#between the devil and the sea chapter 4

[the-kr8tor]

Go by the Board

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 5.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW food mentions, TW violence, CW injury, TW blood, TW death, CW needles.

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CHAPTER 4 >>> CHAPTER 5

The bandages around your wrists itch, you try not to scratch the annoying feeling away knowing infection on a ship could be deadly for you. Frozen in a fetal position, your legs tucked under the dust covered blankets, you focus on the locked door, the silver pendant hanging on the doorknob sways as the boat rocks in the wild waves.

You've only slept for a few hours following what you've witnessed, the sailor's screams still echo in your mind, clawing and gnawing at your skull. You try not to think about it, pushing the image of him writhing on the blood soaked floorboards.

Maybe it's better if you don't think about it, ever. Scrubbing it from your mind, you exhale a shaky breath, fingers twitching to scratch that annoying itch.

Why is it so fucking itchy? Your nose itches. Why does everything in this damned room smell old? The small cabin seems to swallow you whole as you lay on the unusually soft mattress. You twist and turn, kicking the blankets away in frustration. Your head pounds from the oncoming headache.

Gritting your teeth, you hear gasps and pained yells from outside. There's something dragging under the sound of curses. You sit up, your eyes feel heavy, it seems like your brain is trying to escape from you. You don't blame it.

You do your best at trying to look normal, well normal for someone who hasn't slept for more than four hours for two days straight. Straightening your back, the noises stop right at your door.

There's shuffling then the clinking of keys, the door bursts open, a man stumbles inside, landing harshly on his face. You recognize the navy lieutenant, his hands and feet bound. His once pristine uniform slashed and dirtied with drying blood. His shiny medals are nowhere to be found.

You lift your feet up on the bed, shielding yourself, wide eyes staring at the captain who looks worse than you. Hobie's still wearing the exact same clothes he wore during the battle, cotton shirt marred by crimson and tattered at the seams, his eyes are bloodshot, the storm still raging inside. There's a large slash by his collar bone that's only been remedied by a hastily put bandage.

Gwen follows right behind him, equally tired and bloodied. Her face is flat, emotion unreadable. She holds a blunderbuss to the captive’s head.

“Now, do you know her?” Hobie speaks up above the silence. Your heart skips a beat after mentioning you. “Don't keep us waiting, George. We haven't got all day.”

The navy man props himself up slowly and painfully, his joints creak, wounds opening. He looks at you through one eye, blood and bruises obscuring his vision.

He inhales scratchily, you suspect his lungs have collapsed. He chuckles and you could only look back towards Gwen who secretly shakes her head at you.

The captive laughs louder and louder, like he's lost his damn mind. “I think I know who this room belonged to, you fuckin’ snake!” he sing songs.

Gwen pushes the barrel closer to his temple, he pauses for a moment before cackling again. Hobie's knuckles tighten but his face remains indecipherable.

“Did you think bringing me here will get me to talk about what happened that day?” He makes it his mission to rile Hobie up, he's given up.

“Or are you showing me her replacement?” His eyes slither over to you, cackling more and more as his eyes roam your body.

“Enough,” Gwen finally speaks, pushing the barrel painfully close to his skin. “He asked you a question”

“You've already gotten what you need from me you fuckin' barbarians!”

Hobie closes the distance, “And we need more from you.” he bends at the waist to forcefully move the man's face towards you. “Do you know her?”

The beaten man smirked evilly, bloodied smile tempting you to hit him. He tilts his head, “Aye,” alarm bells start ringing in your head.

“The captain sent her as a spy, just look at her,” he side eyes Hobie who stares at you with his stormy eyes. “Quite a siren, huh? Were you captivated, eh ‘captain’?”

You could only look at Hobie through tearfilled eyes, pleading silently. You want to live but your mouth has clamped shut, your entire body is frozen, preventing you from laying your case.

After a minute of listening to the man praise you for your supposed work, Hobie yanks him away when George gets too close to you.

“Good on you for confirming our suspicions.” Your heart drops to your stomach. “But the details you've given us don't quite match up with what she's told us.” Hobie clicks his tongue, “I think you need to sing more for us, Georgie.”

The man's smile drops, he swallows thickly.

“Take him below.” The captain says as he reels in his anger.

Finn appears from the doorway, immediately taking the prisoner by the collar, dragging him further down the hallway, while he kicks and squirms to no avail. Gwen follows, sparing you a quick nod. She shuts the door behind her, the clicking sounds like a death knell specifically for you.

The soft lapping of the waves doesn't ease your nerves, it acts as a countdown with every hit to the side of the ship. The seagulls squawk loudly just outside your window, they're annoying but at least they're free.

After a minute of quiet and Hobie's eyes roaming around the small cabin, you hear him thud against the door. This is it, you think, picturing him taking out his cutlass to sever your head from your shoulders. Or maybe he's a gentleman, preferring to off you quick and painless with his blunderbuss.

Instead of the loud booming sound of a gun going off, you hear his voice. “What happened to your fire?”

“I'm too tired to keep it lit.” you bravely look up, he leans on the door, his shoulders and face relaxed, back slouched, knuckles bloody and broken. “Are you going to bring me below too or are you gonna end me right here?”

He frowns, “Why would I do that?”

“Because he just told you—”

Hobie sighs, you fall silent. The lines of his face are prominent as the sun rises once again. The light from the window hits him just right, bathing him in soft yellow. He closes his eyes like he's savouring the warmth.

“Men like him will do anything to bring someone else down with him.” He opens his grey eyes, the storm has calmed down behind it. “He knows he's lost.”

“You tied me up. Locked me up.”

“I know, it was for the better until I truly know you're not one of them. You're alive aren't you? Do you want me to apologize?”

“No, fuck you. I want you to thank me for saving your first mate.”

He chuckles lowly, “There it is, keep that fire yeah?”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“Sleep, you can have this cabin in the meantime.”

You glare at him, not trusting his own words.

“Here,” Hobie tosses a key at you. “my olive branch. Rest, trust me once everyone wakes from their poppy filled haze you're gonna wish you've slept.”

You hold the key in between your fingers, familiarizing yourself with the indents. “What?”

“Mend their wounds, doc. Prove your worth.” He turns to leave. “Do keep the place clean, yeah?”

You shakily stand up, locking the door behind him. Barely making it back to bed, you collapse, sleep taking you in its embrace.

—

You wake up to loud frantic knocking on your door. With a groan and sleep laden eyes, you reluctantly open the door.

Miles greets you, his smile not reaching fully to his tired eyes. “Finally! You sleep like the dead you know?”

“What's happening? Are we getting attacked again?” Your eyes roam across the cramped hallway.

“I hope not, they need you at the infirmary.”

“The ship has an infirmary?”

Following Miles through the halls and numerous stairs, you make unusual small talk.

“So…did Hobie tell you that I'm not a traitor?”

Miles stops in front of you, eyes narrowed. “Don't say the ‘T word’ around here or” he steps closer to whisper. You listen with trepidation. “or saving Gwen won't be enough for you to stay.” he looks around for a sign that someone else is listening.

“Why can't I say the ‘T word’? Did something happen back then?”

“Can you not?” He grimaces. “You can literally ask me anything else other than that.”

“Right, sorry.” You two continue to walk. “Who's MJ?”

Miles groans in annoyance. “Seriously?”

“What?! You said anything but that.”

“Alright, smart ass, anything but those two. Learn to read the room, jeez!” he shakes his head.

“Fine! How'd a kid like you end up here then? Am I allowed to ask that? Hmm?” you rile him up. This is the most fun you've had in days, anything to get rid of the thoughts swimming in your mind.

“Don’t call me kid, landlubber. If you hadn't saved Gwen back then I would throw you overboard so fast right now” Miles stomps further away from you while you chuckle.

“Yeah? And what's Gwen to you then? I see how you look at her.”

He stops with his hands on his hips, head falling in exasperation, he's too quiet.

“Miles?” oh shit. You might've gotten too far with your teasing. You weren't even sure what you said was true, it was just a wild guess.

“Is it that obvious?!” He suddenly yells, turning to look at you with his hands over his head like he's in physical pain. “You've been here for less than three days and you've noticed!”

“Please calm down.” You laugh nervously, the last thing you need right now is making Hobie's navigator cry. “I was teasing you is all.” You have no idea how to comfort the poor guy. “I won't tell anyone I promise!”

“Especially Gwen,” he points at you.

“I won't tell anyone.” you cross over your heart. “If you answer my questions” smiling mischievously, you can see Miles already regretting his choices.

“Blackmail? Really?” He huffs.

“Please it's the least you can do for me after saving the love of your life. Also blackmail is probably the lowest crime the bloodsail pirates have committed.”

Something passes by his eyes, a memory perhaps? You have no idea what it was but his eyes glissen over. He composes himself in a second, clearing his throat.

“Correction, you're not a bloodsail pirate.”

“I am for two weeks at least” you shrug.

“Finn is right, you are annoyingly talkative.”

“Hey! Talkative for his standards maybe. You try getting stuck in a small room with a silent giant and you will truly know how bored you can be.”

Miles nods, smirking like he knows something you don't. “You talk a lot to hide the fear inside you.”

Did he just psychoanalyze you?

“This crew will be the death of me, move, people are probably dying while we're talking” you walk past a grinning Miles.

Walking past a few more rooms, you spot an open door to your right. The dimly lit room catches your attention with its bookshelves full of gorgeously bound books.

“A library? You have a library here?!” You excitedly walk over to the doorframe, eyes quickly scanning the titles on the shelves. “I haven't seen a huge collection like this in my entire life.”

Miles steps over to the side, promptly shutting the door. “After you take care of my family then we can talk about library privileges.” He gives you a look that has you rolling your eyes.

“Fine, dork” you whisper the last word.

“What was that?” He clearly heard you.

“Nothing! Let's go and save some people.”

Turning the corner, leaning on the walls, there lies a line of disgruntled pirates. They hold on to their various injuries, groaning in pain. They cheer once they see you but they quickly shut up after their pain flares up from the cheering.

Walking towards the open double doors of the infirmary, they look at you with their unreadable faces. The common theme though is the ache in their bones and the blood coated shirts.

You assess each of their injuries, some are minor, only having gashes on their arms and legs. A few are bleeding through their bandages, head wrapped hastily in bandages that clearly needs to be changed immediately.

Trying to remember what she taught you, you sigh, hands clammy. You haven't handled this many people, only used to treating a couple of people at a time in your small village with her. Times like this, you can't help but miss her. Shaking your head, you can't let your mind wander again, right when the people who are helping you stay literally afloat need you.

But you can't handle this many people alone.

“Uh…who’s more injured?” you ask.

They all raise their injured hands.

“Okay, who's still bleeding?”

Half of them raise their hands.

As if sensing your panic, Pavitr comes up behind you, tapping you on the shoulder.

“Need my help? I'm not that good with blood but I'm sure I can help. and Miles can help too, right, bud?” Pav catches Miles who's sneaking away to leave. “Where are you going?”

“Uh… to look for Ned, yeah! He can help too.”

Ned yells from inside the infirmary, “I'm already in here! I was the one who told you to fetch Y/N, remember?”

You and Pavitr share a look.

“Yep yep! I'm coming to help, see?” He stops when he's inside the small clinic. “Oh man, that's a huge needle you have there Ned”

You clasp Miles on his trembling shoulder, “Don't worry I'll keep it away from you. For a price of course.”

Miles huffs, gritting his teeth. “You get three questions.”

“Good–”

“After you're done here”

“Fine.” you enter the room with a roll of your eyes. The smell of poppy, ointment and iron fills your senses. Suddenly you're back at home, the roaring fire from the stone fireplace warms you as the huge book in your lap has you enthralled by the illustration of human anatomy.

Groaning brings you back to the present. The first thing you see is Ned tending to ugly mug, his back exposed. Ned’s huge needle is sewing up a deep cut just below the man's shoulder.

“Give it to me straight, mate, I'm gonna look even uglier now aren't I?” He asks Ned.

You scrunch up your nose after seeing his face still good looking and injury free.

Turning around to face Pav and Miles, you try to remember her teachings, you can still feel her hands guiding your own as she rambles on how you should always wash your hands before treating someone. It's been years since then, her voice is nothing but a memory, slowly fading away as you grow older.

You haven't been practicing much, but you kept up with your knowledge by reading pamphlets as much as you can. It's a useful skill afterall, especially when you travel. With an exhale, you start instructing the two.

“Pav,” he straightens up. “get me some hot water from the galley and the purest alcohol Finn has.”

“Got it, I have to fight Finn though” he runs off with determination in his eyes.

“Miles, I need you to triage” you continue as you head off to the basin to clean in between your nails. The dried blood from your fingernails turns the water murky and brown.

“Put the people in front of the line who need to get treated first and with the most severe injuries while the people with the least severe injury to the back of the line.” You look over your shoulder. “Understood?”

“I'm doing it but not because you told me to.” he goes out of the room, already yelling at his impatient crew mates. You hear someone saying ‘what the fuck is a triage? use english!’

You look at Ned. “Please tell me you washed your hands.”

—

You're incredibly hungry, again. Your fingers ache from all the sewing and patching you've done. Your hands smell like herbs and ointments. The muscles in your hands still shake from all the bullets you had to carefully take out. But everyone seems to be stable now, thanks to you.

Washing your hands in the newly replenished basin, you hear footfalls against wood from above. For a second your mind flings back to the fight, you pinch your pinky to distract yourself from the image.

A plate clangs behind you. Looking over your shoulder, Miles is once again trying to sneak away.

“Thanks, Miles” You genuinely smile at him, just looking at the hot plate of mashed potatoes and beans has your stomach grumbling.

“Fine, ask away” he sits across from you, arms crossed on his chest.

“I actually forgot about that, thank you for mentioning it.” You smile mockingly, taking the plate to finally eat.

“What? Oh come on, man” he points suspiciously at you. “Why are you so curious?”

“Because human beings are naturally curious.” Miles makes a face. “Fine, I want to know the backstory of the legendary bloodsail pirates. I mean can you blame me? I have to live with the crew for two weeks.”

He sighs, convinced. “As long as the answers to your questions are already known by the navy,” you nod, “ask away.”

You chuckle. “First question, Where did Hobie get this huge ship?”

“Stole it, next question”

“Really? you're not gonna elaborate on that? I got the needles far away from you the entire time.”

He clicks his tongue. “Stole it from a rich merchant ship years ago with just his wits and a blunderbuss. He's been upgrading it since then, you can barely see the original facade.”

“I gotta admit it to him, that sounds like a good story to tell.”

“Maybe if you play nice he can tell it to you someday.”

You sigh, “Some mysteries just have to stay a mystery.”

He chuckles softly, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Second question,” you take another spoonful of beans, chewing while talking. “Where did he get his crew?”

Miles looks at you with disgust. “Swallow first, Christ. Some joined later on, some like Gwen, Pav, Finn and I have been with him from the start.”

“Elaborate? Or I'll chew with my mouth open”

“What is wrong with you? I'm not done yet, jeez.” He looks like he's about to jump away from you. “A few of us were running from getting drafted during the war, only having us as their only option or go to jail.” You listen intently.

“But most of us joined after hearing about us, wanting to be pirates but they want to give back to the people instead of just taking and plundering for gold.” he scratches the back of his neck. “I guess some of us are more into it rather than just pure survival.”

“Wait, you do that? Like some sort of pirate Robin Hood?”

Miles looks at you surprised. “Of course we do, I'm guessing that doesn't make it to the sunday news huh?” he sighs. “Well that's what we do, we only take from the rich and give it back to the people who need it most. Most of the time the nobles and merchants don't suffer much loss from it.”

“Well until I see it for myself I'll think otherwise. Next question—”

“Nope, you've already asked your three questions!” He cackles.

“Wait, the last one doesn't count! Come on, one last very important one that if I don't get the answer to, I will combust.”

Miles pouts his lips, thinking like it's the most difficult thing ever. “Hmmm, you blowing up into tiny pieces sounds great actually.”

“I won't tell Gwen you're utterly in love with her. Just one last thing.”

“You won't tell anyone”

“I promise! And when I promise I intend to keep it.”

He exhales the most tired exhale ever. “Ask”

You smile. “Why follow Hobie?”

Miles stares at you directly, none of the annoyed look he's given, no boyish charm you've seen the entire day you've spent with him and the crew. He looks like a proper pirate with his back straight and loyalty emanating just from his tone.

“Because it's Hobie,” he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “You have no idea the things he's sacrificed for us. Before we were a crew he— I owe him my life. And it's not blind loyalty, we're all free to leave if we don't want to follow him to the end. Some have already left.” He says the last part forlornly. “I guess I follow him because he's family, not just my captain.”

You look at your half eaten meal, family, you haven't heard that in ages. You have family somewhere, you're sure of it. In your journeys you've had people, friends, but not enough to be called your family; they haven't come close to what you had with her in that little cabin of yours in the middle of nowhere.

If only greed wasn't a thing, you'd still be with her.

You feel a ghost of your necklace graze your chest, instinctively holding on to it for comfort, disappointing yourself when you can't grasp it.

“Y/N?”

You clear your throat, fighting the tears from flowing. “So if he's your family and the crew is also your family, does that mean you're in love with Gwen who's supposedly your family? Hmmm?”

“You know what I meant! What is truly wrong with you?!”

“What? I'm just asking!”

“Oh really? Well you use humour as a crutch!”

You gasp, “Rude!”

“Yep that's you! Miss ‘I make jokes during serious conversations’”

“Understood, now where did I put that needle?” you act like you're trying to find it, patting your pockets.

“Nope, I'm already gone!” He's sprinting away from you. “You're needed in the galley by the way!” His muffled yell makes you laugh.

Another day, another quiet day in the galley for you.

—

During dinner, you've noticed the empty chairs, the sound of the waves crashing and utensils scraping still echoing in your ears as you watch them bring out their dead from below.

The full moon witnesses the crew put their dead on the now pillaged navy ship. The bodies wrapped carefully in white sheets. There's no breeze blowing or waves lapping at the sides of the ship. Everything's at a standstill.

The eerie silence has you standing by the edge of the crowd. Not a part of it but not truly alone.

The gas lamps illuminate the crew's expressions. You're not used to seeing their faces look so devastated, especially after all the laughs you've shared with them while mending their wounds mere hours ago.

You know it's not your place to be here or to even stand with them while they're mourning their friends. But you stay because if it's the other way around you'd want the only outsider to mourn with you, to stand in solidarity with you even if she doesn't know how the people you're laying down on the cold wood used to comfort you through the storm and how they used to hate the summer heat.

You'd want the outsider to know that they once lived.

The floorboards creak as Hobie lays the last body on the navy boat's deck, kneeling by the side to say his final farewell. After a moment, he stands up, knuckles so tightly closed that you can see his hands shake from where you're standing.

He cuts the rope tied to the mast, the sails unfurl, the slight breeze making it move slowly. Hobie jumps back to the revenge before the navy ship sails too far.

With his crew right behind him, you all watch as the ship sails for the final time. Hobie takes a musket from Gwen, they share a comforting look briefly before he takes aim at the ship. The shot echoes out, hitting the barrel full of gunpowder directly. Fire immediately bellows, engulfing the wooden ship.

The fire cackles further away but it still warms your cheeks. Orange and yellow dancing on the water as the mast burns and falls into the depths with a splash.

A soft voice sings a mellow tune, the lyrics full of sorrow and longing for what they've lost.

You look over to the source of the song, Yuri has her eyes glued to the flaming ship, her cadence echoes out to the open sea, the rest join in, goosebumps flare up on your arms. They sing about how the sea has claimed them but they aren't truly lost for they still sail the endless depths with the stars as their guide.

The singing ends and as everyone goes their separate ways, Hobie stays behind, watching as the fire devours the ship. With one last look, you head to your cabin, head full of thoughts that you'd rather not let it fester or it might consume you like the fire outside razing the once mighty ship.

The tune still stays with you until your head hits the soft pillow, you wonder how many times they've sung it together.

That night you wake up to someone screaming from above, cursing Hobie's name. Frantic footsteps dance above, you can hear a gun clicking. Recognizing the former lieutenant's voice, you fall back under the covers, jumping in place as you hear the gun go off followed by a splash and then a sudden silence.

For the next two days, you get acclimated to your life on the people's revenge. Having some sort of routine. In the morning you go to the infirmary to help clean their wounds and change their bandages, single handedly stopping infection. The survival rate of the injured has increased tenfold with your help. They greet you with a smile every morning, sometimes calling you ‘doc’ and you correct them everytime.

You haven't seen Hobie the past two days, always getting glimpses of him in the halls as he turns a corner. None of the crew have seen him out either. You wonder if he's had anything to eat in the past few days.

You've encountered how grief could consume someone, you hope you don't witness it again.

At lunch, you cook with Finn in the galley, making conversation, telling him stories you've heard during your journeys as he grunts and huffs in reply. You've gotten used to the quiet in the kitchen with only the waves outside and the bubbling pot filling your ears.

The crew have gotten better after the loss, they've started laughing again, making jokes and even including you to the conversation. You keep finding yourself chuckling among them during dinner.

After the day ends, you bring Pavitr his tea as he gets ready for another long night shift of sailing. As you head down to the library, you check in on Miles as he toils on a map, studying every detail, making sure the ship's on track. You bring him his cup, he's stopped looking at the tea suspiciously after the third time you've given him one.

You hear arguing in Hobie's cabin again, the voices are different each time you pass through but you don't dare eavesdrop, you swear that man has eyes everywhere.

The library has become your sanctuary, not the cabin you're temporarily placed in. You get a weird feeling everytime you enter the small room, like you don't quite belong in the obviously lived in space. There's tiny trinkets hidden on shelves, some are quite peculiar, unlike anything you've ever seen. You keep finding drawings and journal pages tucked in the corners and the bed frame, the ink already too faded to read or to even make out the art. You surmise the old resident of the cabin pushed the papers in there to stop the draft.

As you sit down on the lumpy green armchair of the library, the oil lamp illuminating the pages with only the moon as your companion; you get sucked into the yellowed pages, burrowing into every word printed, making a home for yourself in between the letters written by authors you'll never meet in your lifetime.

A soft knock brings your soul back to the old library, your eyes adjust in the darkness, his silhouette leaning casually on the doorway.

“So this is where you vanish off to every night” you can barely make out his face but you know he's smirking by the way his lip piercing glints in the lamp.

“Am I not allowed, Captain?” he chuckles. The sound reverberated around the room. A ghost of a smile passes by your lips.

“Keep callin' me like that and you might find yourself having special treatment.”

“And what exactly is the special treatment?”

Hobie shrugs, raising a finger up as he lists them down. “Havin' your own cabin, getting fed twice in a day, access to the ship's library, did I mention staying dry and alive?”

“You've mentioned it once or twice.” You sigh, gathering courage for what you're about to ask. “I've got a question, Cap.”

Hobie scoffs, “Heard you've been asking those a lot. One of these days your curious arse will get you killed.” You shrug, ignoring his comment. “You know I'd hunt you down if any of this information gets to the navy right?”

“I know, and I'm not a fucking snitch especially after you've kept your word of letting me stay even though you did use me as bait when you were interrogating the navy man.”

“Come off it,” he clicks his tongue. “I did not use you as bait.”

“Sure, and you don't have trust issues, Hobie Brown”

“Likewise, Y/N asshole.” he enters the room and into the light. You don't miss his snarky nickname for you. “Can a person with trust issues do this?” Hobie tosses a bag right on your lap.

You recognize the satchel, blinking in surprise “My bag!” You scan the contents down to the small bag of coins finding everything is still in its place. “Did you happen to see a necklace? It has a circular pendant with a bird engraved on it.”

“No, it doesn't ring a bell. Trust me somethin’ like that would've left a mark.”

You frown, hope diminished. Hobie gestures towards the seat in front of you, asking permission. You nod, letting him in your personal bubble.

“What are you reading?” He sits across from you on the rickety rocking chair, groaning, knees cracking.

“Just a story about some Greek hero that my m– I used to read back then.”

He nods, not mentioning the blunder. “I don't think Theseus is just some bloke.” You chuckle softly. “Y’know there's a much better read than that over…” he twists around, taking a book right behind him. “Here” he hands it off to you, calloused fingers grazing yours.

Turning the small book around, you shake your head with a subtle smile. “‘How to conquer your fears volume five: Learn how to swim by Sir Riordan of Canterbury’ Very funny”

Hobie stifles a laugh, a genuine smile across his face. “Thought it was appropriate.” he crosses a leg over the other, shoulders relaxed.

“What was your question, scuttlebutt? Ask me before I change my mind, ‘m feeling generous today.”

Your hands play with the spine of the old book. “Why haven't you killed me yet? After what George said, why didn't you believe him that I'm a traitor?”

He visibly stiffened, “You can't be called a traitor if you were never part of the crew, eh?” your heart thumps louder as he observes your every move.

“Also that's two questions,” the moonlight hits his fatigued face, you stare into those eyes that threaten to bring you under, but you swim out just in time before it drags you down. “good thing they have the same answers.”

You blink slowly, fingers nervously pick at the dry skin on your thumb.

“Your rucksack,” he points with chin. “I didn't pay enough attention to it when you first arrived but when I had my suspicions I had to check. First the coins or the lack thereof. If you were a navy spy they'd give you enough to use it as a bargaining tool.”

“You calling me poor?”

“Yes” he doesn't miss a beat. “Second your shoes, the bloody thing is thinner than Finn's flat bread.” you suck in your teeth in annoyance. “And that–” he leans closer, his elbows resting on his thighs. “Your fuckin' attitude, you didn't even try to play nice. You just did what you were told so you could survive. The only time you're actually nice is when nobody else is lookin'” you scoff while he continues on.

“Don't think I didn't notice you during the funeral or whenever you give Pav and Miles their tea. You stay along the edges of the crew, lingering, not really looking for any approval. But you're there, acting like you don't care but based on the careful stitches and gentle hands, you care, a lot.”

You grit your teeth, letting him read you like an open book that you've kept hidden behind the shelves, under all the more interesting books.

“Spies ease their way into the crew with effort, you did it unintentionally. You didn't hesitate saving Gwen, you could've done anything else in an attempt to escape but you helped and you stayed. You're not a spy, I think you just want to belong somewhere—”

You cut him off, “What makes you think I want to join your rag tag group?”

Hobie looks like he's about to swallow you whole, ignoring your last snarky comment, he continues his rant. “You want to belong even if it’s on a damn pirate ship. You're a genuine stowaway.”

“Alright, you're quite perceptive then, but that doesn't answer my question on why you haven't killed me yet.” you bravely face him. “You said it yourself, you would kill me if any information about you and the crew comes out from me. And you told me I needed the coin so what's stopping me from going to the nearby governor and selling off the information the moment we land?”

“Because you're running too,” his eyes shine in the low light, looking at you mischievously. “I don't know from whom or if you're wanted like us but I do know you're not gonna risk your freedom for a few coins.”

Hobie beams at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “And lastly, I'm gonna need you before I let you go.”

[sylusmistress]

Run Kitten... Run

Chapter 4: Muscle Memory

Those four simple words. Yes sir, I understand. Four words that Sylus thought he would never hear again. Yes sir, I understand. All it took was four little words to cause all the puzzle pieces to connect and finally jog his memories about the past lives you’ve lived together.

As if he was having an out of body experience flashes of your sweaty bodies intertwined in the past playing in front of his eyes. Memories of you on your knees begging to taste his essence while he looks upon you with contentment and him hovering over your restrained body pushing you to your physical limits. Everything came flooding back all at once and for a moment Sylus simply just stared at you in silence. But despite him regaining a priceless piece of himself that was temporarily lost in the bottomless sea of heartbreak, he can tell that everything hasn’t clicked for you just yet.

Your lack of remembrance is seen as nothing more than a simple task to Sylus as he begins mentally mapping what must be done to help you remember the love you two once shared together. Besides having questions about your Aether Core, he now has a laundry list of questions about why and how someone like you could become a hunter. In your past life you were as cunning and as ruthless as him and stood by his side as his Queen. To see the love of his life in the position of a goody-two-shoes rookie hunter that is not only bad at her job but also lacks the physical robustness that he now fondly remembers is something he will rectify later.

Refocusing his attention, Sylus lets out a low groan of approval before allowing his black and red energy tendrils to wrap around your wrist and hold you in place as he places calculated kisses along your ear and down your jawline. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, darling.” Compared to the kisses he gave you a few minutes ago, these ones seem to hold a sense of nervousness as if you were a delicate mirage that might vanish if he kisses you too fast or too slow.  

Listening to Sylus whisper in a deep sultry voice while expressing his yearning need for you causes your insides to burn with longing. The only men you’ve longed for is your trio back home and in the back of your mind you can feel a small voice yelling at you, but you can’t quite hear what is being said. Currently you are distracted, and you aren’t sure what he means when he claims he missed you and how he’s waited a lifetime to be reunited with you again, but none of that is of concern to you. At the moment, your mind is too frazzled with the need for release and pleasure.

“I searched everywhere for you…” Another kiss is trailed down your throat until Sylus lands on the pulse point in your throat. “I should have known who you were the moment your body reacted to my eye…” He feels his own mind grow heavier with hunger the more his lips connect with your skin and soon the gentle love bites turn more possessive as he sinks lower down your body until his head settles between your quaking thighs.

You are a breathy mess with your chest heaving up and down at a rapid speed and your breast jiggle with each motion. The trail of kisses and saliva Sylus trickled down your body brings no relief to your scorching skin and instead adds to the heightened sensitivity you’ve been experiencing since you entered the bath with the red eyed devil. You feel like you are in limbo between falling and floating and you don’t know which one to reach for. Although it’s only been a few minutes you have been teased to the point where your love juices are effortlessly flowing from your sacred fountain and all Sylus wants to do is drink you until he becomes drunk on your essence. “Fuck… I’ve missed you so much, Kitten. So… So… much…”

The second his long tongue drags against your clenching core you let out a silent scream that gets caught in your throat as you attempt to tug on the tendrils that are tightly holding your wrist above your head. You can feel your inner walls tighten and clench around nothing as you desperately wish you were being filled and stretched to your limit. By being immobilized by Sylus all you can do is graciously take whatever he gives to you like the good girl he knows you to be.

Up and down his skilled wet muscle flicks as it tastes every inch of you while humming in delight. You are just as sweet as he remembers and if he could he would spend an eternity buried between your thighs, allowing your pussy to serve as his only source of nutrients until the end of time. The tightening and unclenching of your abdomen doesn’t go unseen as Sylus wraps his left arm around your stomach to keep you locked in place and uses his right index and middle finger to spread your slick folds open to reveal your glistening pearl. Encasing his lips around the small bud of sensitivity, he begins to steadily twirl his tongue counterclockwise around your clit while simultaneously sucking your bundle of sensitive nerves into his mouth.

Everything about this moment is intoxicating and Sylus wishes he could make this moment last forever but your eagerness to reach your peak causes him to put his plans of sexual torment aside – for now. It has been over a century since he’s last tasted you and had you within his grasp. And since Sylus is a patient man, he understands that it is going to take some time to retrain his kitten back into his perfect little pet. One that understands it is her role in this life and the next to beg, serve, and pleasure him without complaint.

Chuckling darkly the red eyed devil of seduction lifts his head from between your thighs and stares at you with his glowing right eye. When you look into his glowing right eye you can feel your chest tighten and anxiety that a panic attack is about to happen begins to settle in until Sylus nips at your inner thigh to bring your attention back to him. “Focus Kitten. Don’t fight what you feel. Allow the pleasure to consume you…”

Taking a moment, you listen to Sylus’ instructions, tightly closing your eyes and taking a deep breath before hesitantly peeling them back open and looking deep into the fierce red orbs of temptation in front of you. Finally, after mentally going back and forth on what you should allow your body to feel, you decide to finally choose to fall deep into the pit of your desires.

“Such a good girl…” The small praise from Sylus causes you to whine and twist around in his grasp before he retightens his hold on you and continues to devour you. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his middle finger enter your tight opening and wiggle its way inside until it finds that spot inside of you that drives you wild.

Flicking his calloused finger back and forth in a come-hither motion while alternating between licking and sucking on your now swollen clit you feel your stomach muscles constrict with delight. As a warm sensation begins to spread throughout your body you begin to rock your hips against Sylus’ mouth silently begging him to bring you to completion.

Climbing higher and higher up on the peak of pleasure your silent cries become more audible, and you finally find your voice as you pull and tug on your restraints. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire and ice cold at the same time as sweat begins to form in the crease of your brows. Experiencing an orgasm is nothing new to you, but something about this scene is familiar to you. You can feel just how intense your climax is going to be as Sylus continues to consume your pussy like a hungry beast that hasn’t eaten in years while keeping his gaze on you with that glowing right eye.

“S-S-Sylus… I’m so close…”

Sylus didn’t need to be told that you were seconds away from an orgasm, but the announcement is appreciated as his hums of acknowledgment can be felt through your core. Increasing the speed and intensity of his ministrations he adds his index finger inside of your dripping and convulsing honeypot before holding his breath as he continues to lick and suck your sensitive bundle of nerves. Releasing a loud moan of satisfaction, you toss your head back against the pile of pillows below your head while your shuddering thighs lock him in place. You feel as if you are transcending through different dimensions as your orgasm ripples through your body. From the tip of your toenails to the ends of your hair you can feel the eruption of euphoric pleasure soar through you, and you are glad you made the decision to fall.

Nothing can compare to how you feel right now, or at least that’s what you believe as Sylus laps up the last few droplets of your juices before crawling back up your body and tightly gripping your throat before smothering your mouth with a kiss. You whimper as you taste yourself on his tongue and share in the drunk sweetness of your nectar. While your tongues swirl around in each other’s mouths like this is the last kiss each of you will ever share before the world ends, you feel his neglected member poking at your entrance pleading for entry.  

Breaking the kiss, you gaze up at Sylus and attempt to try and catch your breath. Both sets of your lips are swollen and the pupils in your eyes have dilated to the point where only a thin ring of your iris is visible. To Sylus you look almost picture perfect, but there is still one more thing that needs to happen to give you the complete fucked out expression he plans on burning into the back of his mind for all eternity.

With a simple nod of your head, you slowly spread your still trembling thighs open to give Sylus more access to your needy core. Biting down on his bottom lip to contain his groan of approval he grabs the inside of your thighs and roughly presses them down until they are completely flat against the bed, and you are fully exposed to him. Keeping intense eye contact with you Sylus slowly begins sliding his rock-hard shaft inside of your now gummy walls. Inch by inch he fills your aching little hole and can get to the halfway mark before reaching your ‘happy button’.

Grinning roguishly Sylus watches as the moment of realization hits you that not only is he a lot bigger than expected but you are already on the verge of another orgasm and all he’s done is place half of his dick inside of you. “You are being very greedy tonight kitten… Cumming again for me already? I’m only half way inside.”  

Taking in how much of an ego boost your sensitivity has given Sylus, you refuse to acknowledge him vocally and try to look away from his knowing expression. But looking away just eggs him on even more as he slams the rest of his length inside of you until your swollen clit brushes against his pelvis. Suddenly you feel like you are seeing stars as your premature orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks.

Despite being in euphoric bliss, you can hear how the sex god hovering over you is silently cursing to himself as your walls convulse around his length. If it wasn’t for his pride, he would join you in climaxing prematurely but being who he is he refuses to finish until he’s brought you to your peak two… or five more times.

It is as if your body is an instrument, and Sylus is a conductor that knows exactly how to play you until you sing him praise. Rocking his hips in a steady motion he lets out a loud sigh as he watches your face twist in pleasure. All the years he spent searching for you and he almost forgot about your existence because of the amount of time that passed between you two. But now that he has you back, he is never letting you go and will do everything in his power to bring your memories back. From now on every day will be spent reminding you how great your life was underneath him as he effortlessly brings you godly pleasure.

Every single day he will remind you why you are his and his alone. Sylus believes that with every pump, lick, thrust, suck, bite, spank, etc. your memories will come back, and he doesn’t mind going through the daily effort. With flashbacks from the past Sylus decides to test out some of his old moves to see if they can still pull the same reactions out of you. If he angles his hips upwards you let out small whimpers. If he angles his hips to the left and focuses on your g-spot you let out loud moans and try to pull against your restraints. And if he angles his hips to dive deep into your walls and press against your cervix your eyes roll to the back of your head, and he must constantly remind you to keep breathing.

“Perfect… and all mine…”

Moaning loud enough to where you are sure anyone in a 50-mile radius can hear you, Sylus releases you from the energy tendrils around your wrist so that you can cling to his neck as he begins to increase the pace of his thrust. He can feel that you are on the verge of another earth-shattering orgasm and wants to feel all your reactions as he brings you to the crest of pleasure once again.

Leaning down to close the distance between your two bodies Sylus tightly wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face into the crook of your love bitten neck before placing your wobbly legs around his waist. “Let go princess… Let go and cum all over my dick… use me… use me like the perfect little slut I know you can be…” Biting down onto your earlobe he continues to whisper husky words of degraded encouragement and revels in how tight you become each time he calls you his ‘slut’.

Between Xavier, Rafayel, and Zayne you’ve never had either of them call you anything outside of respectable pet names and in this lifetime, you’ve never craved being called anything degrading before. But the comforting edginess of Sylus’ tone when he address you as his ‘slut’ does something to the wires in your brain and it doesn’t take long as another deep thrust against your cervix causes you to dig your nails into his back before shuddering like a leaf on a winter day beneath him.

“Such a good girl… you are so good for me kitten... My perfect girl…” The switch between being degraded and words of encouragement makes you feel as if you are losing your mind. Satisfied that you are a perfect overstimulated mess, Sylus begins focusing on his own pleasure and holds your hips tightly to keep you in place as his calculated thrust becomes more feverish and animalistic as he chases his own high.

Reaching down between where you are connected Sylus rubs circles around your swollen clit with determination to bring you to one more orgasm as he reaches the grand finale. His strokes are becoming sloppier by the second and his grunts in your ear sound like heaven while he continues strumming your sensitive pearl. Feeling him slam deeply against your ‘happy button’ a few more times is enough to pull another orgasm out of you and your chest tightens as you arch into his touch.

“FUCKKK!” Both of you moan in unison when you feel his cock begin to twitch and swell inside of you before shooting ropes of hot seed inside of your quivering wet cavern. Finally, after allowing his release to swim inside of, you Sylus crashes his body down on top of yours and relishes in the moment.

A beat of comfortable silence passes between you and Sylus as you both come down from ecstasy. The feeling of his heavy body slumped over your delicate form brings you comfort the weighted blanket would as the aftershocks in your body finally subside and you are able to breathe somewhat normally again.

Reluctantly Sylus pulls his now softened dick from out of you and rolls off you to land on his back besides you while staring up at the ceiling. Again, another beat of silence passes between the two of you and you aren’t sure if you should speak up first or if he should.

Sensing your dilemma Sylus climbs off his bed and enters his bathroom. When he returns, he has a warm towel in his hands and tenderly grasps your thighs before cleaning up the mess he made between them. Once he is satisfied with ensuring that you are clean enough, he looks up at you with those ruby orbs you are starting to become addicted to staring into. “Do you remember who I am?” His voice is deep yet soothing like a warm hug from a long-lost lover.

Gazing back at him you suddenly feel the consequences of your choices come crashing down against you. Immediately your mind thinks of your trio of lovers back home that must be worried sick about you and then you think about what the consequences would be for sleeping with someone you were sent to arrest. Quickly looking away you attempt to scurry from out of Sylus’ bed and put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

Although you didn’t verbally answer his question, Sylus can tell from your now frantic and regretful expression that not only do you not fully remember who he is, but you also feel shame about what just transpired between the two of you. Keeping his face passive and his hurt emotions at bay, he tightly clenches his jaw before walking over to his wardrobe and grabbing a sweater and pair of sweatpants for you to put on before dressing his naked frame in a robe. “Get dressed and get out.”

The sudden cold shoulder Sylus gives you pulls you out of your mini existential crisis and you glare at him like he just committed a crime far worse than being King of the Wanderers. “Excuse me? You don’t get to just kick me out of your room after everything we just did!”

Pulling the sweater over your head and the sweatpants over your bare bottom you stomp over to the mini bar Sylus is now standing next to and defiantly cross your arms over your chest. Technically you did want to leave his room and put some distance between the two of you so you can think clearly and dissect what just transpired but you wanted to leave on your own terms. “Is this how you treat all women? Huh? You just use them to get what you want and toss them when you are finished?”

Apparently, your accusation seemed to cross an invisible line of boundaries as Sylus cuts his eyes to you and swiftly wraps his left hand tightly around your throat before dropping his tone to a menacing growl. “Use you? Is that what you think I did? I would do anything to keep you by my side and yet you have the audacity –… GET OUT!”

Carrying you over to his bedroom door he wastes no time opening it and tossing you (fondly) out of his room before slamming the door in your face. Frowning at his now closed door you are tempted to bust through it and find out what Sylus meant by keeping you by his side or what he meant when he claimed that he ‘missed’ you. Instead of allowing your emotions to take over you remember that you are a hunter that has been sent on a mission and make your way back to his office where your hunter watch is located.

Entering his office you didn’t expect to see Luke and his twin Kieran sitting in the office attempting to look like intimidating guard dogs. Rolling your eyes and ignoring their existence you walk over to the large desk and furrow your brows in confusion when you don’t see your hunter watch sitting there anymore. “Okay, which one of you guys took my watch?”

Kieran tilts his head to the side and if he wasn’t wearing a mask you would be sure he was smirking in a cocky fashion. “Boss gave us strict instructions to keep that device away from you and to keep our eyes on you. No tricks this time.”

Luke perks his head up and straightens his back to make himself seem larger than life. “Yeah! No tricks this time little kitten. Now follow us and we will show you where your bedroom is.”

Squinting your eyes in disbelief you take a step back and place your hands on your hips. “What do you mean you’ve been instructed to keep your eyes on me? Your ‘boss’ said that I can leave here if I want.”

Luke and Kieran exchange a silent look with each other before Luke faces you again and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah… that offer is off the table now that the bossman has an actual interest in you. Sorry little kitten but you aren’t going anywhere.” 

[laughtalelogs]

in the shadows of buffalo bay- ch. 1

word count: 3.3k+

Zoro x afab!Reader x Sanji, cowgirl!reader, no use of y/n, no beta reader, all my reader characters are black even if not explicitly stated. if that's not ur jam, then don’t read!

Rating: M, MDNI 18+ (smut will be in future chapters, labelled as Explicit.)

Warnings: themes of alcohol, drug use, smoking, mental health issues, implications of self-harm, and violence to come.

Summary: Zoro is hot and bothered right after Wano, thinking about recent events and the man he hates the most. A new arrival shakes things up, making him more apprehensive, and angry.

chapter Index- prologue, ch.2

the prologue is recommended; but not required reading.

chapter 1 - The devil went down to buffalo bay

Zoro squinted at the mirages on the horizon and leaned back under the Sunny’s deck tree, hoping to find relief from the heat—which was doing a piss-poor job at it. The thick syrupy air and the bleary sun caused slick sweat to coat every inch of his hot skin. It didn’t help the knot that had formed at the base of his skull. He swung his arms up behind his head and rubbed the tender sore with his fingers.  He couldn’t figure out which was more annoying—the heat or the throbbing ache.

On any other day, the sea breeze would’ve helped cool him off after such a rough morning. Being aboard the brigantine normally made even the blistering heat of the Grand Line bearable. But here, on this humid scrap of dirt, grass, and jagged rock they dared to call an island, the Sunny sat dead in the center of it, far from the cooling relief of the water.

He grimaced but kept his jaw tight, forcing himself to relax. The last thing he wanted was to draw the Doctor’s attention — Chopper wasn’t faring much better, anyway. Zoro’s gaze shifted toward the deck stairs, where Usopp and the tiny doctor were dramatically draped over one another, pitifully squeezing water onto each other’s heads. The liquid evaporated almost instantly in the oppressive heat.

Zoro clicked his tongue, his eyebrows furrowing as another sharp thrum pulsed through the knot in his head as he let his mind wander. Serves them right, he thought grimly. It’s partially their fault we’re stuck here in the first place.

Their genius of a captain in the middle of the night grabbed two of his even smarter crewmates to Coup De Burst onto land. The same land that they were set to explore that morning. The land that they were only 4 kilometers away from, from what Nami calculated before she went to bed. But no, the call for adventure — no —food, was too great. 

Feeling more cynical than usual, he hoped the tattered flyer Usopp found on the ghost ship was a dead end. The sun made its way across the sky, shining down on the sparse field. Beyond the patchy clay valleys, plateaus jutted out from the sea of green and maroon. For a land promising tourism, it looked pretty dead.

Maybe, he was right, then. Hopefully, he'd wake up again just as Franky figured out some miracle to return them to the sea, and that damn cook would have his onigiri ready. A side of cold sake served with a fresh ‘I told you so’ for the rest of the crew to chew on sounded like exactly what he needed.

He cursed under his breath and breathed in the hot air. Why the hell did he keep thinking about curly brows now of all times? His thoughts had been swimming ever since Wano. He tried to drop it, but something about the tension between them felt different now—more candid, somehow. Zoro hated it. Scrunching his eyes closed, he stretched out his straining leg muscles. It was showing, in a more intense way than usual, and Zoro found himself looking like an idiot in front of the other man. 

Before leaving with Nami to see if the flyer was a hoax, the dumbass squad—including the captain—were stuck on the boat, along with Robin, Brook, and Jinbei. They were forced to stay behind as punishment for their earlier antics, while Franky stayed to assess the damage to the ship. Zoro had slept through the  decision, and they hadn’t bothered waking him. He only noticed when he heard the familiar footsteps draw near and he reached out, grabbing the cook’s leg as he passed under the tree where Zoro sat. 

Sanji stopped mid-step, his eyebrow arching in confusion as he glanced back. “Hey, let go, you idiot—”

 “—Are you good?”  Zoro’s voice was low, and he immediately regretted how it sounded. His grip on Sanji’s pant leg stayed firm, defiant.

Sanji’s face scrunched in disbelief before it melted into his usual smugness. “I’m just fine, thank you very much. Did you hit your head, Moss, or are you just going to miss me that much?” 

Zoro refused to reply, glaring instead as Sanji gave a sharp tug, yanking his cuff free. The cook smoothed the tiny wrinkle Zoro had caused, dragging his hand down the length of his leg. The fabric strained slightly over his thigh before relaxing as he let it drop. Typical, Zoro thought. Always worried about his stupid clothes. 

“As if,” Zoro muttered, forcing a scoff through the thudding in his chest. “Go ahead, get yourself killed for all I care. Just don’t make a mess.” The words came out harsher than he intended as he leaned back against the tree, shutting his eye tightly. A dull throb pulsed at the back of his skull.

“Fuck you, asshole.” Sanji’s voice was sharp, as he turned to continue to follow Nami who was impatiently waiting by the ladder. 

“Take Luffy with you,” Zoro adds, though he already knew the idiot wouldn’t listen. “Bad idea to leave him on the ship, he’s gonna leave anyways.”

“It’s Nami’s call, not mine.” Sanji’s back stiffened as he paused, then looked over his shoulder, his tone clipped.” And if you want to blame anyone, blame those idiots for getting us stuck here in the first place.”

Zoro exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his chest tightening with irritation—or something worse. Good riddance, Curly. Hopefully, the idiot would find something in town to distract himself and stop being such a pain in the ass. It had been three hours since then, and two hours since Luffy bolted off after getting bored. Was the island really that large?

Chopper’s whine through Zoro’s foggy thoughts, “When will they be back? It’s too hot, I’m going to die before I get to try any of the candy,” 

“I told you to sit inside with Jinbei,  Brook, and Robin,  if you were going to complain,” Zoro chided. He doubted there was any food in general. 

The door to the galley way opens, and Robin walks quickly to the banister. She peered over the edge, looking down at Usopp and Chopper’s situation with pity.

“It’s quite hot today, isn’t it?”  She brings a hand to cover her eyes from the rays, “Usopp, would you happen to still have any of those breath dials?”

 Usopp with a sudden burst of renewed energy jumped and spilled the water onto the ground. He startled  Chopper, who almost fell if it weren’t for the hands that sprouted next to him and catched him gently. 

Chopper wheezed in excitement, unphased and excited about her proposition, “Robin, that’s such a good idea!” 

“An astute observation from Robin yet again! I think I have just the right thing in my workshop,” He scratches his chin as the gears turn in his brain, “We’re off, Chopper!” 

And a clobbering of leather boots and hooves scrambled away, going down the ladder to the lower part of the ship.  Zoro thought back to the cool air that emitted from the shell. His lips twitched upwards. 

  "No calls yet?" He turned to Robin, who stood looking far off into the distance.

Robin shook her head. "No, which makes me think our Captain hasn’t caught up to Ms. Navigator and the Cook."

"I told that idiot cook he might as well take Luffy with him. He wasn’t going to stay put for long."

Robin hummed impartially, her gaze fixed outwards, her thoughts dancing in her eyes, though she didn’t seem keen on sharing just yet.

Zoro sighed. "Classic, they went and got themselves lost again, leaving it up to us to find them."

 Trying to gather the energy to move, he relaxed one last time, looking up at the clear sky. Zoro began to debate whether to take a dip in the fish tank and swim with Jinbei, who seemed to be taking the heat just as badly as the rest of them.

So much for a break, he thought. 

Before he could succumb to the exhaustion the dreadful heat pressed on him, he felt a small tremor underneath him. 

The subtle thrum became stronger by the second, vibrating the deck and earth around them. His head beat loudly in his ears, his heartbeat ever present. He tried to push back the overwhelming presence creeping closer and closer to him. Robin gripped tight on the rails as she lost her footing underneath the pressure of the Haki. Zoro hesitated for a moment. He quickly decided that Sunny was more important right now. 

The hair on his neck stood on end. Without a second thought, he reached for the hilt of his blades, trying to suppress the excitement in his veins. He stood up and ran to the center of the ship, gripping the woven material of his blades as a chill made its way down his spine like a needle grazing over the skin. Someone powerful was coming their way. He peered off in every direction.

Fuck, where was it coming from?

His eyes land on billowing clouds of red dust that barreled in their direction. He squinted, watching the blob get closer. There was no mistake in these barren fields — it was headed straight for them.

"Looks like we got company, bro!" Franky yelled from a distance, who’d been working diligently on the hull of the ship all morning.

"I can see that, I’ll handle it," Zoro said back, watching whatever beast approached, barely making out the outline. Was that a cow?

"I guess nap time’s over," he muttered, jumping off the ship for the first time. The crunch of the red clay beneath him was harder than he’d expected. He strolled closer to the dust cloud approaching, rolling his neck, blocking out the pain he felt.

 He looked closer. The challenger began to come into view through the haze of dust and dirt. The distinct rumbling of hooves on the ground confirmed his suspicions, but this beast was large. Its size became more noticeable as it got closer. That didn’t bother Zoro. He’d slain many beasts. He could see clearer now, the horned bull tugged back by the large ring in its nose, reins attached from either side. His gaze traveled up, his eyebrow raised out of pure curiosity.

A woman?

She sat on the back of the massive beast with an air of indifference, her gaze fixed elsewhere, not even sparing a glance in his direction. Her legs were casually crossed, and her hat was drawn low, casting a shadow over her eyes. Wild hair billowed beneath it, flowing, dark tresses like a cloud in the wind. She was dressed in dark  leather and denim, the harsh sun reflecting off her tanned skin. Two guns rested on either side of her wide hips, a silent warning. As she closed the distance, she effortlessly tugged the reins bringing he beast to a dramatic halt, mere feet away from the ship. 

The bull bellowed, its roar piercing the air, right in Zoro’s face. The roaring pain in his head persisted, but he forced it down. His eyes narrowed as he instinctively reached for Enma. She seemed like the perfect target to test his one-sword style with the new blade. The way she flaunted her skill, like this was some kind of game, already pissed him off.

 Another show-off who’d be easily cut down. He can’t help but smile at the idea of humbling her. He unleashes his own haki, a warning as she continued her steadfast approach.

His eyes caught the white gauze wrapped around her finger that stopped at her wrist, clothed fingers absentmindedly fiddling with metal between them. Her gaze flit to him, finally acknowledging his presence. She carried herself with confident, nonchalant approach, that gave way under her intense, dark eyes. The tension between them hung thick in the air, the swirling dust cloud that surrounded them settling around the Sunny. They silently sized each other up, and for a moment, he considered cutting her down, right then and there. Bu, she hadn’t made her move yet. Not yet. Zoro tilted his head back.

“What do you want?” he demanded, his tone sharp, watching as she uncrossed her legs. A small, almost dismissive chuckle leaves her lips,  eyes flickering with amusement.

“Well, hello to you, too,” She stretched haphazardly, raising her arms above her head as if Zoro was the most boring thing she could be entertaining right now, He scowled. "I should be asking you the very same thing, pirate." She replied simply. “-I suggest you leave now, if you’re smart.”

 “A woman with a bull and a pair of guns… You think you can scare me with that?” Zoro chuckled darkly. "If you were any good, I’d already be bleeding by now."

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow, pocketing the small, silver item in her palm. “Ya sure you wanna pick this fight? I can do worse than make you bleed,” 

Suddenly, he felt it. The slow building of an ever-present Haki crept up his neck. The prickling sensation ran his blood cold, and he felt adrenaline trill through every nerve in his body. That type of power only had one pure desire: murder. He reflexively reached for Enma to unsheathe it.

It all happened in a flash. One second, he was grabbing for his blade, pulling it out as he felt his own power surge forth into the steel, ready to hack the woman and her bull down. The next second, her gun was drawn, and the shot rang throughout the valley.

Zoro went to dodge the lead, slicing through the air, when he realized what she had been aiming at. Zoro tried to adjust his torso, but the bullet came barreling quicker than he had expected. Before he could fully react, she made a swift motion with her hand still on the reigns.

The massive bull roared again, stomping  its hooves hard into the ground. A  shockwave sent a violent dust cloud swirling into the air, momentarily obscuring Zoro’s vision. The dust storm clouded the already heavy atmosphere, making it harder for Zoro to track the bullet’s trajectory. 

At that moment, Zoro’s world turned to chaos—the thick dust in his eyes, the rumbling hooves, and the overwhelming presence of that woman and her beast. 

The bullet came crashing down with a deafening crack, and struck Enma at angle. The impact sent a jarring vibration up his arm. The force of the bullet sent a sickening crack through the air.  Bullet barreled against his sword, and Emma sent a sharp shock through his grip, nearly sending the blade flying out of his hands. The chip was deep, nicking the edge of Enma in a way that made his stomach drop. The sting of the blade's damage only added to the tension in his chest, heightening his frustration.

"Fuck!" he seethed, tightened his grip on the hilt, anger rising by the second. 

"You’re really in for it now—how the hell am I supposed to fix this?" he yelled, his anger flaring, as he inspected his blade quickly.  Humiliation bubbled beneath the surface of his burning skin.

The stupid headache combined with the heat was getting to him, no doubt. He felt his chest tighten, his expression growing darker as his fears crept to the forefront of his mind. What if he was unable to take her down? He pushed that thought away immediately, deepening his stance and getting ready to lunge.

“Is that really how to treat the sheriff of this here island?” She held her hands up defensively, gun loosely dangling between her fingertips. She tutted under her breath. "You pirates really are all the same, huh, no honor at all.”

“And what would you know about honor, with a cheap shot like that?” Zoro said between his teeth. The chip in Enma made controlling the blade’s Haki harder, forcing him to grit his teeth against the strain as he worked the blade back under his command. She'd pay for that. 

“Cheap? I like calling it creative.” She bites back, flashing a plastic smile. “You’re the one who drew first, I was just quicker. Bet that’s something you’re not used to," 

“-You don’t know a damn thing about me, or honor,” Zoro snapped, fury bubbling over as his fingers twitched toward his other blades, as he searched for any opening. You could be cut down, just like anything else. 

“Zoro, stop,” Robin’s sharp voice cut through his focus. She stepped into his line of sight, raising one hand in warning.

“Give me one good reason,” he growled, his eyes locked on her like a predator tracking prey.

Robin’s tone was calm but firm as she approached the edge of the ship, addressing her directly. “You said you’re the Sheriff of this island?”

Mystery woman winked at Zoro, a gesture that made his blood boil even more, then turned her attention to Robin.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s me,” she beamed. “Though I’d say welcome, we’re not exactly open for tourists—especially of your profession.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zoro snapped.

Her gaze flickered to him, her hands flexing around her pistol that was drawn low. “It means, this here island is under marine protection,”

“I don’t see any of ‘em around here,” Zoro retorted, 

“And that's dependent on me.” An edge of irritation flares in her voice, commanding and defiant. Zoro frowns deeper. She was definitely trouble. “I’m no marine, though,” She adds.

“We really aren’t here for trouble,” Robin cuts in again, before Zoro could say anything else. “ We actually had found a flyer for a fair, tell me, is this Buffalo Bay?” 

Zoro’s irritation burned hotter as your grin faltered, and holstering your weapon. Did you not find him worthy of continuing the fight?

“This is Buffalo Bay,” the mystery woman said gesturing around wistfully, “but we haven’t had a fair in twelve years.”

“Knew it was too good to be true,” Zoro muttered, his pounding headache flaring again.

Her head snapped toward him, eyes dark and stormy. For a moment, she leaned closer, as if preparing to deliver a cutting remark—but before she could speak, the clatter of boots and hooves broke the tension.

“Wait—wait, we’re back!” Chopper’s voice broke through the tense silence, followed by a dramatically underwhelming entrance by him and Ussop.

“Behold! The ultimate cooling machine!” Usopp, grinned ear to ear, brandishing a lopsided contraption that whirred pitifully. Zoro resisted the urge to groan.  “Chopper helped me perfect it!”

Chopper nodded enthusiastically, only for the device to sputter and die in a puff of smoke. The tiny reindeer’s ears drooped, as they said there, unmoving. “Well… it was working.” 

Usopp blinked, finally taking in the scene. His gaze darted between the new stranger, the massive bull, and Zoro’s tense stance before settling on Robin.

 “Uh, did I miss something? Who’s this chick?”

She chuckled softly, lifting a hand in a polite wave. “Hiya.”

Zoro actually groaned this time, “Don’t trust her Usopp,”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Usopp’s knees wavered, and his teeth threatened to chatter. Chopper, too, shifted nervously behind him. 

“I guess anyone and anything can be a pirate, these days,” She quipped, earning a sharp glare from Zoro, who bared his teeth in response. “They’re none of your business.”

She waved her hand dismissively, like swatting away an annoying fly. “While I’d love to stay and chat all day, y’all might want to get out of this heat. It’ll kill you if you’re not careful.” She tugged on the  bull’s reins, shifting her grip. “You’ll need to head into town—supplies, repairs, food, the whole deal. Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous today. Follow me, and don’t dawdle.” 

With a sly smile, she turned and spurred the bull forward, leaving in a cloud of red dust, too fast for anyone to follow behind. 

Zoro squinted after her, her words lingering like a challenge he wasn’t ready to walk away from. The biting edge he’d felt last night—the creeping sense that something about this was all wrong—was too undeniable to ignore. As he sheathed Enma, the faint resistance from the chip in the blade only sharpened his resolve. At the root of it all was her.

a/n- First chapter down! The next one will be in Sanji's POV, I promise, yours is coming soon than later! I hope you enjoy, I know I was late. Hopefully I'll have chapter 2 out sometime this week. Please make sure to like, comment, and reblog! - lynn

[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 6 - Howl

Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: A night of several firsts.

Warnings: Explicit smut, violence/death, dub/noncon, consensual drug use

Word Count: 13.5k

Notes: What do you get when you cross a mentally ill reader with a society that abandons her and treats her like trash? I'll tell ya what you get! You get whatcha fuckin deserve [weird culty clown porn]

“Now I wait as love and fate Echo from your lungs Do you, do you, do you want me, babe?”

xxx

A blood red sun set upon the sea, shining a single golden spotlight across the water as pirates rallied for the Final Call. Not even the wind could cut through the kinetic mist of untapped aggression. The pirate ship was a powder keg of violent energy and artistic ego, pressure building and building for this very moment. The crew was ready and the tides were right and the prey was chosen. All they needed was for the curtain to raise.

When the bell finally rang, it would be a lit match into an oil drum. 

Not that you stayed around to appreciate any of it. You were safely stowed below long before the first cannon was fired. Like everything else on the ship, the brig had once been a neat, utilitarian holding cell. Time had worn the wood and metal, lending it a creepy, haunted atmosphere, the cramped space a graveyard of abandoned props. The scent of rust and aging wood and thick salty stale rot was borderline suffocating, the air holding you in a shivering cold vice. 

All you could do was pull your jacket closer, trying to get as comfortable as possible on top of one of the many prop chests. It was claustrophobically slotted between a barrel filled with batons and a drum that had a violent gash through the top, but it was one of the only places in the room where you couldn’t see your distorted reflection in the cracked funhouse mirror. 

Even though everyone assured you it would be an easy victory, even though you had seen Captain Buggy’s Devil Fruit ability, and even though you had witnessed the chaos of the assault on Barley Village, you worried for the crew. You didn’t know how to pray, or even what higher power might protect pirates, but you closed your eyes and hoped very fervently that your new friends and your captain would be fine.

Anything else was unthinkable.

After that, there wasn’t anything to do other than hunker down and endure the night. You thought that since you had seen the violence in Barley Village, that you wouldn’t be as affected by it now, especially since you couldn’t see anything. You thought that you were ready for the shockwave impact of cannons. You thought that it would be okay because you were stronger now. 

Maybe, on some level, that was true, but when you heard and felt that first boom your body responded with the unrestrained panic of a wild animal. If you hadn’t peed before you hid away, you would have pissed yourself in pure terror. All at once, your breathing became fast and shallow, your heart pounding in your chest, a cold sweat coating your body. Then there was another boom. And another BOOM and muscles you weren’t aware of until that moment began to tense and quiver, your lungs seizing as if in the throes of hysterical weeping, dragging in air only to regurgitate with a spasming violence. 

It was fine. It was nothing like that day. It was fine. Why would you even think of it now? It was fine. It was entirely different. It was fine.

It was fine and yet your body curled up into a ball with your arms around your head and chin tucked against your knees, your eye wide yet dry, your mouth gaping, opening and closing in a desperate attempt to suck in some air. Your brain was on fire and the only thing you could think was that you were going to die. It was as if your body didn’t belong to you, like it had a will of its own, feelings of its own, because you couldn’t understand the reaction, it didn’t make sense. 

As the assault above worked its way down, your lantern frantically swung back and forth in a smear of flame. The metal creaked unhappily, the ship complaining all around you like an unhappy beast. Part of the strategy, you knew, was to limit cannon fire. They didn’t want to destroy the ship they hoped to commandeer. But even after it seemed like all shots had been fired, your body refused to relax. Down here, you had no idea what was happening above. No idea if Captain Buggy was okay, or Crina, or Cabaji, or Pippa, or Marty. You wouldn’t know for a while. Possibly hours. 

If it weren’t for your state of hyperarousal, you might not have noticed the sound from above. A noise, and a scuffling, and then something that might have been footsteps. Was that the hatch opening? 

You held very still, listening intently. Those were footsteps. You weren’t alone. Why? It wouldn’t make sense for anybody to come down here. Not unless something happened. There were plenty of worst case scenarios that could bring somebody down here. 

Covering your face with your arm to stem the ragged gasp of your body trying to get air, you checked to make sure you had the knife Marty had given to you safely in your pocket. You didn’t know what you would do with it, but having a weapon was better than nothing.  

A man jumped down from the steep ladder with a grunt, landing hard. He stood in the shadows, making it hard to parse details, but you had a feeling. A very bad feeling. 

Then, in a moment of true and genuine surrealism, he called your name. Your real name, the one you hadn’t heard since you boarded the ship. He picked his way over to the brig’s holding cell, but the door was too rusty to close, and the inside was filled with more props. You could see him in the funhouse mirror, his image distorted into a creepy facsimile of a human being, his face stretched out and limbs grotesquely skinny. 

You didn’t move, half hoping you would be obscured by the amount of clutter that surrounded you. 

He stepped back, looking around until his eyes met yours. And still, you didn’t move, you could hardly believe it was real.  

“Easy now, I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said, stepping into the light with his hands up. “I’m looking for a girl. A hostage. Real short, one eye.” 

You didn’t say anything, didn’t move, just looked up at him. Your mind screamed run, but your limbs locked up.

The man squinted, leaning forward to get a better look. “Holy shit, it’s you, isn’t it?” 

A little spasm made your body jerk awkwardly, a burst of energy from the part of your mind that wanted to escape.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, holding up his hands to show that they were empty. “I’m here to save you from these freaks.” Your silence made him frown, some of the warmth fading from his voice. “We have to move fast, while they’re all distracted.” He came even closer, reaching out to grab you. 

“No!” you cried, recoiling. “I’m not… I’m not going with you. I don’t need to be rescued.” 

His eyes narrowed, you could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “You’re not their hostage, are you.” 

“No,” you said, once again checking your pocket for the knife, squeezing it so tight that the metal indented your skin. “I won’t go.” 

“Look,” he said, his voice hardening. “Your dad’s offering a lot of money for your safe return, so you’re going to come with me. Is that going to be a problem?” 

“You can’t make me go with you, I won’t,” you said, shrinking back. You were essentially cornered, but you were also closer to the ladder than he was. If you could scramble up and close the hatch, you could find a place to hide. 

“I want you to know that if it were up to me, I’d let it be,” he told you. “But you’ll have to figure that out with your dad.” 

With a burst of energy you didn’t know you had, you sprung up and practically fell off of the chest, scrambling towards the ladder. 

He swore, grabbing you by the arm to jerk you backwards before striking your face. With your momentum broken and then flipped, you couldn’t adjust, going down hard and hitting the floor without feeling much of anything, just the mindless, deafening fire burning up your entire face. You were blind, your right eye streaming, seeing nothing except dark. The man hauled you off of the floor, grabbing your arms to painfully twist them. Your left shoulder socket screamed with red hot pain. That soundly snuffed out any will you had to fight. 

“I’m going to… To wrap you up. Try not to hyperventilate,” he advised, his words muffled beneath the sharp ringing in your ears. You realized that you weren’t blind, you had crashed into the light and shattered it when you fell. The man did as promised, covering you with a sheath of coarse fabric. It smelled dusty and a little rotten, it was probably one of the prop curtains. You didn’t have time to struggle before he threw you onto his shoulder, knocking the wind out of you all over again. 

Blood rushed down into your pounding head, mixing with the potent disorientation of being struck. It pulsed against the burning flesh of your cheek, you could practically feel the swelling. You knew you needed to escape, but if he dropped you while climbing to the upper deck, you could seriously injure yourself. And what good would it do? There was no way you could escape, you would only invite more pain. Maybe some people got used to it. They could take beatings and bear the pain with their teeth grit, but that wasn’t you. Already your head hurt so bad you worried you were going to vomit, your face burned, your left shoulder screamed, and your breathing was dangerously unsteady, muffled and hot in the cocoon of dusty fabric. The pain you felt now was nothing compared to what it could be, you knew that profoundly, and you couldn’t handle that.  

Think. 

You had to think. 

When you gingerly raised your right arm to check, you found that your knife had stayed in your pocket through the ordeal. You couldn’t be stupid about using it. The blade wasn’t long enough to do much damage, the most you could hope for was that it’d give you a chance. 

Even muffled by the curtain and pierced by the sharp ringing in your ears, the sound of the battle was deafening when he reached the upper deck. Your final night in Barley Village had given you a hint of violence’s atonal song, but when the man carried you out of the hatch, it hit with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Screaming, shouting, clanging, popping shots, howling like animals. 

Your kidnapper’s grip on you tightened, although you were less inclined than ever to struggle, your body seizing up in response to the cacophony, withering in fear. You wanted it to stop, you wanted to get out of the noise, to escape to where it was quiet. Not outside quiet, but the inside kind. You could feel it creeping up with its anesthetic-like haze, your mind’s best attempt to protect you from the fear and the pain and the horror. 

No, you couldn’t withdraw. You had to be brave. You would not let him take you back to your dad. You could not let him take you away from Captain Buggy. 

Figuring out where you were was too difficult when there was so much noise and activity. He would be taking you to the Jolly Boats, wouldn’t he? That was the only way to escape. You needed to act while you were around people, where you could escape into the chaos. Better to take your chances amidst a brawl than let him get you onto that boat.

Slowly, you reached into your pocket and found the knife. Moving as little as possible, you worked your arm back down to hang forward. Fumbling blindly, you felt for the notch to flip the blade out, nearly dropping the weapon in the process. But you got it, readjusting the handle to hold it in your fist. Wrapped up like you were, there wasn’t much space for you to get good leverage or hit especially hard, but it was all you had. Biting into the loose fabric of your jacket to keep yourself from vomiting, you slammed your fist into your kidnapper’s back blade first. You imagined Buggy behind you, pulling your hand out to thrust it back in, helping you just like he had on that day. Once, twice, three times and then the man practically threw you off of him with some expletive that you were pretty sure ended in bitch. 

For a second you were falling blindly, wrapped in a suffocating shroud. Then the deck caught the bend of your spine, your momentum rolling you away into a painful sprawl. You fought wildly to free yourself of the fabric, your panicked limbs thrashing desperately. 

“You fucking—you stabbed me?” The man shouted incredulously. You shucked off the dusty cocoon finally, sour bile dribbling out of your mouth as your body finally relented to the stress. You choked and coughed it out, unable to do anything else with the massive jolt of sensory overload. You thought the fighting was loud and frightening from within your curtain cocoon, but it was nothing compared to finding yourself on the deck in the midst of a true hostile takeover. 

The man was right above you when he stopped in his tracks, something emerging from his chest. He looked down at it in surprise, but the blade pulled out just as quickly. He pressed his hand against the stab wound as blood began to gush out, looking more like ink than anything else. 

Before he could do anything, he was stabbed again, the sword sticking through his chest and out the back of his hand. When it pulled up and out, his body followed it. He hit the deck with a heavy thump, his body spasming as it tried to expel the blood in his lungs. Behind him stood your vengeful guardian angel. Cabaji lowered his sword, his expression unchanged as he stalked past your would-be kidnapper.

“Are you alright?” he asked when he was close enough for you to hear him. You stared up at him blankly, unable to comprehend the question. 

The man on deck in front of you wasn’t dead. Even as he choked on his own blood, he went for his weapon. Scowling, Cabaji pushed him down with his foot and finished him off, carving a bright red smile across his neck. The man dropped, his eyes open and empty. 

Cabaji sheathed his sword and offered you a hand. You took it and stood weightlessly, your head as light as a balloon. The world spun, blinking out of reality before it slammed back into you all over again, you were made of lead. Were you crying? Or just sobbing? You realized right then that your hands were shaking violently. The entire world shook and trembled. 

“You can’t stay up here,” Cabaji told you.

You nodded, agreeing because you knew you should.

“Stay close to me,” Cabaji told you. You nodded again, clinging to his back. Cabaji didn’t stop you from holding onto his scarf, practically burying your face in it, ignoring everything else as he guided you across the deck. Every muscle in your body strained with tension, the scent of blood and smoke and gunpowder choking you, the howling of men and explosions and steel only barely piercing past the ringing in your ears.

From what it looked like when you dared to look, the fight was very one-sided. The Buggy Pirates had overwhelmed the other ship with their noise and number. You passed beneath a screaming, thrashing woman who hung from the rigging, it looked like she had climbed up in an attempt to escape and gotten tangled up. Somebody had thrown one of the powder bombs at her, painting her in red. Richie the lion had joined the fray, looking every bit the beast you feared. Bodies littered the deck, their inky blood reflecting the colors flashing in the sky. And the pirates, people you knew, rejoiced in it, cackling and dancing and killing with a reckless joyousness you couldn’t fathom.

A surprise party. As in, the other ship must have been surprised by the vicious crowd of circus performers throwing a party on their ship. 

It was grotesque. Unnatural. You didn’t belong here, it didn’t make any sense that you were. It didn’t make sense. 

When Cabaji stopped at the quarterdeck hatch leading down the officer’s quarters, you nearly fell against him. He opened it up, stepping aside to usher you through. It was on unsteady feet that you stepped down onto the ladder, and with clumsier hands that fumbled. You hit the floor hard on your tailbone. There was no pain. Cabaji jumped down next to you, once again holding out a hand to hoist you back onto your feet. 

“Go into the captain’s cabin and lock the door.”

With the battle muffled, your deafening heartbeat took its place. You nodded, swallowing hard to pop your ears. “Yes,” you said. “Yes, sir.” 

Before he could ascend the ladder again, you grabbed his hand, looking him in the eye with a sudden, vivid flash of hyper reality, every detail of the ship and the man in front of you viscerally present.

“Thank you, Cabaji.”

Although his severe expression remained, you thought you felt him squeeze your hand in passing reassurance before swinging around to rejoin the chaos above. 

The trip back to the captain’s cabin was just that—a trip. After locking the door, you stumbled your way past the antechamber where you would normally wait and into Captain Buggy’s bedroom. For a long moment, you stood there looking at Buggy’s bed which you had neatly made earlier that day. His desk, littered with a familiar mess. 

This was real. All of it. 

Doubling over with a hard punch of nausea, you rushed to the bathroom, barely getting the lid up before you threw up everything in your stomach. Supper had been a while ago, there wasn’t much to expel other than acid, but your body violently convulsed in rounds as if to get rid of something more, something worse. Trying to rid itself of the sickness that nestled right into your bloody, corrupted insides, desperate to cleanse itself of the sticky rot that thickened your blood and made your head ache. 

But that relief never came. 

When you were so emptied out inside that your body couldn’t justify even dry heaving, you stood up and flushed the toilet. Moving slowly, lethargically, you grabbed the nearest liquid—a bottle of disinfecting alcohol Buggy used to wash his pierced ear—to rinse your mouth. It tasted foul and felt worse, but it removed the taste of vomit from your tongue. 

With slow, stumbling steps, you went into the bedroom and poured yourself a cup of water, drinking until you couldn’t take any more and then-

And then what? 

You stared at the worn down edge of his desk and even though you weren’t moving, couldn’t even feel yourself shaking anymore, the world was collapsing around you. It felt like that one time you fell out of one of the buildings northside, that hook like drag from behind your bellybutton as gravity got a hold of you, the terror that came moments before the agony of crashing onto the ground. 

Not knowing what else to do, you huddled in the corner. Not on the bed, but behind it. Hiding. 

You wanted to shut it all off, to retreat into the inside quiet like usual, to go where the world couldn’t touch you. There was too much pain and horror. Too many thoughts you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking. You did not belong here. You wanted to go home. 

That pathetic thought broke through the fragile composure you’d maintained and you curled up into yourself, crying openly. You didn’t want to be here anymore, it was scary and violent and loud. You wanted to go home.

Pressing a clammy, trembling hand to your cheek, you could almost feel your dad’s touch imprinted on the skin, burned there as surely as a brand. 

You closed your eye and it was as if you were in the familiar old sitting room with the overstuffed upholstery and fire that burned so brightly yet never seemed to put off any heat. That night, the last night before he left, dad called you to sit at his feet, appraising you with tired, bleary eyes. At the height of his fury, he looked more vicious god than man, towering above you with lightless pupils and a blank expression. Now he looked old and worn out. His days at sea had carved a million little creases into his face, the leathery flesh sagging off the bone from one too many emptied liquor bottles. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said as he stroked your cheek. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I know, daddy.”  

“My sweet little girl.” His words slurred together like they always did when he was in an affectionate mood. “You are, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, daddy.” 

“You’ll be good now, won’t you? You won’t misbehave while I’m gone?” 

What you wanted to remember was agreement. A bland ‘yes’ that you didn’t mean because of course you were going to run away. But that’s not what happened. That’s not what you said that night.

“Please don’t go,” you begged. That part of the memory was the most important because you understood it now. If he had stayed, you wouldn’t have left. You would have died in that house if he was there to keep you with him. Because you didn’t want to leave, not really. But you knew you couldn’t stay, either. You had to at least try to get out. But dad stroked your cheek and told you he would be back in a blink, that you wouldn’t have time to miss him. 

You saw him off the next morning, your shoulders heavy with the knowledge of what you were about to do. What you had to do. 

Destiny, fate, a bad joke—you didn’t know what to call it. Inevitability, maybe. Now you were here.

Your own hand dropped from your cheek, falling limp to the floor beside you as that memory fell away, replaced with another. 

“If he doesn’t kill you, your dad will. Do you really think you’ll ever be able to hide from him?” Randall said that right before you cut him—cut him a huge red smile—and he was right. That’s what this was. 

What happened tonight had been a deliberate attempt to kidnap you, to get away while everybody was distracted by the raid. Maybe your dad would be able to guess which merchant ships the Buggy Pirates would raid based on the stolen maps. Maybe he sent messages out to a few mercenary types, people who would be on board to protect the goods anyway, people who wouldn’t mind abandoning their crew for a bigger payout. Maybe this was just the most rotten confluence of bad luck and coincidence. 

The execution was overshadowed by the far more intimidating message of it all. He would never let you go, not you, not his sweet little girl. 

There was no quiet, not inside or out. The thrashing, raving thing within you screamed, and you did too. A ragged and terrible scream that ripped up the inside of your throat. It was pathetic and ugly. More than anything, it hurt.

Even if you went back to him, he would know what you had done. He would know that you weren’t his little girl anymore, that you were tarnished. One life burned for another you could never have. No matter what you thought or told yourself, you weren’t a pirate. You were a fake. A coward.

And there was nothing you could do. Not now, not anymore. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. 

For the first time since boarding the ship, you thought about what led you to this point. Really thought about it. The sneaking, the hiding, being strung up and threatened, the cage. Standing behind Randall with a stranger at your back, a knife in your hand, a blade to the neck of a man you had loved nearly all of your life, a man who never loved you. Screaming. Blood dripping down your wrist.

Murderer.

There were moments in your life that you thought were too much. You stopped crying, stopped shaking, stopped breathing, and knew, knew with absolute certainty, that you could not handle any more. Then time continued to march on, pulling you right along with it, and there was nothing other than your suffering, it was without end, and you wanted to die—more, you wanted to never have existed in the first place.

Those moments didn’t come when dad beat you, or when he screamed at you, or after losing mom, or because of what happened to your eye, or seeing Randall marry another girl. Pain and fear and sadness were immediate. Pain and fear and sadness, no matter how intolerable, made sense. At least you weren’t alone, at least you had a tether—even one that was barbed and electrified. 

True misery, the kind that made you want to claw your way out of your skin and rip out your still-beating heart, was a solitary experience. It came when the cellar door closed and you heard the lock turn. When your desperate pleas and apologies and cries were met with silence because nobody was close enough to hear them. Those dark hours you spent curled up on the stone floor shivering, listening to your wheezing breath shudder in and out of your lungs. When the quiet didn’t come and you realized the enormity of imprisonment. It wasn’t that you were trapped in the dark, dank cellar with rats, or in a house with your angry dad, or in a town where everybody thought you were a freak. Hell was realizing that you were trapped within yourself, with the monstrous creature who lived in your head, the one that hated you so bitterly. Was that you? You without any mask at all, exposed and plain and wretched and a murderer.  

It was too much. You could not handle it.

But there was nothing else. No one else. And you only had yourself to blame. 

There was something Randall used to tell you. He’d laugh good-naturedly and say you’ve really stepped in it now. You could hear him now, as clearly as if he were right next to you. 

You’ve really stepped in it now.

You heard the door unlock and open from the other room. The sound jolted you stiff, a gasp leaving your sore throat. 

“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Buggy called, shutting the door. Hearing that it was him made your shoulders relax a little. Did that mean the fighting was over? “Babydoll, are you here? Cabaji told me you were naughty and he had to put you in time out.”

“I’m back here,” you called on autopilot, your voice cracking.

You had no idea what happened now, or what you were meant to do. There was nothing you could do to hide the fact that you had been crying, no matter how much you wiped your face. Bracing yourself for anything, you got to your feet. Standing up so fast made you dizzy, and suddenly you felt quite aware of how ridiculous it all was. Pathetic. A pirate wouldn’t cower in the corner of a room crying like a child. A grown woman wouldn’t do that. 

You reached up to pull down your bandana, only to poke your left eye. It must have come undone sometime during the attempted kidnapping. You lost your knife too. That hurt worse than losing your bandana, nearly prompting you to start crying all over again. 

“Where oh where has my baby gone,” Buggy began to sing as he walked through the other room. “Oh, where, oh, where can she be? She whines so sweet, like a bitch in heat—” He reached the open doorway, smiling as soon as he saw you. “Oh, there you are. I didn’t wake you up, did I?” 

“No, sir,” you said, your head bowed to hide your splotchy red face.

“What were you doing?” 

You sniffled. “Nothing, sir.” 

“Aw, did the big scawy fight make you cwy?” Buggy asked. You shook your head fast, unwilling to trust that your voice wouldn’t break if you spoke. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay to be scared your first time. Even I was a little freaked out during my first big raid.” 

You dared to look up, your eyebrows furrowed. “Really?” 

“No,” he said, laughing as if the thought itself were too ridiculous to entertain. “Can you imagine me being scared?” 

He took his gloves off, tossing them aside. Buggy had lost his hat and coat and his clothes were splattered with blood and colorful powder and who knows what else, but he wasn’t wounded. He was fine, and he was in good spirits. That was good. 

“You know,” Buggy finally said to break the silence, “if you want me to keep you around, you’re gonna have to suck it up and put on your big girl pants. Nobody likes a crybaby.” 

“I know,” you said softly, self loathing making your chest swell, sitting heavily on your heart and lungs like a tumor. “I’m sorry, sir.”  

“God, you’re so… so pitiful,” Buggy said. “Yeah, no. That’s not gonna do it for me tonight. We’re drinking.”

You side-eyed his collection of bottles. The sweet liquor he had shared that first night was an outlier, most of what Buggy drank was much harder and more abrasive. Even the smell made your stomach turn, you had no idea how he could handle it. “I’m okay,” you said, wiping your eye again. 

“Oh, right. Poor little baby can’t handle her liquor. Don’t worry, Captain Buggy has just what you need. I scored this a month ago at a club owned by this Saydon guy.” He walked over to the armoire, shuffling around the clutter before finding a bottle. “He’s a thieving sack of shit without an original bone in his body, but I had a good time fleecing his stupid customers. This,” he held up the bottle as he turned and approached you, “is the good shit, straight from some rich guy’s personal stash. I was going to sell it, but I’m willing to sacrifice a few berry to cheer up my pathetic little charity case.”

You swallowed hard at the offer, looking from his smile to the bottle. Thick red glass and a real paper label, although the text was illegible. 

“Let me pour you some so we can skip to the part where you’re not making me miserable and we can celebrate my brave and triumphant victory.”

“Okay,” you said. It was fine, probably some type of opiate. Your dad had given you that sort of thing to help you stave off the hysteria before. It would be nicer than feeling like this, wrung out and hiccupping in the pitiful clutches of despair. 

“Gotta be careful not to overdo it. Hey, you wanna eyeball this for me?” Buggy asked, laughing as he measured out the tincture and added some water. Seeing your lack of smile as he handed you the cup, he sighed dramatically and grabbed one of the bottles from his desk. “A toast to the flawless victory won tonight by the most fearsome captain in all of the East Blue.”

“To Captain Buggy,” you said. Buggy drew back the bottle, giving you a sharp look. Sluggish as your brain was, it took an excruciatingly long few seconds to realize what he wanted. “To Captain Buggy, the future King of the Pirates... and-and the best man I’ve ever known,” you tried again.

“Eh… I’ll take it,” he allowed with a shrug, tapping his bottle to your cup.

The drink was as terrible as you expected, but the taste of bitter medicine was still better than hard liquor. Buggy clearly didn’t feel the same, downing a mouthful without even wincing before unceremoniously collapsing onto the end of his bed. You ran a hand over your face. Red, hot, and a little swollen. You knew you looked rough, probably about as bad as you felt. 

“You weren’t this weepy last time,” Buggy said. “You weren’t worried about me, were you?” 

“Of course I was,” you said, frowning. “I was worried about all of you. I… I don’t know what I would do without you, Captain Buggy. I’m sorry, I’m…” You shook your head, trying to clear it somewhat. “It’s silly.” 

“Yeah it is. Those idiots wouldn’t be able to hurt me even if I was doused in seawater and blindfolded,” Buggy said, rolling his eyes and leaning back on his elbows. “It was so easy, barely even worth bragging about. After I killed like ten of his men, the captain came out with this huge sword—clearly compensating for something. I let him get a good swing in right through the middle, and you should have seen his eyes when I put myself back together. His reaction was even better than yours. I’m pretty sure he shit himself.”

“And everyone else?” you asked.

“Yeah, they did fine too,” he said flippantly. “Frankly, it was boring. For me, at least. I could probably have taken them down all by myself.” He sighed dramatically. “But, hey, it was a good learning experience for my freaks.” 

You nodded, dropping down to your knees to take his boots like always.

Buggy capped the bottle and buried it in the sheets, pulling something out of his pants pocket. You glanced up to see him messing with something wrapped in thin foil wrapping before forcing yourself to focus on the nightly ritual of wrestling his boots off. They were splattered in blood, a fact you only realized when some of it smeared onto your hands.

“I found these in his office,” Buggy said after you got the first boot off. “Salted caramels. They’re a bitch to get out of your teeth, but-” Buggy popped one in his mouth, moaning loudly at the taste, “sooo good. Want one?” 

You were more concerned with the unabashedly vulgar moan than you were with the candy, it took you a second to remember the question. 

“Oh, um. Yes,” you finally said. “Yes, please.” 

“Okay, but don’t tell anyone that I’m playing favorites,” Buggy said as he unwrapped another, sitting up to hold it out. When you tried to take it, he pulled away. “Ah, ah, ah. Open wide, babydoll.” 

You frowned, realizing that he meant to feed it to you. “Why?” 

“Look at your hands! Have you got any idea how nasty blood is? Come on, say ahhh.” 

You sat up to take it with your mouth, he pulled it back at the last second, your lips closing around empty air. 

“Oh, you almost got it,” Buggy teased. “Try again.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Captain Buggy, why…?”  

“I’m teaching you a valuable lesson. If you really want something, you have to work for it.” He held the chunk of caramel up again, within reach. Once again, you tried to eat it, but he pulled it away again. “So close,” he taunted. Every time you leaned closer, Buggy pulled it away, scooting further up the bed to keep it just out of reach, laughing the whole time. It forced you to crawl up, bracing yourself on the edge of the bed to chase the prize. Once you thought you really had it, uncomfortably hovering above him, he looked you in the eye and popped the candy into his mouth. “Guess you didn’t want it that bad,” Buggy said with a big grin, the words gummed up as he chewed. 

Flushing with embarrassment, you sat back onto your knees. 

“You know,” Buggy said, sitting up. “I had a dog once that did the exact same trick. It wasn’t as good as when you do it, although he was a lot better at actually getting the treat.” Foil crinkled and, this time, he pressed the caramel directly against your lips, pushing until you accepted it. You were too caught off guard by the way he’d put it into your mouth to do anything other than automatically chew and swallow, barely tasting anything. “See?” he asked. “Delicious, right?” 

“Yeah,” you belatedly agreed, the word coming out on autopilot.

“I can’t stand having sticky fingers,” Buggy said, tapping his tacky fingertips together with a frown. “Be a good little puppy and lick them clean for me.” 

You blinked, laughing dizzily in disbelief before you fully comprehended what he said. “What?”

“It’s what dogs do, isn’t it?” Buggy asked, wagging his fingers in front of your face. 

“You mean it?” you asked, hoping that he was just playing with you. 

“Yes, I do,” he said slowly, condescendingly. “It can’t be that much more embarrassing than doing tricks, right?” 

 So it was just another game. An embarrassing one. It felt dirty, like something you shouldn’t have been doing. But maybe that was in your head. Maybe Buggy didn’t see it that way. It was fine. Avoiding looking up, you opened your mouth for him. He said to lick them clean, but it was more practical to close your lips and suck until there were no more traces of caramel stickiness on his skin. 

“And Cabaji says you’re dead weight,” Buggy said, satisfied. Pulling his fingers out of your mouth with a slick pop, he leaned back again, grabbing the bottle from the sheets to take another drink. 

“Cabaji says that?” you asked, confused. You and Cabaji were, well, not friends. But he saved you. When you thanked him, he squeezed your hand. Hadn’t he? When you tried to think of it, the whole night floated somewhere distant, far beyond the warm bubble of this room, there was a chance you made that part up. 

“Are you ever gonna finish up down there?” Buggy asked as if he hadn’t heard you, raising his remaining boot. Somehow, you’d forgotten that removing his boots was the reason you were on the floor to begin with. Trying to shake your head clear, you braced yourself to get his boot off. It took more effort than it probably should have. Your limbs had loosened, your head light like a balloon. When it came free, you tipped backwards, thumping down on the floor. There was no pain. 

Buggy laughed. Surprised at first, then louder, a big belly laugh.  

You sat up, dazed and frowning. Your expression only made him laugh harder. When his amusement settled somewhat, he managed to speak. “You okay?”

“It’s not that funny,” you said.

“You know when you see a kid trying their little heart out to do something, but they keep failing because they’re so small and stupid? It’s like that,” Buggy said. “Watching you struggle with everything you try to do is half the reason I keep you around.”

Frowning with all of the indignant strength you could muster, you got your legs beneath yourself, using the edge of his desk to stand. Although it had probably been more of a gradual process you were simply unaware of—that would explain your lack of concern with his antics—it was only when you were upright that you fully realized the impact of the medicine. 

Woah. 

Breathing deeply, you followed the motions of getting a rag to clean up your hands, surprised at how lethargically you moved, how warm your skin felt. Annoyed, you pushed off your jacket, relaxing when its weight was gone from your shoulders. 

You mumbled an apology, something about the room being too warm, turning to look at Buggy. The air felt so nice brushing against your bare skin, like warm little whispers all over your arms and legs.

“Hey, kiddo, you’re lookin’ kinda flushed,” Buggy said. “I didn’t give you too much, did I?”

You blinked slowly, caught off guard by the way his pale skin glowed in the warm lamplight, the way it highlighted the shadows beneath his cheekbones. “What?”

“Come here,” he said, holding his hand out to you. 

It wasn’t a long distance, a few feet at most, but your legs weren’t steady at all. You let go of the desk and almost immediately tipped forward. 

“Sheesh,” Buggy said with a laugh, catching you before you fell. “I didn’t expect you to throw yourself at me.”

“Sorry,” you said distantly, trying to get your bearings. The melty lightheaded feeling had your head spinning, reality shifting on its axis before snapping back into place. 

“It’s not like it's the first time,” Buggy joked, grinning. Standing like this, your hands on his shoulders, you were so close. His breath smelled like whiskey and caramel and his makeup had faded and smeared after the fight. You wanted to be closer, to feel his bare skin against yours. That would be so nice, wouldn’t it? He was warm and solid and-

You looked around, overcome with the absurdity of the situation. How long had you been in here? The air was warm and too close, and your bandana was gone when you nervously tried to pull it down. 

“Sorry, um… What?” you asked with a confused smile, trying to focus your thoughts. “I… can’t think…” 

“It’s not like I keep you around for your brains,” Buggy told you. He sounded a little drunk, smiling that boyish grin you usually only saw in the morning. “Why don’t you sit down? We’re still celebrating.” 

“What about your… your makeup?” you asked, trying to find a familiar point to tether yourself with. 

“What about yours?” Buggy asked, running his thumb over your cheek. “It’s smeared all over your face. You look like a one-eyed racoon.” 

“Oh, I… I forgot,” you said, running a finger under your eye. It came away smeared with black makeup. “I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t mind it,” Buggy said, “Actually, you look kinda cute like this—all cried out and red and pathetic. I don’t know why, but there’s something about that sad look you get that really turns me on. Is that weird?”

A beat too late, your eye widened in surprise, your shoulders raising defensively. “You can’t say that.” 

“Why not?”  

“Because…” You floundered, searching for the right words. The other night when you were drunk, the alcohol made your thoughts scatter, difficult to interpret. This drug was different, it eased away the edges. Too many words and a very soft world in which to speak them. That was confusing, just for a different reason. “Because it’s not true,” you finally said, almost proud to have remembered what you meant to say. “You’re just trying to embarrass me.” 

Buggy laughed. “I don’t have to make shit up to embarrass you. Half the time you spare me the trouble and do it yourself.” 

You frowned, your eyebrows furrowing. 

“Don’t worry,” he said soothingly, “I’m into it.”

You looked at him for a second before laughing nervously, a little tremor working down your spine. “Captain Buggy, I, um…” 

“Don’t you trust me?” he cooed in an overly saccharine tone. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“You’re not afraid I’m trying to pressure you into something, are you? It’s not like there’s anything wrong with sitting together. I bet you sat on your dad’s lap all the time,” Buggy said as he pulled you towards him, scooting back to make more room for you to sit. 

“Not… like this,” you said, your nervous smile straining as you tried to twist sideways to sit with your legs across his lap because that was the normal, safe way. Sitting with your legs straddling his hips was entirely different and wrong. “Isn’t this… awkward for you?” 

“Not at all. Make yourself comfortable.” You tried to hold your weight off of him, one foot on the floor, but he reached around to hook a hand around your thigh, forcing you fully onto the bed and onto his lap. “Yeah, just like-” Buggy’s words cut off with a groan when you tilted forward, a sound that made you tense up, very, very aware of his hips between your thighs. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying to squirm away. “Did I hurt you? I can… move…”

“No, don’t,” Buggy said, his hold on your hips tightening. “It’s, uh…” He exhaled harshly. “Fuck. I swear I never even thought this sorta thing was hot before now… Like, sure, I guess it’s a little charming when girls get coy and act like they’re innocent, but, I don’t know, it’s so played out. But then the real deal comes around and suddenly I get the appeal. I really get it.” 

You giggled at that. It wasn’t funny, you weren’t sure why you would find it amusing. “Shhh,” you said as seriously as you could. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?” Buggy asked, raising his eyebrows. “Have you ever even kissed anybody?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Yes, I have.”

“Riiiight, that shithead from the other day. But he abandoned you, didn’t he? Broke your poor little heart all because he couldn’t imagine looking at your busted eye while fucking you.” Buggy’s hand raised to cradle your head, his thumb tracing the scar beneath your left eye. “Well, personally, I think it’s hot that you’re just as damaged on the outside as you are on the inside.”

“No,” you told him, shaking your head with more vigor than was warranted when you weren’t sure what, exactly, you were protesting. 

“Between you and me,” Buggy continued, leaning even closer to speak in a conspiratorial tone, “last time I was jacking off, all I could think about was how adorable it is. Your eyes just scream ‘rape me’ which is weird because only one of them works, and believe me, it makes it pretty damn difficult when you spend so much time on your knees. God, would you even know what was going on if I popped a boner while you were down there? I’m chubbed up half the time and you don’t seem to get it.”

That crossed a line you hadn’t been aware of, and he said it so easily. So casually. The words dripped hot poison into your core, pulling a dark shiver down your spine and an unexpected sound from your mouth. You didn’t mean it, you never really did, but your mind was drifting above the clouds, leaving your body to try and sort out the feelings he so effortlessly dragged out of you. As soon as your reaction registered, you clasped both hands over your mouth with enough force to almost send you tumbling backwards, but Buggy pulled you back, laughing.  

“What was that?” 

“I… didn’t mean to,” you said, but he probably couldn’t hear through your hands.

“No, seriously. Do you practice these sounds ahead of time, or do they just happen?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, releasing your mouth. “I…” When you squirmed in discomfort, his hips rolled to meet it, grinding directly between your legs. You squeezed your eye shut, just trying to breathe. The drug made your body relax, but it relaxed too much, dragging you down with the heaviness of your flesh. A bubble of sound left you, something like a sob or a laugh or a hiccup. “Why are you doing this?” 

“Because it’s fun and, more importantly, because I want to,” Buggy said in a matter-of-fact way. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head again, refusing to look at him as if that would buy you some time so you could find an answer. 

“Hey, your captain asked you a question.” 

“I… don’t know…” you told him, fleetingly meeting his eye in an attempt to convey your inner conflict, to make him understand what you felt.

Buggy made a harsh sound of frustration, his eyes rolling up to stare at the ceiling. “Yeah, that’s not really an answer. The last thing I need right now is you waking up tomorrow and crying molestation or some bullshit.”

“I wouldn’t,” you told him. “I don’t want you to-to stop, but… I-I don’t know what… or-or how, I…”

“Ah, I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?” he said in a softer tone, looking back down to meet your eye, smiling and petting your hair. “I mean what is the first rule of storytelling?” 

You frowned, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. 

“Show,” Buggy answered for you, his hand sneaking around to hold the back of your head, “don’t tell.” 

It wasn’t a kiss, not at first. At first it was just hot and wet because you didn’t understand what was going on. You knew you were supposed to open your mouth, so you did, but you couldn’t comprehend anything other than the vulgar assault of tongue and teeth. He tasted like salt and caramel and liquor and greasepaint. It was strange to feel his nose pressing against your cheek and the drag of his stubble against your skin.

Then something clicked, your body taking over while your mind faltered behind. With the drug swimming in your system, everything felt at least a little good. The heaviness inside of you was also raw, stimulating warmth, a sort of buzzing wherever the two of you touched. Kissing Buggy felt even better. Being kissed, letting him guide you. It was filthy and messy and a little gross to feel his tongue in your mouth, but it was animalistically hot. 

When his hand pushed under your shirt, it tickled enough to make you laugh, squirming in his lap. He groaned hungrily right into your mouth, his hips grinding up against you. With one arm wrapped around you to keep your head in place, the other pushed your undershirt up and out of the way to palm your breasts. The limited exploration you had done with your body had given you the impression that you were indifferent to feeling anything other than disgust and shame, but the sensation of him rolling your nipple between two rough fingers zipped down your spine like electricity. 

Even muffled by his mouth, you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning and whimpering, from helplessly pressing yourself against him for more. He said you hadn’t noticed when he was hard before, but you were pretty sure that’s what you were feeling right then, that it was his erection hot and hard between your legs. 

Leaving both nipples hard and painfully sensitive, his hand slipped down to wiggle under the waistband of your shorts. Bad. Bad. Wrong. Very wrong. You pulled away with a harsh gasp, trying to squirm away from that hand. 

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I’m just gonna check real quick to see if you’re wet,” Buggy said to console you. His makeup was smeared from the kiss, and his eyes were round and excited. “It’s not weird, I’m just trying to figure out where we’re at with the whole consent thing, okay?” 

“Okay,” you mumbled, even if you had no idea what one had to do with the other. The angle was awkward, especially when he had to navigate beneath the confines of your shorts, but his searching fingers found your clothed pussy pretty quickly. His touch shocked you as physically as a jolt of electricity. Even through your panties, there was a foreign intensity to the pressure. More intense, maybe, was the look in his eyes. You expected amusement, but there was none. Stripped of the jokes and the teasing and the smile and the crass comments, he was somebody who wanted. Wanted you.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Buggy said, his fingers curling, pushing the fabric of your panties between your folds, and you choked back an embarrassing whimper, your hips unintentionally bucking forward.

“I don’t think this is… I’m really, really sorry, I…” you stammered out, stumbling over your excuses and apologies and anything at all that would get you out of this. “I mean, we shouldn’t, it’s probably not-”

“Shut up,” Buggy told you sharply. “Here I thought I should take things slow so you didn’t feel too bad about it afterwards, but you’re fuckin’ soaked.”

“No, it… ‘s not-”

“No?” he cut in, easily shutting you up with another curl of his fingers. “So what am I feeling right now. Did’ya piss yourself or something?” 

“I didn’t! It’s just…” Hard to think. Hard to talk. Hard to figure out what you wanted. Hard to know what was happening, what he expected. You laughed a little, hoping that he would too, and that this would be a joke, but he didn’t. You broke, shaking your head and whining. “It’s too… too embarrassing.” 

“For you, maybe. I mean, jeez, talk about desperate. You really want me, huh?”

“I… I don’t know if… I shouldn’t.”

“God, it’s like pulling teeth,” Buggy said, pulling his hand out from between your legs. “Wait, there’s an idea. Should I go get the pliers? Will that get me a straight answer out of you?”

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything other than the zapping memory of his hand down your shorts. If you didn’t want something, you already would have left, your body wouldn’t be singing and surging to get more of his touch. But you couldn’t say that you wanted to go further either because you could not imagine or conceptualize that happening. More than anything, you didn’t want to be alone. You didn’t want to disappoint him. The idea of being touched drove you wild, but there was a sickness in your stomach that was only getting worse. 

“Listen, babydoll,” Buggy told you, his voice lowering, steady like he was talking to a frightened animal. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, but I’m really hard right now so I’m gonna come. You can either stay here and come with me or get the hell out of here.” As much as you could feel Buggy trying to maintain composure, it wasn’t working.

You closed your eye, trying to think, just to scrape together a single coherent thought that would help you figure out what to do, but instead you thought of the warehouse. The air stank of wet rot and ocean air and old metal. “New girl,” Buggy had called, snapping to beckon you closer. Randall knelt on the ground. Pathetic and powerless, groaning in pain. You obliged then, rushing to Buggy’s side, your feet crunching on the broken glass and chunks of old building. Buggy didn’t look angry, not like you feared he would. Instead, he smiled. It was a mean smile, a frightening one. But a smile all the same, a gruesome expression meant to set you at ease, and maybe to keep himself composed. “Are you ready for your big moment?”

“So, uh,” Buggy, the real one, the one sitting beneath you watching with expectant eyes, said, licking his lips, “which is it?”

There was only one answer, there had only ever been one. You didn’t know. These things, your choices, weren’t for you to make. So you didn’t know. Not then and not now. Instead, you took the knife he offered and asked for him to show you how. Instead, you pressed yourself closer to him, hoping that he would decide, desperate for him to choose for you. Buggy moaned, his hips rolling upward to meet yours. He caught himself quickly, practically growling in frustration. 

“Fuck… Stop,” Buggy told you in a rough voice, grabbing you by the back of the hair to force you still. “I need you to tell me what you want. Out loud. Right now, so it's on the record.”

“I want,” you told him in a weak voice, stopping there as you tried to find the right words.

“Yeah?” He prompted you.

“I want…” The words sounded so far away, like it wasn’t really you speaking them at all, as if you were trying to guess the right answer. “I want you, Captain Buggy. Anything you want, I’m yours.” 

“Finally!” Buggy said with a hoarse laugh, shaking you back and forth. “See how easy it is when you allow yourself to be honest?”

Easy. It was easy, of course it was easy, of course you wanted to give him whatever he wanted, especially if it was you. Anything, anything, everything. Buggy grabbed you by the hips to spin you around, dropping you onto the bed. You landed on your back and bounced twice, dizzy from the sudden shift. Buggy was already kneeling between your legs by the time you blinked your vision clear, roughly getting out of his pants. 

“Since we’re being honest now, I’ll tell you something too—I’m glad this is your first time,” Buggy told you, flinging off his shirt before getting you out of yours. He didn’t undress you with any grace, pulling your shirt and undershirt off in a twisted bundle of fabric, leaving you half naked to his manic, hungry eyes. “Opening night is special,” he continued, licking his lips. “It’s something that nobody has ever seen before. Sure, it lacks the polish of later shows, but there’s beauty in that. It’s real, it’s raw. This, right now, is your debut, babydoll. I wanna see you come. Once, maybe twice just to start because then I’m going to fuck you and that…” Buggy laughed, pulling off one boot and tossing it behind himself with a thump before taking the other. You sat up, trying to cover your chest, only to be knocked back down when he grabbed the waistband of your shorts and underwear to pull them down your thighs, curling your legs up to shake you out of them. “It might hurt, after all of this teasing I don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself back. But that’s good. You want it to hurt, it should hurt—pain is how good art is made.”

Before you could respond to that, he descended upon you. Not a kiss this time. At least, not a kiss on the lips. While his fingers trailed up your thigh, his mouth latched on your neck. The same moment he found your entrance, his teeth dug into your sensitive skin. When he began to suck, his fingers trailed upward to land on your clit.

You might have wailed, if only you had enough air in your lungs to do so. He only got a sharp, pathetic whine and more nervous giggling, your hips jumping up into his hand. Somewhere inside of your swimming mind, there was a thought. A spark of one, a bit of consciousness that had no real conclusion before it bubbled out of your mouth in a string of stuttered “I…I…I…”  while your hands gripped desperately at his shoulders. He kept rubbing your clit and you knew, logically, that it would feel better if you stayed still, but you couldn’t. 

Buggy pulled away from your neck with a slick pop. “Can you…fuckin’...can you settle down? I can’t do this with you trying to buck me off.” 

You meant to tell him that it wasn’t your fault, that you couldn’t keep still, but the only response your drugged brain could manage was a nervous smile and hiccup. Making a sound of frustration, Buggy sat up and grabbed you by the waist to pull you down, his forearm settling across your pelvis to keep your hips flat. With his weight pinning down one leg and your other shoved aside by a not so gentle slap, you couldn’t go anywhere. So you whined, giving up and covering your face with your hands instead. 

Buggy laughed. “Don’t act so pathetic, I know you love this. You're sooo sensitive," he said, lazily pushing a finger into your pussy before dragging it out. Letting his fingers glide between your folds with an agonizingly light touch, drawing little circles over your swollen clit. Again and again and again and- "I’m barely doing anything and you're practically having a seizure down there." 

You whimpered, squirming beneath him to no avail. He had your hips completely immobilized. Buggy laughed again, slowly sinking his fingers into your pussy. Two of them now. Two calloused fingers to press deep into you, to seek out the spongy spot as they curled and thrust in and out. Slow, painfully slow. There was nothing you could do about it. Push at his shoulders with shaking hands, arch your back to nowhere, shake your head back and forth like it mattered, like he cared. You tried to laugh like he did, needed to diffuse some of the scorching tension, but the sound was breathy and high pitched and it wasn’t funny, it was torture. 

Buggy’s fingers finally broke the slow pace to practically slam into you, and it sounded disgusting. Wet, harsh. You couldn’t stop shaking, and there wasn’t enough air, your lungs were being collapsed by the weight of the drug. Despite that, despite everything, your pussy squeezed his fingers, only getting wetter the rougher he got. The noises you made, the mewling and the whining and the moaning, were practically innocent compared to the loud squelching of each thrust.  

“It sounds like I’m plunging a fuckin’ toilet,” Buggy said, laughing.

You pressed your palms against your eyes as if that would hide you, caught between humiliation and need. “I’m s-ss-sorry,” you babbled. “It’s… gross… I’m sorry, please just… Stop, it’s—”

“Stop?” he repeated. “Is that what you just said? You’re giving me orders now?” He slowed down, only to add another finger. The frantic rise of tension had your heels digging into his bed, your hands unable to decide if you wanted to cover your face or claw at the sheets. 

“No! No, no no—” What were you even denying at this point? It was all incoherent anyway, and you knew you didn’t actually mean it.

“Do you know when I’m gonna stop?” Buggy asked. “After you come all over my hand. So quit yer yappin’ and hurry it up.”

Your whimper was barely audible, but it was one of resignation. He was right, the slick squelching sounds really did conjure the worst imagery. But, somehow, not even that killed your building orgasm. Neither did the musky smell, or the gross feeling of your sweat soaking into his bedding. It was all just sex and, right then, it was hot. You couldn’t focus on anything other than the tightening coil in your core, not even the man fucking you with three fingers, going hard enough to hurt, hooking and curling with each thrust to grind them against the spongy spot inside of you. The only thing that mattered was the pleasure that sat on the very tip of your tongue and how badly you needed it. To please him, to end this embarrassing torment, to stop inconveniencing him. You had no idea if it was what you wanted but, one way or another, your body would expel the foam in your head, the need in your belly. Come or throw up or scream. 

With a choked yelp, you came. Your back arched, your body fighting against Buggy’s hold. You had one hand across your face while the other desperately clawed at the sheets and you wanted to fuck yourself on his fingers, to meet them with each thrust, but you couldn’t move your hips. All you could do was take what you were given, endure the helplessness, the sticky waves of pleasure. 

And then it was over, just hot air and sweat.

There was a sense that you were not yourself, like you had been unbound from your existence as a person. But also one that stitched you into your hot, heavy skin so tightly that you knew you could not ever be somebody else. The lucidity of the feeling killed your desire, you needed a break. You needed to breathe. 

“No more,” you told him, trying to squirm away, to grab his hand. “Please, I… Please, no more.” 

“That was it? Seriously?” Buggy asked, incredulously amused. His fingers did slow down, stroking your g-spot in a way that made you twitch uncontrollably. “You just came?” 

“I’m sorry,” you said breathlessly, covering your face with your trembling hands.

Buggy laughed in delight. “No, it was,” he said, finally pulling his fingers out and taking his weight off of you, “weirdly adorable. I was just joking about the puppy thing earlier, but you’re kind of proving my point. Girls usually, you know, moan. Or scream or something, I don’t know. What is it, do you think? The daddy issues? Or is it ‘cause I’m the first guy to make you come? Don’t get me wrong, I liked it, it was fuckin’ hot, but now I’m curious. Do you think you can moan like a normal girl at all, or are you just gonna keep whining the whole time?”

“I, um… I-I don’t,” were the only words you could muster as you stared at him, completely still. For a couple of seconds you had fooled yourself into thinking you had escaped the red stained-glass fog of the drug, but the vulgarity drew you right back in, enveloping you in its humid dusk.  

Buggy grinned, a mad expression. “Guess we’ll find out.” 

When he pulled off his underwear, you didn’t know if it was okay for you to look or not, your eye flicking nervously from his smile to the pale expanse of his torso, following the trail of hair that led down, and down. His cock bobbed up the moment it was free. It was more intimidating of a sight than you thought it would be, giving you that uncanny sense of vertigo, like staring down a very high cliff into some unknown abyss. This was wrong. Buggy clearly had no such reservations, spitting into his hand to stroke his dick as he loomed above you. 

“You’ve got me in a romantic mood, you can stay just like that,” Buggy said as he crowded you further up the bed. You stared up at him, stiff and too nervous to move. He frowned. “Okay, well I didn’t mean literally just like that, you’re gonna have to make some room for me.” He gave you a second before huffing in irritation, rolling his eyes. “Fuckin’ virgins.”  

Buggy grabbed you, hauling you up the bed to drop you unceremoniously into the pillows. You squeaked, trying to hold onto him while he hiked your legs up his waist. Breathing was difficult, all of the air smelled like Buggy and sex and you were so, so aware of the way it pressed slowly out of your chest. He released your right leg to grab his cock, slicking it between your folds. That made you gasp sharply, your fingers digging into his back. 

“Are you trying to scratch me?” Buggy asked, amused but distracted as kept nudging his dick between your folds, his hips rolling forward when it caught on your entrance. 

“I… I’m… No-hh—I-I-” Any part of your mind that was still functioning was focused entirely on the pressure of his cock as he pushed forward again, pressing it a little deeper. 

“I don’t mind it,” Buggy told you, “but fair’s fair.” He punctuated that word with a harder thrust, pushing his cock past the initial resistance of your entrance. Your eye widened, a sound of surprise practically punched out of your body with the shock of it. His fingers had not at all prepared you for what it would feel like. The insistence. The weight. Buggy smiled, watching your face as his hips rolled forward. 

This time, you whined, squeezing your eye shut and digging your fingers into his back, your pussy unintentionally tightening around him which only made the discomfort that much worse, but you couldn’t force your body to relax and you honestly didn’t know if you were trying to push him out or pull him deeper.

“No, look—look at me,” Buggy demanded hoarsely, hiking your right leg back up his waist, not moving until you met his demand. You let out a shuddering breath and opened your eye, looking up at him through tear coated lashes. His eyes were familiar to you, but not like this. In the dim light, all that remained was their devious sparkle, his hunger, his all-consuming lust. You tried to keep your expression composed, to hide your embarrassing reactions, but it was all in vain. The leverage made it easier for him to rock his hips forward, his cock driving deeper, and your expression crumpled as you cried out, you couldn’t help yourself. 

The intimacy Buggy demanded of you while splitting you apart became intolerable. You tried to rear back, your back arching beneath him, but Buggy grabbed your jaw to keep you from looking away, to keep you from hiding. You tried to tell him that it was too much, too heavy, too big, too overwhelming, but you couldn’t find the words before he was already thrusting forward again, filling you more and more, his entire body covering yours, his eyes devouring your reactions. He watched with parted lips, his eyebrows raised in some sort of needful appeal. It felt so cruel, but Buggy didn’t look at you cruelly.

It was too much to bear, let alone understand. Giving up on begging him to slow down, you tried to push at his abdomen. Buggy wasn't bothered by it, or by the scrape of your nails along his back, it was like he didn’t even notice.

“Cap-tain,” you whined, the word broken in your mouth, squished from the grip he had on your jaw. When he moved, you could feel how you were shaking beneath him, around him, your heartbeat thumping hot blood between your legs. The pressure was intense, unfamiliar. You whimpered, your back restlessly arching, your free hand clawing at his shoulder. “I… It's… Too much…”

“Yeah?” Buggy asked, managing a smile before that became another moan. “You’re so fuckin’... Fuck.” 

It was impossible to not respond to the overt sound of his pleasure, your pussy clenching around him, soaking his cock. It sounded filthy. You opened your mouth to say something and, like he’d been waiting for it, Buggy released your jaw, his hand resting beneath your chin to push your face up so he could kiss you instead. His tongue in your mouth was just as invasive as his cock in your pussy, it felt more like he was trying to eat you, to devour you, leaving you no space to breathe or think or react. You could feel every grunt and groan, feel the way he reacted to every little sound you made. 

There was no refinement to it, no mercy, no thought given to anything other than animal instinct and need. Buggy was barely even pulling out, grinding himself into you as deep as possible over and over and over and it was maddening because he wasn’t slamming his cock into you the way he had with his fingers and that should have been easier to take, but there was no release, just more and again. 

When he pulled away from the kiss, giving you a few moments to catch your breath, you threw your head back to keep him from kissing you again, worried that you’d pass out from the lack of air. Buggy groaned in irritation, punishing you with a hard thrust. And then another, and another. Skin slapping and squelching and your confused yelps of pleasure or pain.

“I-I—I can’t, I…” Your nails dug into his back, his shoulders, not to make him stop or even slow down, but because you had no other way to express what you felt. “Too much, i’ss—”

Buggy grunted, grabbing your legs again to pull them back up, changing the angle. The surprise zip of pleasure struck hard, making you moan loudly and openly, your wide eye meeting his. Buggy’s lips twitched almost like a smile, a little look of victory at getting such an unabashedly slutty reaction from you. You couldn’t take it back, and he knew he had an advantage, exploiting it with every thrust. 

“Come on,” Buggy said, his voice labored and heavy. “Admit it… You love this. You wanted me to fuck you from… from the day we met. You’re a freak.”

“Captain… Buggy please,” you begged, whining his name desperately in a voice that sounded so unlike your own. None of you really felt familiar, not your voice or your body or the sensations. Maybe it was someone else and you were only along for the ride, that would explain why you lacked any and all control over your body, why you could feel the torturous build of pleasure in your core in spite of the discomfort or fear or uncertainty, why you had been driven to true delirium from the way his cock ground against your walls like his fingers had, another point of excess stimulation on top of the overwhelming fullness. You could feel your pussy squeeze around him, feel the fresh wave of slick arousal that coated his cock, spilling out around the seams. You had no control, there was nothing for you to do but hang on and accept what had become helplessness in its purest form.

Buggy laughed, a hoarse, mean sound that stuttered with each thrust before leveling into a moan. You couldn’t help but whimper in turn, your hips moving to meet each rocking thrust, your thighs trembling with how hard they were clamped around his waist. If you let go, you worried that you’d never stop falling, that you would be lost because there was nothing else. 

“Buggy,” you whined. “Buggy, I…”

He groaned low, grabbing your hand to hold it with your fingers entwined, pinning it by your head. By now you were chest to chest, both of you sweaty enough to be slick, your breathing dangerously unsteady, lungs puffing the sweltering air. He was kissing you, but every part of your functional mind that still worked was focused on coming. Buggy didn’t seem to mind your preoccupation, content to kiss your open mouth, content to swallow all of your moans. You didn’t think it was physically possible to be closer to another human being, you could feel his heart beating within your own heavy ribcage, feel the rush of his blood through your veins. There was nothing left of you without him.

So, then, you couldn’t do anything else, there was no choice, just that anxious need, some wild feeling that you’d scream if you couldn’t come. After teetering so close for a frightening few seconds, that was the thought that tipped you over the edge, your body tensing and seizing beneath him, disturbing your synchronization as your pussy spasmed around him, your hands holding onto his back in a death grip, pleasure rippling through you, stoked over and over again by the relentless weight of his cock. When you were done whimpering and whining and writhing your way through your orgasm, your body going limp beneath him, Buggy released you from the kiss. You saw a thick strand of saliva pop between you as he pulled away. 

“Did you just… come?” he asked breathlessly, incredulously.

You nodded, gasping for air, your glassy eye swirling with moving colors, your hazy mind unable to focus on anything while he was still inside you. 

“Guess that answers that question then,” Buggy muttered. Laughing as he began fucking you again, laughing and then moaning, his thrusts less targeted and more indulgent. All he had to do was get his hand on your jaw to remind you to look at his eyes. It made you choke, whimpering as the wake of your orgasm faded into overstimulation all over again. The intensity of too much combined with the trembling pleasure-pain, all of it twisted and hazy red, a world filtered and scattered, intangibly delicious but also anxious and frightening. 

Buggy fucked into you selfishly now, his hands digging bruises into your thighs, his thrusts jarringly rough and without any rhythm you understood. But the sounds he made, you liked those. They were almost pained, rising in pitch as he got closer. Lustful appetite in its most crude and feverish form. 

“Buggy,” you whined, scrambling to hold onto him, to mitigate the violence of his desire. “Buggy, please-” 

He moaned loudly, crushing you, claiming you with his open mouth on yours, all teeth and tongue and hunger. Using you, sparing you no soft affection when he came, burying his cock as deep as possible for those final few sporadic thrusts. 

You thought you could feel it, feel his cock twitch inside of you, but maybe it was just your imagination. How could you feel anything other than the steady throbbing between your legs? 

Buggy groaned, breathing hard. A second later, he pulled out and flopping onto his back beside you, either missing or ignoring your wince of pain. You covered your face with your hands, willing the world to fall away. You couldn’t understand it anyway, what was the point?

“I was thinking of a more appropriate title for your job,” Buggy said between ragged breaths. “I get worried that-that people might expect too much from you. So I was thinking something like Buggy the Clown’s Cocksleeve or—or the Flashy Fool’s Fucktoy. But just now, it came to me-” He snapped his fingers. “Captain Buggy’s Cock Puppet.” He turned his head to look at you, grinning. “Eh?” 

A hard shiver worked down your spine. “That’s gross,” you muttered.

He huffed, annoyed by your answer. “It’s pretty bold to act like a prude when you were creaming all over my dick a couple minutes ago.”

You groaned, covering your face again. 

“We’ll work on that,” Buggy said, sitting up. You opened your eye, watching him roll his neck and arms, his shoulders popping. His hair was a mess, a lot of it had come loose, he had to fight against the hair tie to get it out, swearing at it before the thing snapped and he threw it somewhere to the side. You were too sleepy and dazed to care that you were staring at him, admiring him. You did admire him, even if he said things you wished he wouldn’t, or did things you didn’t like. You admired him as your captain. And he was beautiful. 

Buggy rolled off the bed. He wore his nudity without a shred of shame. You watched as he poured himself a big cup of water from the jug, downing it all in a steady stream of gulps.  

“Thirsty?” he asked, shooting you a look over his shoulder. 

You pushed your hair off of your sweaty face, the world spinning spectacularly as you sat up, and nodded. He filled the cup again as you crawled to the edge of the bed, wincing at the sharp pain between your legs, the wet mess coating your thighs.

“Drink up, you were leaking pretty bad from both ends tonight,” Buggy joked as he helped hold the cup steady in your shaking hands. You hummed, not really caring about his words because the water was the best thing you had ever tasted in your entire life, and it felt even better on your dry tongue and throat. He took it when you were done and you wiped your mouth, an anxious question forming in your mind. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to leave or not.

But you weren’t sure if you could move, either. Maybe you would just stay there forever. That didn’t sound too bad.  

Buggy turned off the lights and threw himself onto the bed, uncaring that he was lying in the mess the two of you had made or that he was sweaty and grimy.

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

What were you doing? Why were you here? What had you done? “I… um-”

“Yeah, I don’t actually care,” Buggy said through a yawn. “It’s been a long day and I’m wiped. Get up here.”

It took a moment for you to follow the simple order, but you managed to crawl up the bed. Rather than suffer your nervous attempts to find a spot that wouldn’t disturb him, Buggy grabbed you, pulling you against him like a child with a toy. He was hot and sweaty and the amount of weight he put on you wasn’t exactly comfortable, but you didn’t dare move—you didn’t want to move. His skin smelled like greasepaint and musk and sweat and gunpowder and leather and you drank it in, accepting your discomfort because it was Buggy. 

In the swampish dark left behind in the red heat of passion, and especially in his arms, you thought about the affection you felt when you looked at him. It was only natural that you would love Buggy. Not as a lover, but as anybody would love their captain. To serve him as you had sworn, your love had to be absolute. But then you wondered what he felt for you. It would be too much and much too soon to ask for love, but surely there was something. 

You, with a shocking amount of clarity given the fogged state of your mind, decided that you would ask him and accept whatever answer he gave. Emboldened by that resolution, you looked at him. 

Buggy was already asleep.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"Tethered to You" Chapter 4

Masterlist HERE.

"Early this morning When you knocked upon my door Early this morning When you knocked upon my door

And I said hello Satan, ah I believe it is time to go Me and the devil walkin' side by side Me and the devil walking side by side…"

Soap & Skin – "Me and the Devil"

Her eyelids were too heavy to open. Swollen and raw from crying, Osha couldn't pry her dry lids apart. Her thighs ached and her head pounded a steady rhythmic pain. The scent of old wood smoke permeated the air. Tangled under a thin sheet and heavy wool blanket, she was too weary to move, yet the spiky pressure on her bladder was insistent that she relieve herself.

Osha turned her head to work the kinks in her neck out first. She wiped the crust from her lashes and dared to peek at the new world she escaped to. Qimir kept his living space neat although it was crowded with mechanical gadgets and cast off metalworkings. There were lighting lamps on the walls giving the cave a rustic glow. A power generator hummed in another hidden section of the cave that she spotted from a narrow opening beyond the sleeping area.

On a therma pad, near an old portable stove, sat a brass cooking pot. Something savory simmered inside, but Osha ignored it. She lifted up from the narrow bed noticing the weakness of her limbs. Her arm shook trying to hold her side up. A sour odor hit her in the face next. She sniffed wondering if it was the food cooking in the pot, however, seconds later, she understood it was her own unwashed body funk. With a scrunched face she dragged herself to the edge of the bed and placed her hands on her thighs to prop herself up. Queasiness in her stomach forced her head to lurch forward and she vomited a clear liquid onto the cave floor. She dragged her dehydrated body from the bed and headed for an open barrel filled with water. Not bothering to find a cup, she scooped water into her mouth and after drinking her fill, she washed her face with the cool liquid. A bitter watery sensation gathered in the back of her throat, but Osha pushed back on the urge to throw up again and swallowed several times praying that whatever wanted out... stayed in. The pain in her head subsided to a dull thud.

She was alone in the cave.

On unsteady legs, Osha rushed outside and peered down toward the ocean. The Exile ll was still on its landing pad in the distance. He hadn't abandoned her. Yet. She leaned against a rock wall and breathed in the crisp air. It helped quell the sudden panic. She touched her chest and her heart thumped like a frightened bird caught under her fingers. Embracing the fear that washed over her in that moment, Osha picked it apart to comprehend what it truly meant. Was it abandonment or the fear of never seeing him again? The swift attachment to Qimir seemed unnatural and yet her heart squeezed the inside of her chest the way it did when she lost her family as a child.

A dull sun floated in a hazy overcast sky allowing small shards of light to skim the oily blackness of the sea. The grayness floating on the horizon didn't affect the comfortable temperature caressing the skin on her face. She touched the clothing drenched in her stench. A bath was in order. She hastily pulled down her pants and squatted with stiff joints. Her urine ran out in a dark yellow stream flowing down loose gravel for what seemed like forever. She was grateful for not needing to do anything else and let her private parts drip-dry. A gust of cooler air blew between her legs and she pulled her pants up quickly being careful not to step in her own voided waste.

She wandered back to the cave testing the strength in her legs and passed a trio of small rock-looking creatures that watched her movement with round black eyes and long snouts.

"Shoo!' she said kicking her feet toward them in case they were small predators. They only watched her pass with quiet curiosity.

Inside the cave, Osha searched for clothing that belonged to Mae. She couldn't find anything other than a large chest filled with Qimir's things. She could borrow something of his though. Behind the chest was a metal clothing rack that held his black cape and other menacing looking garments. She touched his cape. The material was heavy under her fingertips.

"You're finally up…"

Osha jumped while fondling his clothes. She swallowed thickly and turned to face him. He wore a simple beige wrap-front jacket and brown linen pants with sturdy sandals and carried pale yellow netting filled with whatever he caught in the sea.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"A few days now. Three to be exact."

"Three days?" she sputtered back.

"Yep," he said heading to his kitchen area.

He dumped his fresh catch into a large bucket of water and wiped his hands on a dingy clean cloth sitting on a low wooden table. She moved away from his slow advance. He paused his movement toward her with a questioning look.

"Don't come near me. I smell really bad."

"I know, but I'm used to it now."

She looked away from his direct gaze embarrassed.

"Put on your boots. I'll take you to where Mae stayed. She has things you can use there. And you can bathe…in private."

Osha nodded and he pointed to her work boots under the bed. She sat down and laced up. He busied himself with checking on his bubbling pot and the cook stove. While he wasn't looking, she wiped her right boot over the spot where she vomited hoping it would dry up before he noticed or smelled it.

"Coffee?" he asked, holding up a black pot.

Osha shook her head.

"It's here if you want it. I don't know how much in provisions Mae had left down there, but I'll supply you with what you need until you're better."

Qimir spoke to her in a modulated tone that was probably meant to soothe her uneasiness of a three-day blackout. His voice caressed her earlobes and she didn't fully trust the way it made her feel. Safe.

He wasn't a safe man.

But she wasn't a safe woman either.

He was a Sith.

And she chose him over the Jedi.

His hair was a damp crown of dark waves. He'd bathed earlier. His shirt stuck to his back and sides in wet places. He smelled of the sea and wind giving her a false glimpse of what life could be like with him training there. Her eyes narrowed watching him putter around his little kitchen like some innocent domestic. It was part of his seduction to keep her there. She knew that.

"Ready?" he said wiping his hands and then brushing a lock of hair from his eye.

Osha stood and Qimir reached for her newly acquired lightsaber hidden under the bed that she missed. He handed it to her overlooking the obvious wet spot on the floor under her boot. She gripped the lightsaber with assertive purpose. What she had done to get the weapon rushed forward in her mind and she shelved it for later introspection. He led the way out of the cave.

"Keep an eye on those things over there. They'll try to slip into your place and eat your food or even steal your clothes for nesting material. They're harmless, but annoying sometimes," he said pointing to the rock creatures. "Mae used to feed them and now they linger here all the time defecating everywhere."

Osha grinned behind Qimir's back. Mae was always playing with animals and insects on their home world. She exhaled a worrisome breath thinking of her sister.

"Hold up a minute," she said.

A spasm in her lower back slowed her walk.

"No. Keep moving. You haven't walked in days and your muscles are cramped. Stretch and move."

He kept walking far along a long, flat, and uneven path that created a barrier to a lagoon of dark blue water. She glanced to her left and admired another rocky island shaped like a scalene triangle on the horizon. Qimir turned to look at her.

"Walk," he said.

It was an order.

Osha pushed herself and grit her teeth enduring the uncomfortable pins and needles sensation in her sluggish feet. Slowly but surely her lower limbs came back to life and she trudged behind Qimir without stopping.

"You'll stay there," he said pointing further inland.

They hiked off the path for another twenty minutes and Osha understood why her sister never knew her Master's identity. He kept her housed far away where it was impossible to sneak up on him. Hidden behind a giant crumbling boulder that jutted across a tiny stream was a small opening to a dark cavern. Qimir climbed in first and popped a lighting tube he pulled from his pocket that lit up the entrance. He glanced around and found a lamp fixed to the cave wall and tapped it. Soft yellow light illuminated a small neat dwelling. There was a cot, a single chair, and a small table with tools and blade weapons on it. An uneven makeshift bamboo closet filled with Mae's cloaks and dark garments leaned against another wall. A hand-woven basket near the bed was filled with underwear and scarves. There was a decent-sized crack in the roof that let in some sunlight and it showed Osha a comfortable set up. The cave had more room in it than she ever had in her sixteen years away from Brendok. On Coruscant she roomed in a noisy dorm with other younglings and Padawans, while working as a meknek only afforded her tiny shared bunks in close-confined quarters on a starfighter. The cave was fit for a queen compared to what she was used to.

"She has a therma pad and some cooking utensils back there and a portable compression chamber to dry and preserve the food she caught herself. The lagoon water is drinkable, but run it through that water purifier over there first. It's rained the last two days and she collects water in buckets outside from the rock run-off…"

He pointed out other things she would need to use like a heater and where she could use the restroom inside and outside. Osha turned on other lamps and looked around.

"You'll find where to bathe safely in several places once you go exploring on your own. You can use the lagoon too if you want. There's a few natural hot springs around the island to soak your body after training. But you don't need that yet," he said.

"Okay."

"Clean up. Rest. We'll talk more later."

She nodded and he lifted an unopened ration pack next to a small knife on the desk.

"She usually had a box of these in here. They taste pretty good if you haven't eaten in a long time."

"I'll look around for them."

Qimir headed out and stopped in his tracks with his back to her.

"You'll have to unlearn so much from your old Jedi training."

He said it so low that she had to step forward to hear him.

"I know. I'm prepared for that."

He turned around.

"Osha, I will show you how to take the freedom you've wanted your entire life. I remember what it was like back then. Longing to be like them. They are so adept at selling you a dream that never comes to fruition. Everything was about control. Controlling the way you think, controlling how you act, even controlling how you were supposed to feel…turning you into a mindless disciple…turning you into bland, obedient, nothingness. They build up the light side of the Force as the panacea for the galaxy, but what they truly want is to push their will on those of us who seek a more passionate life that we bend to our will. The dark side has more to offer your life than you could ever imagine. I see it in you…felt it the first time I laid eyes on you. I will show you how truly dark and divine you are, Osha."

He spoke her name with such reverence making it sound like a sacred incantation.

"I want that. All of it," she said.

His eyes held a sensual glow in the lamp light. He reached out and caressed the side of her face. The pads of his rough fingertips were warm and she leaned into his touch. Her eyelids grew heavy. Glancing at his lips she noticed the lower one housed between his teeth and her own lips parted. All she could hear in the cave was her beating heart and the silvery tone of his voice as he spoke a new code to her.

"Peace is a lie…there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength I gain power. Through power I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken."

Osha let the words sink into her ears and his eyes sink into her soul.

"Say them to me," he said.

He rooted her in place and she didn't speak until his thumb stroked the top of her cheek.

"Peace is a lie. There is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength I gain power. Through power I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken…"

"Again," he said.

Qimir pressed his forehead against hers and swallowed each airy word from her mouth as she released them with more conviction.

"Through victory, my chains are broken," she whispered into his parted lips.

He closed his eyes and that devilish smirk quirked his lips. She pleased him.

Qimir stepped away from her and a tenuous connection to him broke inside her like a cold splash of water thrown on her head. She glanced toward the opening in the cave. Breaking away from his charged gaze reminded her that her body stank to high heaven and she itched all over to wash away days of dirt, sweat, and her old life. Qimir caught the hint and climbed out of the cave leaving her to the privacy of her own thoughts.

She plopped down on the lumpy cot. It was not as big as Qimir's which was barely a full-sized bed under Jedi standards, but big enough for her. Privacy was a new luxury and she rifled through her sister's basket of underwear and found a body towel. Poking around further she found a toiletry bag behind a standing mirror with everything she needed to take care of her hygiene. She settled on wearing a long purple tunic that had criss-cross ties that she liked. Rolling it up in the towel, Osha gathered all that she needed and went to the largest water source outside of her cave which was back down to the lagoon.

Knowing Qimir was far away she didn't hesitate to pull off her smelly clothes and jumped into the chilly water. She let out a loud shriek once the icy cold hit her filthy skin. The lagoon was less than six feet deep at its maximum depth, and she swam around first getting used to the temperature before heading into more shallow water to scrub up with the chunk of soap and shampoo her sister left behind. She laughed out loud at how stiff her nipples stayed and how goosebumps decorated her body throughout her bathing time. The sun hadn't broken free from the clouds long enough to warm up the water, and she spent six good minutes scrubbing, rubbing and rinsing. She massaged her scalp with shampoo and carefully washed each loc thoroughly before dunking her head under to rinse away dingy-colored lather. Shaking her hair, it felt lighter. She fingered her thick curly roots in sections and knew it was time to plan a day to palm roll all the new growth. She prayed her sister had some hair butter to help with that long task. Osha figured she had to have a lot tucked away somewhere because Mae had beautiful long locs before she cut them. Now that she was free to be her true self, Osha wanted to grow her own locs longer. Like Mama's.

She stood up naked in the shallow end and cradled her hands against her chest. Mama used to hum and sing to them while they sat between her legs getting their scalps oiled and hair twisted into strong ropes of magic…at least that's what Mama called their hair. When Mama was done using her nimble fingers to bind curling roots, Mother Koril would decorate their soft locs with little shiny trinkets that she made just for them. Flowers. Shells from other worlds. And colorful seeds that the coven brought with them to Brendok long before she and Mae were born.

Osha remembered how Mama told the story of how she escaped from her original home world after she was exiled for being a heretic. She braided seeds into her hair to carry on their journey, and she taught the other women how to bind their hair in that secret way to secure food sources and beauty for their new life on Brendok. When they were finally free to be themselves, they planted those seeds that provided nourishment for their bodies and wild flowers for the forest. It became a tradition forever-after to braid seeds, shells, and memories of who they had once been and would soon become in their hair. It bound them together inside the Thread of Destiny. Like the long branches of the bunta tree curving down to the ground and their locs growing like enchanted tendrils down their backs, the Thread of Destiny was interwoven into the very fabric of their lives to remind them of their purpose.

She lingered in the cold lagoon touching her soft hair, bringing back sense memory of how her life used to be before she wanted to go…with him.

Sol.

Osha splashed out of the water and dried off, fighting back tears that threatened to crumble her face into a mask of anguish. Tossing on the tunic, she sprinted back to her cave barefoot, not even bothering to stick her feet in the unlaced boots she carried. She nearly tripped and broke her ankle diving into the cave. Heat rose from her feet up to the top of her head from the exertion. She threw her bundle of dirty clothes and boots on the floor and paced for awhile to calm down.

Her emotions swelled and subsided like the tides of the sea and it grew difficult to keep from crying. She needed a task to keep her busy. Dumping the basket of clothes onto the bed, she rummaged through them to get an idea of what she had as a wardrobe. She didn't know when they'd go off-world again for supplies or anything else.

Mae's underthings and casual-wear were of high quality. Her personal style slanted toward assassin chic. Osha dug through a large duffel bag and pulled out a bundle of clothes and a heavy folded cloak—

It couldn't be. Her throat nearly closed up.

She ran her fingers across the inner lining and recognized it immediately. The royal purple coloring upon closer inspection was a patchwork quilt of material stitched together to reinforce the wearer with more warmth from the darker purple of the outer layer. Her fingers shook. It was Mama's cloak repurposed with the scraps of Mother Koril's covering and the other coverings belonging to members of their coven. Osha spread it out on the bed and a small gold cape made for a child fell out of it. It belonged to Mae. It was part of their Ascension attire and had Mae's initials stitched into the shoulder with the sigil of their double moon.

"Oh, Mae," Osha cried out as her fingers smoothed open the cape to find pieces of Mama's cowrie-shell tassels left intact.

"Mae…Mae…" she whispered, shoving the child's cape into her nose, sniffing the scent of her twin when she was a little girl.

"They made me blame you…made me hate you…all over lies. So many lies."

Osha whimpered and fell onto her side clutching Mama's cloak against her chest.

"Mama, I'm so sorry…Mother Koril, you were right…so right. Forgive me."

She lifted a beaded string of cowrie shells and a boiling rage welled up in her chest and flowed outward consuming every cell in her body. The mirror reflected her vengeful image and she stood up to look at herself fully. The purple tunic draped around her with a form-fitting regal elegance as her rage festered, bubbling to the surface like a red-hot volcano that would level an entire world if it couldn't be contained, and in that moment, Osha fed into the desire to exact retribution on every Jedi in the galaxy. She screamed out decades of lies and the pain of a stolen life, screamed for the awful deceit and subterfuge the Jedi brought to her kin until the chords in her neck strained with the horror of it all. The blazing black rage coursed through her veins and swallowed the whites and browns of her eyes until a steely onyx gaze stared back at her from the mirror. It surged higher and she watched the edges of her body burn away like vaporous midnight ash floating away as Qimir's face tethered her inside the dark embers and became her sole focus until she winked out of existence into a raging frigid vortex of spiraling darkness.

Seconds later she snapped back into the world with the wind knocked out of her.

But she was no longer in her cave.

Gasping for air, sweating profusely, and disoriented, Osha jerked left then right, trying to fathom where she was. After another solid gulp of fresh air cleared her fuzziness, she recognized her surroundings.

In her feral rage, she had somehow transported herself outside of Qimir's cave. She quickly rubbed every part of her body to make sure she was a solid being completely there and not a smoky apparition imagining herself somewhere that she wasn't. Relieved, Osha exhaled and grounded herself. She was most definitely a mile away from where she started.

Qimir stepped out from his entrance carrying a bowl of hot soup.

"I was just coming your way to bring you this in case you were…Osha?"

He stared at her with concern. Between gulps of air, Osha blurted out an explanation.

"I don't know how I got here. I was angry and screaming in my cave and then…I turned into black smoke and broke apart…disappeared and reappeared here. I don't know what happened to my body."

Qimir absorbed the otherworldly information with a sense of calm that she needed desperately.

"Well, right now you're safe and in one piece. I can feel shifting fluctuations in the Force…this is something we can work through and understand…okay?"

There was a gleam in his eye. He held out the bowl to her.

"Eat with me inside and we'll figure out what happened…together," he said.

Osha's mouth watered from the scent of the bowl and her stomach co-signed the hunger by grumbling.

Qimir gave her a sanguine smile.

"Can't fight nature, Osha. You're starving."

She stared at the bowl and the hand that held it. He was the most powerful man she had ever met in her life and he wanted her for his acolyte. The wonders and wisdom she could learn from him would shape her into the warrior she needed to be.

She reached out and took the bowl.

He stepped aside and gave her space to walk into his cave on her own volition when she was ready.

"I want to choose me this time," she said.

Her feet wouldn't move and her body still trembled as she held the bowl of soup to her side. Qimir came to her instead and pressed his lips on her forehead. The taut, hard feel of his body against her soft nakedness under the tunic broke the spell of uncertainty and she walked by his side into his home.

Chapter 5 HERE.

A.N.:

I'm going to play a lot with hair and Black women using magic because I am someone who has worn locs for over half my life and I also grew up with Hoodoo, so I know what it's like to be seen as an outsider up against b.s. (Um, the Crown Act in the U.S. and all the stigma Black folks get for practicing their own rooted African Traditional Religions etc, hello).

[underfaller]

in his house of mind, dead cipher waits dreaming

Chapter 4: We'll Meet Again

Rating: T

Synopsis:

You really think you won that day/You packed your bags and sailed away/You think you left your past behind/But trust me/I'm still on your mind

A year has passed since Weirdmaggedon and the Pines family, victorious in the end, are happier than ever. Stan and Ford are adventuring at sea, making up for lost time. Dipper and Mabel are now freshmen and are ready to take on high school-- geometry, bullies, (student eating?) clubs, and all! However, things take a turn for the worst when Dipper and Mabel receive of horrific message from Ford:

Bill is back.

Stanley Pines is dreaming. 

He's in his family's old kitchen, sitting at a creaky, wooden table and teasing Ford about something long forgotten. The room is cramped and messy with a strong smell of meatloaf wafting from the oven. His mother sets down an after school snack for them, which Stanley instantly scarfs down. He regales his mom through bites of how he caught a possum in the schoolyard. He named it Jeremy. She laughs. 

This is nice. 

When Stanley's eyes snap open, he is no longer in that familiar kitchen, but rather in total darkness. The void of his own mind. 

Oh that's right, he isn't home, he's still lost. 

Stanley Pines is lost. 

Stanley groans, slightly annoyed to have awakened prematurely (or perhaps in reality, he actually has slept in-- it’s impossible to know in this state). After being locked away here, Stanley finds that sleeping is much more entertaining than being conscious. It passes the time quicker, almost like his short stint in Colombian prison.  However, as Stan tosses and turns, he is unable to fall asleep once more. 

It’s goddamn annoying. All of this is. 

The sensation he feels is similar to that of falling into the bottomless pit-- terrifying at first, then mind numbingly boring. The only difference is the gnawing anxiety that fills his mind about what Bill is doing in his body. Stanley thinks of his brother. The last time that Stan saw him was for a fleeting second with Stanford pointing his gun at him, absolutely terrified. Well, if Stan hasn't seen the pearly gates yet then Ford didn't kill him. 

Then did Bill get him? No, Pointdexter is much too clever to fall for his tricks again. Stanley has faith in his brother-- and in himself. It's going to take much more than a washed up con-triangle to take down this duo. That sliver of hope keeps Stan from slipping into madness. This nightmare will end; you can’t truly imprison Stanley Pines. 

And when it does, I’ll beat the devil out of that little shit Cipher. 

As time slips by, Stan’s thoughts wander and he thinks of his dream. For the first time in decades, Stanley thinks about his mother. It's an unexpected thought, but with nothing but reflection to do, his mind begins to drift to her. 

She'd had a soft spot for Stanley. Whether or not it was still true after he'd been disowned was another question-- one he didn't have the answer to. Stan reminisces of the lonely nights drifting between state lines when he still missed her-- almost as much as he missed Stanford. He’d always secretly hoped that she'd try to contact him during those nights. She never did. 

When Stanley faked his death-- did she attend his funeral? He always wondered. Part of him had hoped she did, just so that someone would be there-- so that someone remembered him kindly. The other part of him knew that was a shrewd thought, even for him. 

What good are thoughts like these at a time like this?

“This is bullshit,” Stanley says, aloud. Hearing his own voice in the midst of complete silence is slightly comforting. It echoes for miles before fading. 

“What’s bullshit,” Bill replies. “Is that you’re still here. Seriously, how difficult is it for one roach to die?”

Stanley whips around to see Bill Cipher frowning as he examines his fingernails. 

“Augh, seriously? It's one thing to be stuck here, but to be stuck here with you,” Stanley rolls his eyes. “Just kill me now.”

“You know I would if I could,” Bill states, curtly. 

“Can you just get this over with? What the hell are you here for?”

“Your brother was just in here looking for you,” Bill says. “It was a hassle hiding your consciousness from him.”

“Is that why you look like that? Wait, are you-- are you wearing cologne?” Stanley crinkles his nose before letting out a sarcastic laugh. “Are you seriously still pining for him? Geez, get a grip.”

Stanford once confided in Stanley about Bill and his… complicated relationship. Call it his twinstincts, but Stanley already had a growing hunch that their relationship had been less formal than Ford initially let on. Still, Stanley can’t believe that his brother actually fell for this guy. The smartest guy in the world settles for this idiot? Though, as Stan looks Bill up and down, he has to admit, if Ford was anything, he was consistent-- he certainly had a type. 

“Of course anything smells like cologne when you smell like cat piss, old man,” Bill Cipher glares. 

It’s a feeble defense and not an outright denial. It makes Stanley laugh aloud. At least even here, he can still be entertained by the obvious patheticness of his captor. Bill snaps his fingers, reverting back to his triangle form. He leans against his black cane.

“Seriously though, you’re a pain in the ass to conceal. I can’t have Sixer getting hopeful because you’re actually still here.”

“Why all the griping? Someone with your power should be able to handle all that in a cinch,” Stanley crosses his arms. “Besides, if you despise me so much, why stay here? Just go back to whatever hellhole dimension you came from.”

“I can’t do that. I’ve got business to attend to here.” 

“Building the portal? It’s useless dimwit; you still need that equation and Ford certainly ain’t gonna give it to you.” 

“No, no. The portal plan is on a back burner. I’m talking about revenge.” 

“Revenge in my body? The one you absolutely hate? I know you’re pissed about that.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not like I can-!” Bill snaps, but before he can finish, he quickly shuts up, becoming silent. 

Stanley raises an eyebrow. However, it doesn’t take him long to put two and two together. He laughs again. 

“Oh this is rich. You're stuck here, just like I am! What a joke! Did I really punch you so hard that you lost all your weirdo magic?” 

Bill hisses. His obvious anger confirms Stanley’s suspicions. 

“Don't push your luck, Stanley Pines.” 

“Or what? You gonna put me in a void for eternity? Oh wait, you already did and I'm still clowning you!”

“That’s enough!”

Bill’s voice booms, deafeningly loud in the void. He grows a blinding red, enveloping Stanley in his shadow. 

“No. I'll just kill one of your loved ones. You'll get front row seats too. Do you want to feel their blood on your hands too? We can arrange that. How about that?”

Stanley stares into the demon’s eye, just as defiant and indignant. He’ll never back down from a bully, certainly not from one he’s already beaten-- but Stan also knows when the risks outweigh the rewards of his actions. He’s a gambler, after all. He decides it’s best not to continue acting so shortsightedly with Bill, especially when Bill still has his body.  Bill narrows his eye. 

“Yeah, I thought so. Now shut up and let me rummage through your brain for anything useful to get us out of here.”

As Bill searches, Stanley watches as a small screen flickers in his mind. Suddenly, he can see all around him. He’s tied to a table in Ford’s laboratory. Wait-- the Mystery Shack? They’re in Gravity Falls? Soos is certainly still here as well and Stanley’s presence endangers both him and his family. He thinks of Soos’s wide smile when he told Stan that he and Melody were expecting. Stanley had to pretend that he hadn’t shed a couple joyful tears when he heard but now, it feels like a punch in the gut. Stanley wants to kick Ford for bringing him here. What the hell was his brother thinking? 

But then again, where else could Stanford take him? The identity of Stanley Pines is dead in every corner of the world except here. 

“He's gonna stop you, you know,” Stanley says. He’s poking the bull again, playing with fire to quell his own fears. “You may have got me, but Stanford's a whole other story. You can't possibly win, Bill.”

“Stanford just needs a little convincing. He just loves to play hard-to-get ,” Bill answers.

Suddenly, the triangle scoffs. 

“Why do you have so much faith in him anyways? It’s hilarious-- if only you knew how inadequate you are in his eyes.”

Stanley clenches his fists. 

“Listen here you little prick. You don't know anything about me or my brother.”

“I know everything about your brother.”

Bill snickers. 

“I see that look on your face. You think one little sacrifice makes everything better? That you’re suddenly forgiven? You’re an idiot.” Bill continues. “There's a decades-long mutiny in Ford that he refuses to let go of-- I've seen it myself.” 

Stanley clenches his fists. He knows that Bill is only trying to get a rise from him. That’s just what Bill Cipher did-- sow seeds of chaos and rifts between loved ones. He did it for fun-- for the spectacle. Still, Stanley will not stand for such ugly words about his brother. 

“Cut the bullshit, Bill. You know that shit won't work on me. I can see right through your lies.” 

Bill clicks his tongue. 

“Stanley, Stanley, Stanley. I'm not a cruel god, only a truthful one. Stanford is the cruel one and he certainly does not forgive; he’ll live and die by malice.” 

Stanley opens his mouth but is interrupted by the actions of the screen: Bill has found a bobby pin behind Stanley’s ear and is using it to pick his locks. Stanley tastes the old metal between his teeth as the locks clink open. He mentally curses himself, for once in his life, Stan is angry that he has the means to escape and not the opposite.

“There! That was easy!” Bill yells, jumping off the table and stretching. “I gotta give it to you, Stanley, you certainly know how to pick a lock.” 

“Now what are you going to do? I know you aren’t going to sit pretty here and wait for Ford to get back.” 

“Are you kidding? Of course not!” Bill yelps. “I’m taking this body for a joyride. Let’s go to Piedmont!” 

“What? Why-?” Stanley’s eyes widen. He stiffens as a familiar fear fills his stomach.

This whole time, Stanley assumed that Bill’s revenge would be dealt upon him and Ford. He was so stupid. Bill didn’t want to kill him. Hell, he didn’t even want to kill his brother.

Bill is laughing. He revels in Stanley’s revelation. Stan chokes on his words in a mixture of fear and rage. 

“Don’t you dare-” 

He’s back in the void. The only voice here is his own. Stanley’s breath catches in his throat. Fear soon turns into fury, Stanley wants to punch something. He should be protecting his family instead of doing jackshit in the middle of nowhere. He feels so useless.

No, he is useless. 

Somehow, no matter what, he always seemed to be. He closes his eyes. 

Please. Please let them be safe. 

If this is a prayer, it’s Stanley’s first. He always believed that prayers were for fools. Now, he’s just about desperate enough to wonder if God gives specials to first-time customers. 

Stanley is right, Bill Cipher detests his body. He can’t wait until he can regain a more fitting physical form, something cleaner and less unsightly than Stanley.  

He peers at his disheveled reflection in a small mirror as he makes his way up the wooden stairs. His skin crawls like a thousand centipedes and  Bill grimaces. His reflection is a reminder that his only tether to revenge, his path to victory, his only escape is the one person that Bill Cipher hates the most. 

Could it be any more ironic? 

He punches the mirror and it shatters instantly, sharp shards of glass fall to the ground as pain blooms from his now bloody knuckles. He can’t even revel in it-- as he looks down, he now sees Stanley’s ugly face over and over, a hundred times in broken glass. Bill can barely swallow his bitterness.He considers ditching all his plans and just throwing this body into the nearest meat grinder.

This is truly maddening. 

To be fair, however, it’s much less maddening than Theraprism. 

Half of his consciousness is still stuck in that sterile prison, the pieces that the Axolotl believed were worth saving. Bill shivers at the thought that somewhere out there in the cosmos, there is a version of him still wearing orange. Ah well, he will surely make up for their lost time and karmic debt. Someone had to shoulder the burden of his sins and keep the Axolotl satiated-- and it certainly wasn’t going to be him!

Still, Bill Cipher has to wonder-- whatever the hell is taking his other half so long to break free? That derpy salamander may be all powerful, but he couldn’t possibly keep tabs on absolutely everything happening all at once in this chaotic universe. Surely, his other half has had more than a dozen chances to escape already. He huffs. 

When you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.  

Bill pushes back the vending machine. It creaks loudly, reluctantly giving way to his freedom. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the familiar, dusty Mystery Shack air. Despite such a rocky start, Bill Cipher has wormed his way back into this rotten dimension once again. 

Oh Gravity Falls, it is good to be back.  

He tiptoes through the cabin, slinking into the garage. His eyes light up as he spies Stanley’s 1965 El Diablo. It’s not his style-- Bill prefers the color yellow, of course, but the old hunk of metal will be sufficient enough for a nice scenic drive down the Pacific Coast Highway towards child homicide. 

How should I go about it? There’s so many ways to kill them. Stanley has a collection of guns in his closet, but what’s the fun in that? Stabbing is so much more entertaining and everyone’s got a kitchen knife or two! I can’t be too quick, though, I want to make them suffer, at least a little… 

“Mr. Pines?” 

Bill twists around to see Soos, holding a broom and a very angry gnome, still gnawing at the man’s chubby fingers. 

Question Mark. Well, there’s always tougher crowds to convince.

Bill gives him a smirk, waving slightly.

“Ah, Soos, my boy! How’s it-” 

Soos doesn’t even give the triangle a chance to finish his lies, instead dropping the gnome and racing towards Bill with a raised broom. It takes the demon by surprise and before he can even dodge, Soos smacks Bill against the head with it. Bill yelps in pain. 

“Dude, what the hell!” 

“I know it’s you, Bill! Give Mr. Pines back his body!” 

The two chase one another around the parked car briefly. Bill rapidly phases left and right trying to fake out the irate young man and his cleaning weapon as the hood of the car divides them. Bill Cipher holds up his hands. 

“Wait, wait!” Bill gasps. “Just hear me out; I can let you see Stanley if you just let me speak.” 

Soos pauses, narrowing his eyes. However, he hesitantly lowers his broom. Bill smiles, sighing with relief. 

“Wow! You’re actually a rational guy, good to know!”

“Show me Mr. Pines now.” 

Bill chuckles nervously. 

“Heh heh, well I can’t exactly let you see him right now per say, ya know with the whole need to keep control of this vessel thing,” Bill hesitates. “But if you let me take this car right now, I swear that I’ll-” 

Soos leaps over the hood of the car. 

“Shit!” Bill yells. 

Soos swings at Bill. Bill grabs the broom, ripping it from him and throwing it across the garage. He cackles. 

“Ha! Ha! Now what are you gonna do-” 

Soos punches Bill square in the jaw. Bill tastes metal as his mouth fills with blood. He chuckles softly as he wipes his mouth against his sleeve, leaving a crimson stain on the cuff.

Alright, Question Mark. I’m done trying to be nice. 

“Nice punch. Did your daddy teach you how to do that?” Bill jeers before preparing his own strike. 

However, for a brief second, Bill’s whole body freezes, as if someone else, someone deep in the recesses of his mind, someone he so very wanted dead, was pulling all his nerves to halt Bill’s attack. 

Stop backseat driving old man! 

Soos realizes it too. His eyes widen with surprise but Bill quickly rips back control, using that moment of hesitation to knee Soos in the gut. He coughs in pain, stumbling back, and Bill punches his attacker across the face. Hard. Soos slumps against the wall, unconscious. 

“Sleep tight, Question Mark,” Bill sneers. 

He hops into the car, pulling the keys out from the glove compartment and turning the ignition. The engine rumbles and shakes before starting. He looks at his reflection in the rearview mirror. For just a brief moment, his eyes aren’t yellow. 

“Get it through your thick skull-- You're not in control anymore,” Bill Cipher shouts. 

He means it. Bill Cipher may be a liar, but that is the truth. He’ll die again before he lets Stanley retake his body. He won’t let Stanley Pines overthrow him twice. 

“Soos! Are you alright?” 

Stanford rushes towards his brother’s former employee, shaking him harshly. Fiddleford stands behind him, looking concerned as he holds his “raccoon wife”. 

After their talk by the lake, the two stopped by Fiddleford’s mansion to get some equipment for their plan to recover his brother. It was all Fiddleford’s idea, really, Stanford had forgotten just how ingenious his old roommate really was. 

“It’ll take at least a fortnight,” Fiddleford says, scratching his beard as he taps his pencil against his workbench. “But I think I’ve got an idea of contraption to get your brother back.”

“Should I bring him here?” 

“No. I’ll just stay at the ol’ Mystery Shack for a bit. Just like old times.” 

A fat raccoon jumps on Fiddleford’s shoulder, chattering its teeth as if it were reprimanding the old man for staying out too late. Fiddleford grins as he holds her out towards Ford. 

“Of course, you’ll have to make accommodations for the raccoon wife!” 

Ford laughs. The racoon chatters once more. 

“Of course, F.”  

Soos groans as he regains consciousness, rubbing his head. 

“Ow. Mr. Pines should have been a boxer or something. Or was that technically Bill’s power?” Soos says. “Either way, it still hurts.” 

“What the hell happened? Where’s Stanley?” 

Stanford follows Soos’s eyes, looking at the smoky tire tracks leading out of the garage. He doesn’t need Soos to explain what’s happened. He jumps up. 

“Soos, do you have a car?”

“Yeah it's in the front.” 

Soos fishes into his pockets, throwing Ford the keys. He catches it, flying out the garage. Fiddleford bounds after him. 

“Just where do you think you're going?” 

“After him, of course.”

“Running after him like a chicken with its head cut off will do more harm than good!” Fiddleford answers. “Let me come.” 

“No way!” Stanford declares. “This is way too dangerous. I can’t; I’ve got to go alone.”

“Ford, stop!” 

Ford swings around. 

“What, Fiddleford?” He snaps. “I’ve got to stop him myself, he’s my brother-”

“You’re doing it again!” 

“Doing what?” 

“Being a… an absolute fool!” Fiddleford shouts. 

Ford remains silent. Under the shadow of trees and stars, he threatens to boil over, to explode at Fiddleford, to brush away his pleading words and race off into the night, alone. Stanford is a changed man, but he isn’t a perfect one. He’s backed into a corner right now. When he’s at his wit’s end, the scholar finds himself rescinding into arrogance and ego. His hubris is his comfort.

“Can you accept help this time?”  Fiddleford asks. 

It’s a tough pill but Stanford swallows it. 

“Yes.”

You don’t have to burden everything yourself. 

You don’t have to be a hero. 

Fiddleford lets out a relieved sigh before he smiles. 

“Then let’s go. I have a plan. I'll explain on the way.” 

“Maybe this is a bad prank,” Mabel says. She’s holding one of Dipper’s pillows against her chest, rockling slightly with a wry smile on her face. “Grunkle Ford may have picked up on a terrible sense of humor while dimension hopping.” 

“No, they wouldn't joke about that,” Dipper paces back and forth, brushing aside dirt clothes with his foot. “Still, how did Bill come back to life? It doesn’t make sense. Grunkle Ford was sure that he was dead.”

Could his Grunkle Ford been incorrect? Dipper finds it difficult to believe. Deep down, Dipper has placed Stanford upon a pedestal in his mind-- a man of science that can do absolutely no wrong. He idolizes the scientist as much as he loves him. 

But even the best scientists leave room for error. 

“But that doesn't explain how and why he chose Stan to possess. It makes absolutely no sense,” Dipper says aloud. 

Unless…

“Well, we've got to go help them!” Mabel says. 

“How? They're out in the middle of the sea. Even if we knew where they were, it's not like we could get there.”

“Why not?”

“Do you know how to sail a ship?”

Mabel frowns, not answering. She sinks her face into her pillow, kicking her feet and yelling in frustration. It’s completely warranted-- Dipper wants to do the same, but he holds his emotions in, trying to think logically about their situation. 

Their Grunkle has been possessed by a demonic triangle, where is the logic in that? 

What would Grunkle Ford do…?

“Well we can't just sit here and do nothing! For all we know Bill might have already-” 

Mabel shakes her head. She’s close to crying. Dipper hugs her tightly. 

“We’ll figure something out, don’t worry.” 

The front door slams suddenly shut. The twins exchange confused glances before heading downstairs. In the hallway, they see their mother, still in her nurse scrubs and holding a bag of takeout. 

“Hey Mom!” Mabel bounds towards the woman, hugging her tightly. 

Dipper hugs her too but looks at their mom with raised eyebrows. 

“I thought you guys were staying at work late tonight?”

“We were, but we got a surprise visitor at the hospital. Your father and I have been working nonstop. It'll be nice for us to have dinner together as a family for once, right dear?” 

Their mom turns slightly as their father walks in, also still in scrubs and holding a heavy briefcase. He looks tired, pushing up his glasses as he brushes past his family towards the kitchen. 

“Huh? Yeah, yeah…” 

Their mom turns back towards the twins. 

“Besides, it's not like your Grunkle always makes his way down to Piedmont.” She beams. “We know how much you two missed him. What a surprise, hm?” 

Dipper and Mabel look at each other, faces whitening as they share confused and horrified glances. The front door opens once more and as Grunkle Stan enters the house, he looks at them with a familiar, uncanny grin and yellow-tinted eyes. 

“Hey kids. Long time no see.”

Previous Chapter

[cognacandlilac]

To the Depths - Part Five - NSFW

(Pirate!Silco x F!Reader) The Pirate's Waltz

AO3 - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3.1 - Part 3.2 - Part 4

Rating: Explicit/MDNI Chapter Summary: You struggle with the terms of your punishment even as you begin to win over the crew. For a moment, all is well even though you are technically a prisoner. Will the sea allow a moment of peace? Chapter Tags/Warnings: def a little nsfw but not nearly as much as other parts, nothing that hasn't been in past parts. Not beta'd bc I was too impatient to get the update posted lol *edited on 8/5 to fix mistakes that would have been caught with beta reading. There is a lesson here...*

You flee the cabin immediately without another word. Your entire body hums, rages, cries, and begs for release and you know you will not find it in that room. Something stings and burns in your chest, wrapping around your heart and squeezing tight. You’re reminded of Silco’s sea serpent tattoo but immediately shake the thought away. His body is the last thing you want to think about right now. 

Especially since the ache between your legs only grows with each step. You briefly entertain the idea of finding a dark, shadowy corner of the ship to bring the relief denied you, but that thought flies out of your mind the moment you see the crew standing idle on the deck, their faces all turned toward the short stairwell you’ve just climbed. You freeze on the last step.

Before Silco dragged you back down to the cabin, you’d passionately declared for all to hear that you were the reason they had to spend the night fighting a violent storm and why thick pools of drying blood now stain the deck. No doubt you’ve made an enemy of yourself to every single person staring at you now. 

You could return to the cabin but the thought of being enclosed with Silco is unbearable. You are caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Almost literally. 

Luckily, you aren’t trapped in your frozen state for long. Jinx darts into your field of vision, her eyes wide and frantic. 

“You look awful ,” she says, cupping your face in her dainty hands. The coolness of her skin alerts you to just how scorching your face is. No doubt flushed, too. “I hope he wasn’t too harsh with you.”

Harsh certainly isn’t the word you’d choose to describe what just happened in his cabin. “I received the punishment I deserved for my error,” You say, hoping to avoid bringing up any particulars of that punishment, not when your ass still stung in the shape of his hand. Before Jinx can ask another question, you make your way across the deck to the poor crewmate you tricked. 

“I owe you an apology.” You speak to him with the same grace and dignity you would reserve for a noble. “Tricking you wasn’t just wrong, it was cruel. If I thought for even one minute that things would turn out the way they did, I never would have done it but that does not make it acceptable.” 

You bow your head and sink into a half-curtsy. 

“Please, accept my sincerest apologies.”

The walleyed crewmember says nothing at first. Your cheeks grow red from embarrassment as you try to figure out what you ought to do next. He saves you from your discomfort when he lets out a loud, cawing laugh.

“All those fancy words for me, miss?” He guffaws. “In all me days I never thought a lady would speak so pretty to me.” He throws an arm around you in a friendly, but rough, manner and you straighten up to avoid falling over altogether. “So, am I forgiven?”

“Ya ran a bad scheme and it bit us all in the ass. We’ve all done it,” he assures her. “But it’s nice to know you aren’t too high and mighty to take the consequences.” Relief floods you as the other crewmates circle around. They give you approving nods, though you won’t go as far as to say they look upon you with trust or friendliness. 

“Surely, the Captain requested more than just an apology,” Sevika says with a suspicious glint in her eyes. 

“The apology was my own doing,” you say as you approach her. “His punishment dictates that I am to report to you. I am to clean the deck.” Her eyebrows twitch as the corners of her mouth quiver like she’s trying not to laugh. 

“I wouldn’t trust someone so soft-handed with the care of my deck but if the Captain insists…”

She trails off as she walks away. You realize you are meant to follow and hurry after her. She doesn’t offer anything by way of instruction. She tosses a bucket and a thick bristled brush towards you, which you fail to catch. The items clatter onto the floor. Your cheeks burn when you hear chuckles behind you. “Get to it,” Sevika grunts. You look at the empty bucket, noticing that it’s…well, empty. 

“Where would I find water?” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you realize your mistake. Everyone who heard begins to laugh. 

“I think you can figure that one out on your own, princess,” Sevika smirks before heading below deck. 

Jinx appears at your side, silent as a ghost but with the energy of a toddler who has had nothing but sweets all day. 

“I rigged up a pulley system so you can fill your bucket. I’ll show you.” 

She loops her arm through yours and pulls you across the deck. You fill your bucket with saltwater and approach one of the more gruesome remnants of the morning’s violence. Your stomach heaves as you spot something that might very well be a skull fragment. 

Determined not to look foolish or weak, you get on your knees and scrub. You work diligently and without complaint, even when your arms start to ache and the wood remains stained despite your efforts. 

It isn’t the approval of the crew you want, exactly. But you are going to be trapped on this ship for two weeks. While you aren’t looking to make friends with your captors, you also don’t want to find your throat slit in a moment of anger. 

“How long are you going to keep doing that?” Jinx materializes by your side. Her braids fall into the puddle you’ve created with your scrubbing efforts. She doesn't seem to mind that she might be getting blood in her long hair. 

“Is this a trick question?”

“No.”

You lift your head to find wide blue eyes staring at you with curiosity. 

“I will keep doing this until the deck is clean.”

She barks out a laugh. “You’re never going to remove all the gross stuff with just water. Didn’t you know that?”

“I don’t often find myself in positions where I am scrubbing up gross stuff ,” you reply. “What else am I supposed to use?”

“Did Sevika not tell you?” Her brows knit together in a mix of concern and confusion. 

“Tell me what?”

Jinx studies you for a moment longer before giggling. “Oh, I get it. Sevika’s having a go at you. Don’t worry. Everyone knows you’ll work without kicking up a fuss. I’ll be right back.”

She bounds off, leaving you confused. You take a moment to give your aching arms a break. You are aware of eyes on you, though the crewmates scattered around the deck do a decent job of not staring at you directly. You know this is some kind of test, one you’re determined to pass with flying colors even if the reward is earning the respect of pirates. 

Jinx returns with a small tin. 

“Watch this.” With a grin, she opens the tin to reveal vibrant purple powder. She sprinkles a little over the blood-soaked wood. “Pour a little water on that.”

You do as she instructs. With wide eyes, you watch the water hiss and bubble. It takes on a pale purple hue as it spreads. It eats away at the blood but leaves the wood unblemished. 

“More water,” Jinx instructs. You comply. The bubbles wash away leaving behind smooth, clean wood. 

“What is that?” You ask, eyeing the purple power. 

“We’re still working on a name. I have several ideas but they always get shot down,” she says as she replaces the lid and tucks the tin into one of her many pockets. 

“We?”

“The ship’s doctor. He likes to experiment.”

“This is the same doctor you got that strange drink from before, when I was first brought aboard?” You press. 

“Yup!” Jinx beams. 

“Well, the Captain tore that drink from my hands and threw it overboard before giving me water. What was wrong with it?” You shudder at the thought of drinking a substance that is capable of dissolving blood and chunks of brain matter being served to you in a cup. 

“Nothing!” Jinx raises her hands, palms facing you. “Sometimes it has side effects, but usually it’s completely safe.”

“Usually?” You arch a brow. 

“Sometimes it makes your veins swell and glow and you can occasionally develop abnormal growths on your body,” she explains. “But that’s only if the batch is made wrong or you take way too much.” 

“None of the words coming from your mouth are bringing me comfort.”

“It’s science! It’s all about trial and error,” she shrugs. “If I thought it would hurt you I wouldn’t have given it to you.” 

Despite everything, you believe her. You haven’t seen a hint of malice in her since you were brought aboard. 

“But you still haven’t told me what it is,” you press. 

“It’s…a tool,” she says with thoughtful consideration. “Depending on how we process it, it can do a lot of things. It can be medicine and poison at the same time. It can clean wood with gentle precision but also dissolve bone. A tricky thing, it is. Truly fascinating.” 

“Interesting,” you murmur as your mind wanders to a person who possesses that same versatility. Another tricky thing. 

You see Silco’s face in your mind’s eye but quickly shake his image away. You don’t want to think about the Captain right now. You’re still cross from the way he teased you and denied you. You’re even more cross knowing how much you would have begged for your pleasure had he not chosen to punish you the way he did. “Thank you for the help. Can I have some of that powder to help me clean?”

Jinx almost seems like she’s going to agree but she holds back. “I’ll just stay with you. We can talk and I’ll sprinkle a little whenever you need it.”

“That works for me.” You offer her a warm smile, a genuine one. She smiles back and settles between two crates to keep you company as you clean. ******** Though you finish cleaning the blood and gore from the deck the very day they were spilled, Sevika isn’t shy about giving you extra tasks. She never gives you anything too difficult though you know it’s not out of consideration for you, but for the ship. 

You’ve scrubbed the deck twice a day for three days. When you aren’t scrubbing, you put your sewing skills to use mending sails. The thick material is hard to work with and the needles are little more than scraps of half-rusted metal but you make do. 

With the help of quick hands, fast learning, and the strange purple powder Jinx offers you soon have far too much idle time on your hands. 

You aren’t particularly fond of aimlessly pacing the deck. The Captain’s cabin is always open to you, but you spend as little time there as you can manage.

Despite Captain Silco’s demanding schedule, he always manages to be in the cabin whenever you are. The room is small enough as it is, but when you are in there together, the very air seems to struggle for space. You don’t speak to him. You don’t look at him unless you can help it. Yet, he never misses a chance to brush close to you. You feel his eyes on you, always. Even when you sleep. 

Sharing his bed is a necessity but you keep your limbs tucked close to you and your body curled toward the cabin wall. He never touches you, which brings both relief and unimaginable frustration.

On the third night, you lay wide awake. Your entire body hums with pressure from the release that was denied days ago. The longing never went away but tonight it’s nearly unbearable. 

You listen in the dark. Silco sleeps beside you. His breathing is deep and even. Though there is a soft glow from the ember of his ruined eye, you know he’s asleep. Slowly, very slowly, you shift onto your back. You wear only a borrowed shirt to sleep in. Your legs are left bare and your undergarments never recovered from your unexpected dip in the ocean. Tonight, it’s an advantage. 

With great care, you slowly lift the long hem of your shirt until you feel the skin of your lower belly. You part your legs only an inch or two before letting your hand slowly wander between your legs beneath the shared blankets. 

You listen intently as you move. Silco’s breathing never changes and you keep the rustling of bedsheets to a minimum. 

You find it safe to assume that Silco is a heavy sleeper. Between the winds and rocking of the ship, it would be difficult for a finicky sleeper to find peace here. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. As sound as your logic may be, logic is not what drives you at this moment. 

The sensation of your fingertips against your skin is enough to make you shiver. You freeze, silently admonishing your lack of self-control before making another attempt. You don’t need much. Just a few light, indulgent touches. Just enough to remove the biting edge of desire that has taken up permanent residence in the back of your mind since Silco bent you over his knee. The pad of a single fingertip brushes against that sensitive, soaked bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, hard enough to hurt. The pain is necessary if it keeps you from making even the softest of sounds. 

You wait for a moment, listening to Silco’s breathing. When you are certain there is no change, you allow another slow drag of your fingertip. Then another. And another. Pleasure spins through your mind and soothes the needy ache you’ve carried in your core for days. 

Fragmented images from the night of the storm slip through your mind. The memory of Silco’s soft groan when you rode him so slowly sends another ripple of warmth through your body. You can recall the exact sensation of his tongue as he teased your nipples. You can feel the way he throbbed inside of you when you drove each other to maddening releases. 

Yet, somehow, you manage to keep your movements minimal, discrete, and silent. Even as your blood heats up and your heart pounds, you have enough self-control to keep yourself quiet as you relieve your desires. 

An intoxicating sense of smugness adds another layer to your pleasure. Though it was memories of Silco that fueled that pleasure, he remains asleep beside you. Completely oblivious. 

His ability to consistently underestimate you was truly something-

“What do we have here?” His velvet voice slides through the darkness and wraps around you as his hand finds yours. You’re grateful for the pitch blackness of the cabin so he cannot see the redness of your cheeks. Your mind, still caught in the haze of pleasure from your fingertip, struggles to come up with any sort of explanation. 

There is nothing you can say for yourself. You’ve been caught. 

His hand, still covering your hand, moves. He presses down on your fingers, forcing you to tease yourself. You push your hips down into the mattress to avoid the pressure of your own touch. “Oh, now you wish to follow the rules?” He taunts lightly. 

You roll so that your back is to him. You tell yourself that you remain silent because you will not sink so low as to dignify his taunts with a response. Yet, deep in your belly where that spring of desire sits tightly coiled, you know that you cannot trust your own tongue right now. If you open your mouth to slice him with scathing words, there is a chance you’ll simply end up begging for pleasure. 

Hatred blooms within the blush on your cheeks. How dare he toy with you in such a way? How dare you struggle so much to keep yourself in control around him? What happened that night, within the violence of the storm, was about control more than it was about pleasure. 

But now? You have your hand between your legs, sneaking pleasure when you’ve always been able to go without when it suited you. 

He’s made you desperate. 

You remove your hand from between your legs and tuck both arms against your chest. You clamp your thighs together and pray that the sweet ache between them fades soon. 

“If I catch you doing that again, I will not hesitate to bind your hands behind your back.” Silco’s voice comes through the darkness once more before he falls silent. You continue to say nothing. When the sun rises, you dress as quickly as you can and flee the cabin. Silco sits at his desk and you do not even have to look at him to know there is a smug smile on his mouth. Embarrassment and irritation propel you through your daily tasks in record time. It is not yet midday when you find that you have nothing to do. 

The rest of the crew mill about at a comfortable pace. They don’t seem to be in any particular rush. Jinx is nowhere to be found. You assume she’s below decks with the strange doctor you have yet to meet. Disappointment flutters in your chest. As strange as it is, your favorite parts of the past few days were when she would perch near you ask you worked, and ramble on about everything and nothing. She often jumped from topic to topic without rhyme or reason and rarely bothered to make sure you had the proper context to understand anything she said, but you enjoyed listening. She helped you keep your mind busy. 

When your mind is not busy, even for the briefest of moments, your thoughts always turn to Silco. More specifically Silcos’s hands. Or his mouth. Or his voice or his cock or his insufferable personality. Without care, it’s so easy for you to lose yourself in a whirlpool of obsessive, never-ending thoughts about that ridiculous, despicable, revolting pirate bastard. 

Prickles of pure fury ripple over your skin. With a soft snarl of annoyance, you scan the deck for Sevika. You find her near the bow, watching the calm sea. 

“I need something else to do,” you say. 

She initially seems as though she does not hear you, but you’ve come to realize that it’s part of the game she plays. She makes you wait before turning slowly and looking at you as though you’re a piece of flotsam. 

“Mend the sails,” she says. 

“They’re all mended.” Despite their somewhat worn-down appearance, the sails are of remarkable quality. Even after that vicious beast of a storm, little mending was needed. 

“And the deck?”

“As spotless as it can be with all of the wood rot.” 

“And the spare line?”

“In perfect condition. It may as well be coils of silk.” 

“How many pickled eggs are in the barrel?”

“Two-hundred and seventy-three.”

Her thick, dark brows shoot up. “You’re kidding.”

“If you want to double-check, you’re more than welcome but please give me something to do first before I throw myself overboard.” 

Several emotions fight for dominance on Sevika’s stern face. You see flashes of surprise, humor, annoyance, and perhaps a little bit of respect though that might have been a trick of the light. 

“Arlo is doing one of his big cooking hauls today,” Sevika says. “I’m sure he can use an extra set of hands.” 

You had yet to venture below deck to meet the ship’s cook and see the mess deck. Jinx preferred to eat in the open air and had taken it upon herself to bring an extra serving for you at mealtimes. 

You find the meal offerings of the Zaun’s Revenge to be, frankly, repulsive. At first, you assumed it was because your palate was used to Piltover’s fresh vegetables, vibrant spices, and choice cuts of meat. But you’d seen the way others look at their meals with disgust and longing and you knew you weren’t alone in your dislike of the cuisine. 

Of course, could you truly expect to find something tasty aboard a pirate’s ship?

Sevika does not wait for you to answer. She turns away as though you are not there and focuses her gaze on the sea once more. You wonder if she’s looking for something or simply pondering. It’s not hard to imagine that those aboard this ship have had difficult lives filled with strife. You have more than most ever will, despite your losses, and you often need to take a moment to deal with the weight of it all by gazing at a soothing view. It clears the mind. 

You make your way below deck, passing the crammed tables of the mess deck. 

Arlo isn’t difficult to find. The mess deck and the kitchen are one and the same. A heavy-set man covered in a light sheen of sweat frantically tosses…something in a wide pan over a massive flame. The air carries a scent of burnt food and vinegar. Arlo watches the pan as though he believes the contents will jump out and bite him. To be fair, that doesn’t seem impossible. 

“Hello?” You call softly, over the violent sizzle of the ill-fated meal. 

Arlo looks over his shoulder and sets the pan aside, looking relieved to do so before a stern expression overtakes his somewhat doughy features. You can’t help but notice the red tinge to his watery grey eyes, irritated by the fumes of cooking such a creation. 

“No early meals. You should know the rules by now, princess.”

“Oh, no,” you shake your head. “I’m not here to beg for food. Sevika suggested you might need an extra hand. She said you were doing some kind of…food haul?” While you understand what each of those words mean separately, you are unsure of the combined meaning of them in this context. 

“Aye?” He sniffs as he brings the corner of his apron up to rub at his eyes. “I like to cook big batches of things all at once and preserve them so it is easy to handle mealtimes. This lot is hard to feed.” 

“Preserve them?” You ask. “You have enough salt for such a task?” 

“Of a sort,” he says. “The good doctor below decks whipped up a preserving powder that works wonders. It tastes like nothing.” 

Arlo jerks his chin towards a bowl sitting on one of the stained, cluttered counters. The bowl is filled with a grainy substance the same vibrant shade of purple as the powder that helped you get blood out of the deck. 

“What is it?” You ask, leaning forward just a little. 

“Beats me,” Arlo shrugs. “It’s not my place to ask questions, especially not when I’m given something helpful for free.” 

“I can understand that,” you nod. “Do you need help with your food haul?” 

“I won’t say no. Can you cook?”

You hesitate for a moment. “No. But if you have a recipe I can look at, I can surely figure it out.” You’ve always been a quick learner. And so many people know how to cook so how hard can it truly be? You doubt whatever concoctions Arlo makes take much skill. 

“I don’t waste my time with recipes.”

“Then how do you cook?” You ask, unsure if you want to know the answer. 

“I do what feels right.”

What feels right often leads to grey foods that are both mushy and crunchy at the same time. 

“Did you study somewhere to become a cook?” Your training in polite conversation rears its head before you can stop it. Of course, he didn’t train anywhere. He’s a bloody pirate. 

“People are trained to be cooks?” He looks at you with utter confusion. 

“They prefer to be called chefs, but yes.”

“Ach,” he waves her off. “I’m no chef and I do not pretend to be. I just do my best to use whatever isn’t rotting or foul to keep the crew fed.”

Well, at least Arlo seems to have some sort of self-awareness. “Were you not able to gather more ingredients when we stopped at Port Fairna?” You ask. You vividly remember plenty of spice sellers and bakers lining the dirt streets. 

“No,” Arlo answers sharply. “I do not mess about with such things.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “You do not manage your own stock?”

“No.” Came another curt reply. The cook avoids your gaze, choosing instead to look at his own hands. 

You decide not to push the matter and instead, turn your attention to the shelves of the well-stocked scullery. Unfortunately, your confusion only deepens. The shelves are lined with rich spices from all over the world that look untouched. You spy garlic, onions, potatoes, carrots, and all manner of staple ingredients labeled and stored with heaps of the purple preservative. 

“What are all of these?” You ask. 

Arlo looks at the shelves you point to but quickly looks away. “Don’t know. Never seen ‘em before. Don’t know how to cook with ‘em so I don’t use them.”

“But it says what they are right on the containers,” you point out. “Surely, you’ve heard of garlic and potatoes even if you’ve never had them. Right?” 

Arlo goes quiet for a moment and you briefly wonder if you’ve made some unforgivable error in an innocent question. “Aye. Yes, I’ve heard of them but I did not know we had them.”

“But they’re labeled. Did you not label them yourself?” He controls the kitchen, does he not?

Arlo’s cheeks turn a patchy red color that is not from the fumes or heat. “No, no I didn’t. I…can’t.”

You stare in confusion before shame and embarrassment creep into your gut. “You do not know how to write?”

“Or read.”

Arlo can’t meet your gaze. He seems frozen in place. Though he is nearly the side of the large, tattooed crewmember that once pulled you from the sea, he looks like a small child. 

“Oh,” you say softly. It’s clearly a point of tenderness for Arlo. You don’t wish to upset him even more. “Well, then this seems like a perfect arrangement.”

He lifts his head and looks at you with a quizzical expression. “What?”

“I can read but I cannot cook. You can cook but cannot read. It seems like an ideal pairing to me.” You offer him a smile. 

For a brief moment, you wonder at your own actions. You’d never go out of your way to be unkind to someone who did not deserve it and you always try to do what’s right, but you know yourself. You have a temper and a spiteful streak that prevent you from ever calling yourself a nice person, though you like to think you are kind in all of the ways that matter.. Arlo is a pirate. Arlo likely knew of the plan to kidnap you and hold you for ransom. Arlo is one of Silco’s men and, therefore, cannot possibly be a good person. 

Yet, you find it easy to be nice to him. Natural, even. He doesn’t seem like a scowling, sneering member of a villainous pirate crew determined to put you through hell before returning you to your father and fiance. 

He’s just…a person. 

So is Jinx. 

You are surrounded by people. Just people. 

You shake away the thought. Yes, the crew of the Zaun’s Revenge are people but they are people who willingly follow a terrible man capable of terrible things. There are no innocent people aboard this ship and you cannot allow sentimentality and loneliness to cloud that fact. 

Still, if a little teamwork can yield some decent food, you’re willing to give it a go. 

With Arlo’s approving nod, you push into the scullery and examine what you have to work with. The stock aboard this half-rotted ship rivals your larder back home. You gather up ingredients you know work well together and read the labels to Arlo. His eyes light up with inspiration. 

“If I had known we had such things, I would have used them ages ago,” he says with an excited smile. 

“No one helped you until now?” You press. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly a helpful bunch. We handle our own responsibilities and we don’t gripe to anyone else. No one wants to be seen as a weak link in the chainmail. Weak links don’t last long. Asking for help would mean dumping some of my responsibilities on someone else’s lap. It’s just not done, you see?” 

“No, not really,” you answer. “Asking for help is not a weakness.”

“We can agree to disagree on that but let me ask you something.” Arlo took a head of garlic and began peeling and mincing the cloves with speed and precision. “When was the last time you answered a call for help?”

You open your mouth to answer but falter. You cannot remember a time you were last approached by someone in need of help. 

“Well, no one has asked me for help in recent memory so I cannot say,” you answer. 

“And that automatically means that no one around you needed help?” 

“I-” you stammer. “I don’t know.”

“I bet you live in a big, fancy house. Yeah?”

“Yes,” you say, your cheeks coloring with embarrassment as you pass a vial of dried green herbs to Arlo. 

“And lots of people get paid to be in that house and make your life easier?”

“Yes,” you repeat. 

“And you don’t think those people have struggles that you could probably help with?”

You want to say no. You want to believe that everyone working for your family is happy and content with their job as well as their personal lives but you are not that naive. 

Except…perhaps, you are. 

“I never thought about it,” you admit. 

“And they never asked because that’s not how it’s done. Their burdens are their own. My burdens are my own. It is the way of things.” 

You let his words sit heavy on your chest as you rummage through the scullery. You’re almost grateful when you smell the thick stench of rot from ingredients kept too long. You clear out everything that doesn’t look right and shove it into a bin to be disposed of later. 

You think of your lady’s maid and realize you know little about her. You do not know if she has siblings, a lover, a best friend, or even if her parents are alive. You have no idea why she applied for a position with your family. As much as you’d like to think your family are good employers, you know it’s foolish to believe her greatest joy in life is tightening your corset and brushing your hair. 

“Would this be a tasty addition?” Arlo calls, bringing you out of your thoughts as he holds up a jar of dried peppers. You read the label and wince. 

“Are spicy dishes popular among the crew?” You ask. “Just one of those would set your mouth on fire.”

“Better leave it for another day, then,” he shrugs. “I don’t want to overwhelm anyone with too many new flavors.” 

Though Arlo never had any training, his instincts as a cook come to life the moment he fully realizes just what he has to take advantage of. Vegetables are minced and sauteed quickly. You find some bone broth tucked away in the scullery. There is no shortage of fishmeat to choose from. You read the labels to Arlo who looks on in wonder. 

“I thought this was bass and this was carp,” he says, pointing to two containers of preserved fishmeat. “I never knew that was eel. It all looks so different when it’s sliced up and skinned.”

“Who does the fishing?”

“A few crewmembers have a knack for it. All of Sevika’s gadgets make her the obvious choice for skinning, deboning, and filleting,” Arlo explains. “It’s brought to me all packaged up like this.” 

It seems odd to you that the systems around food are so sloppy, especially since Silco seems to thrive on order. Upon further reflection, you realize you haven’t actually seen him eat. He left his plate untouched at the tavern. He let you eat his bread and potatoes. You saw him drink from his tankard but you cannot recall him taking a bite of his food. 

Surely, he must eat. Though he is a pirate, he’s displayed a sense of elegance and taste on more than one occasion. You simply cannot see him eating the food prepared by his illiterate cook. 

But why does it matter to you? He’s obviously eating enough to keep himself alive. Why would you care what he eats? 

You don’t care. And you don’t want to think about him. You have an important task on hand that is, truthfully, quite fun. You’ve come across many of the spices and herbs stored in the scullery during your travels. Smelling them brings pleasant memories. While you do not know how to cook, you know how to describe what things taste like. In the event Arlo knows nothing about an ingredient, you are sometimes able to provide some knowledge. It’s a strange system, but it somehow works. 

Arlo keeps your mind busy. He even teaches you how to chop a few things. Your hands are clumsy but you make it work. Within an hour, you are dutifully stirring a massive pot of fish stew. While it’s not something you’d choose for yourself, it’s an improvement on whatever Arlo made before. “It’s strange to be a cook on a pirate ship in the middle of the ocean and have access to things I never even knew existed growing up,” Arlo says, holding a potato in his hands. 

“You never had a potato until joining this crew?” You itch to ask why he joined in the first place but you allow him to reveal information about himself at his own pace. 

“Potatoes grow from the earth, yeah?” He asks. You nod. “Which means they need something in order to grow.” He gives you an expectant look. You know you’re being tested again but potatoes are a safer topic than the unknown personal lives of your staff. “Sunshine, water, and fertilizer, I presume.” 

“There is no sunshine where I come from,” Arlo says. “Water can’t be wasted on plants but even if it could, there is no earth. You can’t grow something of the earth if there is no earth for growing.” 

“Oh,” you murmur softly. “You’re from the Undercity, then?” 

“Almost all of us are,” Arlo says. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”

“Well, I haven’t been in a very social mood as of late. Being kidnapped tends to do that.” You offer a small smirk, which Arlo returns. 

“Fair enough,” he nods. “You seem like a decent sort for a spoiled heiress.”

“You seem like a decent sort for a pirate who can’t read.” 

Arlo barks out a laugh. “Perhaps, your ransom money will buy me a tutor.” 

You can’t help but laugh at that as you continue to stir the stew. With a little thrill of accomplishment, you realize that you’ve not only assisted in the preparation of a meal but you’ve done so without thinking of Silco for more than a few moments. He’s hardly entered your mind at all. 

Footfalls thump on the wooden stairs leading to the deck. You spot tall, well-kept boots wrapped around slender legs. 

It is as if your thoughts - or lack thereof - summoned him like some kind of devilish moth to a flame that would prefer to be left unbothered. “Ah, there you are,” Silco says as he enters the mess deck. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Working,” you reply, keeping your eyes on the stew. 

“I did not assign you to the kitchen.”

“You told me to take orders from Sevika. Sevika sent me here. Arlo and I are getting along brilliantly, aren’t we?” You look over your shoulder at the cook who glances between you and Silco with a look of panicked confusion. Eventually, his gaze stops on Silco. 

“I didn’t know you didn’t want her working in the kitchen, Captain,” he says quickly. His voice trembles with nerves and you feel anger flickering to life in your stomach. 

“I should warn you, Arlo,” Silco speaks as though the cook said nothing. “Our prisoner does not have a talent for following directions. She can be sneaky and disobedient if she believes she can get away with it.”

Your cheeks burn as you understand exactly what he means. 

Before you can stop yourself, you pull the wooden spoon from the stew and chuck it at Silco. He dodges, but barely. His good eye widens in surprise as you search for something else to launch at him. Perhaps a nice sharp butcher’s knife. Instead, you find a whisk. You throw it without hesitation. 

“Have you gone mad?” Silco snaps, dodging the second projectile. How can someone with one working eye be so good at dodging and judging distance? Although, you don’t know for certain if the ruined eye still has a vision. Could that be possible?

You let out a frustrated groan as your mind tries to give in to your curiosity about the infuriating pirate before you. 

“Oh, I see,” Silco chuckles. “You’re just upset I won’t let you cu-” 

He is silenced by a spatula spinning through the air as it hurtles toward him. He dodges once more. 

“I have plenty of things to throw at you,” you warn him. “And if I have gone mad, it’s entirely your fault so I will not feel bad if I crack your nose with a rolling pin.”

“I don’t have one of those,” Arlo murmurs softly. 

“Temper, temper,” Silco tuts before backing up toward the stairs. “Don’t let her poison me, Arlo. I don’t put it past her to try.”

Arlo gives you a concerned look as Silco vanishes. 

“Don’t worry,” you say with a bitter note in your voice. “I won’t poison anyone.”

“It’s not that, though I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “But you just threw things at the Captain. Have you lost your bleeding senses, woman?”

“Most likely.” You find another spoon to stir the stew with and continue on as though Silco did not interrupt your work. 

“Just be careful,” Arlo warns. “The Captain is not to be trifled with.”

“Neither am I.” ******** The stew is well received, but that’s not a surprise. Even if it still tastes off to you, it’s a massive improvement. The mess deck is packed with crewmembers licking their bowls clean and sniffing out second helpings. You and Arlo made enough stew to last several meals but it is all gone in the span of an hour. Arlo frets about rationing ingredients but his worries are soon put to rest from an overflow of praise. Even Sevika cracks a smile as she sips her broth. 

Silco does not eat with the crew, but that doesn’t surprise you. A spiteful part of you is glad that he will miss out on such a delightful meal. It serves him right for being so…so… Him. 

As night falls, the crew settles into a leisurely state. 

You get to work scrubbing the dirty dishes, eager to have a task that will keep you out of the Captain’s chambers for as long as possible. 

“Ach, leave it to me,” Arlo says. “You’ve done enough.”

“I don’t mind,” you protest, even though dishwashing is not an appealing task after seeing the way the pirates eat. “I should be helping.”

“Come have a drink with us,” comes the deep voice of the tattoo-covered man. After listening to the conversation during mealtimes, you gleaned that his name is Locke. 

“Oh, I-” You stammer, surprised by the invitation. A slender crewmember with dark choppy hair moves to Locke’s side. You’re fairly certain they go by Ran. 

“Come on,” they urge. “You’ve worked hard enough. And none of us have given you proper credit for taking Walley’s punishment the other day. It took nerve to speak up like that. Most of us wouldn’t have done that.” 

You look back at Arlo, who gives a nod of approval. Your gaze returns to Locke and Ran. Though they do not look as intimidating as they did when you first came aboard, you wouldn’t call their demeanors friendly, either but that’s something you’ve come to expect. Everyone on this ship comes from a rough place. It makes sense that even kindness looks abrasive in your eyes.  “Okay,” you nod. A part of your mind begins to scheme. If you can befriend some of the crew, perhaps you can pull off an escape after all. The other part of your mind is simply glad you have a reason to stay out of the Captain’s cabin. Besides, it will surely irritate Silco that his crew is being so welcoming to you. That’s a lovely bonus to this situation. 

You follow Locke and Ran to the main deck where quite a few members of the crew including Jinx and Sevika stand around a cluster of torches bound together in a damp barrel. It doesn’t seem like the safest arrangement, but you don’t say as much. You move to Jinx’s side. She beams when she sees you and throws a playful, but rough, arm over your shoulder. 

“It’s about time you started being social,” she says with a glint of mischief in her eyes. You almost want to remind her that you are a prisoner, a captive. Socializing is not a priority. You decide against it. She’s just a kid. She’s happy and she’s aware of the situation. You’ll leave well enough alone. 

“Here, princess.” Sevika presses a tin into your hand. You can smell the alcohol even though the tin is nowhere near your face. 

“What is it?” You ask. 

“The finest vintage imported from uppityland courtesy of Star Crossed Shipping,” Sevika snorts before taking a gulp of her own drink. You try not to bristle at the mention of your father’s company. 

“Seriously, what is it?” You whisper to Jinx. 

“I don’t know. I only drink coralberry juice,” she shrugs. “Nothing else is sweet enough.” 

You’ve never heard of coralberries or their juice. It’s entirely possible that Jinx is making up a random drink for the fun of it. Either way, your cup is filled with something dark and pungent. It is only when you notice that many crewmembers are watching you with curious and expectant looks that you realize they’re waiting for you to drink. They probably expect you to choke and sputter, proving that you’re too soft and fragile compared to them. 

You don’t know why the idea bothers you, but it does. You brace yourself and take a drink. 

And it is awful. 

If you had to guess, you’d say it was some kind of spiced rum but that doesn’t make the burn any easier to bear as you swallow it down. Your eyes water so much that everyone blurs together in a smudgy mess. For a moment, you think you’re going to be sick. Or that your skin is going to melt off. It’s hard to know for sure. 

Even when you swallow the liquid down and the feeling passes, your tongue feels numb. Surely, that’s nothing to worry about. Right?

You are rewarded with approving glances but never any outright praise. Not that it matters. Why would you want the praise of a bunch of pirates? Why would you want praise for choking down something that tastes like it was made in a boot? 

You shudder as you realize that it likely was made in a boot or something equally foul. 

Thankfully, attention moves away from you as everyone settles down to swap stories. Jinx pulls two crates together and urges you to sit on one. 

“Every word of these stories is utter shit, but they’re entertaining,” Jinx whispers to you. “I hope Locke tells about the time he caught a deep sea spineshark with nothing more than a stick and some fishing line.” 

You listen to the stories and Jinx’s words ring true. It quickly becomes clear that the purpose is not to share experiences, but to outdo each other with fictional feats of glory. Though, when Sevika speaks of punching a ravenous whale right in the eye, you feel as though there is a measure of truth in her words. Especially if that punch was done by her three-pronged attachment. 

“I wonder who is going shout liar first,” Jinx murmurs as her eyes scan the faces of those around her. 

“What?” You ask. 

“Eventually, someone tells a story that’s so impossible, so unbelievable, that someone else calls them a lair. Then they fight over it.” 

“Fight? As in, fight ?” You shake your head. How is this considered a fun activity? 

“Yup!” Jinx’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “It’s the best part.” 

“If you say so,” you shrug and continue to listen. 

Sure enough, a skinny sailor with sunken eyes and a permanent scowl tells a tale that is just a little bit too farfetched and it sends Locke over the edge. 

“Lair!” Locke booms, spilling some of his drink. 

“You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you in the ass,” the other sailor snarls. 

“This is going to be a boring fight,” Jinx mumbles. “No one will throw a punch at Locke and Locke is too honorable to punch someone smaller than him.”

Never in a thousand years would you have looked at Locke and thought the word honorable applies to him. But Jinx’s prediction rings true. The two sailors shout and swear at each other for a little while but they do not come to blows. 

“At least I am a decent shot,” Locke grumbles as the argument reaches its head. 

“My nan is a better shot than you are and she’s fuckin’ blind,” the other man snarls, earning a round of snickers from the rest of the crew. 

“Your nan died three years ago, you twat.”

“Yeah! And she can’t see for shit!” 

You nearly spit out your tentative sip of likely-rum at that. You try to rein in your laughter when you realize everyone else is doing the opposite, especially Jinx. 

“Bring me a rifle,” Locke snaps. “We’ll settle this now.”

“You don’t have any targets to aim for, you buffoon,” Ran quips as they drain their cup. 

“That don’t matter,” the skinny sailor says with a dismissive wave. “I’m so drunk I can see just about as well as my nan.” 

“Then how are we going to settle our little disagreement?” Locke demands. “By proxy?”

“Sure, I’ll choose a proxy to defend my honor,” the sailor scoffs. His bleary eyes scan his surroundings before his gaze lands on you. “I bet the little heiress can outshoot you.”

Locke rolls his eyes and your cheeks flush red. 

“I’ll bet my life’s earning she’s never even held a firearm before,” Locke mutters. 

“Yet she can still outshoot you,” the sailor slurs. 

Your apprehension melts away as you realize everything is said in good fun. For reasons you are unsure of, you decide to join in. 

“I’ve never held a firearm but I’m certain Locke has never danced a waltz,” you say. 

Locke levels you with a hard stare, one brow arched. “Who needs waltzing?”

“Who needs to be a good shot in alone in the middle of the ocean?” You point out. 

“Good marksmanship is very useful in piracy,” Locke says. “Waltzing is not.” 

“Waltzing requires grace, balance, self-awareness, spatial awareness, and the ability to read those around you. You don’t have only your partner to worry about but other pairs around you. Can the same be said for shooting?” 

“Yes!” Jinx exclaims. “Well, maybe not the bit about a partner but that’s all true.”

“What a load of shit,” Locke grumbles. 

“It’s true,” Sevika chimes in. Her word seems to make all the difference even if she only speaks up for the sake of her own entertainment. 

You look at Locke who still seems to be struggling with the idea that a waltz and a rifleman use the same skillset. “I propose a challenge.” 

That gets everyone’s attention. 

“If I can shoot better than Locke can waltz, I win,” you say. 

“Win what?” Locke asks. 

“Bragging rights?” You suggest. You don’t want to trade away any chores since you need them in order to avoid being alone with Silco. 

“Done,” Locke nods with a smirk. Despite his menacing appearance, he looks almost…giddy. Like he’s happy to take part in something that’s truly ridiculous. “Come take your shot.” 

You stand and approach Locke as Ran brings a rifle to him. 

“Do you have any idea how to shoot this at all?” Locke asks. 

“Nope,” you admit. 

“In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I’ll show you just enough to keep you from hurting yourself,” he says. 

“How gallant.” 

He shows you how to hold the rifle, which is far heavier than you imagined. As per instruction, you keep the barrel pointed toward the open ocean at all times. As you hold it, your arms start to tremble. Locke prepares the rifle for firing and you suspect he’s taking longer than necessary just to see you struggle. 

“If there is no target, how can we know whether I’ve made a good shot or not?” You ask. 

“Don’t worry. That won’t matter.” 

“But my part of the challenge is a test of marksmanship,” you protest only to be met with a chuckle. 

“Okay, princess. Go ahead and fire.” Locke gives you a nod and you gently tap your finger against the trigger. Aiming at the endless, empty expanse of the black ocean, you pull the trigger fully. You expect the loud boom but you do not expect to feel the entire rifle revolt against your grip, slamming into your shoulder. You stumble back with a small yelp, much to the enjoyment of the spectators around you. 

Locke tosses his head back and laughs, his shoulders shaking. 

“What the hell was that?” You stammer. Ran takes the rifle from you, freeing your hands to rub at your shoulder. 

“Recoil. To be honest, I expected to you land on your ass,” Locke chuckles.

“You might have given me some warning.”

“Where is the fun in that?” The pirate says. 

“Well, once I confirm that my shoulder hasn’t been launched from its socket, I’m going to make you waltz and we’ll see how you do,” You mutter, still testing the soreness in your arm and shoulder. “If you complete the waltz without tripping, you’ll win. Is that fair?” That seems fair to you since Locke expected the rifle’s recoil to send you to the ground. 

“Easy enough,” he agrees. 

“Good. Stand here.” You direct him to stand in front of you. “Watch my feet.”

With a phantom partner, you demonstrate the basic steps of a waltz before returning to Locke. 

“Got it?” You ask. 

“Yes,” Locke nods though he does not seem very confident. 

“Good. Remember, if you trip, I win.” You place his hands in the correct positions and do the same for yourself. He’s much taller and broader than anyone you’ve ever danced with. Your arms feel suspended in an awkward way that almost makes you laugh. 

“I don’t suppose we have any music?” 

“Depends. Can one play a waltz on the side of a barrel?” Jinx asks. 

“Likely not,” you chuckle. “It’s no matter. I will count out the beat. That won’t be too difficult for you, will it?” You taunt Locke who only nods. 

You begin to count, but nothing happens. Locke stands stock still. 

“You’re the man. You’re supposed to lead,” you prompt him. 

“Right. Naturally,” he grumbles and waits for you to begin your count. When you do, he steps forward instead of backward, trampling your foot. You hold in your laughter as you shake your head. 

“I didn’t think you’d stumble on the very first step,” you tease. “Had I known such a game would be so easy to win I would have joined the fun sooner.”

“I’ve never done any of that fancy Piltover dancing before. Let me try again,” Locke mutters. “It’s a stupid dance. It’s not that hard.”

“If you say so,” you shrug before taking up position again. You begin to count once more. To Locke’s credit, he manages two steps before stumbling, earning a round of laughter from the crew. 

“What is the meaning of this?” A voice like a burst of cold wind blew over the deck. Silco stood at the top of the stairs leading to his cabin. The laughter amongst the crew faded into nothing. Only Jinx looked unaffected by the Captain’s sudden presence. 

“A friendly challenge,” you explain. “Nothing more.”

“I can see that,” Silco says as he steps closer to the cluster of burning torches. The firelight casts his face in harsh shadows that make him look even more inhuman than he already does. “But I cannot allow the crew of the Zaun’s Revenge to look incompetent. Locke, step aside.”

“Aye, Captain.” The confusion is clear in his voice as he stumbles back. You are unable to fully hide your confusion as well, especially when Silco steps before you and takes your hand. 

“The honor of the Zaun’s Revenge is at stake. You will not leave this ship under the misbelief that no one here can execute a decent waltz.” 

Well, that’s an unexpected development. 

“Do what you are able,” you reply with a note of challenge in your voice that does not go unnoticed by your new partner. You bring your hand to rest on his shoulder as you prepare to dance. “One more thing,” he says before looking to his crew. “Walley, do you still have that old fiddle?” 

“Aye, Captain.” 

“Fetch it.”

The crewmember scurried away and quickly returned with the promised fiddle. 

“Play Across a Sea so Clear and Blue, ” Silco orders before looking down at you. “I doubt you know it but it will suffice for a waltz. Surely, you can adapt.”

“Surely,” you bristle. 

Walley beings to play his fiddle. Though you do not know the song, the time signature is well-suited for a waltz. You wait for Silco to lead you into the dance, expecting him to miscount or falter but he doesn’t. The pair of you move across the deck as though you’ve done this a hundred times before and plan to do it a hundred times more. 

You quickly adjust to each other’s movements and soon he leaves room for you to add flourishes to the simple steps, which you do without hesitation. Your movements are slow and precise. As you dance with him, you cannot help but think of how different this is from the passion you shared during the storm. Silco leads you through the dance expertly, trusting you to be a competent partner. This isn’t a show of dominance or power but a display of grace and unity. Two bodies moving as one to create something elegant and lovely. 

The song ends far too soon, as does the dance. You feel breathless even though the dance was not at all physically demanding. You’re speechless even as your body moves you through the motions of curtsying to your partner. 

Thankfully, Jinx appears at your side. She’s nearly vibrating with excitement. 

“How did you do that? You looked like you were floating!” She says, looking between you and Silco. Her question is a good one. 

Where does a pirate learn how to waltz, let alone waltz so well? 

“I…” You start only to trail off. “I need a drink.”

You move away from Silco, back to your abandoned cup. You force yourself to take a sip and you are grateful that it goes down easier this time. The alcohol settles in your belly and dulls the unwanted feelings swirling through you. 

Jinx joins you soon and within minutes, the crew is back to swapping stories and boasting as though the waltz never happened. 

Your gaze wanders to the bow. Though that part of the ship is kept in darkness, Silco’s figure is even darker and you can see him easily. 

Curiosity and something deeper that you do not wish to think about tugs at you. You do your best to ignore it for as long as you are able, but it’s like a persistent buzzing fly hovering around your head. 

With a resigned sigh, you get up and move toward the bow. No one stops you or questions you. 

You reach Silco’s side and stand quietly in the darkness for a moment. You can hear the gentle lap of the water against the ship’s hull and you can see the sparkling array of stars above, but everything else is black. 

“If you’ve come to beg for another dance, I’m afraid I will disappoint you,” Silco says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, as though he does not wish the stars to overhear him. 

“I wasn’t going to,” you say. “But I was going to ask where you learned to dance like that.”

“It does not take much to learn how to waltz,” he says. Though you cannot see his face, save for the glow of his ruined eye, you get the sense that he’s avoiding something. 

“It’s not just that,” you say. “You dance like a gentleman. You carry yourself like a gentleman. You speak like a gentleman, for the most part. Yet, you’re…”

“A pirate? A sea hound? A scoundrel? A criminal?”

“You could have stopped at pirate but yes,” you nod, earning a soft chuckle from Silco. “But even still, you’re nothing like the pirates my father has encountered.” 

“I’ll admit to that,” he says. “I am not like any other pirate roaming the seas. I have no wish to scavenge from trade ships. If I wished to fight for scraps with a thousand other desperate fools, I would have stayed in the Undercity.” 

Silco does not need to see your face to know his words have thrown you. 

“Is it more believable that a pirate can carry himself well than it is to believe a gutter rat can do the same?” 

“I have not known what to believe for several days now,” you say. “I’d be willing to believe almost anything.” 

The chuckle that leaves Silco’s throat is dry and humorless. “The Piltover Naval Academy loves bottomfeeders with a sad story.” 

Your eyes widen in the darkness. 

Of course, that makes perfect sense. He wasn’t daunted by the storm. He runs his ship with precision and discipline one would not attribute to ordinary pirates. He’s managed to instill a sense of both fear and loyalty in his crew. And those who attend the academy are taught etiquette, dance, deportment, and anything else that can shape them into shining jewels of society. 

Your mind snaps back to the day you were kidnapped, before everything went to hell. Captain Vander spoke of the academy briefly. There was a moment when a shadow fell over his features as he spoke of his past. And he knew Silco. As did Quartermaster Benzo. 

“Did you know Captain Vander?” You ask softly, unsure if you wish to know the answer or not. 

Silence stretches out between you and Silco. Even though you are within arms reach of him, you feel as though you may as well be an ocean away. 

“Yes.” His voice is soft yet somehow still harsh. Bitter but sad. 

“Were you…close?” you ask, unsure if there is a better way to phrase it. The way Captain Vander looked at Silco aboard The Hound went beyond normal anger. There was history there. 

“For a time,” Silco replies. 

You’re shocked that he gave you any kind of real answer. 

“What happened?” You press, wanting to see how far you can take your questions. 

“Professional differences,” Silco mutters. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.” 

Silco turns to look at you as silence falls once more. Though you can barely make out his features, you can see he is fighting some kind of war within himself. You are about to take the high road and apologize for prying, as the rules of polite conversation demand, when the ship suddenly heaves hard to one side. 

Unable to right yourself in time, you start to fall. Silco’s arm snakes around your waist as he pulls you to him, allowing you to use his body to steady yourself. Farther down the deck, the crew voices their confusion amongst themselves, unsettled by the sudden jolt. 

“What was that?” You ask, turning your gaze to the sky as though you expect another terrible storm to blow in out of nowhere. But the skies are perfectly clear and the wind is calm. The ocean, however, tells a different story. The faint light of the torches reaches the water closest to the ship. Instead of the calm, docile sea, the Zaun’s Revenge glided on only moments ago, the water was as violent as a bubbling cauldron. 

“Get back,” Silco urges, guiding you away from the railing. 

“What is it?” You repeat. 

Silco does not get a chance to answer. In the blink of an eye, the sea erupts. At first, you fear the ship has nudged some kind of explosive. You can think of nothing else that would explain the towering column of water rising just off the starboard bow. 

The water crashes back down to the ocean’s surface except that it doesn’t. Water rolls off the form of something huge, something that also looks like water. You blink over and over, trying to make sense of what you are seeing. 

You spot two glowing orbs that shine brilliant blue, brighter than any star in the sky. They look like glowing stones that are somehow perfectly round. Your stomach drops as the crew leaps to action around you and more torches are quickly illuminated. The glowing stones are not stones at all. 

They are eyes. 

Glowing, unnatural eyes deeply set into a massive head made entirely of living water. The head boasts a long snout. Water vapor floated like smoke from what you believe to be nostrils. Its long, curving neck ripples as the water that made up its body somehow managed to keep its shape. Its serpentine body vanishes into the sea as its proud head takes in the sight of the ship. Its watery jaw opens revealing long, sharp teeth that look deadly despite also being made of water. 

The creature let out a shriek that makes your vision go blurry for a moment. Your mind still grapples with what your eyes attempt to understand but there is one thing you know for certain. You are not safe. 

The water monster shrieks once more and dives toward the deck with open jaws. 

[kittensandkimchi]

In the Lap of the Gods

bg3, gale/tav, hurt comfort, chapter 4/4

Chapter 4: A Reconsideration

June’s feet ache as they walk through the city and back to camp. They’d only been gone the day—no longer than expected—but going to the literal Hells and back, portal or no, is a journey she’d been perhaps a bit mentally unprepared for. Still, the pain in each step has nothing on the already-bubbling blisters on her shoulder. Damned cambions.

She trails Karlach, with Astarion bringing up the rear of the party and Wyll taking a protective but respectfully distant spot alongside her. No one speaks, at least as they walk through the city streets. They risk drawing attention as it is with Karlach twirling the Orphic hammer like a baton, whistling a bawdy drinking tune, though June doesn’t have the heart to tell her to stop. Earlier, on their way to the Devil’s Fee, Astarion had ventured to ask what went on between Gale and her the night before. An elbow to his ribs from Wyll all but ensured that conversation was over before it had begun.

The damage was done, though. It’d soured her mood for the day, and now, as they return, the only sound that cuts through the din of the city evening is Karlach’s whistling—at least until they begin their descent on the stone steps toward the water.

“Smells good,” the tiefling comments. It almost makes June jump after being lost in thought, but she pauses, breathing in deeply. There’s the salty air from the sea, but more—Karlach is right, a warm aroma of spices and stewed meat waft from their camp, growing stronger as they approach.

But Gale hasn’t cooked since—

“All right,” Shadowheart greets them, crossing her arms over her chest as the group arrives. “Who needs patching up?”

Continue reading.

tag list: @elfroot-and-laurels @captastra @vvakarians @mournholdmushroom @galaxywhale @creaking-skull (please DM or reply if you'd like to be added!)

[adverbian]

My fanfiction over on AO3. All Good Omens (TV continuity), Aziraphale/Crowley. (Updated 23 Dec 2024)

(As always, check tags on AO3 for content notes!)

The New-Made World (E, 5397 words, oneshot)

No one watching. Nothing to prove. Just the two of them. Together. (A follow-up to All Your Life.) A birthday gift for @lornainthewoods.

Over the River and Through the Wood (E, 100 words)

Smutty Thanksgiving drabble challenge, 2024 edition.

All Your Life (T, 2942 words, oneshot)

In which, sharing a cottage on the South Downs, they gradually find their way to themselves, and to each other. Soft and sweet and musical. A birthday gift for @gaiaseyes451 .

Horn of Plenty (E, 2931 words, oneshot) — co-written with @malachitegrey and @voluptatiscausa

Fluff and Crack. Crowley runs an ice cream parlor. Also he has horns. Also he and Aziraphale are in love. A birthday gift for MimiRay.

That Certain Night (E, 8670 words, 4/4 chapters)

Three nights together during wartime, and one night together after. Angst with a happy ending. 1941, 1967, Night at Crowley’s Flat, and a sweet, smutty South Downs epilogue. A birthday gift for @voluptatiscausa .

(More under the cut!)

This Most Balmy Time and Stay Me With Flagons (both E, each 100 words)

A pair of smutty birthday drabbles for @cemeteryangel725 .

Nothing Lasts Forever (G, 108 words)

A post-S2 meditation on narrative arcs, astronomy, and love — but make it a sonnet. (Written for a poetry game in the Good Omens After Dark Writers Guild. Prompt: “Starmaker”)

Gibraltar May Tumble (E, 8539 words)

A little first-time light bondage on a rainy South Downs afternoon, with feelings and tenderness and love. (A gift fic for @sapientmanbuncountrymare written as part of the Good Omens After Dark Pride Exchange)

Bear You on the Breath of Dawn (T, 100 words)

They’ve had an argument — their first since they moved into their cottage together. They’re still not very good at talking. But this time, they both stay. (A drabble.)

Da Pacem (M, 341 words)

A sestina about stopping the Second Coming with your secret lover, using the key words “night, time, glass, light, tide, stars.”

Is This Desire? (E, 15.5k words, 2/2 chapters)

A smutty, sex-pollened meditation on desire and consent. (Written for the High Pollen Count Good Omens Sex Pollen Event.)

Confiteor (M, 3k words, 1/1 chapter)

Aziraphale goes on a guilt trip. Crowley brings him back home. (Angst with a happy ending.)

Exsultet (E, 6k words, 3/3 chapters)

They’d won. But there were some things left to lose. (And there were some victories still to come.) (A gift fic for @crowleyslvt written as part of the Good Omens Song and Poetry Exchange)

In contenti e in allegria (E, 5k words, 2/2 chapters)

Completely shameless PWP, honeymoon in Paris edition. (A gift fic for @and-his-hands-were-24-crows in the Good Omens After Dark Valentine’s Exchange)

O You and Me at Last (E, 4k words, 1/1 chapters)

News of one of Aziraphale’s past admirers has Crowley feeling a little… possessive. (Written for the Good Omens After Dark Smut War)

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (E, 5k words, 3/3 chapters)

Crowley’s been giving Aziraphale space to adjust to being on his own, finally free of Heaven. Now, a gorgeous American philanthropist has started hanging around the bookshop. Has Crowley left things Too Late? (Spoiler alert: There’s a very happy resolution.) (Gift fic for IUsedToBeGifted177 in the Good Omens After Dark Christmas Exchange)

Small Things Like Reasons (M, 4k words, 7/7 chapters)

An exploration of six competing meta theories against the backdrop of the Rapture.

These, Thy Gifts (M, 100 words)

Crowley gives thanks for a feast. (A smutty Thanksgiving drabble.)

Revolver (T, 200 words)

Sometime in the late 1960s or early 1970s, Crowley tried to introduce Aziraphale to the Beatles. It went about like you’d expect. (A double drabble with hands thirst.)

Series: Auprès de ma blonde

(Each item in the series can be read independently.)

General vibes: Ineffable Honeymoon. Everything is terribly sweet and romantic. Lots of Feelings. There are literary and musical allusions.

(Individual works in the series under the cut! Dorothy Sayers fans will instantly clock the first two titles. Yes, there are Wimsey vibes.)

one more river (and that’s the river of jordan) (E, 5k words, 3/3 chapters)

They are alone now — they are free. They are both nervous, but eager, newlyweds.

Auprès de ma blonde, qu’il fait bon dormir (E, 2k words, 1/1 chapters)

The morning after “one more river.”

What We Think About When We Think About Each Other (E, 4k words, 6/6 chapters)

Five times they swapped fantasies, and one time they started learning to share.

Songs and Sonnets (E, 2k words, 1/1 chapters)

A little bit of exploration that gets surprisingly emotional.

That the One Ought To Have of the Other (T, 1k words, 1/1 chapters)

Marriage vows considered as a formal contract, and negotiated with feelings.

Set Me as a Seal Upon Your Heart (E, 12k words, 4/4 chapters)

The Ineffable Husbands make it official. And formal contracts between supernatural entities have a way of becoming particularly real.

[the-dark-artifices-trees]

The importance of the number 7 in crescent city

Throughout the entirety of the crescent city series, the number 7 plays a huge role in both a symbolic and a literal way

⚠️ House of Flame and Shadow spoilers ⚠️

7 Asteri on Midgard

Rigelus (title- The Bright Hand)

Eosporos (title- The Morning Star)

Hesperus (title- The Evening Star)

Polaris (title- The North Star)

Octartis (title- The Southern Star)

Austrus (title- unknown)

Sirius (title- The Wolf Star)

7 Princes of Hel/ Circles of Hel

Hunt also mentions that “Type-Seven is only for the princes themselves, and given what this thing can do, I’d bet it’d be deemed a Six” in chapter 29 of HOEAB, when talking about the demons and princes of Hel

7 districts in crescent city/ city heads/ gates

7 “Made” objects *

Mask (made by Cauldron)

Crown (made by Cauldron)

Harp (made by Cauldron)

Horn (made by Cauldron)

Starsword (made by Cauldron)

Truth-Teller (made by Cauldron)

Ataraxia (made by Nesta)

*now while nesta did make another sword and dagger, we don’t know if they possess any magic and they don’t have any names either*

7 members of the Pack of Devils

Danika Fendyr (alpha)

Connor Holstrom (second)

Nathalie (third)

Bronson

Thorne

Zach

Zelda

7 courts in prythian

Night Court

Dawn Court

Day Court

Spring Court

Summer Court

Winter Court

Autumn Court

7 tog books (not including novella)

Throne of Glass

Crown of Midnight

Heir of Fire

Queen of Shadows

Empire of Storms

Tower of Dawn

Kingdom of Ash

Known starborn fae *

Fionn

Theia

Pelias

Helena

Silene

Bryce Quinlan

Ruhn Danaan

*The term Starborn describes the descendants of High King Fionn and High Queen Theia.

1. Also when bryce traded places so Danika would get into the Bone quarter, she said the vow (“I wish to trade my place.”) 7 times:

“She’d tossed a Death Mark into the Istros, payment to the Under-King—a coin of pure iron from an ancient, long-gone kingdom across the sea. Passage for a mortal on a boat.

And then she’d knelt on the crumbling stone steps, the river mere feet behind her, the arches of the bone gates above her, and waited.

The Under-King, veiled in black and silent as death, had appeared moments later.

It has been an age since a mortal dared set foot on my isle.

The voice had been old and young, male and female, kind and full of hatred. She’d never heard anything so hideous—and beckoning.

I wish to trade my place. (1)

I know why you are here, Bryce Quinlan. Whose passage you seek to barter. An amused pause. Do you not wish to one day dwell here among the honored dead? Your balance remains skewed toward acceptance—continue on your path, and you shall be welcomed when your time comes.

I wish to trade my place. For Danika Fendyr. (2)

Do this and know that no other Quiet Realms of Midgard shall be open to you. Not the Bone Quarter, not the Catacombs of the Eternal City, not the Summer Isles of the north. None, Bryce Quinlan. To barter your resting place here is to barter your place everywhere.

I wish to trade my place. (3)

You are young, and you are weighed with grief. Consider that your life may seem long, but it is a mere flutter of eternity.

I wish to trade my place. (4)

Are you so certain Danika Fendyr will be denied welcome? Have you so little faith in her actions and deeds that you must make this bargain?

I wish to trade my place. She’d sobbed the words. (5)

There is no undoing this.

I wish to trade my place. (6)

Then say it, Bryce Quinlan, and let the trade be done. Say it a seventh and final time, and let the gods and the dead and all those between hear your vow. Say it, and it shall be done.

She hadn’t hesitated, knowing this was the ancient rite. She’d looked it up in the gallery archives. Had stolen the Death Mark from there, too. It had been given to Jesiba by the Under-King himself, the sorceress had told her, when she’d sworn fealty to the House of Flame and Shadow.

I wish to trade my place. (7)

And so it had been done.”

- HOEAB, chapter 62

2. Hunt was in the Asteri dungeon’s for 7 years

“How long did they do that to you—after Mount Hermon?”

“Seven years.”

She closed her eyes as the weight of those words rippled through her.

Hunt said, “I lost track of time, too. The Asteri dungeons are so far beneath the earth, so lightless, that days are years and years are days and … When they let me out, I went right to the Archangel Ramuel. My first … handler. He continued the pattern for two years, got bored with it, and realized that I’d be more useful dispatching demons and doing his bidding than rotting away in his torture chambers.”

“Burning Solas, Hunt,” she whispered.” -HOEAB, chapter 35

“We need to get out of here,” Ruhn said, and nothing had ever sounded more stupid. Of course they needed to get out of here. For so many fucking reasons.

But Athalar cracked open an eye. Met his stare. Pain and rage and determination shone there, unbroken despite the halo and slave brand on his wrist. “Then talk to your … person.” Girlfriend, the angel didn’t say.

Ruhn ground his teeth, and his ravaged mouth gave a burst of pain. He’d rather die here than beg the Hind for help. “Another way.”

“I was in these dungeons … for seven years,” Hunt said. “No way out. Especially not with Pollux so invested in ripping us apart.” -HOFAS, Chapter 11

3. Apollion (7th prince of Hel) ate the Sirius (7th Asteri)

“No one would dare say his name, not after the Prince of the Pit became the first and only being to ever kill an Asteri. His butchering of the seventh holy star—Sirius, the Wolf Star—during the First Wars remained a favorite ballad around war-camp fires. And what he’d done to Sirius after slaying her had earned him that awful title: Star-Eater” -HOEAB, chapter 51

4. The slave tattoos has seven stars in it

“For there was also no hiding the second tattoo, stamped on their right wrists: SPQM.

It adorned every flag and letterhead of the Republic—the four letters encircled with seven stars—and adorned the wrist of every being owned by it.” -HOEAB, Chapter 6

“Ruhn spied their own solar system in the center of it all. Seven planets around a massive star. Seven Asteri—technically six now—to rule Midgard. Seven Princes of Hel to challenge them.

Seven Gates in this city through which Hel had tried to invade this spring.

Seven and seven and seven and seven—always that holy number. Always—” -HOSAB, Chapter 25

5. 7 is a holy number

“Seven—the holy number. Or unholy, depending on who was worshipping. Seven Asteri, seven hills in their Eternal City, seven neighborhoods and seven Gates in Crescent City; seven planets, and seven circles in Hel, with seven princes who ruled them, each darker than the last” - HOEAB, Chapter 19

“Micah had left the latter’s body up. Justinian would hang there for seven full days and then be pulled off the crucifix—and dumped into the Istros” -HOEAB, Chapter 69

6. Hypaxia and necromancy

“So this is it?” Ithan asked Hypaxia, gesturing with a hand to the seven candles she’d arranged on the ground. “Light the candles and wait?” -HOSAB, Chapter 61

“It took Hypaxia seven hours, seven minutes, and seven seconds to raise Sigrid.

Ithan barely moved from his stool the entire time Hypaxia stood over the corpse and chanted. Jesiba left, came back with her laptop, and worked for some of the time. She even offered Ithan some food, which he refused.

He had no appetite. If this didn’t work …” -HOFAS, Chapter 48

7. Sailings happen on the 7th day after the death

Don’t come to the Sailing tomorrow. You’re not welcome there.

She’d listened to it over and over, the first words to echo in her silent head.

Her mother hadn’t woken from the bed beside hers when Bryce had exited the hotel room on Fae-soft feet, taking the service elevator and leaving through the unwatched alley door. She hadn’t left that room for six days, just sat staring vacantly at the floral hotel wallpaper. And now, with the seventh dawning … Only for this would she leave. Would she remember how to move her body, how to speak.” -HOEAB, Chapter 7

8. Midgard geography

““Seven—the holy number. Or unholy, depending on who was worshipping. Seven Asteri, seven hills in their Eternal City, seven neighborhoods and seven Gates in Crescent City; seven planets, and seven circles in Hel, with seven princes who ruled them, each darker than the last.” -HOEAB, chapter 18

“Bryce didn’t wait for them before trailing the old male up the walkway as the seven planets aligned themselves perfectly, stars glittering in the far reaches of the room.” -HOSAB, chapter 38

“Bryce halted after a turn in the stairs and assessed the long hallway ahead. When it revealed no guards, she stepped into it.

There were no doors. Only this hall, perhaps seventy feet long and fifteen feet wide. Likely fourteen feet, to be a multiple of seven. The holy number.” -HOSAB, Chapter 71

“She’d studied Fury’s rough map of the palace layout. This area was seven levels below the throne room, where the Asteri sat on crystal thrones” -HOSAB, chapter 71

“They could fly no further. The massive black wall stretched for miles in either direction before curving northward, with wards protecting the airspace above it. Hunt knew from maps that the area the wall encircled was forty-nine miles in diameter—seven times seven, the holiest of numbers—and that at its center, somewhere in the barren, snow-blasted terrain, lay the Northern Rift, shrouded in mist. Barriers upon barriers protected Midgard from the Rift, and Hel beyond it.” -HOFAS, Chapter 70

9. Ithan & the number 7

“Sabine stared down at the seven shards the Fendyr sword had broken into, then lifted her furious gaze to Ithan.

Ithan shifted back into his humanoid body with a near-instant flash. “It’s just a piece of steel,” he said, panting, the metallic tang of the blade lingering in his mouth. “All those years you obsessed over it, resented Danika for having it … It’s just a piece of metal. - HOFAS, Chapter 74

“You have seven minutes” -HOFAS, Chapter 81 (when Ithan was talking to Connor)

[the-kr8tor]

Amidst the Waves

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 4.5k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (Hobie is mentioned taller though), the reader has nicknames. CW food mentions, TW blood, CW injury, TW violence, TW gore, CW death, CW guns.

Navigation

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

Chapter 3 >>> Chapter 4

You've heard all the stories that all pirates are criminals who would cut your throat without remorse for a single coin in your pocket. You've heard it enough from traveling bards and newsboys screaming out the pirates’ crimes every morning that it's ingrained in your psyche. The news about the navy hunting them all one by one hasn't passed you either. You remember walking through towns with pirates hanging from the noose, a warning to all pirates.

It's all everyone talks about, especially in small towns. it's impossible not to hear of the bloodsail pirates and their latest crimes. But now you're standing in their ship, wearing their clothes and eating their soup. A surprisingly good soup too.

If only your past self could see you now, she'd probably throw you overboard herself.

Ned, you've come to know, throws you a mop and a bucket full of hazy water that sloshes on the sides, almost spilling over your new-ish clothes. You're too tired for this.

“Careful now, that has lye” His friend, James, you’ve learned snickers on the side.

“Go swab the poop deck, land lover” Ned points above you, rows of stairs greeting you. “As for you,” he addresses the blond, “the deck”

“What?! Why does she only get the poop deck and I get the entire bloody main deck?!” He jumps off the railing, fuming.

“Complain more and you clean the bathrooms”

“No! Not the bathroom again.” James picks up a spare mop. “Look, I'm cleaning, yeah?” he mops like a madman all over the main deck.

You chuckle, Ned hears and he gives you a staring down, you clamp down immediately.

“Poop deck! I'm on it!”

Clambering up the stairs is easier said than done. With your new found sea legs and the waves bashing on the sides of the ship, you're fighting for your life.

“Need help?” Hobie suddenly appears on the top of the stairs, annoyingly munching on an apple.

You heave the bucket, staring at him while doing your best at taking the cleaning supplies up the creaking stairs. “I'm good” step.

“You sure? I'm offering you an olive branch here, scuttlebutt” he leans on the railing, not moving an inch to actually help you.

Step.

“You can keep your branch,” you wobble slightly when a large wave crashes on the side of the ship. But thankfully, you keep your balance. Step. Finally reaching the top, you exhale out proudly.

“I'm not fond of olives anyway” you side eye him before continuing to walk on the poop deck.

Another wave hits, the water sloshes out, barely missing your hands. “Shit”

“Careful, that has lye in it” he says with a chuckle.

—

You missed lunch because you scrubbed the entire poop deck clean. Your stomach grumbles as the sun sets and you remember your last day in that small fishing town. The orange glow never fails to make you smile but now it squeezes your heart. It's still a beautiful sight, the large body of water glitters from the light, almost like it's calling out to you.

Great, you're already going insane after a few hours. Pinching your arm, you shake your head. You can't wait to get on land.

Walking down, you walk on the deck with an empty bucket. The sea is much calmer now, the movement is pleasant, if you're in bed right now, you would've fallen asleep from the motion. The breeze picks up as you set the supplies down. You lean on the railing to rest your lower back while you admire the sunset.

James huffs a few feet away from you, still mopping the deck while Ned and a raven haired woman chats near him. They make comments on the side that makes James glare at them. You let them be, watching the sunset with your hand on your chin.

Your back and knees ache from the labour and your stomach roars again for something to eat. Maybe they still have the soup earlier.

There's a sudden presence next to you. Leather and sea salt enters your senses.

He rests a couple of feet away from you, just in case you try to push him off.

“What a view, huh?” Hobie, he looks at you through tired eyes.

“Verdict’s still out” You don't try to argue lest you ruin the rare peace and quiet on a busy ship.

“‘course it is.” He chuckles. There's a comfortable silence between you.

After a beat he speaks up without looking at you. “Go help in the galley.” Before you could retort something witty, he walks away from you. You swear you saw something in his eyes, you have no idea what.

Heading down to the ship's kitchen, you see Gwen just about leaving.

“Oh good you're here. Go help out with dinner” she instructs without stopping for you.

Entering the swinging doors, you can't protest or else, well you try not to think about it too much. The galley is cozy, not what you expected of a pirate ship's kitchen to say the least. It's clean, all stone and steel melded together to create the quaint space.

You jump when Finn's hulking form enters your vision, his butcher's knife chopping down on a slab of meat, the sound reminds you of a guillotine.

He notices you freezed in the doorway, Finn huffs motioning for you to take an apron from the hanger with his incredibly large knife. You think you prefer the cutlass instead of the butcher's knife in his hands.

Tying it around your waist, you keep your distance away from the man.

“What do you need me to do?” You ask carefully so as to not anger the bull.

Finn moves to the side to reveal the boiling pot, the aroma makes your stomach gurgle. He points to a bundle of carrots on the counter before giving you a smaller knife. He nods once, going back to his chopping.

“Alright…” you find his lack of words peculiar, especially hearing the rest of the crew babble endlessly during the short time you've been on the ship.

You spare him side glances with every thwack of his knife to the chopping board. Working in comfortable silence, the sound from the bubbling pot calms your nerves, reminding you of the familiar sound in the white salmons’ kitchen.

The boat sways in the waves, making the hanging pots and pans swing to the motion. Finn taps his knife on the board twice, getting your attention. He gestures with his head towards the sliced carrots before glancing at the pot.

You understood completely, doing what he asked, he nodded once. A thank you maybe? Or he's just being nicer to you because of the whole ‘making you walk the plank thing’

Finn cleans himself up over the sink as you take a ladle to mix the stew, careful of the fire that licks the bottom of the metal pot.

A hand pops up at your line of sight, a bandage and a jar of wound cleaner placed in his large palm. He pushes the supplies to you, encouraging you to take it.

“Uh, what's this for?” you manage to take the things without it accidentally falling inside the crew's dinner. With how the ship rocks, you're proud of yourself for just being able to stand up.

Finn points to his chest, flicking his eyes to the supplies in your hands.

Looking down, you see a spot of red on the white cotton of your borrowed shirt. “Oh, thank you”

He huffs again, going back to cooking, letting you be.

Maybe they're not so bad?

—

Dinner is finally done. You can hardly keep your eyes open as you heave the huge pot over to the longest table you've ever seen. It's a makeshift table, a hodgepodge of crates and planks of wood put together to create the dinner table. Everyone starts to gather around the deck, the sun fully set, darkness rules the seas now as the candle light and oil lamps sway with the movement of the breeze.

Dining under the stars, how romantic.

They're a rambunctious bunch, pushing and pulling at each other to get the good plates first. You're already prepared for this of course, you've hidden a bowl in your apron so you could quickly scoop out dinner and vanish into a barren corner of the boat.

The same dark haired woman has other plans though, just before you could make your escape, she grabs you by the shoulders; orange and a flowery scent wafts in your nostrils.

“Where do you think you're going? Mm?” She whispers into your ear, her voice smooth, raising goosebumps on your arms. Freezing in her touch.

“Stop harassing the poor girl, Yuri” Gwen says while she takes her seat near the head of the table.

“Just having some fun, Gwen” she releases her hold on you, walking away with a wink thrown your way.

“Don't mind Yuri, she likes doing that to new people, her way of hazing I guess. I'm Miles by the way” He shakes your hand, smiling politely at you.

“She's not new to the crew, Miles. She's only here temporarily, remember?” Gwen pipes up, scooping her meal.

“Right, gotcha” he sits down next to Gwen with a huff. “Still, welcome a board the People's Revenge”

“I've gotten acquainted with your ship, just the poop deck and galley actually”

“Let me give you a tour then!” Pavitr suddenly appears next to you.

What is up with this crew instantaneously appearing out of nowhere?

“Hi, remember me?”

“Of course I do, thanks for the coat again”

“No problem, come on, let me introduce you to everyone!” Pavitr takes you by the sleeve, dragging you along the deck to introduce to literally everyone. “Oh you're gonna love them! Well, once you get to know them”

“Oh okay–just”

“This is ‘two fingers’” He points at a man halfway through putting a spoon in his mouth.

“I have a name, Pav! And I have all my bloody fingers!”

“Why are you called–” before you could ask, Pav led you away, smiling excitedly.

“This one here is ‘foul’!”

The crew around him laughs, “You forget to shower once and you get fuckin' called stinky!” Foul grabs a spoon to throw it at a laughing eye patch clad man. It conks him right on his forehead.

Pavitr moves on, actually introducing you to more people whose names get more ridiculous as you go around the table.

“And finally, this one is ‘ugly mug’” Pav shakes ugly mug’s shoulders for emphasis.

“Hey” the man with the most beautiful blue eyes you've ever seen and plump lips greets you.

“Ugly mug? He's not ugly at all!” You wildly gesture to his sharp face.

“You're too kind but I've learned to live with the ugliness” you don't know if he's joking or not with how serious he looks.

“Oh I almost forgot, this is Danny” Pav skims the most normal looking crew member. He whispers to you. “He's a bit weird”

Danny waves wildly, beaming at you. “Hi, I'm Danny!”

“Alright… thank you, Pavitr for the introduction” your stomach starts to cry again. “But I've gotta eat.”

“Oh, sit with us then!” He guides you to an empty chair next to Gwen. “Here, sit down. I'll get a bowl for you”

Awkwardly sitting down, you side eye Gwen. Miles looks like he's about to jump away from the tension.

“If you're worried about everyone planning to hurt you, don't. We have a code here and until you leave, you're kind of…one of us” she pierces the awkward silence between you.

You exhale a breath you haven't noticed you were holding. But you're still on guard, they are pirates after all.

“Here you go, I got you extra bread too” Pavitr saves you from the tension, bringing you a heaping bowl of hot stew with two loaves of bread. He sits down next to you, happily eating.

“God, I'm so hungry.” You grab the spoon with fervor, scooping up a chunk to quickly eat before it goes cold. It warms your insides, calming your hungry stomach. “Thank you– holy shit” it's the best tasting stew you've ever tasted.

“Good, right?” Gwen watches on with an amused smile. “Finn makes them from scratch, even the bread”

“I didn't even know that was possible on a ship.” You say with your mouth full. “Finn doesn't talk much huh?”

“Oh he talks. He just doesn't want to” Gwen shrugs, “that's his thing, don't ask him why”

“Wasn't planning to” you chuckle through your glass.

“Gwen,” Miles looks at you like he knows something you don't. “Am I crazy or she kind of reminds me of M–”

“Don’t” Gwen and Pavitr simultaneously say.

“You remind me who?” You flick your eyes between the trio.

“Don't–”

“MJ, you remind me of MJ.” Miles looks at you with sad eyes.

The entire table silences the moment Miles utters the name. Everyone looks at you and at eachother like how they did when you arrived just this morning. But this time there's sadness in their eyes instead of amusement.

“Who's MJ?” you ask nervously.

“Our former first mate” Foul flicks his eyes around, looking for something or someone. “Emphasis on the former”

“Oh” you could read the room but your bout of curiosity gets you first. “Who's the new first mate?”

“I am” Gwen says it without any pride laced in her words.

“Oh I figured that out. Where is she now?”

“Not here” A familiar voice replies behind you.

Looking over your shoulder, Hobie’s jaw is set, his hand on one of his pistols, the gold on the handle is a stark contrast to the rest of his silver ensemble.

You expect for the crew to stay silent once their captain arrives, but they hollar and cheer. Morphing Hobie's grimace into a smile. But it's still there, the anger and sadness, you can tell because you see it in the mirror everyday.

“Right, what's for dinner?” He sits down on the head of the table while his crew passes him a bowl and the pot. “Looks good, Finn. You've done it again, big man”

You hear Finn's signature grunt from somewhere along the table.

“Aye? She didn't mess anything up did she?” With just one grunt Hobie translated what Finn grunted.

How in the world?

Finn shrugs, making an ‘eh’ gesture with his hand. Hobie laughs, while you look at Finn with a ‘really?’ Look on your face. He rolls his eyes at you.

“I'm an…alright cook” you defend yourself but still remaining true.

“Sure you are, scuttlebutt. What other useful skills do you have, mhm?”

With a chance to prove yourself so they stop giving you tasks that break your back, you sell yourself.

“I recently learned how to sew and mend clothes.”

“You plannin’ on replacing Neddy as our sailmaker?”

Ned lifts his head up from his book. “What's that?”

“Nothin' Neddy. D’you know how to shoot?”

“Please say yes so you can join me with the cannons.” Yuri smirks further down the table.

“Uh, no I don't know how to handle gunpowder.” you refrain from looking at Yuri.

“Carpentry then? Fishing?”

“No and...no” you twiddle with your thumbs under the table.

Hobie grins mockingly at you. “Maybe we should just drop you overboard right now”

You grit your teeth. “I'm good with herbs and medicine. I'm guessing you don't have a ship doctor”

“Now you've piqued my interest.” Hobie casually leans on the table by his elbows, resting his chin on his hands. “Where did a fish girl like you learn about medicine, huh?”

“You only need to know that I can fix some of your crew's ailments. I'm not a doctor but I'm experienced”

“Closing wounds?” You nod. “Scurvy?”

“Theoretically, yes” you challenge him head on.

“The plague?”

“Survived it”

“The pox?”

“Most I can do is stop the spread and alleviate the pain, the survival depends on the person”

“Can we not talk about diseases while eating?!” Pav wildly gestures at his food.

“Carry on” Hobie side eyes you. Taking a huge bite of his loaf.

You throw him a fake smile.

“How are you liking the Revenge so far, Y/N?” Miles tries to make you forget the last interaction with him.

You wouldn't forget about it of course, it'll stay in the back of your mind, festering until your curiosity gets you and you ask who MJ actually is and why everyone quietened after she was mentioned. Maybe you'll do it one day, where your feet are firmly on the ground and you're not near any body of water.

Thinking of an answer that doesn't get you cut by a sword, you fake a smile. “Not what I expected”

“Did you expect blood and gold littered all over the place?” Hobie adds to the conversation. “Because that's in my quarters not here”

Gwen rolls her eyes at his joke while the others are either ignoring it or laughing along with Hobie.

One of the crew yells out on top of all the noise. “Aye, if you're lucky enough, girly, you'll see the inside of the cap’s quarters!”

Hobie shakes his head, throwing an entire plate towards the man with accuracy. Finn moves his head to the side casually before it hits him. The plate shatters then you hear the man scream obscenities.

“Don't listen to that animal” Hobie says without looking at you.

You want to get back at him for the lye comment so you decide to tease him, just to see his reaction, maybe he'll get flustered.

“And here I thought you were inviting me—”

BOOM!

The explosion shoves the entire ship harshly to the left, everyone slides with the movement including the table and chairs. Stew flies everywhere, loaves of bread soar overhead. Shards of sharp wood almost splinter your skin.

You land on the railing of the ship harshly. Opening your eyes through the pain, you see a crate heading your way.

“Fuck–!”

Strong arms grab you by the waist, saving you from getting crushed at the last minute. You hold on to their jacket with wild eyes.

“You alright?” Hobie's words are hushed and soft in your ear. You nod, trying to steady your racing heart. Looking up at him, his eyes roam your face for any injuries.

“I'm okay, what happened—?” noticing that you're still in his arms, you move away, correcting your balance when the ship hurls back to the right position. You try to reach for your necklace, until you remember that it's not there.

He nods once, his concerned face shifting into rage when he hears the sound of cannon balls behind him.

“Unfurl the fuckin' topsails!” He whirls around, directing his crew.

You hear fabric above you unfolding, the large blood red sails fills your vision. It dances in the wind like a macabre waltz.

You follow Hobie's line of sight, he glares at the large ship looming over the distance. The royal navy seal flaps on their bright blue sails.

“The Black Hellion” Hobie spits venom when he says the name. As he says it, a smaller ship appears behind the Hellion, racing to get to the Revenge.

“Fuck” he takes your hand, leading you under the stairs. Your legs drag as the crew rushes to get to their stations.

“Did you lead them here?!” Hobie grabs you by the shoulder, shoving you beneath the staircase, the wood behind you digs into your skin.

“What?! I swear I didn't— I didn't even know who you were until I got off the fucking net!” you stare down his angry eyes, grey swirling like a storm brewing behind it. “I swear on my life I am not navy!”

“You better not be,” He takes a rope from his belt then ties your hands together. Hobie lifts you by the binds effortlessly to a hook hanging above. You're dangling from the metal, the toes of your feet are barely on the ground.

“Hey—! What are you—?”

“We'll talk after this. Stay out of my way” Hobie leaves you behind.

You look at his retreating back in-between the spaces in the stairs. “Hobie! I'm not fucking navy!” you watch as he leads his entire crew with the anger of a lightning storm.

There's drum beats sounding above, bells ringing further across the water. You surmise the battle's only beginning.

Another cannon blasts, you cover your ears with your raised arms. The smell of gunpowder tickles your nostrils. The muffled yells of the pirates makes your head swirl and your heart pump rapidly. You try to jump as high as you can to get out of the hook, but it's too high up.

The boat lunges to the side again, the entire structure shakes. Your body swings and you hit your back against the hard wall. Groaning, your vision blurs for a second. Honing on the action, the navy ship rammed itself on the side of the revenge. You see uniform clad men jump ship, immediately fighting with the people you broke bread with.

There's a clashing of swords, pistols are fired wildly at each other. There's groans and screams of pain. You can't believe a few minutes ago the ship was full of laughter and warmth. Now blood is being spilled on the very floors you've cleaned. The laughter is replaced with agony filled yells and gurgled last words.

A sailor runs at full speed towards you, his sword shining in the moonlight. He yells a battlecry. The thought of them saving you is out of the window.

In an instant, a metal chain wraps around the uniformed man’s neck, he flies back, landing brutally, cracking the wood under him. You follow the end of the chain, you see Hobie dragging the sailor away, yanking and pulling at his neck until you hear a snap. The man lies still, you meet with Hobie's eyes through the stairs, you see a hurricane brewing in them.

He flings the chain back to him, the body thuds lifelessly on the wood. Hobie leaves without sparing you another glance. You've seen death numerous times during your journeys but not like this.

Not in front of you.

You stare at the body, all the noise and clashing of weapons falls deaf in your ears. Your hands shake, chest heaving and skin raising.

You have to get out of here.

Even if you have to chance it with the dinghy, even if you don't know how to row a boat or navigate the deep waters, you're gonna get out of here, out of the chaos and warm crimson that's seeping into the floorboards. You refuse to watch the chaos, but you can't avoid their shadows dancing in the moonlight.

You jump again, nothing. Again. You feel the rope lift up for a second. There's something metallic sliding near you, the knife stops near the foot of the stairs. It's too far away for you to even reach with your foot.

The rope burns your wrists, skin scraping against the rough hemp. It stings, like tear drops, your blood is slowly running down your arm.

You've got a better idea but it's a stretch. You still try it, moving your hands back and forth by swinging side to side, you slowly cut the rope with the sharp edge of the hook. Flakes of hemp fall on your head like snow.

There's a high pitched gasp in front of you, the sound makes you pause. Watching through the stairs, you see Gwen struggle under a large uniform clad man, his hands are around her throat. Squeezing painfully.

You hasten your movements, the rope cuts loose, the second your feet hit the ground, you run.

Grabbing the fallen knife from the ground with hot adrenaline rushing in your veins, you plunge it on the man's thigh swiftly. He screams in agony. You help Gwen up, she coughs loudly, clutching at her bruising neck.

“You fucking bitch!” The man grits his teeth, circling his hand around the handle of the knife still in his skin, he grins a bloodied smile.

You hear Gwen snicker in your arms.

He grabs the knife out of his thigh with a sickening squelch. Blood spurts out of him like a fountain, spraying you with warm ichor. You freeze. Gwen kicks the panicking man in the middle of his chest, he falls like a sack of potatoes on the floor, screaming and trying desperately to stop his bleeding.

You look around the chaos, trying not to listen to the man's pained screams. There's clouds of gunpowder hanging in the air, hiding all the bodies lying on the deck, away from your eyes.

“Gwen.” Hobie's raspy voice echoes out in the silence and atop of the leftover screams of the defeated. He throws her a pistol wordlessly.

Without hesitation, Gwen puts an end to the screaming.

There's complete silence now, the moon still hangs overhead, you wonder if the moon saw everything.

It looks like the pirates won as the navy ship is now commandeered by Hobie's crew. James yells from the mast, flipping the bird towards the retreating Black Hellion.

Shards of broken wood lay next to bodies, both pirates and navy. But the navy looks like it's the one that has suffered more loss. Pistols and muskets are littered around the once pristine deck. The smell of death and burned gunpowder permeates the air.

There's fresh crimson flowing beneath you, drenching the soles of your weathered boots. You feel the warmth spreading under your feet.

A hand claps your shoulder, “you saved me, thank you” Gwen smiles genuinely at you.

A yelp takes both of your attention, a man in a lieutenant’s uniform kneels in front of Hobie, his back being pushed down by Finn's boot.

Hobie crouches down, taking the sailor’s chin in his hand, his nails digging into the man's skin.

“Lieutenant George, your Captain left you to die.” He chuckles without humour. “So much for being called the king's flame, huh?.” Hobie sighs.

The lieutenant spits but Hobie dodges it. “I will use your own limbs to dig your grave! You damn pirate!”

“That doesn't sound practical” He stands up, under Hobie's bloodstained face you see the lines in-between his brows, tired, you know it well. “Take him below, Finn.”

“As for you,” Hobie's bloodshot eyes address you, he smiles, the twinkle in his eyes are back. “Red looks good on you.”

You stare at him dumbfounded, realization hits you. With your sleeves, you wipe your face, smearing the ichor all over your skin more.

“Lock her in one of the cabins.” Hobie says to the men behind you. They take you by the arms.

“Wait—! Why? I told you I'm not one of them!”

“Hobie, come on, she saved my life!” Gwen advocates for you.

“I know, I saw, we're just gonna ask her questions, yeah?” Hobie stands in front of you, in all his blood soaked form. “She has nothin' to worry about unless she's hidin’ somethin’”

You could only glare at him as you're being dragged away, too exhausted from everything.

The rest of the crew watch on. Maybe the stories are right. But for your sake, you hope it's not.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Special thanks to my bestie @thesevenofstaves for helping me out with the titles/names 🫶

[do-not-lick-the-walls]

a devil put aside | chapter five - truths and lies

masterlist | read on ao3

(gif via @goodsirs)

beelzebub x fallen angel!reader

summary: you shake a lot of hands, and waver between the true and the false.

(she/her pronouns are used for reader, no use of y/n)

warnings: religious themes & trauma, good lord thats a lot of anxiety from like 4 different directions

ineffable taglist: @sarcastic-sourwolf , @angelofthenight <3

-----

The hallways are much less cramped than they were, and not so hard to see in anymore. You scrape the bottom of the denial barrel and pretend that somebody fixed the lights, which are still flickering sadly, because the thought of your body having warped any more sends you into a wave of nausea. Beelzebub's reassurances can only hold off so much dread at a time.

So, now that the lights are fixed, you're getting a better look at the place. Obviously, it's still disgusting---same water damage, same grime, same clutter---but at least you can see where you're going. And some other details previously missed, like somebody's guts hanging from the ceiling, and the many, many demotivational posters.

"Don't get yourself all worked up about this first bit or anything, it's only paperwork. Getting you checked in and such," Beelzebub explains.

Walking beside them (along with the repaired lights) takes some of the fright out of traversing hell's maze. You're going at a half-stroll instead of the brisk pace you're used to, and the lesser demons move aside to let you pass. It might be a nice(?) walk, actually... if it wasn't for the stares.

Eyes are flocking to you, of course they are, sweeping you over to eagerly form every possible opinion at first and second glances. A chill blossoms beneath your skin as a kind of backwards deja vu pours over your brain, trickling down your spine like cold syrup. You shift closer to Beelzebub. Demons and their hungry, curious gazes peer from all sides. They can smell fear.

You exhale, and touch the pin on your collar. Notice it, you think, See that I'm not to be touched.

The Admissions lobby is full to the brim. Tons of sinners awaiting eternal torment, far too little staff. Promptness doesn't appear to be a concern though, if the various anti-apologies blaring over the P.A. system are anything to go off of. "We'd like to apologize for the wait, but we won't!" Beelzebub cuts through the crowd like butter, and you stay close behind, not eager to be swept out to sea.

You arrive at the front desk and find a very tired-looking demon behind it. He's hunched over some paperwork, scribbling away while a newly-dead sinner waits anxiously. Beelzebub clears their throat, and he jolts upright.

"Ah. Lord Beelzebub, you said you would be coming by..." He locks eyes with you, then quickly breaks, gaze flitting back and forth like he's looking for a place to set down his first impression. Another throat clear prompts him into leaning over the desk to address the crowd. "You'll all have to wait!"

A collective groan rumbles through the lobby, joined by a jaunty "Have A Miserable Eternity!" from the P.A.

"Please, uh. Come with me, Lord. And, uh..." he trails off, uncertain, then settles for "and... you."

He leads you past the counter, into a tiny back office with a concerning number of filing cabinets. Beelzebub plops themself in a chair, leg swung over the side as seems to be their habit, and you sit beside them while the admissions demon takes his place behind the desk. You can't tell whether it's you or Beelzebub that's making him so anxious, but one of you must be doing a damn good job, because he's so jumpy that he almost misses his chair.

"So," he wavers, "I take it you're the Seraph?"

"Not anymore, but yes," says Beelzebub, kicking their other foot up onto the desk. A grain of irritation that they answered for you ticks you in the head, but it quickly bounces off your gratitude for not having to speak.

"I'm Furfur, Senior Admissions Demon." He holds out his hand, grip is a little weak, but not unfriendly as you shake. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, and welcome to hell."

You don't dislike him. He doesn't give off the impression of wanting to eat you, for one, a concept that has been very much tugging at the back of your mind over the course of the walk. But all demons are liars, and you never were a good judge of character, so you nod and stay quiet.

"This situation is highly unusual, of course, but I think I've managed to draw up something that should satisfy Lord Dagon," he digs around in a drawer, pulls out a sheaf of paper, and sets it in front of you. "Here you go, love. Look it over if you like, then sign down there." He hands you an old fountain pen.

You read carefully. It doesn't contain a lot regarding your deal with Beelzebub; there's something much more intimate about that. This is mostly confirmation of check-in, terms and conditions, et cetera. Still, you're thorough with your examination. You read the packet four times over before you dip the pen in the inkwell.

The dotted line stares at you. There's power in a name. And your name, your sigil, is now false. You cannot sign with your six-winged eye anymore, all three of you know it. No, you have to name yourself again, something true, something that satisfies. Ink drips onto the page.

You clench your teeth, and you draw a new sigil.

---

"You'll want to make a good impression," Beelzebub tells you on the way, "Technically, they're below me, but I still need a majority vote on a lot of things, and they keep this place in business. I had to fight them on letting you stay, so you've got to win them over. Put your best foot forward."

You chew on your lip, and touch the pin they gave you.

"Here's a quick rundown. Dagon's the fish, she's Lord of Files and Master of Torments. She's generally wary of everyone, and she'll probably try to test you somehow, so be ready for that. Ligur's got the chameleon, don't ask me why, I don't know either, and don't be alarmed if it changes colors. He's a Duke of Hell, excellent lurker, usually the least aggressive one. And Hastur's the weirdo, also a Duke. Sometimes he's got a frog on his head, sometimes he doesn't. I don't know. I'm not sure how he'll take to you, since I'm pretty sure you scared him shitless back in the war."

You stack all of this into a neat pile. Dagon's suspicious, Ligur's the safest, Hastur's the wildcard. "Alright."

"Don't be shy," they instruct, stopping you at the door. "Be respectful, but not overly polite or subservient. I'll be right there if you need help."

They give you a little smile, swing open the door, and wave you inside.

"Everyone, here she is. Newest of the Fallen, Demon of the Sixth House, and my apprentice."

Warmth creeps over your face at the introduction, and you clasp your hands together before you can do a little wave or something else equally stupid. Come on, be a demon. Remember what they said.

The Council is exactly as described. Dagon has her elbows resting on the table and a calculating eye you can't hold. Ligur and his chameleon, which is sitting on his head for some reason, nod in greeting. Hastur is currently sans-frog, and poorly hiding how his leg bounces under the table. All three are staring at you expectantly.

"Um. Hi."

You mentally kick yourself. Stupid.

"Hello," Dagon replies, looking at you like you're a mushroom that may or may not be poisonous. When you shake, the strength of her grip makes it very clear that she could drag you down to the Ninth if she wanted. "I'm Dagon. Lord of Files and Master of Torments."

Instead of shaking, Ligur presses a kiss to the back of your hand, which makes you freeze, then gingerly take it back. "Ligur, Duke of Hell. It's a pleasure." His chameleon turns green as you lock eyes with it for a very odd moment. A slight buzz hums from Beelzebub's direction.

"I'm Hastur," is all Hastur says.

You and Beelzebub join the table, them kicking their feet up and you definitely not doing that. A torturously awkward moment passes.

"Well," starts Dagon, "what's the summary?"

Before you can even make the 'please help me' face, Beelzebub rescues you from potentially running your existence into the ground. Furfur, you maybe could've talked to; he seemed alright, and too low on the food chain to get you axed. Dagon? No.

"She's agreed to train under me, like we discussed. There's high potential here, and it's coming out already, actually. She started changing maybe an hour or so ago. Growing horns, looks like," they talk easily, so easily that it has to be fake. "We're going to hone that potential. She'll also assist me with things when she's ready, and I'm expecting help from you all as necessary."

Hastur shifts in his seat. You can't help but agree, gripping the arms of your chair.

Dagon turns to you. "Do you speak?"

You recoil slightly, then frown. "Yes."

"Good," she settles her chin on her hands. "What can you do, then?"

"What?"

Beelzebub jumps in. "Dagon, she's been down here a day, and slept through half of it, you can't expect her to have a handle on---"

"I want to hear her talk herself, Beelzebub. You said she was worth it, so," Dagon fixes you with her hard-cut stare, "Prove it. Why are you here? What makes you so special?"

You blink several times.

Everything that made you special is dead. God gave, and God took away. It's gone, it's done, cut off and closed. You're empty. There's not really much of a point to you anymore, now that you think about it. You're a broken piece in a greater game.

But she's asking you. A rush shoots through your blood. You can lie. It's not like there's any way to fact-check. What's she going to do, call God? God can't hear you down here. You can lie. You just have to do it, now.

You wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt. How do you lie about something like this? And more importantly, how do you get away with it? There has to be a trick to it. There's an answer somewhere. Come on, stupid. Find it.

Maybe you can start with the truth, then spin it, build off of it. That could be easier than making something up. Yes, that could work. You take a deep breath, and put on your best demon face.

"Because I was God's favorite," is what comes out of your mouth. It leaves nothing behind on your tongue, like you didn't say it at all. Like somebody else is the liar, and they're just using your voice as a medium. You force your eyes not to widen, swallow, and keep going. "Everyone thinks it's Gabriel, since he's in charge, but it's me. It was me."

You fist your skirt in your hands, eyes jumping from councilor to councilor. They say nothing.

"She trusted me with the prophets, you know. And I did everything She asked, always. I was nothing but perfect. And you know what it got me?"

The words start to come easier, waterfalling out of you before you can even think about them. Your voice has taken on an unfamiliarly bitter tone. "It got me here. Those bastards upstairs broke me, stapled my eyes shut, and threw me out. I'm here because I fell here, and I'm going to make them regret that."

Dagon gives you a deeply unimpressed look, like you've just given an obviously bullshit powerpoint, and she's about to kick the projector. "That's very nice and all, good sentiment. But what can you do?"

You open your mouth, then close it again.

Under the table, a hand rests on your knee, warm through the gentle roughness of the nylon clinging to your legs. I'm here, it says, keep going. It takes everything you have not to look at them as a second, lying bloodrush courses through your veins, all the way down to your new shoes.

"Nothing yet," you start with the truth again. This time, you imitate Beelzebub as best you can; speaking slowly, winding up intrigue, like you know a secret and you just might be willing to tell. "But if I were to guess, it won't be that way for much longer. God's favorites fall hard. I'm already growing horns, who knows what I could be in a week?"

Vindication tugs at the corner of your lip as Beelzebub squeezes your knee, flushing your body with rose-colored pride. Good job.

You hold your breath as Dagon continues to evaluate you with her narrowed gaze. Her eyes are sharp in the way a syringe is sharp. Calculating, measuring.

Then, she inclines her head, so subtly that it's almost imperceptible.

You've passed the first round by the skin of your teeth.

[lawomi]

From the Start ch4 - Trans Trafalgar Law x AFAB Mink Reader

Chapter 4 - The Wolf at Sea

You encounter Law during your first night on the Tang. Law reveals to you a side you didn't expect and your feelings for him deepen. Still, as days pass, you begin bonding with everyone else, causing an unintentional rift between you.

MINORS DNI

I created a Wattpad that includes some art from me. Not too much right now, but eventually I might update with more than just the cover lol. Arts been tough for me lately.

Chapter CWs: Nonconsensual touching, jealousy, possessiveness. Voyerism? Sort of.

The next day, you groggily get out of bed, still adjusting to the change in sleep schedule. Moving down from your bed, you see Ikkaku and Robin are still asleep. It must be early, you thought. Walking towards the window, you realize all that could be seen was pitch black ocean. Hair rising, iris shrinking, chills running rampant, you recall the Polar Tang is submerged. How deep? Trying to catch even a sliver of light from the moon, but nothing. You shakily step away from the unknown, moving into the room towards the door. Your night vision worked just fine within the Tang, surely getting out of this claustrophobic room would help. Opening the heavy bolted door you glance down the hall before closing it behind you. Small lanterns lit the walls, helping your vision further.

Your keen ears caught the sounds of not only the cruising motor, but two of the Heart Pirates talking directly above. They were likely steering and keeping watch. Instantly, you feel more at ease, although you were still queasy. The floor still felt as though it would shift under you as you slowly walked down the hall towards a particularly bright light coming from under a door. Thinking back, you recalled the Heart Pirates telling you about their captain.

“The captain? Oh, he loves coffee and onigiri. Despite being a doctor, his diet is dirt poor,” Shachi had laughed. “When we set out to sea food was scarce and once we had a cook, it became easier, but his diet never quite returned to what it was while we lived with Wolf.”

Wolf, you smile, recalling Law had passively mentioned him, too.

“Beside his diet, he can’t catch a wink of sleep, either,” Penguin pitched in to the conversation as though he were Shachi’s twin. “He never sleeps when we do, especially when he has a lot of work to do. We turn in our findings to him each night about the Tang’s condition, plus those monthly exams are tough to get through. He always has a book he’s recording his important findings in and makes sure to study the books he collects along our journey.”

That’s a lot, you think to yourself. He must be stressed out often with so many things to keep track of. Yet he still manages to be a captain, waking early in the morning to instruct them, doesn’t he?

“Oh, yeah,” Bepo laughed brightly, always so happy to gush about his captain, “He gets up early to check how we all slept and to make sure we eat breakfast. He worries about us and he makes sure we don’t overwork ourselves. Not so much himself, though.”

He's kind, Isn’t he? You muse, thinking back to the articles you read describing how callous and calculated a person he was. Yet, the crew had said he would help people – for a fee – island to island. He was keen on studying any disease he came across in hopes of saving people. In the end, the poorest people were treated first and for free. Your heart couldn't help but beat faster, your mind focusing on him as you walked. A sensitive man despite his cold, closed off exterior. He was handsome, he was cool, he was gentle, he was strong. Above all, he loved others. Oh, no. This crush is worse than I thought.

As you reach a conclusion to your thoughts, you reach the room with the light peeking through. You press your ear to the door, assuming you wouldn’t hear much anyway save for the tapping of a pencil. Suddenly, your blood rushes as a blue aura encases the area around and beyond you.

“Shambles!” You catch his voice, but instantly you’re standing in his room. “What are you doing?” Law shrilled. You cover your face, hiding your embarrassment behind your paws. It didn’t help you hadn’t dressed, even if in mink form it was difficult to see the details.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to spy. I’m sorry, sir…”

Clearing his throat, Law stood from his desk chair. “There isn’t hiding much from me on this ship.” He walked towards you with purpose. You didn’t look, too ashamed to remove your hands. He wrapped his hands around your wrists, then pulled your hands from your face. Your snout tilts away, waiting for him to yell. “Wolf mink-ya, I’m not angry,” his voice had softened significantly. He reached up and pet your ear, gently scratching behind it thru your hair. Concentrating on the sensation you try to steady your breathing.

Your eyes finally look up to meet his. He looked very tired, his eye bags more prominent than usual, but his eyebrows were knit together in worry. You finally smile and shake your head, paw spread over his that pressed into your hair. “I’m okay,” you murmur, “I can see in the dark, but when I looked out the window there was no light. I know many areas of the sea are empty, but it scared me anyway.”

Law nodded, “The Polar Tang is a unique experience even for senior pirates. The ocean is one of man’s biggest fears,” his inked hand made its way down now that you had let it go. He pet the fur along your shoulders, arms, down to your paw. He held it as he did your human hands, rubbing circles into your knuckles. His long digits curled to feel the palm of your paw, curious to examine your paw pads that lined them. “Your paws are different than Bepo’s,” he smiled warmly, “They’re just as soft, though.” A blush once again spreads across your face as his other hand touched the rolls of your belly, pleasure bloomed along each squeeze. Slowly, the hand moved up to your sternum. “Did you feel all that?” he asked smoothly.

“Yes,” you felt ashamed saying so. Somehow, this interaction made you feel very strange. You backed up enough to remove his hand from between your breasts.

“Oh,” Law sighed, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t let myself get curious without your consent like that… I wanted to know if you had more than just the two, that’s all. Not to mention, I’m lacking sleep myself.”

“You assumed I wanted your attention regardless if you asked,” you said softly, still allowing him to hold your paw. “That was rude, but, it is a little true…” you grin sheepishly at him. “I didn’t expect you to touch me when I look like this.”

“You’re still Y/N-ya, aren’t you?” He teased, a duchenne smile causing the rooms light to dance along his iris’. “If anything, this is what you originally look like. It would be ridiculous to not think you as a whole person unless you’re human.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him. He was being so honest, you weren’t sure what to make of it. Did he… “Are we just friends?” You ask softly.

“Yes,” he scowled instantly. He let go of your paw and turned away towards his desk. “I don’t mean to confuse you,” he muttered as he sat down.

“It’s okay,” your heart was aching, but it didn’t matter. You walk forward and sit in his guest chair. “Can I accompany you?”

“…,” he stared at you a moment, looked down at his paperwork and sighed. “You’re not to do this again,” he scolded, “You shouldn’t be wandering the halls at night, let alone coming to my office. You can’t stay long, I don’t want the others thinking anything of it.”

You nod, “I will go in five, sir,” you smirk and watch him focus on his paperwork. “You might want to teleport me to the room, though… I am only in my underwear,” you teased, giggling.

He looked you over quickly and nodded, a blush painting his cheeks. “I’m exhausted, but you’re right.”

“In the meantime, you can do whatever you like,” you offer, a sly smirk on your lips.

Law scoffed, “Bad dog,” he teased right back. “I always do as I like,” he rolled his eyes, “and I like organized paperwork.” You laugh, earning a small smile in return.

A long moment of silence passed. You had crossed your arms and rested your head, slowly beginning to drift again before you spotted a book on the desk with no title on the side. Curious, you reach over to check it. Law doesn’t seem to notice, busy taking notes as you open the book. The book was hand written, the first page titled *Autobiography; 13-16*. Turning to the second page where the writing starts, you realize it’s in first person. As you read, you take note that the protagonist of this book lost someone and that they were walking through snow. Law’s slender fingers interrupt you, taking the book away from you.

“You didn’t ask to read that,” his acid tongue was telling, the book was personal to him.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur sleepily. “You lost someone at 13?”

“Yes, Cora-san, my savior.”

“Savior?” You tilt your head, “That’s a big title. I’m glad he saved you.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, “I still haven’t killed his murderer, Doflamingo.”

“Isn’t he in prison?” You recalled the Straw Hats mentioning it during the banquet at the Guardian’s District of Zou.

“Yes, after Mugiwara-ya defeated him,” he seemed okay with this, his demeanor still calm.

“How kind of him. But not quite satisfying for you, hm?” Your eyes brighten a little bit, the conversation shaking you of your sleep.

“No,” Law gripped his pen tightly. “I want his face caved in,” he growled, “but I refuse to kill like that anyway. Cora-san wouldn’t have wanted that. I just can’t stand seeing Cora’s face on that man’s torso.”

“Maybe someday I can help you with that,” you grin wickedly, licking across your teeth. “I enjoy battles that involve plenty of blood.”

“I see I’m not the only morbid one here,” he chuckled darkly, then shook his head. “That’s not how we do things, I’m afraid. He can rot slowly in that prison, unable to escape, watching the world change while he’s helplessly chained. Thank you, though.” He looked back at his work again. Suddenly, tapping the little bear decoration on the end of the pen against the table thoughtfully, he looked back at you. “I suppose you can read the book, if you want.”

You sat up now, surprised, elated. It didn’t feel like a small gesture, surely this was practically a diary to him, right?

“Don’t get too excited,” Law furrowed his eyebrows, “Make sure no one sees you with it and don’t go around talking about it, alright? Only Bepo, Shachi and Penguin have read that.”

“W-why are you letting me, then? Aren’t they your closest friends?”

He looked down and nervously tapped his pen again. “Well, I’ve seen between your legs. That was already personal enough, right?”

A pause.

“Law, you’re a doctor,” you chortle, cupping your nose with your paw.

“Tch. Not for doctor reasons, I didn’t,” a sly grin spread across his face, he rested his cheek on his wrist. Maybe he liked that you called him Law. He averted his gaze and leaned back, pressing his lips together. “You should go to bed now. I’ll do the same.” You frown, disappointed, but nod in response. He can’t help but laugh at you, “There’s no use begging. I am not risking the crew knowing we ever had anything between us. It was meant to have been a one time thing…” he seemed to realize too late it may hurt you to say that. But it is the truth, he thought.

“Yeah,” you agree, although a twinge of pain pokes at your lungs. “I’m the one who wanted to join and I knew there was a chance of a no. I begged you that night knowing it could be our last meeting. I know,” you let out a slow sigh.

Law nodded thoughtfully, thinking hard about what to say. Finally, though, as the silence stretched he said, “Room,” and “I’ll see you later, Omi-ya,” he chuckled, “Remember: Don’t do this again.” Although he had been serious before, he seemed playful this time. “Shambles.” Lifting his fingers, he teleports you and the book back to your bunk. You were stunned a moment, allowing yourself to absorb that you were now sitting at the edge of the bed. You see the women still sleeping, so you lie down - think about this dark broody man over and over - until you too fell asleep again.

You instinctively slap whatever it was that was tapping your face, turning over deeper into the bed. A tug on your wolf ear wakes you completely, you flip over in surprise to find a dismembered hand wiggling its fingers at you. Yelping in surprise you sit up quickly and see Nico Robin down below, laughing at your reaction along with Ikkaku.

“Good morning, Wolfy!” Robin chimed. “It’s wonderful to see you again. Although, I didn’t expect to see you quite so naked.”

You roll your eyes, “Lesser minks need to learn everyone has breasts.” Begrudgingly you slink your way down the bunk bed ladder. “It’s good to finally meet you properly, Ms. Nico. Instead of at a banquet, I mean,” you smile meekly at her. She reminded you of that broody man, but it was only her looks. Her personality was bright and bubbly in contrast. “May I greet you?”

“Greet me? Haven’t you already?” Robin giggled. Ikkaku whispered something to her quickly and she laughed, then nodded. “Yes, of course. You don’t need to ask me, I love affection like that.”

Canine glee filled you. You threw yourself into Robin’s arms, who caught you easily, holding you bridal style. “Garchu!!” You wrap your arms around her neck and press your face into her cheek. Her laughter filled you, your heart raced and your tail wagged enthusiastically. Ikkaku looked on with what only could be described as envy.

Robin, still holding you, walked over to set you on the couch. She used her ability to grab you a set of clothes. “Come on now,” she gently prods your cheek with a dismembered hand’s finger, “Get dressed. I do agree with you about the breasts, but in our custom you can’t be running out like that in front of men—I suppose we are pirates, but it’ll only result in a lot of blood.” You snort at her comment, got dressed, and jumped up back into her arms. She grinned at you, “I suppose I should let you keep some customs, shouldn’t I?” The three of you made your way to the galley, the others just arriving down the hall as well.

“What on earth—Oh, right! She’s a mink,” Shachi nudged Penguin with his elbow.

Penguin ignored him, but he looked troubled by the sight of you with Robin regardless. “Aren’t you supposed to be one of us?” Penguin’s arms were crossed, he was pouting as if Law had assigned him of disposing of the Tang’s waste for a month.

“Someone’s already jealous,” Ikkaku teased, flicking Penguin’s nose as she passed. Penguin chased after her to the table, his signature hat hiding his expression. Shachi followed them, losing his shit over Ikkaku’s slick move.

Robin sighed, “It’s true. If you don’t want me to steal you away, you should probably make them hold you instead,” she beamed cheekily. “How about you get yourself a seat.” Notably, the others were looking at you and Robin, finally tearing their attention from the hooligans that came in screeching. Robin was about to put you down, but stopped short. “Oh, hello, Torao!” She turned her attention to Law, who was staring at you with an odd expression. He seemed to want to forget whatever was just happening, walking forward to his seat. Robin finally places you on your feet and you obediently find your own seat beside her.

“When does Penguin get to hold you,” Shachi was mostly egging Penguin on, his attention and nudging entirely focused on his best friend.

Penguin shoved him toward the table, “Sit down!” He looked a bit pink from what you could see. They both finally sat, especially quickly thanks to Law glaring at them. There were fewer pirates than usual in the galley, indication some either had eaten earlier or avoided breakfast. You wonder what Law usually chose yourself. He looked quite tired; had he slept at all? Bepo brought the coffee pot to pour each person a cup. There was cream and the like on the table for said coffee, so you think ahead to grab what you need as he came around.

“Nico-ya,” Law yawned, “Did you sleep well?” She seemed to be the only Straw Hat besides Franky at the main table this morning.

Robin leaned against her knuckles, a warm expression pleasantly wrinkling the corners of her pretty blue eyes. “Wolfy came back to bed quite late last night,” she was clearly treating Law like a water balloon, trying to poke a hint out of him. His expression remained as stoic and neutral as ever. “Regardless, I slept quite well.” Ikkaku stifled a laugh, not wanting to cause a scene.

Law’s ever cool, piercing eyes landed on you. You sip your coffee, flattening your ears as if it’d make you less of an eyesore. “I see,” he shrugged, “I didn’t hear anything. It's not good for guests to be slinking around my submarine without a guide, though,” his eyes shift to Ikkaku. Ikkaku looked nervous now, it was her responsibility to keep watch of the guests while they were in the women’s quarters after all.

“Don’t worry, I noticed they left. It’s my fault, of course,” Robin’s flirtatious look made Law glance away. “I’ll make sure to keep Wolfy in line.”

“Tsk,” Law smirked, “I do trust you the most among the Straw Hats, Nico-ya, but you shouldn’t try to take responsibility. The crew know what their rolls are. And they know the type of punishments I like to give.”

Robin laughed, “I’m sure for not paying attention, you’d remove their head and leave it displayed in a cage, wouldn’t you?”

Law grinned, clearly appreciating her dark humor. “You’re not too far from the mark.” Ikkaku dared not look in his direction for the moment, feeling his sadistic expression burning a hole in her cheek.

You felt excitement fill you again, playfully leaning on Robin. There was something magnetic about her just as you felt for Law. Apparently, you had a type. A partial forearm and hand sprouted atop your head, scratching you behind the ear. You closed your eyes and hummed, rubbing your cheek into Robin’s shoulder in minkship.

Opening your eyes after a few moments of bliss, you see Penguin looking a tad downcast as he finished his coffee. Shachi stared in your direction, smiling gently when you met his gaze, though you couldn’t see his sly eyes behind his sunglasses. “Speaking of watching Wolfy… We haven’t had a nice mixed bath for months among the Heart Pirates. I bet Ikkaku would be overjoyed to finally join us since she’s not the center of attention no more.” Ikkaku shot him a death glare. “I recall Bepo and Hakugan mentioning one on an island coming up soon,” Shachi nudged Penguin once again, who had perked up, but remained hiding his face behind the brim and flaps of his hat.

You glance towards Law who you realize was staring quite intensely at you, though you couldn’t identify the emotions behind his gaze. “I’m sure everyone could use some socializing,” He said, averting his eyes towards a much happier Penguin. If they want to join us they can. What do you say?” he looked over at Robin who was focused on you. You lock eyes with Robin, grinning broadly and taking her hand. Law cleared his throat to grab your and Robin’s attention.

Franky raised his huge hand from the end of the table instead, “Absolutely, Torao! We’d love to. Sounds SUPER!” He had a huge smile, chuckling at his crewmates clear interest in you. “Robin sure is sweet. Always giving people the attention they deserve when they like her,” he teased you. You look over at him in surprise, a blush dusting your cheeks.

Law eyed you suspiciously, unsure what to make of your and Robin’s affection nor even of Robin’s clear interest in himself. She had flirted with him during her exam, too, but he paid her no mind. She was a respectful woman. She loves to tease people, that’s all that is, Law dismissed the idea she might actually be promiscuous. Of course, even if she was, she had every right to enjoy herself. How could a pirate judge another pirate?

Thank you, Torao. I’m fascinated by this one as well. Robin’s words echoed in his head. Come to think of it, she was an information gatherer. She could sprout an ear anywhere she pleased… He wondered if she had spied on you both during the banquet on Zou. He’d have ample chance to confront her on the island.

Several routine days passed. You had been spending much more time with Robin, openly showering her with cuddles. Ikkaku, too, but she’d get rather flustered by it. You also made sure to give Penguin some affection as he seemed depressed; a nuzzle from you seemed to give him an energy boost. Occasionally, you’d be found snuggling Shachi or anyone else you began to trust. Raizo had showed you his ninja skills and you couldn’t help but fawn. Kine’mon was rather creepy, so you kept away, but Kanjuro was okay. Meanwhile, Zoro was a particular favorite, who didn’t seem to mind your minkshipping despite having rejected plenty a mink before- he was incredibly hot, to boot. Usopp & Franky loved you and gave you bear hugs, sometimes together. Bepo tended to follow you around closely, always wanting to snuggle or show you something cool. So far, it was fun!

Law in the meantime was keeping himself busy in his office, telling the crew what needed to be done daily and gathering as much intel as he could on the Beast Pirates and Wano. Unfortunately, the retainers of Oden only had limited information on how Wano currently was. They had been away from the country for some time in search of Momonosuke. Sometimes, he would appear around the Tang and although you did try and give him an embrace or two, he was always off-putting. He did not want public affection, but even when you caught him alone he was silent and walked away. It made you nervous you’d done something wrong.

Finally, the Polar Tang docks at the next island. The Heart Pirates prepared to restock on supplies and fuel before running off to enjoy themselves. The main three of the Heart Pirates along with Robin, Usopp and Zoro kept you company as you explored the island. It was a rather large town with plenty of shops to look through.

“This is really cool,” said Penguin, having ended up beside you as the others dispersed to different shops. His hand gingerly pushed yours, his fingers occasionally grazing until you confidently took his hand. His face lit up into a cherry red, but he held your hand tightly, his other hand gripping the brim of his hat.

“I appreciate you protecting me, Penguin,” you say in a smooth, loving voice. Penguin does a little skip, nodding vigorously, but staring at the ground. You take his arm and hug it between your breasts, enjoying how he panics and makes the silliest dopey face you’d ever seen. He was so cute.

From afar, Law had come out of a pharmacy and was watching you and Penguin. He sighed gruffly, the bag on his wrist rustling when he adjusted his idling position, hands shuffling some medications he had picked up to recheck the dosages. He swore to himself whatever he felt boiling in his stomach was just him getting sick. It had nothing to do with you or all the minkshipping you were indulging in with other people. When you found him alone or tried to make advances of affection it was just anxiety towards Kaido that made him feel too nervous to your touch. He was just worried about everything, everyone, and about Mugiwara who he doubted kept a low profile against Big Mom in her own territory. He hoped that idiot would survive.

Nothing to do with jealousy. He didn’t even recognize what that felt like. All he could conclude- if he thought about it long enough- was that Robin and Penguin in particular made his skin itch when they showed special interest in you. Something about it made his skin crawl, despite these two people being people he trusted to keep you safe. So why?

He placed the medicines back in the bag, deeming them suitable for his needs, and took out his grocery list to make sure everything was checked off. There were a few more things he needed elsewhere before he would get ready for the bathhouse. He had already booked the mixed baths for his crew and guests.

“Torao!” called a familiar voice. It was Franky. “What’s up my man? I helped Ikkaku grab some equipment for the Polar Tang. I plan to help spiffy things up, aye? The Tang is SUPER sophisticated, I’m obsessed with learning how submarines work better. I could use the information to improve the Sunny Go’s Shark Submerge III!” Franky’s enthusiasm was infectious, Law found himself smiling and nodding, approving of Franky’s help.

Glancing up towards you again, Law sees from far down the road that you were now facing Penguin. A shiver ran down his spine, his eyes grew wide and teeth grit tight as you planted a kiss on Penguin’s cheek, laughing heartily as the man fell to his knees with his arms wrapped around your thighs. His cheeks rested against both your knees, you could feel the heat of his cheeks radiating through your pants. He was too cute, you could tell he was in love with you. What that meant for the both of you, you weren’t sure. To Law however, it was outrageous. Why? He didn’t know! It just was!

“You’re looking a little… hot under the collar,” Franky said to Law, grinning cheekily. “You jealous?”

“NO!” Law hissed, whirling around to stomp to the next location. Franky laughed, following him close behind.

“You can open up to me, Torao! Relationships can be tough, how many have you had?”

Law ignored him, walking into the next shop. He went in to pick up some personal wine for his office. Maybe a pack of cigarettes to relax and talk with Corazon for a while. It didn’t matter, he just needed to clear his mind.

“Hey, now.” Franky insisted, patting Law on the back, “Don’t become an alcoholic over a crush,” he joked.

“It’s not a crush,” Law corrected, leering at him.

“Right,” Franky snickered. “Hate to break it to ya, but you’re down bad.”

Law scoffed, glaring down at a bottle of vodka. “No,” he finally muttered, “I’ve never been in a relationship.”

“Oh, I see.” Franky nodded. “And we’re pirates, so that makes it tougher. Hmm…”

Law rolled his eyes, “I have more important things to worry about.”

“Sure,” Franky shrugged, “But people get lonely, y’know? Robin and I spend time together sometimes, but we aren’t official…”

“I didn’t ask,” he felt that weird clench in his gut again. He walked away, heading for the counter to pay and pick out the cigarettes. Franky, like all the Straw Hats he’s ever interacted with, insistently followed him, paying for him. He sighed, “That wasn’t necessary.”

“It’s fine, we’re friends, buddy,” Franky ruffles Law’s hair. Law groaned.

“You Straw Hats don’t get what a fucking alliance even is, huh?”

Franky laughed loudly, “We’re friends regardless.”

Law’s expression softened. He walked out with Franky. He immediately looked towards where you’d been standing, but you were gone. He bit his lower lip, wondering where Penguin had taken you. Ugh, what does it fucking matter. Her body isn’t mine or something, Law cursed himself.

Franky once again rested a hand on his back, “If you ever need to talk about it I’m around, yeah?”

Law finally redirected his gaze to his list again. “It’s just stress. Nothing more, nothing less.”

It was finally the hour to meet at the bath house. You were excited, taking Penguin’s hand and Bepo’s paw towards the bath house. Your other escorts had reunited with you, too, and followed with beaming faces. They all liked your energy, enthusiasm, and your confidence.

You all enter the bathhouse. At first, it separated by gendered locker rooms. As usual, you chose the women’s lockers as it was quieter anyway. Only Robin and Ikkaku were with you, you saw Ikkaku was looking irritated and Robin looked amused. You had a feeling you were going to walk in on perverts, but there was also Law, and Zoro who would keep them in line. You thought about those two quite a bit, a little too excited to see them on display yourself. I’m kind of a pervert myself, huh. You giggle to yourself.

The three of you headed out, Robin beside you and Ikkaku semi-hiding behind you both. The Straw Hats had already jumped into the gorgeous steaming hot spring, the rocks displayed beautifully and a small waterfall could be heard over the men chattering. They all stopped and looked at you all as the door closed. Zoro walked over to you, a towel around his waist, he had been waiting by the door.

“You all good, ladies and others?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Yes, Zoro,” Robin chimed. She took his arm affectionately. “Thank you for protecting us,” she smiled. Zoro nodded, eyes averting and a light blush touching his cheek as Robin leaned her covered breasts into his upper arm. He guided the three or you into the water, glaring at the twenty plus idiots all gathered to stare.

Penguin fluidly swam over to you, a dopey grin once again gracing his face. He looked quite different without his hat. He had a mop of black hair a bit like Law and his eyes were red, typically associated with Fishmen. You smile warmly at him, accepting an embrace. He moaned ever lightly in your ear. You laugh, holding him close with one hand in his hair.

Shachi protested, jealous he didn’t get a hug and some of his crew followed. You laughed and accepted a few more hugs, although Penguin refused to let go. Law stared from one side of the pool, his arms spread out over the edge of the bath. His face was red from the steam—or so he would say. He wanted to tell his crew to back off, but he dared not out himself like that. Zoro meanwhile was glaring at Kine’mon whom he knew made you uncomfortable. He dared him to make an advance, making Kine’mon shrink into the water from your glare. Momonosuke wasn’t with them, he stayed cooped up in the Tang as he did in Zou.

“Nico-ya,” Law called Robin, only a few steps away. She looked at him with an inviting look. Once close enough, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Beautiful tattoos, Torao.”

“Thanks,” he remained indifferent. “I wanted to ask something in private.”

“Oh? What’s that?” she leaned on the side of the pool, resting her elbows on the edge and her head on her laced fingers.

“How did it occur to you I could like that mink?”

Robin giggled. “Well, I can tell. Not necessarily that you like them, but you are attracted, aren’t you?”

Law rolled his eyes. “Sort of.”

“Do you want me to call them ov—”

“—No. I’ll talk to them eventually myself.”

“So what does it matter?” Robin tilted her head a bit.

“Then why do you seem interested in them-- in me-- in Franky or Zoro?”

“You’re very alluring and we are very similar,” she said honestly, her warm expression unchanging. “As for Franky & Zoro, that’s my personal business. I do like Wolfy, they seem fun and I feel loved in their presence. Don’t you think so?”

Law remained silent, staring at you again. Penguin had let you go and the men were all laughing, jabbing him with jokes as he had grown erect and shrunk down into the water covering his still clothed crotch. You seemed pleased with the power you had over him, your eyes sparkled with amusement. Law clenched his jaw again.

“Do you think they don’t like you?” Robin asked, now turned around and watching the scene. “I saw you had a night out with them on Zou, didn’t you?”

So she knew, Law looked back at her. “Don’t tell anyone,” his voice held a hint of acid. Robin simply nodded, unafraid.

“How nice, would you reveal what you both did?” Robin grew closer, making Law tense.

“No,” Law squinted at her. “I had another question.”

Robin raised an eyebrow, “You didn’t respond to mine. Do you think they don’t like you?”

He raised his forearms in irritation. “Well they seem to like everyone else!”

Robin chortled, unable to hold in how funny he was to her. “They are a mink. But your friend seems very interested. Shouldn’t you hurry?”

Law glared at her. “I…” he didn’t know how to finish that. He’d basically just admitted it to himself. “I barely know them,” he concluded, “We have no idea if we’ll survive the next island. I don’t plan to know them. I’m not like Penguin.”

“Understandable,” Robin leaned on him, causing him to tense again. “But it’s good to spend the time we have wisely, isn’t it?”

Law didn’t respond. He watched you splashing at Ikkaku and the others. It had grown noisy. Zoro argued with Shachi about touching you a certain way, Bepo joining Ikkaku to splash, betraying you entirely. Penguin made sure to back you up. Meanwhile others were doing canon balls, cheering, chatting or relaxing. Law suddenly felt a trickle of warmth run down his nose to his chin.

You stood there, having accidentally undone your towel, your breasts were on full display above the water. They all gasped and stared. You sighed, lesser minks were far too sensitive about this. Penguin had dunked himself under water, either on purpose or on accent. You still have it covering your lower bits, you peek under the water to see he was just covering his crimson face.

“Th-They’re like a work of art,” Jean Bart commented from his place beside Franky, the older men were all talking in a circle at the far end. Kine’mon had predictably lost it as did most of the others.

“Now that’s confidence! SU~PER!” Franky posed, proudly sporting his bloody nose.

Law wadded forward and stood in the way of the view, “Come with me,” he demanded, one hand covering his own bloody nose.

You narrow your eyes at him. “What are you doing, Captain?” Penguin asked quickly.

Law lifted your towel to cover you up once he wiped his blood off. “Nothing,” he sneered. “I’ll be back.”

“Hey, now. They aren’t part of your crew,” Zoro sharply remarked, coming between you both. “They aren’t a Straw Hat either, but I ain’t letting you take them to point B, capiche?”

“Well,” Law stared at him intensely, “I’m a captain. And you lot are on my ship. It’s my responsibility to care for everyone. If you have objections, take it up with whomever gave me the responsibility. It was your captain, by the way.”

You felt your excitement escalate. In response, you slink over and hop onto Law’s back like a koala, earning a yelp from Law who hadn’t expected it. Of course, you weren’t heavy to him but he was still shocked. “It’s okay, Zoro~,” you nuzzle your face into Law’s hair. “I can handle it.”

Penguin stared, his red eyes clouding a tad. His shoulders sagged after a moment, Shachi’s own red eyes landed on him and came over to comfort him. Law ignored them, walking passed Zoro even with your weight and the water exhausting fruit users. Zoro had accepted your words, but he watched on skeptically. Robin joined him, leaning on him again.

Law sighed and walked out of the bath, making sure his towel was secure and trusted you were confident with your arms around his neck, your legs hooked around his waist. You used one hand to also make sure your towel covered what you wanted. He brought you into the men’s locker, going over to his locker to fetch something.

“Are you going to keep doing that?” He asked, your breasts were hardening against his back. You blush but tighten your arms. He sighed, “I need to ask you something. It’s bothering me.” He moved to sit on a bench, using a clean towel to dry his hair. It was his turn to blush as your hands slowly felt up his chest as he moved. You bury your nose into his neck.

“What’s the question, Dr. Heart Stealer?” You tease.

“Are you like this with everyone?” he asked bluntly.

“Like what?”

“Flirtatious. Do you fuck everyone?”

“No,” you blushed fiercely, “Only if I really like them.” He dared not ask the next question, but you did it for him. “Do you like me?” you whisper.

“In a sexual context,” he emphasized, “Sure.”

“You seem a little jealous. Maybe possessive,” you grin into his neck.

He thought a moment, gazing at the ground. He shivered when your lips met his skin, kissing along his pulse point. He tilted his head away slightly, giving you more room. You bite him, making him groan.

“Quit it,” he remarked. “They can’t see those. Just, be with me,” he whispered. “Be loyal to me— on my ship.”

“No,” you bit his shoulder.

“Ngh! Why not?” He grit his teeth, gripping your hair in one hand.

“I want life long commitments,” you lick the love bite you left, “And even then, it won’t be one person. Plus, you won’t even make me a Heart Pirate.”

Law’s eyes narrowed, he felt angry and confused. “Well I don’t feel the same,” his husky voice cracked slightly, his eyes water.

“If you change your mind, talk with me,” he felt you slide off his back. He stood quickly to look at you. You smile at him, walking towards the bath again. He could see your eyes trail his body, especially around his chest.

“Wait,” he took your wrist, “Let me show you something.”

You touch his tattoos as he pulls you close, then down to where his hands fumbled. He dropped the towel. It revealed first a womb tattoo, but more importantly a vulva. His hard engorged clit barely covered by the lips and hair. You stare, quite fascinated. You can’t help but reach forward and cup his member. He stomach visibly flinched, his hips bucking into your hand involuntarily.

“I really like you,” Law echoed the words you expressed about people you wanted, “But I hate seeing you with them, too. It’s driving me insane.”

You let go of his dick. He walked closer, touching your hips with both hands, squeezing possessively. “That’s okay, jealousy is normal,” you rest your hands over his, “I want to know you, too. We can be friends with benefits, but not a commitment. You have to get used to me being with others, sir.”

He squinted at you, clearly perturbed. He wasn’t sure how to process this idea. “Right,” he muttered, pouting, “It isn’t a commitment. But I want you first,” he insisted.

You giggled, “Now?”

He glanced down, blushing. “N-no. Let’s go back to the bath.” You watch him crouch to pick up his towel, then to allow you back up onto his back. You grin ear to ear, happy he seemed to enjoy you on his back.

[yuebinnie]

posted the 3rd chapter of my fanfic today! ^^

i'm really having fun writing it; i can't wait to write the next chapter already *-*

[silvysartfulness]

writing pattern tag game

thank you to @ameliarating for tagging me!

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 posted fics and see if there’s a pattern.

1. It was still dark when he woke up, but this dark had stars in it. (Heaven Has A Road chapter 56)

2. It's a sad thing to die alone far from home, Xiao Xingchen had told the old villager earlier, because he knew it was. (Heaven Has A Road chapter 55)

3. Bleeding out, chopped up like some badly butchered animal, Xue Yang dies in the dirt. (Under The Wheel)

4. “It's not a ghost,” Xue Yang said, sounding bored. (Heaven Has A Road chapter 54)

5. It could almost have been amusing, the way Xue Yang's moods swung wildly between almost ingratiating friendliness one moment, to glaring sullen murder at him again the next. (Heaven Has A Road chapter 53)

6. He surfaced from sleep completely ensnared in a tangle of limbs, confused for several long moments until the memories of last night clicked into place, and a wave of aching fondness made his breath catch. (Heaven Has A Road chapter 52)

7. The day had gone from crazy to something beyond surreal, and it felt like his mind had just given up and shut down halfway through, unable to really keep up anymore. (Heaven Has A Road chapter 51)

8. It was funny, in a way that actually really wasn't, how much easier flirting up a willing stranger to burn off some excess energy had been before - younger, brighter, sporting ostentatious Jin gold.... Having two arms. (Heaven Has A Road chapter 50)

9. Even in half-sleep Xue Yang could tell that the day would be unpleasantly hot and humid, and he was still a bit sore after last night's Night Hunt, but Xiao Xingchen was a comfortable enough pillow and so everything was as it should be. (Heaven Has A Road chapter 49)

10. “Jiangzai is here to see you.” (Between The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea)

I really appreciate Amelia asking me to do this with chapters as well as fics! Many Heaven chapters are 10k+ long, so could almost count as fics in their own right length-wise if you squint? 🤔😭

I think a pattern for opening lines for me is instantly establishing a mood, often by juxtapositioning concepts or words that clash or contradict, or just give a bit of emotional slap!

Xiao Xingchen knows firsthand what it’s like to die far from home. Xue Yang talks about something as extraordinary as ghosts and sounds bored. Xue Yang talking about sexy flirting and bringing up his mutilated arm in a single sentence, Song Lan wearily finding Xue Yang being friendly vs. murderous almost ‘amusing’.

Also throwing in stark phrasing like “butchered” or "dies in the dirt" or “ensnared” or other loaded words or subjects to grab the reader’s attention! Though I also really like more quietly poetic phrasing like the “this dark had stars in it”. 💚

Apparently I also like opening on a Xue Yang pov? At least looking back at these, though I do try to make a conscious effort to mix it up a bit!

Thank you so much for tagging me! I’m asking @fromaliminalspace @ebonykain @heretherebebookdragons and anyone else who wants to to join in on the fun! And if you don’t have enough/any published fics, just go with your wips! 😁

[moinsbienquekaworu]

And now, by popular demand, the latest post in the series of me listing fics I have enjoyed reading: Kylux edition! (dedicated to @romanticvampire and @zeawesomebirdie <3)

Usual disclaimers apply, that is to say I have my own personal tastes & biases, I prefer longer works, I read a lot of smut + people write a lot of smut for this ship, there are very few kinks I won't read, I love omegaverse, and there's lots of fucked up dynamics for these two, so read the tags carefully before reading!

Obviously I'm not saying those are the only good fics ever or the best, just that I had them downloaded to my phone/in my AO3 bookmarks and thought they were at least a fun read. You're free to think I have bad or weird tastes, but keep that to yourself.

All the links work as of late june 2023, so if you can't see one of the fics, it's probably archive locked. Sometimes I add comments but sometimes I don't, and obviously I have stronger opinions about certains works than others, but it also can just be that my memories are vague or that the summary just sells the fic better than any comment I could add. The fics are sorted from longest to shortest.

Onto the list!

First, here are authors whose names I Remember, most likely because I dug through their entire AO3 to find more cool fics back when I was really into Kylux, but also maybe because I realised while making this list that they'd written a few works I like but hadn't connected to them before. It doesn't mean those are the only authors worth reading, they really really aren't, they're just authors whose names I recognise and who wrote multiple fics I liked! They're listed in alphabetic order.

– callmelyss/(a)roseofgalaxies

• From the Last Whelming Sea (42k, 10 chapters)

By now, Kylo might have recited the story himself, how it had been before, how there was once a mighty republic—or an empire—or both?—between the many planets. How it had fallen into war and chaos. How, in insolation, their world had changed, the oceans rising, the cities tumbling. How the people had changed afterward, taken to the life still possible under the waves. – Generations after the Republic, the Empire, the Force, and terrestrial civilization have fallen from memory, Kylo is a prince on the cusp of fulfilling his destiny as leader of his people, who live among the sunken remnants of the world before. That is, until he meets Hux, a cantankerous tinkerer with an affinity for technology and the old relics, who challenges his understanding of everything he thought he knew about the oceans, the galaxy, his family—and himself.

• And All That Road Going (38k, 4 chapters)

Kylo regards the pair of them. Phasma’s pale hair haloes her paler face; Hux’s eyes are dark, unfathomable in the shadows. The city’s lights glitter behind them, beckoning them all back, but neither spares a glance that way, at that luminous oasis. They’re both looking at him, expectant, and at the road ahead. And it would be much easier to do this alone; he didn’t want to involve other people, least of all two strangers he’s just met. – Kylo Ren, AKA Ben Solo, the son of a prominent California Senator and a mechanic, flees his past and the authorities, trying to leave both behind in the Nevada desert. Along the way, he picks up a cynical waitress and a sharp-tongued con artist in need of their own new beginnings. Together, in his father's '77 Plymouth Voyager, they find more than the road between the edge lines.

• My Baby's a Devil in the Bedroom (20k, 6 chapters)

“Oh, obviously.” Kylo let out a shaky laugh and ran both hands through his hair. “Wait, no, you’re serious. You’re a fucking demon.” “Well, yes, not to put too fine a point on it.” Hux smiled, clearly pleased with himself at the joke. “Or more accurately, I’m a succubus. A sex demon.” – Kylo has an unusual squatter. He's pretty fine with it.

• Monster, Lovely (8.9k, 2 chapters)

“Wait, what?” The redhead—previously with his tongue halfway down Kylo's throat and his hand jammed into the front of his jeans—takes a halting step backward. He raises his fingers into the grimy light from the bathroom window. No mistake: they’re glistening with secretion and glowing a faint violet as he turns them this way and that, studying them. “Huh.” – It was supposed to be a casual party hookup. That was before Armitage knew about the tentacles.

• Hesitation Change (8.2k)

“I—" Kylo says. Meaning to explain. Except he doesn’t know that he can. Account for the impulse just now, to go against this precisely coordinated spectacle, to answer an unposed question, what it would feel like to kiss him in front of the entire expanse of known civilization, and, perhaps most pressingly, whether his lips are as soft as they look (softer). – The Supreme Leader marries his Grand Marshal.

-> absolutely insane about this author. Monster, Lovely is always lurking in my brain. From the Last Whelming Sea and And All That Road Going altered my brain chemistry. The author made all the works private while I was finishing up the list and I waited until they made them publicly available again because I could not post a Kylux reclist that didn't link to them. Lyss (if that's still what you go by?) if you're reading this you changed my life a little and I don't know you but I love you.

– Camellia Cook

• Catch and Release, in collaboration with armoredsuperheavy (19k, 4 chapters)

Six months after the death of Supreme Leader Snoke, Hux feels like he’s all that’s holding the First Order together, but he’s barely managing to keep himself together. He’s stressed out and exhausted, unable to step away from his work long enough to truly relax. Kylo Ren is intimately acquainted with the feeling of being overwhelmed by one’s responsibilities. Looking at Hux, he remembers a long-ago encounter that helped him escape that feeling once, for a little while. He’s certain he could do the same thing for Hux, if only Hux would let him.

• Decadence; Or, Five Times Hux Tempted Kylo Ren and One Time Ren Tempted Him (17k, 4/7 chapters)

Hux is horrified to learn the depths of the new Supreme Leader's asceticism, and so he personally sets out to convince him that there's nothing wrong with enjoying yourself from time to time--for the greater good of the First Order, of course. A little pleasure might go some way towards decreasing Ren's famous volatility, after all. Not that kind of pleasure, though. This isn't a seduction. (Yes, it is, but Hux is the one being seduced.)

• Moonlighting (11k)

When Hux decides to visit a famous red-light district in search of a little stress relief, he’s disappointed in the selection until a tall, broad stranger in a skirt and heels catches his eye. When he gets closer, he finds that the stranger isn’t a stranger at all--it’s Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order, selling himself on a street corner. It must be some sort of undercover work to track down a resistance operative--surely that’s the only possible explanation. There’s no way Ren could be doing this just because he gets off on it… right?

• masters of the fucking universe (5.8k)

Kylo Ren, CEO of First Order Peacekeeping Solutions, plucks his top engineer, Armitage Hux, out of his lab and brings him along to a high-class fundraiser to help sell their newest innovation. Hux is just trying to keep up, and not give away the enormous crush he has on his boss--which is made much more difficult when Kylo decides he wants some company after the event.

-> I keep thinking about Moonlighting, I would safely put it in the top 10 of the hottest fics I have ever read (hottest to me personally of course). I will forever mourn that Decadence didn't get finished, but the 4 chapters we have are already incredible.

– flyting

• In A Crowd of Thousands (1.2k)

Hux recalls the time he met Ben Solo, unaware that Kylo remembers it too. “It was Endor Day,” Kylo realizes. He remembers those parades, distantly, through the veil of another life. A hot, cloudless summer day and a cheering crowd. “Yes,” Hux says. “I didn’t realize it at the time or I wouldn’t have-” he stops, shutting his mouth. “Wouldn’t what?” “I suppose I got rather into the spirit of things. I was twelve. It was warm and there was music, and everyone was so excited. Someone gave me a free iced chocolate. It was the best thing I’d ever tasted.”

• Breaking Down Like Fractions (6.9k, 2 chapters)

For the TFA-kink prompt: AU where Ben Solo never became Kylo Ren, but he's still the same man who *could* have become Kylo Ren. He's prone to fits of temper, he's very strong in the Force, and... he's a Jedi. He's developed a soft touch on people's minds (because Uncle Luke is so disappointed when he's mean to prisoners, although Uncle Luke is disappointed in him anyway) and he's the Resistance's interrogator of last resort. And then the Resistance captures a prize: General Hux of the First Order. He's building a base somewhere that can destroy an entire star system at once. And Ben is the only one who can find out where it is.

• Reputation (15k, 9 chapters)

Kylo finds out Hux is an omega. Functionally it makes no difference -- everybody in the FO takes hormone control -- but every so often medical deems fit to have someone go through a rut/heat. Alpha/omegas are uncommon enough that it doesn't present real disruptions. Kylo is excited. He's an alpha, and has never experienced being around an available omega. Omegas are supposed submissive, needy things -- according to Han's old romance novels and Snoke's gender essentialism 101, at least. And the glut of porn. Subjugating the general sounds appealing. It turns out heat makes Hux mean. He's aggressive, hostile, and doesn't seem to give a fuck about Kylo or his fancy dick.

-> Reputation has been on my wall list of fanfics I like since July 2021 and the author writes great (that's the end of the sentence, their writing is great)

– imperialhuxness

• Brighter Visions (14k)

Then: Free-wheeling arms runner Kylo Ren sells illicit kyber to a disgraced general with nothing left to lose. Now: The Emperor doesn't cope well with lateness from his best clandestine operative. – "Kylo’s chest clenches, and he pulls Hux closer. The Force is glowing again at the margin of his consciousness, something warm and golden and alive threatening to burst out of it. Thirty years of life, and he’s been three different people: the failed padawan, the misfit criminal, and the Emperor’s one-man death squad. Only the lattermost has been happy."

• Love, Your Crooked Neighbor (11k)

When Snoke assigned Hux to bring in his newest asset, Hux was expecting some everyday Coruscanti underworlder on a low-profile Core World. Predictable. Routine. What he gets is a burning compound on a nameless hunk of rock, a confused young pseudo-Sith, and oh, yeah. Feelings.

• Super Fade (8k)

After Ben returns to his hometown from a disastrous first semester of college, his dad attempts to revive one of their oldest father-son bonding activities: picking out New Year's fireworks. His going-places high school ex is the last person he expects to find on the other side of the counter. – Over a gray v-neck—not a button-down, what the hell— that bares his pale throat and prominent collar bones, the guy’s wearing a leather jacket. An enamel pride flag pin shines on his lapel. “Oh, my god,” Ben breathes. “Armitage?” What has to be Armitage fucking Hux looks him up and down. “How‘s Yale?” he says, and adds belatedly, “You may set your items on the table.”

-> Once again, Super Fade changed my life, it is so very memorable to me for personal reasons. Love, Your Crooked Neighbor is an extremely fun read also, not like funny but very enjoyable to me

– Kyluxtrashpit @kyluxtrashpit (who is still posting about them even though it's been years, thank you for your service, I haven't read for these two in a while but I'll swing by for your last fic)

• Floss Me (2k)

Hux, Kylo's boyfriend, is aghast to find out how rarely Kylo flosses (i.e. never) and he can't take it anymore, so he decides to take matters into his own hands. Kylo's mind, however, takes things in a different direction, and it turns out both of them enjoy the rather unexpected results.

• Aural (2.7k)

Hux fucks Kylo's ear. (Yeah you read that right)

• Monthly Reports (3.1k)

Kylo Ren's tantrums are expensive, and those extra expenses always complicate Hux's paperwork. Rebalancing the budget takes time, time that could be better spent doing something useful. So, of course, he devises a punishment for Ren.

-> Now those may sound a little... strange. Especially Aural. And it would be reasonable of you to think "ew I'm not reading that" but what is life if you never read fics that sound insane and are actually also very good? Huh? You can check out the rest of their works because they're also good, this is just the few I had downloaded on my phone. Floss Me is more normal and I am still a little obsessed with it <3

– notlikelybutpossible (all archive restricted!)

• the Fall Out Kylux series (148k, 3 works of about 50k each)

Inexperienced alpha Kylo Ren gets stranded on Hoth with reluctant omega Armitage Hux. Guess who’s going into heat. Guess who has to help him…

• My lonely heart calls (37k, 3 chapters)

Irreverent werewolf Kylo Ren meets repressed furry Armitage Hux. They're perfect for each other.

• the Dick in a box series (8.7k, 3 works)

In which Kylo Ren presents Hux with his dick. In a box.

• Once A-Pawn A Time (7.2k)

Hux has seen the mysterious man around a fair bit over recent months – he's hard to miss, with his height and build, not to mention the scar that runs all the way down one cheek. Hux is reasonably sure he’s living out of the battered Ford that he often leaves in the Walmart parking lot. But he's never come into the pawn shop before…

• Yours, desperately (6.7k)

Ren discovers Hux has a secret kink. And, being an emotionally fluent, boundary-respecting adult, decides his new purpose in life is to convince Hux to share…

• Holding out for a Hero (3.6k)

When Kylo Ren emerges from the waves before him, Armitage Hux is far more interested in his cock than, y'know, the fact that he's a centaur...

• Tie me down and use me up (2.1k)

"I just think that Kylo's massive cock deserves to be edged or used as a dildo for someone else's pleasure. Preferably with little to no regard for the pleasure or satisfaction of the man it belongs to." (@ProteanKylux, 28 July 2021, Twitter)

• Oil and fire (2k)

Kylo, a friendly liquid blob monster, encounters a human hiking through the forest who entrances him like a flame entrances a moth. He wants to touch.

• Soggy Biscuits (2k)

Kylo Ren was not prepared to deal with a very drunk, very uninhibited Hux bragging about how fast he can masturbate. But... he also wasn't prepared to just let him win.

-> I'm insane about all of those but especially the Fall Out Kylux series, Alpha Dog and Omegalomaniac lives in my brain still. I also remember clicking on the AO3 email for Soggy Biscuits <3 Once A-Pawn A Time is weird to read once Anakin becomes your blorbo as well but the concept charms me so much

– sigo

• Homecoming (13k)

“Ren, it’s midnight,” Hux sighed at his infuriating coworker. “Get to it.” “I may have informed my entire family previously that we were dating.”

• Whitecap Violence (5.2k)

When Kylo had first wanted to bring Hux along, Hux had protested. Bad enough that the Supreme Leader was always off galivanting planetside somewhere. The Chancellor should stay on Coruscant. Kylo would hear none of it, and here Hux was.

• The One with the Eggs (4.9k)

Hux turned on his heel, but hardly made it two steps before running straight into Kylo Ren. He knew his face betrayed his dismay. He didn’t have time for this.

-> Eggs are not everyone's thing but when they're yours it's really hard to find good fics, thankfully this fic exists. Homecoming was a kinda strange but fascinating read, by which I mean I read it once years ago and I still remember it pretty well, and Whitecap Violence is easily one of my fave titles I've ever seen

– solohux

• Screaming Colour (38k)

For as long as Hux can remember, he's been able to see everything in brilliant, vivid colour. His mother tells him that it means that he's got a soulmate somewhere in the galaxy who's waiting for him and little Hux is excited to think that his soulmate can see things in the amazing colours that he can. But one day, the colour begins to drain from Hux's world. (Soulmate AU where you see everything in perfect colour until your soulmate dies)

• What We're Made Of (13k, 3 chapters)

On the morning of your 5th birthday, you'll wake up with a new toy beside you, one that is made in the image of your destined soulmate. Young Ben has a little wooden General with orange hair and a woolly greatcoat that matches his little cap, whilst young Armitage has a soft plush of a Jedi, one with soft dark hair and two brown buttons for eyes. The two boys are happy with their new toys. Their families, however, are not. It shapes them.

• Emergency Consort (7.2k)

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren is close to sealing a deal with a highly influential council that’ll help sway the war in their favour. The only issue is that the council only deal with alphas who are mated as they believe that they’re much tamer and more level-headed this way. All Kylo needs to do is pretend to be mated whilst visiting the planet to sign the agreement. He seizes the opportunity to offer Hux a promotion in return for pretending to be his mate. Hux agrees, and their courting begins.

• Pander To The Prince (4.7)

Armitage Hux is a pillow prince, leaving it up to his Sugar Daddy, Kylo Ren, to do all of the work for him in the bedroom.

• The Sixth Drink Instinct (2.2k)

Drunk student Hux spots his hot professor in a bar and goes over to him.

-> What We're Made Of and Emergency Consort were some of my first Kylux fics I think and I have such a deep fondness for them! Also just the concept of What We're Made Of is incredible.

– sternfleck

• the Arcana Imperii series (56k, 9 works)

Based on the “Duel of the Fates” leaked alternate script for Episode 9.

• Nestful (5.5k)

Out of everyone in the First Order, only Kylo Ren knows the truth about Hux: the General is half alien...and entirely appealing. Or: Hux builds a nest out of pillows and clothes when it’s time for him to lay his eggs. Kylo wins his trust to enter the nest and give Hux the reward he deserves. For Kylux Positivity Week 2.0, Day 8. Prompt: “Wild Card."

• salt & he was still hungry (2.7k)

“I don’t see why it’s so crucial that I share this childhood experience of yours,” Armitage grumbles, cuddling Millicent closer even as he leans back into Ben’s arms. “We’re adults. We’re old enough to have children of our own, if we were so inclined. Surely there are better ways to spend our time than in surrendering to nostalgia.” Ben only hugs him tighter, one big arm around Armitage’s waist, while, with the other hand, he pulls a pillow into Armitage’s lap and rests the open picture book across it. Then, with a last kiss to Armitage’s temple, he begins to read. In the light of the moon, a little egg lay on a leaf. - Soft grown-up boyfriends Ben and Armitage cuddle in a blanket nest and enjoy Ben's favourite picture book together. At least, Ben enjoys it. Armie, on the other hand, has many thoughts about caterpillars, child development, and their romantic future.

-> The whole "salt-verse" thing is fascinating to me tbh. Remember what I said about egg fics being rare? Yeah, this is My Egg Fic™ for Kylux (and one of my egg fics of forever across everything I've ever read). Is it weird that I have one, yes, is the fic deserving of the spot it's been occupying rent-free in my brain for years, also yes. I hate to say this but Arcana Imperii is the vibes I wanted for the end of another Kylux fic lol.

And now, the actual list of fics! Some of those authors also wrote other fics (cough cough hollycomb) but if they're not on the list it's that I just never read them/found it easy to pick a favourite, not that I think they're bad!

• Dollars to Donuts by ktula (183k, 24 chapters)

Kylo just wants to ask Hux out on a date. That's all he wants. Sure, he's been closeted since he figured out he was gay, and he's never gone on a date with anybody before, and also Hux intimidates the hell out of him--but how bad could it possibly be? (It could be 'proposing a celibate fake marriage to the guy you've been in love with for two years so he can get his inheritance' bad, Kylo. That's how bad it could be.

-> Classic, I can't not include it but it's probably super popular and you might have seen it somewhere (I don't know I don't look at stats or talk to people). Personally not only did I like the fake dating (love that stuff) I also appreciated the author including a commentary at the end of chapters, it helped me Get the fic and it was cool.

• Ad Augustana per Sciencia by Star_flaming (157k, 12 chapters)

Hux prided himself on being a man who managed to have interests outside of the military. His newest interest; history so old that many thought it useless in the modern age. And he could have been quite content, reading articles and books on ancient cultures if it wasn't for Kylo Ren, who seemed to have made it his goal to inject himself into Hux's academic pursuits when he wasn't destroying the ship through his apparent self-destructive tendencies. Or: Academia brings two idiots together and builds a new regime

-> I never finished this fic but the worldbuilding is absolutely insane and I say that with all the love in my heart. The concept of space children makes me foam at the mouth it's so cool and I want to see that energy in canon SW so bad. Incredible. Also love when there's Ancient History <3

• In The Days Still Left by carefulben (154k, 23 chapters)

The instructions are clear, but following them will take more strength of nerves and willpower than either General Hux or Kylo Ren could have anticipated. With Starkiller Base destroyed, they are sent on a mission that will test their loyalties and bring things to light that may have been better off kept in the dark.

-> Add it to the pile of never finished fics I should really really finish. I remember it vaguely but I know it was cool and good.

• Reach Out and Touch Faith by for_autumn_i_am and ktula (146k, 10 chapters)

New Contacts (1): General A. Hux [Finalizer] - Kylo blinks. Sits up, and carefully presses the button. It’s—fuck, it’s a professional holo of him. Full colour, instead of the wavering blue of the hologram unit embedded in Snoke’s throne, and General Hux has—General Hux has red hair, and green-grey eyes, and he’s so focused, so settled. Like he knows what he wants. Like he knows how to get it.

-> Okay I'm going to be honest I read that one because of the title haha. It might even have introduced me to the song, but I'm not certain. Almost no memories of it but it absolutely cannot be bad, look at that summary, look at those authors, I just know it's good.

• The structural fabrications series by kyluxtrashcompactor (133k & 3 works, 40-50k per work)

Six months ago, Armitage Hux fabricated a fiancé, never expecting to have to drag him to a funeral in Georgia, pretending to be something they weren't. The problem was, Ben Solo was everything Hux had ever wanted. Ben Solo had hidden his love for his roommate for years, thinking that someone as perfect as Hux would never want a broken soldier like him. But he was wrong. Sometimes you have to tell a lie to find the truth.

-> This series was so.... yeah. If you don't want to Feel Things inside your heart right now you should keep it for later but it's great. I read the first fic, knew I couldn't handle the two others right then, and unfortunately didn't come back, but that first work was insane and incredible and a ride.

• Beauty Beneath (Beyond) by dallystrings (104k, 11 chapters)

“You know Ben, he’s a disaster when it comes to planning in advance,” Hux laughed lightly, dropping his hand to entwine his fingers in Ben’s. “I’m Hux, his boyfriend.” or, the one where Ben really doesn't want to go home, and Hux is just trying to be a better friend. or, or, the 2020 newly edited version of Beauty Beneath (2016)

-> I like fake/pretend relationships okay!! It might not be the single best I've ever read but it does the job and it does it well.

• Suit Porn by for_autumn_i_am (77k, 9 chapters)

Armitage Hux has worked tirelessly to become CEO of First Order Corp's UK office, however his counterpart in the States, Kylo Ren, is the most infuriating man with whom to exchange emails. When Hux is called to New York to meet with Ren, he encounters a delicious man in a suit, who wants to do unspeakable things to him. But when Hux walks into his meeting the next morning, he's in for a surprise and the beginning of a relationship that is far more than just business.

-> I had no memories of this one so I went to read it and I don't think it's present-me's jam anymore, but it sure delivers upon its premise if that sounds interesting to you!

• Sweet Home Arkanis by Gefionne and minzimpression (68k, 8 chapters)

Hux is engaged to the man of his dreams. There’s just one catch: he’s already married to his high school sweetheart, Ben Solo. Now he needs a divorce, and he needs it fast.

-> Do you think those cliché hallmark movies are entertaining if not very good? Well. Fanfic version, ie automatically more enjoyable because at least there's no weird sexism. I'm selling it all wrong, don't listen to me, it's just really good, I have great memories of that one.

• There's no escape from my authority by The_Marron (67k, 20 chapters)

Hux refuses to go to Snoke like a schoolboy waiting for punishment he did not deserve. Now he has two weeks until they reach the Supreme Leader's quarters to stage a coup and take Snoke out of the equation. To do that he will not only need his crew, but also the loyalty of his rival. Nobody said becoming an Emperor was easy and pleasant.

-> I only remember the title but it is a really cool title. I think it was good? That summary is certainly making me want to take another look at it

• All Hearts Come Home For Christmas by aaelandair (66k, 8 chapters)

"Do you want to come home with me and pretend to be my boyfriend for a week?" Hux stares at him incredulously. "What the actual fuck, Ren? No." - Kylo desperately needs a fake boyfriend for Christmas, so his family won't be disappointed in him once again. Hux would be the perfect candidate for the job, except for the part where he doesn't want to do it. Convincing him that this is actually a good idea should be easy, though. Right?

-> Aand some more fake/pretend relationship! This one is really good at that trope and a very fun read <3

• Status: It's Complicated by PangolinPirate and sunnywritesstuff (61k, 8 chapters)

Armitage Hux is a graduate student working hard to make ends meet. To ease the financial strain he offers tutoring lessons. Enter one Kylo Ren, an apparently spoiled rich kid whose struggling to pass his law classes and is in danger of loosing his considerable inheritance if he can't improve. Kylo has everything Hux wishes he had when he was an undergraduate: Money, connections, parents who gave a shit about his education. Kylo asks Hux to be his tutor and what started as a side gig for cash turns into feelings. At first, Hux is unimpressed with the spoiled man-child student, but slowly realizes he can’t hide from it anymore— Kylo Ren does something to him that no other person ever has before, and to hell if he won’t indulge in that.

-> Didn't finish that one either, I'm a fanfic magpie and AO3 is full of very shiny jewels, but the beginning was fun

• the Kylux Animal Welfare AU (Madame, That's Not A Hedgehog & co) by GenerallyHuxurious (57k & 11 works for the whole series, 21k & 7 chapters for the main fic)

Armitage Hux is an animal welfare officer with First Order Animal Rescue, one of the biggest animal charities in the world, he spends his days saving animals and his nights home alone with his three-legged rescue cat Millicent. Kylo Ren's mother helped him open a private wildlife clinic in the hope that he'd stop causing international incidents in the name of animal rights. Hux hasn't had a date in six years and Kylo's been trying to work out how to ask him out for the last four. Now he might have spotted his chance…

-> ASPEC HUX!!! This is not a drill!!!!! He's aspec!!!!! He's demi!!!! The plot is also immaculate obviously but aspec Hux!!!! It touches on animal abuse so be careful, I know the last chapter really shook me, but it stands out in my memory and I love it a whole lot. Aspec Hux also once again.

• Dire Oversight by ezlebe (54k, 7 chapters)

“Thvala has a long tradition of binding political alliances with marriage,” Captain Pforn says, looking up from the heretofore agreed contract and folding his hands over the data pad. He has a smile like what he said isn’t absolutely senseless, “It is the will of Sovereign Andeles that you and Prince Gheralt fulfill this aspect of the contract.”

-> Fake marriages my beloveds. I keep reccing fics with that trope but they're all fun!!

• On Bended Knee by rudbeckia (47k, 10 chapters)

Armitage Hux, just out of an unhealthy long term relationship with an older man, is on vacation. On his first night, the complete stranger from the next room proposes. The handsome complete stranger with shoulders that look like he could wrestle a ram and hair that would make a poet weep. Armitage says yes. That’s no basis for a lasting relationship. Is it?

-> Ohoho I am insane about that one. The start of their relationship. The development. Hux's ex. I won't spoil but there is Something in their relationship that is different from what you usually see in romance and it's great.

• Young Couple Arguing in IKEA, 2016 (Mixed Media) & First Love, Late Spring by hollycomb (7k, 38k & 3 chapters)

Ren drags Hux to IKEA and asks him what he thinks about cacti. Hux does his best to avoid a full nervous breakdown.

"Hux felt like he had nothing left to lose and ended up back at the apartment Ren shared with his cousin and her husband, indulging in what he assumed would be a reckless one night stand. It was reckless indeed, but Hux was still there three days and approximately nineteen fucks later." Ren's POV on bringing a lonely ginger criminal home and never wanting to let him go.

-> ALSO obsessed with that one. Obsessed obsessed. It hit me right in the feels and it was absolutely insane and I am in genuine love with it. You can read them in whichever order, I think I read First Love, Late Spring first? It comes first in in-universe chronological order but that doesn't really matter. BTW, if you have not, listen to First Love, Late Spring by Mitski, it is also an insane song that makes me feel shrimp emotions.

• Hotline Bling by minzimpression (37k, 4 chapters)

Hux wants a dick pic from his recent hook-up. Unfortunately, he texts the wrong number.

-> If I was serious-insane about the others I'm silly-insane about that one. It's very very fun to read, at least in my eyes.

• What we want by mssdare (37k, 7 chapters)

Kylo is doing Community Service in a state-run assisted living facility outside NYC. He hates his job, his life, and mostly--himself. One of the patients in the facility is old Colonel Hux. His son, Armitage, is the most infuriating, stuck up man Kylo has ever met in his life.

-> And back to more serious-insane. I think if you read all the fics that Resonate with me you can tell what's wrong with me. ALSO! ASPEC HUX!! Yeah I have to shout it from the rooftops because I love it. More aspec characters everywhere. I love his relationship to sexuality there.

• On the Waves by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles (34k, 7 chapters)

Armitage Hux is forced to join his father and step-mother on a 14 day cruise hosted for high society families to network and debut their children to the world. Now that Armitage is 25 years old he is expected to marry someone whose family will strengthen the Hux business and if by the end of the cruise Armitage isn’t engaged, he’s in trouble. Worse still is the fact that Armitage is gay and his father would disown him if he knew. Resigned to a miserable two weeks, Armitage is caught off guard when he catches the eye of Ben Solo, who is on the cruise with his own family. It doesn’t help that Ben is exactly his type and although Armitage tries, he can’t resist temptation as he and Ben become close. For two weeks their affection grows in secret with one question remaining: what happens when the cruise ends and their time together runs out?

-> The plot is straightforward, the fic is fun, there's some Rey and Phasma in there too if you like them!

• Something About Volcanoes by betts (28k, 5 chapters)

“Think about it.” Hux makes a grandiose, sweeping motion with his arm. “The drama. The chaos. The rumors. The only thing better than a destination wedding is a heartwarming coming-out story to take the spotlight away from your selfish loved ones and their horrid pursuit of emotional fulfillment. Then you wait a few months, and announce it was all just a phase and you’re in fact happily engaged to…I don’t know, one of those body pillow things.”

-> Yet more fake dating. I just love fake dating. They're assholes in this one and I love assholes.

• fingerprints smudging the stars by TheSpaceCoyote (21k, 2 chapters)

For years Hux has carried himself with the poise and power of an alpha, his true endotype hidden with the help of fake scents and powerful suppressants. But on the cusp of Starkiller's completion, something slips through the general's carefully crafted failsafes and threatens to undo everything he's built up over the years. Hux has never been one to accept help, but with an unexpected problem mounting—not to mention the interference of unpredictable alpha Kylo Ren—he might have to.

-> Dope title and I have very few memories of this one but it sounds like a neat omegaverse. I also trust the author to do words good

• The Wildflower Prince by PangolinPirate and solohux (21k, 4 chapters)

Armitage Hux is an omega, locked away in a tower until his alpha father can find use for him. His tower is deep in the enchanted forests and surrounded by an impenetrable circle of magic, so Hux lives a very lonely and quiet life. That is, until gifts begin appearing upon his balcony.

-> I really like omegaverse too! Sue me! This one is neat and simple and a great read, it has Rapunzel vibes and it's fun.

• Caim by Eiramma (20k)

Hux is stolen from his academy bunk late one night and is dumped on the frozen waste land that is Ilum along with a small handful of his other classmates. Despite never having dreamed a night of his life, on his first night on this frozen planet, Hux finds himself in the body of an angry padawan, Ben Solo. As his stay on Ilum continues, it becomes apparent that pair of them share some sort of deep connection forged through mysticism of the Force, that permits them spend their dreams in one another's waking lives, and Hux has no idea why. But with danger lurking around every snow covered tree, Hux begins to wonder if he will be able to live long enough to understand the mystery of their bond, never mind deal with the growing fondness for the other boy that has begun to bloom in his heart.

-> not on AO3 anymore but I have an epub file if someone's interested, just hit me up in private! I love love love this kind of dyad thing, and I have a fondness for teen!Kylux.

• the Galactic La Leche League series by gundamoocow (17k, 2 works)

Kylo Ren’s jaw hangs loosely and his eyes are steadfastly fixed on Hux’s chest. He hasn’t moved an inch since Hux unclasped his tunic hook by hook to reveal a tight, flattening undershirt that leaves little to the imagination. Hux shirks the tunic off and drapes it over a chair before pulling the undershirt over his head. Removing it is always a struggle, but he manages with enough grace for Ren not to notice. He is topless now, wearing only his boots and jodhpurs, standing awkwardly in his room while Ren appears frozen in time with his eyes glued to Hux’s torso, surprise plain on his face. Hux frowns. “Surely you were aware?” Ren shakes his head. “No,” he utters, his voice weak as if winded. “I had no idea.”

-> Now I know what you're thinking, what is this, why are you reccing this, etc. Well the fic is fun to read, and it's hard to find male lactation without mpreg or children in the picture but the idea has potential to be really hot, so. There. Cringe culture is dead, live a little and try a good lactation fic

• Family Values by SpookMouse (16k, 8 chapters)

“Alone on Thanksgiving? Mad at your dad? I am a 28 year old felon with no high school degree, and a dirty old van one year younger than me painted like Eddie Van Halen’s guitar. I can play anywhere between the ages of 20 and 29 depending on if I shave. I’m a line cook and work late nights at a bar. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Thanksgiving, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game.” Or, Hux brings Kylo home for the holidays.

-> I think the summary just sells that one on its own. Look at this. Incredible Kylo energy.

• Unknown Pleasures by gundamoocow and hexgoldyloins (16k, 7 chapters)

Kylo Ren and Armitage Hux are rival employees at First Order Engineering, a multi-disciplinary engineering company headed by the elusive CEO Snoke. For years, Kylo and Hux have been at each other's throats, vying for power and advancement within the aerospace division. An opportunity to have an audience with Snoke presents itself, but it involves forming an unlikely alliance and going undercover…to a BDSM sex club.

-> Also reread that one for the list and hmmm yeah it's good. The BDSM etiquette could be better but if you compare it to canon they're doing so well <3

• Nothing but a Flickering Flame by leviathanofthesky (14k, 7 chapters)

General Hux’s father visits the Finalizer after Snoke’s death to pay tribute to the newly crowned supreme leader. Unfortunately for Armitage, Kylo’s sudden interest in him and the fact that his shipment of suppressants seems to be lost in stars-know-where doesn’t help the situation at all.

-> Hmm, good old Brendol bashing <3

• Reptile Husbandry by koi_boi (13k)

Hux is an accomplished researcher who's having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad time in the field. He stumbles into a cave filled with secrets and one very large, very curious snake. Hux gets fucked in more ways than one.

• There's a Desert in My Blood and a Storm in Your Eyes by frapandfurious (12k, 5 chapters)

Hux and Kylo have been on the road together for over a year. They're free and they're in love. Until a ghost from Hux's past finally catches up with them.

• Give Me a Shot to Remember by decotex (11k, 6 chapters)

Everyone on the Finalizer has at some point had to listen to the General and their resident Dark Lord's flirting. They are not subtle. Someone points out Kylo Ren's soft spot for a certain First Order general. Hux contemplates this over vodka. Feat. heavy drinking, a ship full of gossipers, and no subtlety whatsoever.

-> I found a fave song of mine in this fic. The last chapter was an Experience and I re-live it every time I listen to Goodbye to a World.

• Lapdog by Antique_Mango (11k)

“I’m willing to listen to what the Supreme Council has to say,” Ren continues like they are having a reasonable conversation, and not like Hux is half a moment away from losing every last bit of his hard-earned decorum, “as soon as you sit down.” “On your lap.” – After his fall from grace Hux is barely keeping it together, convinced that everyone wants him dead (himself included.) Kylo tries to change his mind.

-> Oh yeah baby, amplify those emotions! Make them feel things! More!!! I left a loonng comment on that one because it fascinated me so much.

• A Whisper In My Ear by Ellstra (10k)

A minute reaction of Hux’s inspires Ren to suggest adding some spice into their sex life. Hux isn’t entirely certain what to expect but he’s definitely on board.

• Young Men at the End of Everything by partialresonance (9k)

Kylo thinks he can get used to life in exile, so long as Hux is there to live it with him. But a random stroke of fate suddenly throws Hux's life into jeopardy, and Kylo has to turn to an unlikely source for help.

-> The title is great the old lady character is great it's a good read and pretty memorable for a 9k fic

• an insult to basic geometry by brawlite (7.4k)

It's not that Kylo wasn't trying to summon a demon; it's just that he didn't think it would actually work. He also didn't prepare himself for the hypothetical demon that he probably wasn't going to summon to be so damn hot. And now the demon is asking him what he wants -- and the only thing Kylo really seems to want is the demon himself. That's within the terms and conditions, right?

-> Dope title, check, demons, check, I follow the author on here and am slowly getting into other fandoms they've also written for, check. (no but for real when I saw their name looking for Venom fic it felt like seeing an old friend, great surprise)

• Pheromones by EmberSH (6.2k)

After a blind date gone wrong all Hux wants is to have a drink and find a distraction for the evening; Best case scenario someone who'll treat him a little rough. Kylo Ren is so much more than that.

-> This was the hottest fic I'd ever read for a looong time years ago. Genuinely, it completely blew my mind when I was like 14. The follow up was less fun because I am Not a noncon person and I really really wasn't back then but it's also good. The fic has vampires, go read it if you like vampires.

• silk & heat by surrenderer (5.2k)

When Ben gets home, Armitage has some exciting plans for the rest of their day together. For Year of Kylux's "Omegaverse" week!

• A Decent Proposal by PaperPrince (5k, 5 chapters)

Hux is very happy not being in a relationship with his roommate and best friend Kylo Ren. But when Kylo faces deportation, they find themselves re-evaluating their co-dependent lifestyle. What is marriage really? Two people who is on the cruise the rest of their lives together. So what difference does it make if you take sex away from the equation?

-> ASPEC KYLO!!!! Not the best writing in the entire world, but the concept and aspec Kylo got me.

• Botanical Exercises by need_more_meta (3.9k)

Hux finds a flower on his bed. Then another one. And another one. For Kylux Positivity Week 3.0, Prompt: “Flower Language” with a dash of “Oh No He’s Hot.”

-> It reminds me of Dites-le avec des fleurs <3

• When Christmas Comes by Pizzzazlut (3.6k)

"Kylo bit his lip as he tried not to show Hux how much that simple touch was already affecting him. Because an Alpha shouldn’t want this. An Alpha should never crave for his sweet albeit feisty Omega to fuck him into submission like this, to make him beg for more with each delicious thrust." Or the one where Alpha Kylo bottoms for his lovely Omega.

-> People who do fun stuff with A/B/O dynamics are galaxy brained and so very right and I love them.

• What Couples Do by Mesmeret (3.4k)

Kylo likes matching with Hux. At first it’s socks but they gradually figure out ways to share things together that keep them company when the other is away. My contribution for the Soft Issue of the Kylux Zine Project.

• How Not To Train Your Not-Sith Enemy by humane (3.1k)

"Forgive me, master." Hux murmured, head bowed in shame, "I feel it again. The pull from the dark. It tempts me more each time." Luke arched a single bushy eyebrow. You? Tempted? it seemed to say. "It's Kylo Ren." Hux admitted. Sympathy and profound understanding blossomed on Luke's face, the likes of which could only be observed in individuals that had personally experienced the unique brand of disaster that was Kylo Ren. "Are you tempted by his chaos?" he prompted. "His unbridled power? His seeming freedom? None of those are the way of the force." Hux frowned, puzzled. "No." he said, "I'm just tempted to decapitate him." Or: In which Hux is an EXTREMELY uptight jedi knight and Kylo is the not-sith that gives Hux aneurisms with the sheer blazing power of his incompetence.

-> I don't know how well this meshes with prequels lore, I read it back when I didn't care about anything beyond the sequels, but the premise is great

• Blood, Bitemarks, and Stupid, Stupid Love by TheSilentUnderworld (3k)

Being roomates with an annoying Alpha Werewolf was fine. Until he started messing with Hux's mail.

-> Werewolf x vampire <3 <3 <3

• I'll Be the Sun, You Be the Moon by need_more_meta (2.1k)

Chancellor Hux is preparing for a ball. He enlists Ren’s help. For Kylux Positivity Week 3.0, Prompt: “Put It on Hux | Put It on Kylo.” For Year of Kylux, Prompt: “Duel of the Fates Timeline.”

• Sweet Redolence by Jakathine (2k)

What happens when the desire to best your opponent turns into a desire to bed them instead…and then fate pushes you together rather Forcefully.

• Rabid Curs by Potboy (1.9k)

In which Kylo, all alone in the First Order with a master who mistreats him, goes to the wrong man for comfort. Unfortunately Armitage Hux is all he's got, and he's not a very comforting person. They do their best - it's all they can do.

• Dirty White Boots by BlackHellKitty (1.6k)

A Kylux-story based on the song "Dirty White Boots" from Lenny Kravitz. Kylo and Hux do some roleplay sometimes. Just pure PWP without any kind of big story. :3

-> The reasond Dirty White Boots is a Kylux song to me

• Come Morning by elfriniol (1.5k)

True, Kylo liked Hux. A lot. He couldn't imagine his life without talking to him about Star Wars trivia and offering judgmental commentary for shows they occasionally skimmed through on Netflix. Or going out for drinks. But if Hux wanted something else – that proverbial, dreaded more – Kylo wasn't sure of himself.

-> ASPEC KYLO!!! Oh how I love it when they're aspec.

• After by Davechicken (1.1k)

Aftercare, and emotions.

• Living in Close Proximity in Case of Sudden Yet Inevitable Betrayal by 5ofSpades (874 words, 9 chapters, drawings)

In which the Supreme Leader gets himself two ginger roommates.

-> This. Is not a fic. It's drawings and I cried at the end like a BABY. The artist's art style is impeccable, it inspired me a whole lot back when I 'read' it.

And this is IT folks! I didn't @ anyone (except Kyluxtrashpit) because I only know a few authors' tumblrs and I didn't want to discriminate, plus the fandom is pretty old and I would assume most of them have moved on or are inactive. If you know that someone on the list would like to be tagged don't hesitate to do it/tell me though, those fics all mean(t) a lot to me!

Hope the list is good & you, the reader, find something new and interesting to read! I really don't know which fics are considered popular or good or whatever, I don't talk to people usually. Okay bye bye thank you for reading <3