#creation sea | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-kr8tor · 10 months ago

Text

Plain Sailing

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.1k

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, TW blood, CW self inflicted wound (nothing too bad), CW food mentions, CW suggestive.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 9 >>> CHAPTER 10

You wake up with a groan, neck straining under your head, muscles cramping up. Moving to your side, your hand flies up to the pain, fingers desperately trying to ease the tight muscle.

Yelling in frustration, the heat makes the crick in your neck ten times worse. Eyes closed, you hear footsteps on the sand.

“You alright?” Hobie's voice is soft, relaxed but still concerned when he meets with your scrunched up face.

“Neck.” You could only say one word because of the aching pain.

“You must've slept wrong.” His hand reaches down, calloused fingers moving your hand away from your neck. “You're makin' it worse, move it.”

“You're the worst.” You grimace. Looking at him through narrowed eyes, he sits crossed legged in front of you, knee brushing against your stomach. He tilts his head, flicking his eyes down to your sleep related injury.

You begrudgingly move your hand away, nodding to give him permission to massage your neck. “Let's see you do better.”

Hobie chuckles, morning voice deep and warm. Warmer than the sun above, it sends goosebumps to rise on your skin. You hope he doesn't feel it when he begins to knead at your skin, with a practiced hand, he smooths out the crick in your neck.

You let out a satisfied moan and you immediately clamp up, face searing, cursing yourself. Daring him to say something about it, sending the message through your glare, you watch him comically close his lips, smile still visible, clearly stifling a laugh.

“Don't—” you almost moaned again when he rubs a circular pattern down. Deciding to just cover your mouth with your hand, you find the piece of driftwood near him more interesting than his face.

“Didn't say anythin’” You don't see him shrug but you know he's clearly enjoying himself. Feeling his eyes on you, he quiets down a chuckle at your flustered face. “You're a bit sour this morning.”

“My neck hurts,” you groan, “I have insect bites all over me, there's sand in my underwear and a pirate is feeling me up. So yeah I'm a bit sour.”

He laughs, a sound more akin to a giggle. Taking his hands away, he lifts them up on the side of his head, the pain flares back up almost immediately. “Fine, this pirate will stop massaging you.”

You can't help but whine. Glaring at him, mouth in a full blown frown, you reach for his wrists, tugging it down wordlessly.

Hobie shakes his head but he obliges, continuing to rub the ache away.

After a minute of silence and his hands carefully relieving you with only the sound of waves lapping at the shore and the wind rustling the trees above, Hobie speaks.

“It's been three days and we haven't killed each other.” He says, smugly.

“Not yet.” Voice muffled, you dare look at him.

His swirling greys are glued to your neck, a ghost of a smile left on his lips, adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he simply swallows. Sweat dripping from his face down to his bare chest, you look away, feeling like a nun who has sinned. You've made a mistake, now your skin seems like molten lava and you know he can feel it through his touch.

“Sure, don't worry, I'd let you win anyway.” His words make your heart race. He keeps finding ways in making you feel like that recently.

Petting your head for good measure, Hobie takes his hands away, and you already sense the cold.

Tapping your leg, he stands up, knees creaking, groaning at the dull ache, “Eat then we can start with the raft.”

Sitting up, you test your neck, moving it side to side. It's like nothing happened, no pain left in the muscle.

“Where'd you even learn how to do that?”

He crouches down next to the cooling embers of the fire. Ashes flicker away as he takes what you assume as breakfast that's wrapped in a large leaf.

“Self taught.” Hobie sits in front of you, handing you your breakfast.

“Bullshit” you chuckle, stomach growling for the fish inside the tightly wrapped leaf.

“‘s true, I've got the golden hands.” Wiggling his fingers, he smirks. “If I didn't become a pirate I'd be a masseuse.”

You laugh, almost doubling over. “The image that popped in my head when you said that!”

“Were you picturin’ me in one of those big robes, tendin’ to aristocrats?” He chuckles with you.

“Yes!” There's tears in your eyes, you blame not having proper entertainment the past few days as the cause of your laughing fit.

“While you're imaginin’ me like that, now picture me without the robe—”

“You ruined it.” You glare at him but the smile still stays on your lips.

He looks at you like you're made of gold in his eyes.

Cutting the sudden tension, he begins to unwrap the meal for you. “Eat before it gets cold.”

“I'm sick of fish.”

“Good thing this isn't fish.”

You blink in surprise at the warm clams in front of you. Steam escapes when Hobie opens the makeshift packaging, the fishy smell is expected but tolerable. The sight alone makes your stomach gurgle but you still worry at how your body would react after you eat it. Clams for breakfast are unheard of but being stranded on a deserted island is weirder.

“Where did you even get these?” Laughing in disbelief, he shrugs smugly.

“A fisherman came by in his dinghy and sold ‘em to me.”

You look at him flatly, annoyed at how sarcastic he is this early in the morning. “You should've woken me up, I would've caught a ride with him out of here.”

“And lose all this bonding time we have now?” Hobie laughs, cracking one clam open. Giving it to you.

Looking at it warily, you poke the insides of the clam. It's warm to the touch, softer than you thought it would be. Hobie notices your apprehension so he takes one from the pile, opening it and immediately downing the shellfish in one gulp.

“See, it's fine. Could use some seasoning though. Or butter, fuck I miss butter.” Hobie gives you a smile, he grimaces abruptly, clutching his stomach in pain.

Your eyes widen, scrambling towards him, grabbing his face in worry. “Shit!” You're not fully equipped for food poisoning, having no idea how to treat it when your medicine cabinet consists of a piece of cloth, herbs for wounds and a stray jar of painkillers that washed up on shore on day two.

Hands cupping his face, eyes frantically roaming around the pained look he has, you watch as his scowl turns into a joking smile. You put two and two together and you push him away, slapping his arm.

“You asshole!”

He laughs, bemused, shielding himself from your barrage of slaps.

“I wish I had a mirror so you could see your face!” Hobie says in between laughs. Your palm accidentally hits his healing injury, he catches your hand effortlessly, hissing in pain. “Give me a minute.” He closes his eyes tightly and you look at him with concern again.

You know this one is real, with how his body trembles a little, his pinky twitches atop your own. Guilt written all over your face, he exhales, rolling his shoulder, squeezing your hand in reassurance.

“Shit—I'm sorry, Hobie. Do you want me to get you some water?”

“‘m good, love, don't worry.” He says the word so naturally and fluidly that he doesn't realize it at first, but he wouldn't take it back.

Your skin runs warm again, nerves alight with the simple utterance of the word. You can control your face, hide it if you can but you can't control the temperature in your body, but you wish you could.

“Are you sure? Does it still hurt?” You brush your palm over the healing skin, your warmth radiating through him.

“Nah, not anymore.” Hobie holds your hand that's hovering above his injured skin. Pushing it down, he lets your body heat calm the pain down. You see him flick his eyes down to your lips and you practically turn into stone.

You hold your breath. Sweat dripping on your forehead, you freeze in his touch. I need to get a grip, you thought, swallowing the lump in your throat, you move your hand away.

Standing up abruptly, you avoid his eyes, afraid you'll fall into them. “I–I'll get you some water. Might help, with the…thing.”

Hobie looks up at you questioningly. “You know the way?”

You're already walking away awkwardly. “Yep!” waving him off, you hear him chuckle softly to himself.

Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip. The words echo in your mind with every step you take. Kneeling next to the water, you splash your face, feeling the coolness run down your neck.

“Get a fucking grip. Fuck.” You whisper to yourself. Dipping the cloth in, you continue to curse yourself. “Idiot.”

Coming back to camp, hands and sleeves wet from the dripping cloth, you watch as Hobie opens each clam, dividing it equally. You notice he saves the bigger ones for you.

Your eyes roam around his bare back, scars littered around his skin like painful stars. Some look new and with raised skin, tiny mounds of flesh shaped like hills in the countryside. A few look like it's been on his skin since he could remember, dark gashes and punctures like the finest embroidery. You try not to think about his previous wounds whenever your fingers brush over the scars every time you clean the new ones.

The grip on the cloth tightens, knowing that he had to endure every single one of them for it to become scars.

Hobie lived through it all and he had the marks to prove it. You admire that part of him, his tenacity and the strength he has, yet he doesn't seem to fall under the weight of it all. He thrives on it, shines with it, where if it was you, you'd burn with the flames, consumed and withered under the pressure. Or you'd run, just like how you've always done.

You're glad that you're stuck with him instead of being alone, or worse, being with someone else but him.

Taking a step forward, you flop the drenched cloth on his shoulder.

Hobie doesn't flinch, craning his neck up to see your small smile, he hands you a clam. “You call me perverted when you're the one ogling me from behind. Clam?”

“I wasn't,” sitting next to him, he follows your precise movements, scooching over, he makes space for you. “Just put a shirt on. Did a seagull eat it or something?” Knee to knee, leg brushing along his, you fight the urge to get closer.

“It's fuckin' hot.”

“Then swim, don't make it my problem when your entire chest is out.” You scoff, fixing the cool fabric on his shoulder. “Seriously, if I walked around without my—” you regretted it the moment the words left your lips. “Wait—”

Hobie has the most punchable smile on his face. Eyes shining, his laugh gets louder with the growing scowl you have on you.

“Shut up!” you pinch his elbow.

“I didn't say nothin'!” The grin stays as you threaten to punch his bicep. “Have a clam, maybe that will clam you down.” He grins wider at his own joke.

“Funny,” you snatch the clam from his hand while he continues to beam at you.

“Eat it slowly, you might not like it.”

“Like it or hate it, I don't have a choice.” You pick up the insides with your fingers.

“You always have a choice. Or you can always eat chocolate.”

“That's strictly for dessert, Hobie.” You sniff it before eating the entire thing. It's like fish if it was slimy, chewier and a bit grainy. Hobie's right, it needs butter.

“Who fuckin' cares? It's food.”

“Me, I care!”

“Fine,” he makes a mental note to only eat a piece whenever you do. “I'll eat it whenever.”

“Mm-hmm, don't care just don't eat it all—” you spot something shiny inside the shell. “What's this?”

Hobie stops his own chewing. “What?” He says with his mouth full, frantically chewing and swallowing. “You feel alright? Not feelin’ itchy or anythin'?”

Grabbing your elbow, he follows your line of sight, cheek atop your shoulder.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Looks like you've found your first treasure.” He doesn't seem so surprised.

You give him a knowing look but you don't speak about it. Plucking it from its shell, the black pearl is tiny in your palm. It shines as you roll it in between your fingers.

“Can I keep it?”

“You found it, it's yours.”

Nodding, there's heat under your cheeks. It might not be worth a lot, but it's yours and a gift from Hobie, it's priceless, worth millions in your eyes.

“Thank you.” you stare at him warmly.

“Why thank me? You found it.” He shrugs, watching the tides move.

You smile, tucking the precious thing inside your pocket for safekeeping. Biting your lip, you stifle a giggle.

“Eat more,” he cracks open another one for you. “You'll need the energy.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n”

Hobie chuckles, continuing to eat his fill. The sail flutters behind you when a breeze passes by.

Shoulders relaxed, he closes his eyes, the sun kissing his skin, alight with content, a picture of calmness. You think this fits him more than the Hobie you saw a few days ago, the one that was fueled by sadness and revenge. You like the Hobie that's sitting next to you, all soft smiles and tender touches.

And that scares you. It's best you leave the island before you fall further down the hole you've dug for yourself.

If only you knew that there's grief and anger swirling inside him, a typhoon just waiting to be let out again.

After breakfast (a weird combination of clams and chocolate), you two still sit side by side, watching the horizon, letting the sun bathe you in its light and the wind whisper in your ears.

“Are you sure it's alright to camp near the edge of the forest and near the shore?” you ask, body almost leaning towards him, a few inches more and you'll be using him as an armrest.

“The others can see us better here. If we camp inside then they won't see us and they might accidentally pass us.” he cracks one eye open, closing the distance for you.

Beating you from using him as your personal pillow; Hobie rests his head atop your bicep unabashedly, not fully laying on your shoulder but still far enough that you can shove him off any second.

But you don't, against your own better judgment and the screaming in your head to push him off, you let him stay. *You might regret it later, the voice inside your head says. And you might but that's for future you to handle.

“Will your raft work?”

“I've made a couple of ‘em before. We'll be fine.” His voice is quiet, “And if it doesn't then Gwen and the others will find us.”

You inhale sharply. “I don't want to stay here forever, Hobie.”

He lifts his head to face you, “We won't, we'll get out of here. I promise.”

“What if those things come back for us when we manage to make the raft work?”

“We fight ‘em.”

“Hobie—”

“We'll paddle like hell.” He swipes at a drop of sweat on your temple. “Whatever happens, I'll get you back to land, back to civilization.” *back to your family, he wanted to add but it's a sore subject and he didn't want to ruin the quiet and make you sadder than you already are. “You ready to get started? The faster we finish it, the faster we get out of here.”

“I’m ready, just tell me where to start.”

Hobie smiles, “good, that's why you're a part of my crew, eh?” standing up, he dusts himself off before lending you a hand.

For now, you'd say but you don't. You don't dare say it outloud.

—

“I call bullshit.” Your hands expertly tie a knot, rough makeshift ropes itches on your palms. The sand is coarse under you, warm and comforting on your thighs.

Looking up at Hobie from your crouched position, the tree tops provide shade for the both of you, shadows dance on his skin, leaves fall like snowflakes above. His previously wounded body finally heals; newly formed scars appear over it, a testament to his survival. He sits on a boulder, making rope from the vines he found.

The sun warms your bare arms, adapting to the environment. You cut off the sleeves days ago with your dagger, no longer embarrassed at the amount of skin you're showing in front of Hobie. He clearly doesn't mind, never even commenting on the fact.

Your wounds have healed well too, there's only a dull ache whenever you strain yourself too much, which is rare because Hobie never lets you lift the heavy stuff, even if it's to his disadvantage.

“It's true, Finn can dance. You'd think he'd be clumsy because of his huge frame but he isn't.” He says with a soft smile thrown your way.

The raft sits unfinished between you, barely halfway done even after an entire week of building it together.

“Sure,” you say, still in disbelief. “What kind of dances did he know?”

“He knows every single one of ‘em. Even tap dancing.”

You laugh, imagining Finn wearing the shoes with fancy clothes on. You miss him, you miss Ned and everyone who was lost, but Hobie helps, even though he speaks about them like they aren't gone. Like they still breathe and eat. Like they still stand beside him.

With a shuddered breath, you start the conversation again, maybe talking about them helps him too.

“Two-fingers?”

“What about him?”

“Why was he called two-fingers?”

“That,” he laughs, “You know the part of the cannon where the wick is?”

“Mm-hmm”

“He got his two fingers stuck in it the first time he tried loading it. It was in there for eight hours until Ned got the idea to pour lard all over him.”

You guffaw, the mere sound alone bringing a smile to his lips. “Eight?!”

“Not just his fingers, his entire body was covered in the stuff.” You laugh louder and Hobie continues his story to hear it more. “Ned tripped while holding the bloody thing and the entire jug flew right on Gareth's head!”

“Who the hell is Gareth?” You say, breathless from all the laughs.

Hobie's smile falters for a second before the smile returns. “Two-fingers, that's his real name.”

You nod, chest hurting. “Foul?”

“Fell in a barrel of food waste, he couldn't get the stink out for a few days.” His voice gets smaller and softer. “Harold, that's his name.”

“I won't forget their names.”

“Yeah, I think they'd like that.”

After a moment of reminiscing, eyes glimmering under the sun and grief snaking under your skin, you talk with him again. You've made a promise to him, to silence the screams and you intend to keep this one. He'd do the same for you. They would do the same for both of you.

“What was up with Danny?”

He pauses, hands laying still on his lap. “Y’know what? I have no bloody clue, love.”

There it is again, the nickname that has your heart clawing out of your chest. And his heart reaching for you.

“Come to think of it, I don't remember him askin' to be part of the crew,” he blinks. “I think he just showed up one day, huh.”

Your laugh echoes around the entire island, he drowns in it happily.

—

It's day seventeen on the island and you've been avoiding this day. Dreading it even, you've delayed it enough, always giving Hobie excuses of ‘my wounds hurt’ or ‘I'm too hungry’ but what always works on him is the tried and tested ‘I’m too tired’ coupled it up with a pout and puppy dog eyes, you've got him folding immediately. But he's had enough, the raft is almost done (he says but you think otherwise) so you have to learn to do it or what happened when you first arrived would repeat. And Hobie couldn't handle that again.

He reaches up, arms stretched to catch you in the water. You're both still in your clothes, shoes off, weapons stripped and left on the ground, still within reach just in case. For your own comfort and to avoid the awkwardness of being near each other almost naked, he doesn't protest the idea of swimming in full clothing.

The water is clear, so clear that you can see the bottom of the pool; giving you false pretenses that it's shallow.

“Jump!” He yells, fingers beckoning you over.

“No! I'm not gonna jump! Are you crazy?”

Hobie groans, standing up to his full height, the water only reaches up to his waist that you quickly avoid staring at too long.

“Yes. And it's not that deep, you can handle it and I've read the book! You need to learn how to swim or…” he doesn't even want to say the word. “Just c’mon.”

“I'm sorry that I'm being such a prick right now but excuse me for being a bit apprehensive because if you remember a few days ago I *drowned!”

“I know, I was there.” You think you're in for a chastising. “If we sailed into a storm and it flings you off the raft I may not be able to catch you again.” His tone is serious but his eyes are soft on you. “Don't make me experience that again, Y/N.”

You bite your lip, bouncing on the balls of your feet. You almost relent, but one look at the deeper end where the water is darker, your nerves start back up again.

“Let's do this tomorrow! I’m…” He sighs, you try to make an excuse. “Tired, so tired from making the raft—”

“You did the bare minimum, love. Now get in before I drag you down.”

“The bare minimum?! Excuse me—”

“Get in the bloody water or I'll hide the chocolate.”

“...Fine.” Toes dipping in the water, you let your feet sink inside the pool. You brave the waters despite your fear.

The rushing of the waterfalls ring in your ears as you go further in. Bare feet hitting jagged rocks, Hobie hovers his hands around you, ready to catch if you fall. The surface shimmers under the sun, light bounces all over Hobie, it paints a pretty picture for your eyes only.

Now waist deep, you yelp at the cold water, blouse sticking to your abdomen, intensifying your senses.

“Fuck! It's cold!” You flop your hands just above the water and Hobie laughs.

“You gotta dip your head in!”

You suck in your teeth, inhaling, pinching your nose before diving your head in. The rushing of water is muffled, almost calming whilst you're underwater. You let the cold wash over you, eyes closed, you try not to remember the water that was in your lungs.

Hobie lifts you up by the waist, you're met with his grin.

“See? It's fine, I have you, yeah?” His hands linger on your waist. Like rust on metal, he clings to you.

Wiping your face, you give him a wobbly smile, slightly shivering. “It’s freezing!”

“You'll adjust. You needed the bath anyway.”

“I bathe everyday!”

Hobie scoffs, “When? I've never seen you bathe since we got here!”

You slap his arm, avoiding the patch of healed skin. “Of course you haven't! I'm not gonna announce it to you, you pervert!”

“Not what I meant, Scuttlebutt.” He chuckles, he seems much better while in the water. You've noticed he doesn't stare off in the distance or suddenly go quiet that much anymore.

“I bathe when you sleep,” you poke his chest. “So you don't get any ideas.”

“What ideas? You're the only one who has one. Trust me, I don't need to see that.” He blinks, “Wait this is the first time you've swam here, where on the island do you take a bath?”

“Near the shoreline, can't swim, remember? And the water here is too cold anyway.”

“When it's your watch? So you leave me alone sleeping in camp?” He scoffs like you just kicked his puppy.

“No! I wouldn't do that! That's why I bathe when you sleep because—”

“You take a bath in front of me?!” His eyes widened, mouth agape. He hopes that the water doesn't evaporate with how hot his skin has gotten. The image in his head is impossible to scrub off.

“Yeah, so I could still watch over. I do it really quick and quietly so I don't wake you up—are you alright?” you watch as he drifts away, his eyes glossy, letting the currents take him away.

You can't even follow him because he's now floating mindlessly on the deeper end.

Tamping down a mocking laugh and a teasing jab, you let him compose himself.

Hobie dunks his head in the water, after a while, he resurfaces, blinking away the water.

“You good, captain?” You did that on purpose just to see him falter again.

His jaw tightens for a brief moment. “And you didn't think to invite me?” His flirting was made more awkward by him almost slipping on the rocks below. He mentally slaps himself for the choice of comment he let out.

“Welcome back, Hobie.” you chuckle, “Can we get this over with? I don't want to get hypothermia.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“It's not that cold, don't be a baby.” Hobie places his hands above the small of your back, the pads of his fingers meeting your skin whilst your shirt lifts and floats in the water. He remains respectful, hand barely holding you. “‘m gonna lift you, don't panic.”

“Now that you've said that I'm gonna panic.” You instinctively hold him by his shoulders.

“Remember that I've got you.” Hobie smiles softly, “If you don't master floating today then you can't have chocolate tonight.”

“Not fair—!”

He lifts your legs up suddenly, you yelp, squeezing his shoulder. His hand is on the back of your head, the other is placed just behind your knees. You're incredibly glad that you have all your clothes on or you wouldn't have survived.

“Relax your head,” he almost whispers, “shoulders too. Stop flailing.”

You crane your neck up, glaring at him, straining your muscle, the opposite of what he asked. “I'm not flailing!”

Hobie figures he needs to change his strategy. “Y’know I was the one who taught Miles how to swim.”

“Really?” That got you curious, your frown has changed into a small smile.

“Yeah, lay your head back down.” You do as you're told, Hobie hides the triumphant smile under a timed cough. “I didn't know he couldn't swim back then, we were just about makin’ a name for ourselves, startin’ out on the revenge back when it didn't have the red sails and Terrence.” He feels you relax on his hold.

He continues. “He was dared by Gwen to do somethin’ stupid that I don't even remember now, but I do remeber her tellin' him to jump overboard and the little fucker actually did it.”

You chuckle, clicking your tongue. “Shit.”

“Shit is right, love.” Hobie felt your muscles fall limp when he uttered the nickname. “When he didn't resurface a minute later, Finn jumped after him. They both got a scolding of a lifetime from Finn.”

“I can imagine, that must've been scary.”

“For Miles or for Gwen?”

“Both, Miles almost drowned while Gwen must've felt horrible after it.”

“A stupid way to show off to the one you fancy.” He huffs like the story just happened yesterday.

You perk up, “You know about his little crush on Gwen?”

He gives you a look, “‘course I do, they're not very subtle about it.”

“Wait, Gwen too?!” Hobie stops you from sitting up with a stern look. He nods, chuckling at your bewildered face.

You float aimlessly with Hobie swimming by your side.

“When you've been in close quarters with them for months at a time you get to notice things.”

“Oohh tell me more!”

“I don't gossip, Y/N”

“Sourpuss.”

You don't notice that he let you go.

“I've got one though.” Hobie follows closely, hands floating under you just in case you realize. “I won't say their names.”

You grin, “Alright! What's the hot gossip?”

He jolts awake, dropping the teasing façade. “A crew member fancies another,” you open your mouth to guess, Hobie stops you by flicking water to your face. “It's not Miles and Gwen. But Gwen knows who they are.”

You roll your eyes. “Gwen knows everything.”

“Not everythin'” He looks at you and you feel like molten gold.

“C-can you give me a hint?”

“They've killed for the other and they'd do it all over again.” Grey eyes meet yours, the finest silver meets a calm sky reflecting in your eyes as you continue to float on mirrored clouds. “I think they're a disaster together but without the other…I think they'd implode.”

You feign ignorance. “Is it Yuri and James?”

All the seriousness exits Hobie's face, his laugh brings a smile to your own.

“Fuckin' hell, can you imagine?”

“Now those two would kill each other if left alone.”

“Aye, good thing we're not like that, huh?”

“Yeah, good thing.”

You memorize his gleeful face while the sun shines just right on him. Every scar and line on his skin you etch into your mind, carving it into the crevices in your brain to last you a lifetime. You hope it's enough when he inevitably leaves, because you know he will, it's just a matter of when.

And he thinks the same, but he doesn't believe it, doesn't want it, but he'll be damned to not savour the time left he has with you. In that freezing water, under the blazing sun and his toes dipped under grainy sand, he hopes.

You're a flickering flame in his eyes and he's the harsh wind.

“You've been floating on your own for awhile now y’know.”

“I know, I'm trying really hard not to panic.” the water laps at your cheeks, continuing to drift away.

Hobie shakes his head with a ghost of a smile. He lies down, floating right next to you.

“Why'd you become a pirate?” You don't dare move your head or you might lose the momentum you have. Instead, you look at him in the corner of your eyes and you find him doing the same.

“Thought it would be fun.”

“Really? I bet you were proved wrong almost immediately.”

Hobie sighs before softly chuckling, his chest moving with laughter. “Nah, I was right. Wouldn't trade it for the world.”

“Even if you can turn back time?”

“There's…some I would've chosen differently but no, I'd still choose to be a pirate.” He moves his head to face the heavens and you think you'll move heavens just to see the sight in front of you again.

“So that's a no to being a masseuse?”

Hobie laughs again, he finds that he has been doing that a lot these days. “I can still be, but for you only.”

You smile, cheeks hot. “I can't pay you though.”

“You have that pearl on you.” he jokes.

“No! Not my pearl!”

“I think it's an equivalent exchange. Or you can pay a different way—”

“You think you're so charming—” you wave water at him, the act making you drift away.

“I am— Y/N, the waterfall!”

Now you know how it feels to get liters of water dumped right on your head. Guess this was karma for what you did to Hobie back then.

—

The sun is just about starting to set in the horizon, orange and pinks remind you of the day you stumbled upon Hobie's ship. You're still glad it was his ship despite what you've experienced. If it wasn't, you'd be in a worse shape than now, you'd probably be dead in the bottom of the sea or worse, sold off to some rich prick.

You wouldn't have met the crew, your friends, even if the time was brief, a tiny blip in your lifetime. You still think it was the best time you've ever experienced in your life, something to look back on. And that's what anyone could ever ask for in this lifetime, you still think you're lucky despite it all.

The fire roars to life when the wind blows to your right. It warms you, helps dry off the wet clothes on your back. You watch a crab scuttle by on the sand, burrowing inside.

A round red thing with a crown shaped on the top falls on your lap unexpectedly, you look up to find Hobie carrying a handful of it.

“They're finally ripe.” Hobie says happily, grin blinding you.

“What's ripe? Apples? I didn't know they're growing here.” You ask whilst he plops down next to you nonchalantly, several fruits tumbles out of his arms.

“Pomegranates.” he grabs one, rolling the dark red fruit in his hands. You look at him with furrowed brows. “Don't ask me how a tree got here or how it grew because I have no bloody clue.”

“Magic pomegranates then.” You take the fruit from your lap, the smooth skin feels nice to the touch.

Hobie shakes his head, chuckling, he asks for your dagger that you give willingly. “Magic pomegranates.” He says under his breath.

Cutting the fruit expertly, it bursts open, the seeds clinging inside, ripe for the taking. He cuts it delicately, pomegranate opening like a flower blossoming.

“They were still small when we arrived.” He hands it to you. You look at it expectantly. “Do you want me to feed it to you?” He asks when you don't take it.

You roll your eyes before taking the fruit. “That was one time, Hobie. My arms really hurt after all the swimming.”

The seeds lining the walls of the pomegranate are blood red, tiny seeds that look like beady eyes staring expectantly at you. You're fearful for a second until you squeeze one in between your fingers, the juice bursts out and the little eye is no more, your fear is gone with that tiny movement and you're next to him. And you know you'll be alright.

Taking a handful, you munch, letting the sweet juice fill your mouth. “Have we been here that long?” You talk with your mouth full.

“Manners, love.” Hobie, wipes the corner of your lips clean from juice. “A month is a long time.” *not long enough, he thinks.

You still can't believe this has become the norm for you two. You eat together after a swim and he always finds a reason to touch your lips. You're not surprised anymore that you always let him, no matter the excuse he has.

“I have a question.” You finish your half within three minutes. Hobie finds it endearing, he cuts another one for you.

“Go ahead.”

“Hmm? No sarcasm this time?”

He side glances, “That’s dangerous,” his voice is flat. “That better?” Sarcasm drips off him like the pomegranate juice seeping through his fingers.

“Much, what did Karl mean when he was saying goodbye?”

“hmm?”

“When he said you'll meet him at the usual place.”

“That, there's a town down south.” He speaks whilst he prepares the fruit for you. “It's a pirate's safe haven. No guards, no agents of the crown, just the lot of us roaming around freely.” handing you the fruit, you look at him intently, wordlessly telling him to continue.

Hobie loves that part of you, the curiosity, always asking questions about the world, granted it gets annoying at times but he wouldn't have it differently. He'd answer anything you ask to the best of his abilities. Better yet, he'd take you there so you could see it for yourself.

“There's a tavern there, owned by an old friend of ours, Riri’s her name. Maybe I could introduce her to you when we get out of here.” He watches something pass by your eyes. “After you find your family, maybe you could come visit. The place is called the ‘mermaid's head.’ I think you'd like it.”

“I don't even know if they exist.” You say quietly. If Hobie wasn't so close to you he wouldn't have heard.

“Mermaids?”

You softly laugh, “No, my family. But mermaids could exist, after the whole sea monster thing—”

“I'll help you find them.” Hobie stops you before you change the subject, again.

“Hobie,” you sigh, fingers picking at the pomegranate seeds. “You don't have to. I know you want to avenge the crew and—” you can't say her name. “—What he did to us, I'm a big girl, I can handle myself.”

Hobie stares off in the distance. “Still, I know some people that could dig out records of ‘em.” He looks back at you, eyes darkened by clouds. “What's your last name, I know ‘Asshole’ doesn't fit you.”

You suck in a breath, “I don't know, My m— guardian, I guess, took care of me since I was a baby. I think she didn't know either.” you could only stare at the ruby fruit in your hands.

“What happened to them? Your guardian.”

“I-I don't know, I left home a long time ago.”

Hobie reads your expression and your choice of words, he knows you're not ready to tell the full story. “Does it have to do with O’hara? If he does then I'll add him to my list for you.”

You crane your neck up to look at him with knitted brows. “Your list?”

“My shit list, a group of knobheads that I need to put a bullet in their heads.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you're an absolute angel?” you joke yet your comment almost made the fruit in his hand fall to the sandy ground.

“That's a first, I'd like to keep hearing it though.” Just from you, he wanted to scream.

“Don't push your luck, Hobie. I don't toss that name around freely.” You continue eating again.

“Maybe you should, you'll get more pomegranates from me.” he tilts his head towards you, blinking, long lashes fluttering, and attempting to flirt.

Your heart thuds loudly in your chest. You can't believe that worked on you. “Please, if I wanted more I'd just look at you sweetly and you'd give me one.”

Your counter has him shaking his head and looking away from you with a scoff, feigning offense. His hand almost squishes the fruit in his tight grip.

“I'm not that easy, love.” you try not to look affected by the nickname.

“K-keep telling yourself that, angel.” you almost flubbed it, the nickname sizzles in your tongue like hot oil.

You two end up glancing away from each other like a couple of school children with a crush.

Hobie clears his throat, scratching his neck, he flinches back at the juice now sticking to his skin. “Y'know, pomegranate skin is used to dye cloth.” he bounces back faster than you.

“Interesting, the name pomegranate is derived from the latin word pōmum that means ‘apple’ so I was technically right on my first guess.”

“I was tryin' to impress you with my vast knowledge and you hit me with fuckin' latin.” He raises a brow. “Why do you even know latin?”

“There's latin in medicine.”

He copies your voice, “‘There's latin in medicine,’ I definitely knew that.” You laugh, despite the mocking way he said it, knowing him, it was a joke to help soften the blow of you one upping him. “If I ever need a translation, I'll come and get you.”

“I charge per word.”

“How much?” He rides with the bit.

“A pearl.”

“Per fuckin' word?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, grinning.

“You get one pearl and you become a greedy little shit.” He scoffs, eating a handful of seeds to hide the giddy smile on his lips.

“Speaking of medicine, I want to teach you how to dress your own wound. Y’know, just in case I'm not there.” Hobie knows what you really meant.

“Sure,” he nods, avoiding your eyes, afraid of what he finds underneath them. “After we finish eatin’”

“Good, alrighty.” you say awkwardly.

—

“Fuck!” Hobie's hands fly towards your bleeding hand. “Why'd you do that for?!”

The self inflicted wound stings but it was necessary for the demonstration. The cut behind your hand weeps, crimson ebbing out of Hobie's attempt at stopping the bleeding.

“To teach you how to properly clean wounds.”

“Couldn't you have found a better way without hurting yourself? Hell, you could've cut a pomegranate and used that instead.”

“It's a tiny cut, it doesn't even hurt that much.” It's true, the wound is the same size as an eyelash, yet Hobie still doesn’t leave his hands from your own.

“You're mad”

“A side effect of hanging around you too much.” He gives you a glare and you smile sweetly. “You're doing good though, the first step is to stop the bleeding. I'd teach you how to suture but we don't have the supplies for it.”

“You could be a governess if being a pirate doesn't work out for you.”

“Funny, I'm deducting points from you.”

“There's points?” Hobie asks eagerly.

—

His face is close to yours while he painstakingly rubs crushed herbs on your wound. So close that his breath fans your eyelashes as he huffs in frustration from how the herb doesn't stick to your skin. Too close that you can see the blue specks in his eyes that you've never noticed before. Like the stars in the sky, the fire illuminating the side of his face, you see him in a new light.

“This is harder than it looks.” His touch is gentle, more than careful lest he accidentally opens the cut.

“Gives you an appreciation for me huh?”

“I always appreciate you.” Murmured words bring your eyes down to his lips.

Hobie feels your stare, lifting his head up, you're a breath away from him.

You both shudder a breath, waiting for something, anything to happen. You leave it to fate.

He swallows thickly. With slow movements, he cups your cheek, aromatic herbs from his fingers wafts your senses; combined with sea salt and ashes, the sand grating from under you, the waves sound ever louder in your ears. From his warm touch to his searing eyes, your heart quickens, skin practically melting.

You're overwhelmed, yet you don't move away. Instead, you hold his stare, hands inching to grasp his shirt, balling it in your fist.

“Can I—?” Hobie asks.

And you answer immediately. “Yes.” too fast to your liking. “W-what were you asking?”

Before he could elaborate, he thought hard for a moment. If he does this, what would happen? How would you react? as brash and spontaneous he can be, he has learned his lesson, thinking of the consequences he'd face, the consequences you'd face after he indulges.

After all, he's a knife that's meant to cut and bleed, a blade that's meant to kill and maim. He thinks a weapon such as him shouldn't even touch such a precious thing like you, iridescent in his eyes, porcelain in his blood soaked hands. He's afraid to dirty your soul with his, but he already has and he'll regret it his entire life.

“Hobie?” You ask, breathlessly. The both of you still sat frozen in each other's hands.

But you can take it, the knife that's meant to bleed you out, the same blade that holds you soft and tender, not cutting or slicing. Instead, the cold steel of his hand is kissing your skin like dew drops on petals. For once, the knife that's made to hurt is tucked away, hidden away from sight and all that's left is him.

Despite the need to press your lips against him, despite saying yes to a question unasked, you don't move too.

You've buried yourself in a shallow grave, shallow enough to claw yourself out of it, but deep enough to stay buried.

It's Hobie's choice, and whatever he decides, you'll take.

And underneath all the stars and seafoam gathering near you, he makes a choice.

Hobie leans in, instead of doing what he wanted to do, he lays his forehead on top of yours, letting his warmth drown you, letting his scent blanket over you, masking the scent of herbs and embers. He closes his eyes, the hand holding you trembles slightly.

Love is smothering and suffocating, he thinks from experience, he doesn't want to kill you just because he wants to hold on to you tighter.

You let him go, sliding your hands upwards, finding penchant behind his neck to cradle it gently.

This was enough, and if this is the only thing he could give you and the only thing you could provide, you'd gladly take it. Hobie is content enough to hold you like this. It’s not exactly what he wanted, what you wanted, but it's enough.

You don't want to leave the island anymore. You have a feeling he doesn't want to either.

It feels like forever that you've stayed glued to each other, but to his dismay, you careen away.

Sniffing, you pat his cheek, not knowing if it was for his own comfort or yours. “We don't have a clean cloth for wrapping. Sorry, I didn't realize. I'll wash one real quick so we can continue.” You feel his hand wrap around your own. “I'll just be on the shores where you can still see me.”

Standing up, Hobie looks up at you with reverence. Hand clasped in yours, he pretends nothing happened just like you have.

“The bathing thing you said weeks ago, was that actually real or were you fucking with me?” That wasn't what you expected.

You shrug with a shit eating grin that could rival Hobie's “I dunno, maybe.”

“Wanker.” He says it like how he calls you ‘love’

“Captain” you salute with your two fingers, winking, walking away backwards on the sand just to see his rare flustered face.

—

Hobie sleeps soundly next to you, his soft snores keeping you awake. Smiling to yourself, you can't fathom the sweet and angelic face he has on when he's asleep after seeing him break a man's neck. You can't believe that's a fond memory for you nowadays.

The shelter he made shields you both from the elements with help from the red sails, you silently thank Ned.

Hobie quivers in his sleep, muscles tensing up, muttering nonsense. Fists dig into sand, his muttering turns into groans that have you concerned.

Grasping his shoulder, you try to shake him awake.

“Hobie—” he yelps, legs kicking. “Hey, wake up.” You say directly above his ear. “Hobie”

“MJ!” He yells.

You flinch away but he still needs you so with a deep inhale, you rub his back, trying to keep the nightmare away. Eyes glossy, you stare at the open sea.

She's dead yet he says her name like she isn't, like she sits right next to him, holding his heart in her cold dead hands. And he clutches onto hers like a babe to his mother's arms. Her name tucked inside his fist, gripping and refusing to let go.

She's dead and you're not but why does it feel that you are?

You don't notice him wake up, his gravelly voice and warm hand splayed over the small of your back shakes you back to your body.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You sniff, hiding the crack in your voice.

“Go to bed, no one's comin’”

It's been a month and no one's coming, either they forgot you and Hobie, or they think you're dead or worse, they're dead and you've been waiting for nothing.

They can't be, you thought in denial. “They can't be” your voice breaks in front of him.

“Go to bed, love.” he tugs you down, and you oblige.

Protecting the back of your head, Hobie lets you use his arm as a pillow.

Despite what transpired a few minutes ago, you embrace him, hiding your face from the world on his chest.

Hobie holds you and he'll hold you until you say otherwise.

Your quiet sobs fill the air, everything crumbles over you, burying you under all the weight. He hugs you tightly, hoping it's enough to shield you away from the cruelty of the world.

233 notes · View notes