers sandals since he lives on an island, but that’s not considered ‘proper shoes for combat’.

Wind cannot control his expression, whether in sneaking around or in combat, he cannot keep a poker face, which of course makes him terrible at keeping secrets.

Link has no concept of ‘personal items’ he grew up sharing stuff with his sister and then a pirate ship, everything is fair game, unless said otherwise or you're wearing it.

Anything he finds is worn as jewelry until he can get back home, to which the treasure is given to Aryll and Grandma.

He is actually really good with seagulls, I mean it’s not like his sister Aryll, but he can easily feed them without them getting startled.

He’s a great swimmer; however, his legs can get tired from a lot of walking, especially rocky paths, he doesn’t tell the group this.

No concept of ‘oh that’s dangerous’ will happily be shot out of a canon for the laughs.

Wind doesn’t have any piercing even though he wants to, any jewelry is limited to necklaces and ear wraps. 

Letters are a big comfort to Wind, as sometimes he panics that Aryll is missing, or grandma is sick again. The letters remind him that everything is fine.

Wind will fall into his big brother persona; he immediately will fuss others despite bringing the youngest of the group.

Besides looking up to Time, Wind also looks up to War, he doesn’t know why.

Koroks seems to really like Wind, he considered them his friends, Time doesn’t like the Koroks staying around or Wind going after them.

He cannot stand the cold because of growing up on an island. He’s in multiple layers or stealing others' scarves to keep warm.

Wind loves music, especially sea shanties, you will not know peace if one gets stuck in his head.

He knows how to shoot guns; he has one from Tetra and knows how to make ammo for it. It’s just very, very loud and he doesn’t like it.

He is slowly getting use to them and even started to build interesting items of his own.

He will correct anyone if they refer to Tetra as Zelda, since she prefers the name Tetra.

Wind loves fruit sense you can only really get them on islands, they are his favorite thing to snack on.

Wind sometimes realizes how stupid enemies can be, meaning he will sneak around them when others are planning something.

He is the most likely to do his own thing in battle and give the others heart attacks in the process.

The soul piece of the hero’s spirit is the smallest in Wind, it was the childlike wonder of the god, something the god couldn’t have a lot of considering his first life.

Because of this Wind doesn’t get the full burning in his chest that others might. But he does get the call to adventure.

[aventurineswife]

you said you would do it if someone requested soooo……

Could you make a part 2 of the Pirate!Aventurine x Mermaid!Reader ? Do what you want I just want a part 2 honestly hehe

please please please please please please please please please please please please Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please

Compass of the Heart

Summary: Aventurine, a cunning pirate with a taste for risk, finds himself haunted by the memory of a mermaid who once sang him into peril. When you reappear, drawn by a shared pull neither of you fully understands, an unlikely partnership forms. As you navigate the open seas together—he on his ship, you alongside it—the lines between adventure, freedom, and love begin to blur. In each other, you uncover the courage to face the past and chart a new course, proving that even the most restless souls can find their anchor.

Tags: Pirate!Aventurine x Mermaid!Reader, Romance, Found Family, Pirate/Mermaid Dynamic, Slow Burn, Emotional Healing, Forbidden Love, Adventure and Freedom, Soft Moments Amid Danger.

Warnings: Mild references to past trauma and betrayal, Brief mentions of danger at sea, Emotional vulnerability and introspection.

A/N: I DID NOT EXPECT PEOPLE TO ACTUALLY LIKE THAT FIC WTFF!! 😭😭

[Part 1]

The cove was quiet, save for the rhythmic lapping of waves against the rocks. Aventurine stood where you’d last disappeared, his elaborate coat billowing slightly in the sea breeze. He turned the glowing blue gemstone on his belt absentmindedly, the faint light reflecting in his eyes. Months had passed since he let you go, and yet, the memory of your voice haunted him.

Perhaps it was foolish to hope the sea might bring you back. But Aventurine had always been a gambler, and this was a wager he was willing to take.

He didn’t have to wait long.

A hauntingly familiar melody rose from the depths, weaving through the salty air and settling over the cove like a mermaid’s lullaby. Aventurine’s heart leapt, though he schooled his features into their usual mask of cool confidence. The water shimmered, glowing faintly under the moonlight, and then you emerged—graceful and radiant, your tail catching the silver light.

"You’re late," Aventurine drawled, tilting his hat. His smirk softened as he caught your eye. "I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me."

You floated closer, your expression unreadable. "And yet you stayed here, waiting. Why?"

He chuckled, stepping closer to the edge of the rocky shore. "Why does anyone gamble? For the thrill, of course." He paused, letting his gaze linger on you. "And perhaps... because I couldn’t quite forget you either."

You tilted your head, a small smile curving your lips. "Careful, pirate. I might think you’re getting sentimental."

"Sentimental?" He placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "Perish the thought. I’m merely staking my claim on the most intriguing treasure the sea has ever offered."

Your laugh was soft, musical—a sound he realized he’d missed more than he’d admit.

The days that followed were a strange kind of bliss. You joined Aventurine aboard his ship, though you kept mostly to the water, swimming alongside the vessel. His crew, wary at first, quickly warmed to your presence. You warned them of storms and hidden reefs, and in return, they treated you as one of their own, tossing you trinkets and sharing stories from the deck.

Aventurine, true to form, kept his cards close to his chest. He entertained you with his wit and charm, though every so often, his gaze betrayed something deeper.

One evening, as the ship rested in calm waters, Aventurine found you perched on the railing, your tail trailing in the sea. The moonlight painted you in silver and gold, and for once, he found himself at a loss for words.

"You’re quiet tonight," you observed, glancing at him.

"Just thinking," he replied, leaning against the railing beside you.

"About what?"

He hesitated, then let out a soft laugh. "About how much trouble you’ve caused me. First luring my ship into a trap, and now... this."

You arched a brow. "This?"

"This," he repeated, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. "You’ve gone and made me care, haven’t you?"

Your laughter was soft but genuine, and for a moment, Aventurine forgot the weight of his past.

Weeks turned into months, and together you charted a new course—not for treasure or conquest, but for freedom. Aventurine’s ship became a sanctuary, a place where neither the laws of men nor the bindings of the sea could reach you.

Over time, your relationship deepened. Aventurine, ever the enigma, began to let his walls down, sharing stories of his past—of loss, betrayal, and the relentless drive to survive. In return, you shared your own tales, of the sea’s cruel bindings and the song that had once been your only solace.

"You’re not the man I thought you were," you said one evening, your voice soft.

"And what man did you think I was?" he asked, his tone light but his eyes searching.

"A villain," you replied, meeting his gaze. "But you’re not. You’re just... lost."

He smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "And what does that make you, then? My compass?"

"Maybe," you said, your smile mirroring his. "If you’ll let me."

Their legend grew, whispered in taverns and sung by sailors. The pirate with the jeweled eyepatch and the mermaid with the haunting voice, defying the odds and carving their own path across the waves.

Together, they became a force to be reckoned with—a pair bound not by chains, but by choice. Aventurine, the gambler who had always played to win, had finally found a game worth staying in. And you, the mermaid who once sang of loss and betrayal, had found a home beyond the sea.

In the end, it wasn’t the ocean or the treasures that defined their story. It was the gamble they’d taken on each other—and the happiness they’d found in the unlikeliest of places.

Your welcome 😇💖

[specshroom]

Here me out for mer stuff

Maybe human is shipwrecked and a mer (perhaps one that keeps treasures like an octopus) saving you and keeping you in a little underground cave with an airbubble until you get better but you both start getting closer... maybe they become obsessed with you

You're stuck in the cold and a seal person or penguin person offers their body heat to you since it's very insulating... and theres otherways for them to make you even warmer

Getting passed around a pod of dolphins and otters cause they're very sexual and otters hold onto you as you rest between round since they hold hands with partners

Electric eels/lungfish giving you little shocks as it coils around you.

A deep sea angler lady with a hynotizing glow that wants you to be a part of her with all the other men she's absorbed.

A jellyfish who's tentacles secrete aphrodisiacs instead

Urchins with a super soft underbelly!!

A clam trapping you in their shell or an anemone keeping you within it

Betta fish wrapping you in their fins

Also imagine perhaps a parasite or amoeba from the water entering and forming a symbiosis with you... you have a bf in your head that speaks with you and though he can't touch you he can make you feel things by messing with your brain and bodily functions

Tha k u for entertaining me

ANON YOU'RE A MIND READER! I WAS JUST THINKING OF DOING A MARINE HYBRID POST!

It was gonna be like an addition to the bird hybrid post but I was having major writers block and I couldn't think of fuckall.

BUT YOU! UR SO BIG BRAINED OMG.

My faves were the:

• Octopus hoarding reader like treasure 🥺

• The electric eel shocks! Yesss

• I fucking hate dolphins cus they scare me but Otters on the other hand are soooo cute. Passing you around and just snuggling you into their soft fur when u need a quick nap. Have you seen the videos of otters massaging each other? Yes exactly like that.

• ooooh I just know the angler fish and the jellyfish hybrids would be so scary and intimidating in such a sexy way, uknow? Like "Oooo am I gonna eat you or fuck you? Oooo let's find out"

• The amoeba boyfriend is very interesting 🤔 especially since u can't really break up lmao. How would u even have disagreements? Because he's basically you? I definitely want to revisit this idea.