#mr wojchek

[villain-preacher]

Just my three very tired weed smoking first mates.

[how-serene]

Needing Something Sweet

Scenario - What it would be like to kiss/make out with Jack Delroy, Murdoc and Wojchek.

Warnings - kind of nsfw??

A/N - Might do this for the others.

JACK DELROY - I want to believe he's a bit of a romantic (when he has the time.) Enjoys the slow, more intimate moments, where he can take his time and unravel you. The bitter taste of nicotine that coat his tongue would somehow be addicting. On days he's more busy, his kisses quickly become heated as he tries to enjoy every bit of you before he has to leave. Can be quite handsy, trailing his hand up your thigh if you two are seated. If he has you pressed against a desk he likes the feel of your legs securely wrapped around him. He has to be on constantly, for the cameras and interviews which can be tiring, so would maybe let you take the reins during moments like these (sometimes).

MURDOC - Intense, Heated, Passionate. Loves to bite at your bottom lip, mainly just to hear you hiss against him. Gloved hands are constantly running up and down your body, trying to pull you closer. When you tug at his hair, hard enough for him to wince, he won't admit he enjoys the sensation. Wouldn't mind having a bit of a push and pull with you, constantly fighting for control and dominance during. Will leave your lips feeling bruised and your head dizzy.

WOJCHEK - He's constantly away for weeks at sea, with only the memory of you to keep him content. When he's home, and with you again his kisses are feverish and almost desperate. Wojchek will kiss you till his lungs burn. You'll usually find him in control, rough hands keeping you pressed against him as his beard scratches at your skin. He'll smell of the sea, and tobacco after being gone for so long. Your lips and touch are what he's been daydreaming about for weeks, so he'll devote himself to satisfying those daydreams when he's finally home.

[minilev]

[capondi]

An updated version of my David Dastmalchian characters + “I want a baby” meme post

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

📖 ⛵️ 🩹 + something to do with his hair? I’m obsessed with his hair and decided he should be too (I love the sailor boy now damn)

Morning Tide - Wojchek/Reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, bit of drinking, the sad sailor is even sadder.

Wordcount: 2697

Summary: When his crew walks in, all of them garner your attention with their stories and toasts, but it's him who makes you leave your place behind the bar when you spot him drinking alone.

Notes: This is the second fic where I get him into bed for softness, I just can't help it 😌 Thank you for your patience! I know it's been a whiiiile since my last request, but from now on I'll be writing these at work when it's not super busy so I can keep up~ It'll be slow work, but I'd rather do that than wait for the weekends when my shifts are shorter, so as I get back into the swing of things I hope you enjoy 💗💗💗

It was a busy night tonight, all the ships seeming to come in that weekend as your work was flooded with sailors, some there for a drink, some there to borrow company, all of them there for a good time. You liked sailors, they tipped very well generally, your pockets full of coins of all shapes and sizes by the end of the nights when they crammed themselves in from wall to wall, and tonight was just as successful as the old clock outside ticked over into the early hours of the morning. 

You were washing off the bar from a rowdy spill with his crew walked in, all of them tired and downtrodden as they pushed through the doors and looked for an empty table; this wasn't new, you'd seen your fair share of sad sailors after bad hauls or near wrecks, but this was different as one of them, an Irishman with a loud voice, tried to cheer them up and bring them over to grab some drinks, his energy clearly forced even as he hopped onto the barstool and slapped down a handful of coins.

‘A round a’ pints fer the lot a’ us,’ he declared to you as the others started to join, your co-worker coming over to help fill the order now that his own patrons were heading out. You filled mug after mug of the foaming liquid, each one sliding down the bar to outstretched hands, the mood rising as they downed them all back and reminisced about good times. You smiled as you listened, getting to know them through their stories, how close they all were after many years on the seas together. Their captain had retired years ago so he could buy a cottage and let his grandson experience life on land for once, you'd learned as they raised their glasses to him for bringing them together, tears in their eyes as they grinned wide and drank it all down, cries for more getting you to cry out right along with them as you raised your arm high and hit the tap.

You loved happy sailors most of all, but one of them caught your eye as you noticed him sitting by himself, no longer with the others as he sipped at his beer and stared out the door like he was waiting for someone else to walk in. He was captivating, nothing like the other men with their loud singing and stories, and you felt something settle in next to the greed for another good tip as you signaled to your co-worker that you wanted a break. You filled up another mug and brought it over to him, his eyes glancing up at you through his bangs, his expression hardening from longing to annoyance at you disturbing him. 

‘On the house,’ you said as you pushed the drink towards him, and he eyed it before grabbing onto his current one and pulling it a little closer to himself.

He muttered something you didn't understand, and your smile faltered a little as you tried to recall the few words you'd learned from your patrons to see if you could guess what he was speaking. ‘I'm fine with this,’ he repeated in English, his tone alone warning you to go back to work and leave him be, but never in your life had you ever seen a sad sailor turn down a drink, not in all the years you'd worked there, and you looked back to the bar before grabbing onto the cold handle.

‘Mind if I sit, then?’ you asked as you pulled out the chair, and even when he shook his head slightly you still let your tired legs rest as you hit the old wood. ‘Your crewmates are having fun without you,’ you told him as you watched the condensation roll down the glass, and he looked at them before focusing on the table.

‘My crew, I'm the captain,’ he corrected you with a grumble, and you felt your cheeks redden because he certainly didn't make that obvious at all.

‘My apologies, sir,’ you quickly said, the beer offered to him again before he waved it off, he really didn't want it. ‘Well, they seem to be in good spirits now,’ you led, turning to face them as your eyes looked back at him, but he didn't notice as he stared at the door again.

‘They needed something to enjoy,’ he still agreed with you despite not looking, that forlorn expression returning as he gripped his mug a little tighter. You turned back to him, that something pushing the greed more out of the way as he took a deep drink then, your quest for tips falling to the wayside as you spun the mug back and forth a little, the foam rolling over the side and dripping down to the table.

‘Bad voyage this time, Captain?’ He glanced at you, trying to find the reason why you were still there, still trying to get him to speak, and you just flashed him your best bartender smile to get him to open up; he looked from you to his men and sighed, he was tired, weathered by too many storms, and for a moment you thought he might take the mug from you when he took another drink from his own.

‘We ran aground coming to port, hit some rocks we didn't see in the storm when we veered too far south,’ he told you seriously as he kept looking at the door, and as you followed his eyes you realized that he wasn't waiting for someone to walk in, he was gazing past the wood to watch the docks outside. ‘Been years since I took over the Demeter, she's been good to me for decades now, but the damage is too much for her… for us to pay for…’

So that explained their moods, they were here to drink the night away since they were all losing their jobs.

‘I know plenty of shipwrights, maybe I can help broker an arrangement?’ you offered, and you were a bit surprised with yourself as soon as you'd said it, since you actually wanted him to get his boat fixed, no strings attached. 

He considered it a moment, a bit of hope showing on his face, but then a resigned misery took over instead, he'd already accepted he was going to lose his ship, they all had.

‘She had a good many years, it might be time to let her rest,’ he mumbled into his mug, and you felt a genuine sadness at his loss as his crew loudly toasted to the Demeter behind you. You watched him go to take one last drink, and your hand moved on instinct as you held up your own mug in a matching toast; he stared at it before clinking your glasses together, and you could feel the sadness radiating off of him as he gulped down the final drops. When he was done he slammed down the glass and went to stand, he was done already, his hand in his pocket to count the coins he owed you, but you stopped him before holding onto his wrist and giving him a small tug in the direction of the stairs.

‘I'm not just a bartender, Captain,’ you let him know, and he eyed you before starting to pull away, ‘and… borrowed time can be anything you need it to be.’

He looked down at your hand, and you felt the way he shook as he gave the door one last glance. ‘I can hardly afford to pay my crew for their final voyage,’ he admitted softly, he was ashamed that it'd gotten this far, but you just shook your head and held on a little tighter.

‘On the house, since you didn't want the drink,’ you offered gently, and a small bit of life came back to him as he stood. No one noticed that their captain was leaving as you signaled your co-worker again, and he just shouted for some assistance from someone else as another round was demanded.

This part of the building was for paying customers only, no one was allowed up without being escorted by a, well, escort, and it'd been a while since you'd been up there since patrons were more likely to pick one of your prettier and promiscuous fellow servers. You unlocked the first door at the top of the stairs, the captain following you in and looking around. You went to light the lamp nearby but he stopped you, he wanted it kept dark, and you were okay with that as you shut the door and walked up to him. You placed your hands on his collarbone, pushing aside his tattered sweater to touch his heaving chest, but he took your hand and simply kissed it before letting go.

‘No,’ was all he said, this wasn't the company he needed, and you nodded before climbing onto the bed and holding out the hand he'd kissed. He took it and climbed up after you, laying down and resting his head on your lap, and you brushed his windswept hair out of his eyes before getting caught slightly, it was a little too windswept.

‘Can I?’ you whispered, and he nodded before sitting up just enough for you to brush his hair carefully with your fingers.

‘She was only mine a few years,’ he confessed to you as you worked, and if you hurt him at all he never let it show. ‘I've been part of the Demeter's crew since I was a boy, picked up right off the docks of my home back in Poland, and ever since I stepped foot on that deck I knew I was home.’ He spoke so quietly, almost like he'd forgotten you were there, and you just kept brushing while he let it all out to you. ‘I knew better, but the storm was coming in stronger and the shore was in sight…’

He shuddered and you didn't say anything, just cooed comfort to him as you brushed out the last tangle and got him to lay against your chest. He was tall, curled up between your legs and still reaching the end of the bed, strong from working every day out on the sea, his facial hair scratching your arm as you kept brushing; he was intimidating, anyone else might've been too nervous to approach him based on looks alone, but you saw the real him, how much he was hurting over losing not his job or his ship but his home, and you couldn't help but press a kiss to the top of his head when he trembled again. 

You didn't know how long you stayed there with him as he told you the same stories the others reminisced about downstairs, all of them from his point of view sounding so much more full of life if that were even possible, his voice so quiet and holding even more emotion than the others as they shouted and laughed so loudly you could still hear them through the floor. He was passionate about his time on the sea even when he was telling you about not just the good times but about all the bad times as well, the voyages that went wrong, the close calls, all of them dear to him just as much as the good ones. 

The clock outside chimed loudly to signal the hour, you'd be closing soon, and you finally stopped brushing his hair as you shifted and got ready to finally speak; you stopped when you noticed that he'd dozed off, his tired eyes looking like he really needed the rest as he gently snored into your chest. You gave him another kiss, something so soft you were sure it wouldn't wake him, and he didn't even stir after so many years being rocked by the sea. You couldn't wake him, couldn't bring him back to his reality, and the longer you stayed the more you couldn't let this be the end for him.

Your co-worker unlocked the door and peeked in to look for you, obviously worried when you'd never returned, and you just placed your finger to your lips and shushed him as your captain lay there blissfully unaware. You motioned for him to come over, keeping your voice down as he leaned in. ‘Write to O'Brian, tell him I want to trade in that favour,’ you whispered, and he just nodded before running to find the quill and ink you kept in the office for end of the day tallies; you wouldn't let him give up after everything he'd been through, not when the others downstairs were counting on him.

You let him sleep for another ten minutes or so, long enough for you to almost join him, before waking yourself up and giving him a little nudge. ‘We have to close for the night, your crew might be waiting for you,’ you let him know softly, your voice still just barely above a whisper, and when he opened his eyes and gazed up at you you could've sworn he looked a little less lonely.

‘One more night to call me that, need to see if anyone needs a strong pair of hands tomorrow.’ He was still resigned to it, and you crossed your arms over his chest to keep him from leaving just yet.

‘Maybe good luck will come on the morning's tide,’ you promised as you brushed his bangs aside, and he held your hand in place, soft against his rough cheek and stubble, and for a moment the thought of him going back out there made you understand why people flooded to your bar after the boats left.

‘Maybe…’ He let go of you then so he could sit up, and he held himself so proudly you could finally see why he was made captain as he stood and looked down at you. ‘Thank you, for your time,’ he said as you also stood, the sounds of his crew heading out onto the street and calling for him the only reason you were both able to turn away from each other. You cleared your throat and gestured towards them, and you saw his eyes glance at the sea beyond the pane before he reached into his pocket and pulled out what little he had on him to hand to you.

‘I already said it was on the house,’ you reminded him quickly, but he shook his head and pressed the money into your hand. 

‘A tip,’ he explained, and then he was gone, the gold weighing you down as you looked at all the money you usually strove after during your shifts. Your fist clenched as you then raced downstairs, the letter waiting to be signed by you on the bar, and you set down the coins before going to the stash you'd been collecting the entire day. You didn't answer as you were asked what you were doing, all of the money sliding into an envelope along with your letter after you'd added more details, and the entire crew was gone when you raced out onto the dark street.

He wouldn't be up but you could at least leave him this as you slipped the packed letter under O'Brian’s door, a talented but very thirsty shipwright who frequented your bar and often built up his tab with the promise of paying you back later, since he'd known you for so long. The letter promised his tab gone and free drinks for the rest of the year if he accepted your job, as well as all the money you’d made that day along with your final tip, and you hoped he would as you walked back to the bar and saw them all still celebrating what they thought was their final night on deck on what had to be the Demeter.

‘May you find good luck with the morning's tide, Captain,’ you wished him from the doorway, and you swore you heard his voice join in with the shanties before you headed inside for the night.

[hangonsnoopy19]

The Season of the Witch

(Sequel to The Hour of the Wolf)

Surprise, bitch! Bet you thought you’d seen the last of me!

Wojchek and his new mate defeat the vampire and return to The Demeter. But is the threat safely behind them?

Ao3 Link

[swanluvrr]

𖦹*ੈ‧ 𓇼 ₊˚𓆝

𝑴𝒚 𝑱𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝑺𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒓 𝑩𝒐𝒍𝒅

𖦹*ੈ‧ 𓇼 ₊˚𓆝

[ronecam]

Attention fellow Dastmalchian fans! Wanna join a server to meet other people who also love him and his characters as much as you do? Join Dastcord today, for an (almost) filterless experience! (This is meant to stay a small server so join while you can!) The server is 18+ btw so please don't join if you're a minor!

https://discord.com/invite/QphTBVDP

(you can also dm me for the link)

[verylightsheep]

That's my husband

David Dastmalchian as Wojchek in The Last Voyage of the Demeter 05/?

[sameheart-sameblood]

Turn of the Tide

pairing: wojchek x f!reader

summary: wojchek discovers you've disguised yourself as a man to work aboard the demeter and agrees to keep your secret. he begins treating you different than the other crewmates and you confront him about his unfair behavior

words: 2.8k

warnings: angst, mentions of reader's sad background, chest binding, fluff, me not knowing anything about ships and what happens on them

a/n: popping in to say i'm not dead, just depressed and busy lol. truly grateful to this character for pulling me out of my fic slump. im back to once again make a grumpy fictional man way softer than he was ever meant to be hahaha. also guess im obsessed with david dastmalchian now?? didn't have that on my 2023 bingo card tbh

read on ao3!

Sailors believe in many things. A red sunrise can send them into a panic, anticipating the swells and overbearing winds they’re so sure are to come. Red skies at night, however, can make even the most pessimistic crewmate believe there’s fair weather on the way. Captains refuse to set sail on Fridays, sailors place coins under the mast for good fortune and mariners daren’t whistle lest they summon a storm. Many vessels even have a cat aboard, the little creatures seen to bring luck (and sharp teeth to lessen the rat population). 

Sailors believe in many things but above all they can agree that a woman on board is bad luck. Which seems silly to you because here you are, a woman who’s been on board The Demeter for many months now. Your presence had not brought ill fortune to the vessel. In fact, the weather had remained pleasant, despite the late summer month’s usual downpours and hurricanes. 

Granted none of the crew knew you were a woman. You had disguised yourself as a man, hair cut short and chest bound tightly, but that didn’t change the fact of your sex. A life of adventure on the seas had always called to you but there was no possibility of you being granted work on a ship. The only woman allowed onboard was the carved wooden figurehead of a mermaid that decorated the bow of a vessel. There was no place for you at sea. 

Not one to take no for an answer, you found your own way to get work as a sailor. You had spent time aboard trading ships, learning the ways of the trade and earning the trust of the men you crewed alongside. Your last posting had gone so well that the captain of that ship had recommended you to a friend for your next job. 

That friend had turned out to be Captain Eliot of The Demeter. Captain Eliot and his First Mate, Wojchek, had asked you a few questions, all of which you answered confidently. The Captain was a kind man who remarked positively at your experience. The First Mate, however, was standoffish, challenging your every answer. Wojchek frowned slightly as the Captain offered you the posting and as they walked away you heard him mutter, “He’s too scrawny, Captain. He won’t be able to pull his weight.” 

Captain Eliot had only chuckled, “I thought the same thing when I hired you. Look how wrong I was. You must learn to give people chances, Mr. Wojchek.”

While you appreciated the Captain’s confidence, you made it your mission to show this Mr. Wojchek just how mistaken he was. And for a time, your life aboard the ship was simple. You performed your duties well, befriended the men, took initiative and came to be seen as one of the more ambitious members of the crew. Even Wojchek had to admit, although never to your face, that your were one of the better sailors who had worked under him. 

That good will you had earned was probably the only thing that kept the First Mate from throwing you overboard when he found out who you really were. Your secret was discovered when Wojchek had walked in on you unannounced and had discovered you securing your chest binding. After much fussing, he had threatened to toss you off at the next port. 

You had pleaded with him to show some kindness and let you stay. Eventually, Wojchek reluctantly agreed to let you remain aboard but warned that he couldn’t help you if the rest of the crew found the truth about you. You had promised him that if you were discovered, you would never let on that he had been any the wiser.

The two of you came to an uneasy agreement and work continued, albeit now with a strained air between you. The men would often remark how the first mate would give you the hardest tasks. You had to agree with them. It did feel like Wojchek was taking out his frustration on you. After one particularly grueling day where he had assigned you to a back to back deck watch, you knew you had no choice but to confront him. 

******

You find him in the tiny room assigned to the First Mate of the ship . It was one of the few luxuries he was given on the boat. Whereas you and the other sailors slept where they could in hammocks tied between posts and amongst the cargo, Wojchek had a tiny room all to himself. He even had a porthole, something he takes great pride in.  

You hear him groan as you continuously knock on the door, disrupting his peace. Footsteps approach and the door squeaks open. Wojchek grimaces down at you. 

“What is it, sailor?”

“I need to speak with you, sir.”

“I don’t have time. Neither do you. It’s nearly your watch.”

“I’m not due on deck for a good while yet.”

“We can talk later. Be on your way.”

He starts to close the door but you push against it, anger surging through you at his dismissal. You barge into his room, slamming the door behind you. Wojchek’s eyes widen for a moment, caught off guard by your boldness. But a moment later, he’s back to his usual gruff self. He glowers, backing away from you like you carry a disease he’s worried is catching. 

“This isn’t appropriate.”

“Why? Because I’m a woman?”

“Keep your voice down!”

“It’s not a dirty word.”

“It is when you are disguised as a man on a ship. I’ve kept your secret and I’ll continue to do so. If any of the others were to find out, though…”

“I’ve been sailing with these men for nearly a year. They’re my friends but they’re not the most observant. I think my secret is safe. Besides, if they found out…” you lead off, shrugging your shoulders. 

Wojchek’s face darkens at your blasé attitude. “You think these men are your friends? They would turn on you the second they found out the truth about you.”

“That’s not true,” you retort, “just because you hate me doesn’t mean they would.”

“When did I ever say I hate you?”

“You don’t have to. The way you treat me is proof enough. The others may not have realized I’m a woman but they have started to notice you seem to give me the worst tasks and the most watches.  They know you don’t like me. Sooner or later, they’ll really try and figure out why. You might be the one that reveals my secret to them without meaning to.”

“I don’t hate you, I…”

He looks at you. Really looks at you, something he tried not to do very often once he noticed how catching sight of you made his heart skip a beat. His shoulders tense as he stares into your bright, vulnerable eyes, so out of place in a sailor. 

“You have no idea what a life at sea does to you.” He anticipates the retort you have ready to throw at him and holds up a silencing hand, imploring you to let him finish. “You’ve been on The Demeter for almost a year. No small feat for anyone, man or woman. You’re a good sailor. One of my best. People like you all start out the same, hungry for adventure. They see a life sailing from place to place as an answer to all their problems. And for a time, they’re happy. But eventually, the work breaks you. It keeps you from your family, from your friends. People on land move on while you’re away for months, even years at a time. ” 

Wojchek pauses, all the fight leaving him. “When you come back to port, you look for those who promised they’d always be there for you but one day they don’t come back. The ship’s arrival to land no longer brings hope and the sea can no longer mend the hurt that’s inside you. ” He lowers his gaze, perhaps remembering those whom he’s lost over the years. 

“The light leaves the men’s eyes once they realize that their world has shrunk to the size of this ship. They have nowhere else they belong. It’s suffocating. They grow resentful. I don’t want that for you. I don’t want to see the light leave your eyes.”

The whiplash of it all makes your head spin. You’ve been so convinced these last few months that this man hates you. Now he’s speaking to you more than he has this whole year. Not only that, it seems the worry over your wellbeing has cost him sleep. More so than a First Mate is supposed to spend worrying about a subordinate… 

The light in your eyes? Honestly, you didn’t know that was something you possessed. Maybe a glint of steely determination but you would never have called it anything akin to hope. Your life had always been hard. Being born a woman made life a constant struggle. Being born a poor one made it near impossible. 

Wojchek hasn’t moved, still close enough that you can feel the heat coming off of him in the crisp autumn night air that seeps through the tiny cracks in the ship. His eyes, however, keep jumping between your face and the floor. What he’s said has finally sunk in and along with it, his shame of wearing his heart on his sleeve. 

You keep your voice low as not to scare him. Seeing the usual rock of a man so skittish makes you approach your next words with the same precision as someone handling explosives. “I was born  in squalor to a family that saw my existence as nothing more than a burden. I spent most of my days wondering where my next meal would come from and if I’d have somewhere to sleep. I learned to deal with my lack of means. The thing I never could get over was the fact that I had no one in my life who cared if I lived or died.”

This is nothing you haven’t thought before but something about saying it aloud takes your breath away. A pressure grows in your chest as you fight the emotion that comes with revealing your own secrets. Wojchek doesn’t make it any easier, his once darting gaze now fixed intently on you. It’s your turn to avoid his dark eyes, staring at your shoes as you continue. 

“I was never truly happy until I came on The Demeter. I have food, my own bed, purpose, adventure…friends,” the last word almost doesn’t make it past your throat, now tight with emotion. “I finally feel like I have a home.”

It’s only fair that you tell him the whole of your truth seeing how he’d kept your secret for the last few months. He deserves that much. The tension in the room swirls thick but you aren’t sure if it’s because the First Mate is preparing to send you away or not. You wouldn’t blame him if he did throw you off the ship. With you gone, everything could return to the way it was. It might be better for everyone. 

You become lost in your own dark thoughts. Wojchek reaches out a hand, brushing your hair, shorn short and shaggy as part of your disguise, off of your face. You close your eyes at the touch, savoring the feel of his calloused fingers skimming so gently across your skin. All too soon, he’s pulling his hand away, remembering himself. 

“The Demeter is also the only home I’ve ever known,” Wojchek admits, “It’s a good ship and she’s been strong and true to me. If you’re sure this is where you want to be then you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

You nod your thanks, tears threatening to spill again at the relief of knowing you don’t have to leave. When they begin to roll down your cheeks despite your efforts to keep them hidden, Wojchek tuts softly, “Everything will be alright, kotku.”

You may not know the meaning of the word but you can understand from the tenderness in his eyes that it’s a term of endearment in his native tongue. The realization makes you bold. 

“It’s not just the ship or the crew that make The Demeter my home. It’s you.” You force yourself to maintain eye contact with Wojchek, fighting the instinct to look away. The though that he may not return the strength of your feelings sends a shiver of fear through you but you need him to understand how you feel. 

Wojchek searches your face for some deceit but finds only raw truth. He takes a step forward mere inches between you now. His hands twitch to reach for you again but he holds himself back. Above all else, Wojchek is a professional. Just because he thinks you want him doesn’t mean he’ll take the risk of abusing the power imbalance between you. 

Instead, you take the initiative. “May I kiss you, Mr. Wojchek?” It comes out as nothing more than a whisper but he nods. You lean in, teetering on your toes, never realizing how tall he actually was until now. A particularly strong wave hits the ship and you lose your balance. Before you can lose your footing, he has you in his arms. 

Wojchek hikes you up, bringing your face level to his. Years of working the ship have made him strong as an ox and he thanks the gods that he finally has good use for the muscles that hide beneath his tunic.

You press your lips to his and it takes you a few moments to remember to breathe. The kiss is trepidatious and sweet but leaves your stomach swirling with butterflies. Wojchek’s grip tightens on you, scared he’ll find that you’ve been some sprite in his dream that the morning sun will chase away. It feels good to be pressed together like this, limbs intertwined so you’re not sure where you end and he begins.

All too soon, he breaks away, gasping slightly. It seems you weren’t the only one who forgot how breathing works. The sight of the usually stern man so undone by a chaste kiss makes you chuckle.  Your hand grazes his cheek, running over his stubble. It’s strange to remember that just an hour ago you were convinced Wojchek wanted nothing more than to throw you overboard. Now he’s holding you like he’ll never let you go. How quickly life can change for the better. 

The tranquility is broken by the banging of Olgaren resonating through the wood of the ship. Your watch will soon begin and if you aren’t there to take your post, someone will come looking for you. The ship won’t sail itself and you sigh, realizing you can’t put off your responsibilities in favor of staying with Wojchek all night. 

The First Mate groans, “Stay a little longer.”

“I’m late as it is!” You smile at his pout. It’s a new expression you’ve never seen from his before and you push him down onto his tiny bed, kissing him once again. Another bang resounds through the ship and you whine, getting back to your feet. 

“I’ll make Abrams cover your watch.” Wojchek offers, staring up at you with comically pleading eyes. 

“You’ll have a mutiny on your hands if you come between that man and his sleep. Besides, it’s only four hours. You can even come visit me on deck if you like. It’s single watch so there won’t be anyone around to wonder why we’re together.”

“Four hours?” he grumbles.

“You’re the one who assigned me double watch!” 

Wojchek leans back, watching you button your jacket, trying your best to look presentable. He can’t help but smile at the commitment to your work ethic. “I’ll be up as soon as you relieve Olgaren.”

You nod, trying to remove the smile plastered on your face but failing miserably. Hopefully Olgaren is too tired to ask questions when he sees you. “See you soon.”

You’re about to open the door when you remember something. “What does kotku mean?”

Wojchek smiles, “Little cat.”

Once again you’re struck by the sweetness of a man so eager to have the world call him unfeeling. The nickname makes sense. You yourself believe that your presence seems to bring fair weather and good luck to the boat. The Demeter might not have a four legged feline to bring fair fortune but you’re the next best thing; positive, tenacious and willing to do anything for the good of the ship and crew. 

You grin at Wojchek, who now lounges happily on his tiny bed, looking somewhat feline himself. “Are you sure you want to call me that? A ship can never be without a cat. It’s bad luck. You’ll never be rid of me.”

Wojchek smiles contentedly, blinking slowly, sleep seemingly not far off. The chances of him joining you on deck for the evening appear to be dwindling. You’d be devastated if he didn’t look so adorable. He nods, beckoning you for one last kiss goodbye. “Good. I’ll keep calling you kotku so we never have to be apart.”

******

[negative-speedforce]

You get a few things!!!

First off, I ADORE your writing - I know I've said it time and time again, but your characters and stories live rent-free in my head, I think about them all the time, and your writing is INCREDIBLE. I mean, genuinely better than a good chunk of published novels I've read, and I'm a very avid reader. I can't wait to see your books published and pick up a copy for my own bookshelf!!

And on top of that talent, you're just such a wonderful person and a great friend. I'm grateful to know you. This weekend's been rough for me, you know that, and I really can't describe how much it's helped to have you check in and send me shitloads of cute animal videos to help cheer me up <3 I really, really appreciate you, and I consider you one of my best friends even if we've never met in person

Second thing is a very, very brief sneak-peek at something I have planned for you....

Nothing screamed “Yuletide cheer” like getting her face bashed in. “Haven’t you ever heard of the Christmas truce?”

I'll leave you to figure out who that's about or where it might go ;)

And the third thing is that I've finally gotten back into that Vivienne fic I've been working on, so you get a sneak peek for that too!

Mr. Wojchek looked out at the sea beneath him. The water was dark and calm, as if the storm had never happened. Such was the way of the sea.  “Siren.” he said, careful not to wake the crew sleeping below him. There was no response but the lapping of waves against the hull of the ship, so he tried again, perhaps a little louder: “Siren.” He was met again with silence, and found himself almost hoping for that silence to continue. It would be easier this way. It would be easier to believe his superstition was still unfounded, and he would reach port with nothing more than a story to tell another impressionable boy on the docks. More minutes passed, accompanied by nothing more than the lapping of tides against the hull and the subtle creaking of the masts as the wind picked up, and finally Mr. Wojchek determined it time to concede. The siren was gone, if it had ever really been there to begin with.  A soft splash left the water, hardly any more than the rest, and then he heard a gentle thump from the deck behind him. He turned just in time to watch the illusion of humanity ripple across the siren’s figure, its tail folding inwards and its ice-blue skin warming to a soft pink blush.

Okay, first of all, sorry this got lost in my inbox for so long, I was really freaking sick for a while and so much as looking at a screen gave me a headache.

So anyway- thank you so much, dude! I really appreciate your kind words, you're so sweet <3 and I'm so excited to share what I have planned next! I had a kick of writer's block after finishing In Too Deep, but I think I've finally gotten over it.

I have no idea who's getting beat up (actually I have some idea) but I'm excited to see what you have planned! You're such a good writer, and I love seeing you take custody of my little cast of traumatized gremlins!

And the Vivienne fic- I need to go read that, don't I? I'm gonna go do that right now. Ta-ta!

[how-serene]

it's nearly one a.m. and im thinking about vampire!wojchek biting and gnawing at his own skin, tearing through the layers of flesh in order temporarily quench his own hunger. he can't bring himself to hurt someone, no matter how painful the hunger pangs get. if you were somehow involved in his life, this would fuel his personal disgust with himself, and encourage him to stay away.

but no matter how much he cycles through his own blood, he's never satisfied. i imagine one night he breaks, he succumbs to his desires. the tears falling from his cheek and the trembling of his hands when he tantalizingly bites into your warm flesh. his tongue sweeping over the open wound, lapping at the scarlet pooling from your neck.

for one blissful moment, he falls away. deeper and deeper, until all he knows is the taste of you filling his belly.

he doesn't notice the fact you've become eerily quiet, and gone still. misses the slack jawed, wide eyed expression as your grip on his arm loosens.

you fill his senses, as his drinks your remaining memories.

[polkadotjohnson]

reminds me of

INGRID TORELLI AS LILY NEXT TO HER PUPPET DOUBLE !!

[minilev]

[practically-an-x-man]

The Eyes of the Storm (Vivienne x Wojchek)

Summary: Mr. Wojchek has always been a superstitious man. When a beast from the sea appears to him, warning him of a storm ahead, his superstitions prove more than simply fantasy. The choice then comes to trust this siren... does it truly want to protect him, or is it simply steering him into a trap to drown him and consume his heart like the legends claim?

Word Count: 4.0k

Tags: action, historical fantasy, first meeting, near-drowning (he's fine lol), sirens, gothic horror

Crossposted on AO3

____

The seas were rough that night. It was enough that even a creature of the deep could not maintain equilibrium, and found herself tossed about amidst the waves. Cold rain struck its skin like a hail of icy bullets any time it found its way up to the surface, and the water below was a turbulent web of wild currents. 

Perhaps a hundred fathoms on, a great ship rocked and canted in the rocky waves. The crew onboard were scrambling, lashing themselves with ropes to the masts for fear of another wave tossing them to the sea. They moved almost like insects, the siren thought, like little ants in defense of their anthill as they fought to keep their schooner upright. A fearsome wave rose high and broke across the deck, sending many of the men off their feet. 

The storm would only get worse from here. If they continued on their current route, their ship would be dashed into the rocks by more of these same waves, and every single man would drown.

It would be quite the feast for a siren.

But Vivienne had a fondness for ships like these. 

It fought through the waves, pushing its sleek body towards the dark form of the ship. It had to fight hard just to remain upright, the currents pushing against it in all directions. It would be easier just to dive to calmer waters and wait out the storm, and briefly she was tempted - this was not the first storm-struck ship she’d seen, nor would it be the last - and yet she chose to still press ahead. 

Finally its pale hand found the cool, slick planks of the ship’s hull, and the siren skirted around to the stern. It knew schooners like these, perhaps not as well as it knew barques or freighters like its husband had once sailed but well enough at least to know where the wheel would lie. The only trouble was reaching it, what with the deck some thirty feet above and rocked by the same rough and ceaseless waters. 

The currents could not make up their minds. They wanted to push her away from the ship and they wanted to slam her into its side. It was near-impossible to maintain her hold on the hull, even harder to imagine reaching the deck or the men who stood upon it. 

Above the roar of the winds and the intermittent boom of thunder, she could hear the panicked shouts of the crew as they fought to keep their ship upright. Then there came another voice, stern but keeping reins on its fear, commanding them to keep their wits if they were to survive. It was a good strong voice, surely belonging either to the captain or his first mate, in either case a man who had dealt with many such storms and was not prepared to balk at another.

Her husband had been such a man, many years ago. Soon it became clear that his wife was not exempt from the callousness to which he showed his crew, nor from the violence he screamed at the ocean when it dared to turn against him. He had little respect for the people aboard his ship, even less respect for the waves that carried it onward.

“Brace! She is angry with us tonight!” 

Another wave tossed the ship, tipping its nose nearly skyward before crashing back against the water. Vivienne was plunged beneath the surface and spun, half-blind in a whirlwind of bubbles, and fought its way back to the ship as quickly as it was able. The crew aboard were still scrambling, that sterner voice above still pushing them onwards- but he was not angry at the sea or his people. He was harsh, and he was brusque in the way that so many sailors were brusque, but it could hear the respect that laid below that fierceness. He trusted his men, and he respected the sea.

That made the difference. 

If he had been like her former husband, she would have let him drown.

A fresh wave tipped the ship anew, and Vivienne leapt from the water with a single powerful pump of its tail. Her fingers found a grip on the railing that outlined the deck, and she clung to it as the ship continued to rock. Finally it equalized, if only for the moment, and she pulled herself up and onto the ship. Magic bloomed both around and within her, transforming her image as she reached the deck.

Pelted with water from the storm, it took an arduous effort to persuade the illusion to take form around her. In a way, it didn’t matter - a woman appearing aboard a ship in the middle of the storm would arouse suspicion in any context - but perhaps the image of something human would give them pause long enough to heed her warning. 

The ship still bowed and rocked beneath it, and Vivienne was forced to cling to the rail for fear of being tossed back to the sea. The wheel was just ahead of her, a dark-haired man wrestling it for control of the ship. He’d been doused with water, his hair and clothing slicked to his skin, yet he hardly seemed to notice even his own physical condition. His breath plumed in a fine white mist as he shouted commands to his crew, and delicate droplets of moisture clung to the stubble on his jaw. His eyes were dark and sharp and focused, in some strangely alluring way.

“You!” Vivienne dared to shout, in the hopes of making him turn, “Hello! Handsome man with the beard! Look here!”

Finally he turned, and she watched those sharp eyes assess her over the course of only an instant. Suspicion clouded his expression. His knuckles were white on the wheel.

“Phantom.” he spat, “Specter. I will not have your omens on my ship.”

Another wave crashed across the deck, and the man muttered a chain of swears under his breath. His attention was soon returned to the wheel, and he wrenched it against another swell. 

“You are headed for the worst of the storm,” the siren continued, shouting over the roar of the wind, “Your ship will sink. Change your course or you and your crew will drown.”

“I will not listen to your curses,” the sailor hissed, this time refusing to even meet her eyes. His mouth continued to move in near-silence in the moments that followed. Vivienne caught only a few words she recognized, but the language itself was familiar. 

Her husband had used Polish as a vehicle for profanity. He’d often used English as a vehicle for profanity as well, but the truly heinous words were often held in his native tongue. He seemed to think that represented etiquette- as if those that did not speak Polish somehow could not tell that they were profanities from only the tone of his voice.

This man seemed to be praying. He asked his Lord for safety in the storm, to clear his mind of distraction and purge his ship of phantoms. It was quite a different tone of voice than she was accustomed to, but she understood the meaning well enough. 

“Posłuchaj mnie.” Vivienne hissed, and his head snapped towards her. It spoke perhaps a dozen words of Polish by its own tongue, and many of those words merely echoed swears from its former husband’s tirades, but it knew enough to get his attention. “Listen to me. Call it an omen, but the storm will not change. I am offering you a warning.”

“You offer lies.”

Vivienne could only sigh. She had done her duty and more, risked her privacy and safety for a man she did not know, and that man refused to heed her words. There was nothing more it could do to convince him. 

“Very well. If your men drown, I will eat their hearts,” she promised, finally allowing the rain to melt away the illusion around her. Lightning flashed above it, briefly illuminating rows of violet scales as it lifted its tail over the railing of the ship. The sailor’s eyes widened as he took a half-step back - his fears confirmed, his supposed phantom proven to be something far worse. Vivienne refused to duck away from his eyes, fixing him with the full promise of what it was.

She clung to the railing a moment longer, keeping her body steady despite the raging waters and the vicious rocking of the ship. 

“Do not let them drown.”

____

It should have fled.

The first mate - as it later learned from the voices of his crew - did not heed its warning. The ship continued on its path into the storm, and the winds howled like tortured souls. It was a lost cause, she thought, the ship and all of its men would prove just another casualty of the sea.

In truth, and despite her promise, Vivienne did not want to eat the hearts of the crew should they drown. Something had endeared them to her, in some small and indefinable way, and it did not wish to spill their blood into the water even if the storm did claim them.

It should have left, and left the ship to its fate. 

But instead it pushed ahead.

Even in roughened waters, Vivienne easily matched the speed of the ship. She followed the underwater shadow of the hull, swimming at a depth low enough to avoid the worst of the waves. The shouts of the crew were buried at this depth, though thunder pulsed through the water with enough force to rattle her bones.

It was a vicious storm indeed. She was surprised the men had even made it this far. In truth that impressed her: with a storm like this to spar with, it took a well-oiled crew to keep the ship moving forward. They would fight their fate, if nothing else. That was a noble thing.

Something hit the water hard, plunging deep and fighting to orient itself amidst the tumultuous underwater currents. The water rose high above it, grabbed it tight and dragged it lower, and Vivienne watched the body flip head-over-heels. She pumped her tail and surged closer - now close enough to recognize the face of the first mate.

He was a clever enough man, at least. Rather than continue to spin and flounder, he merely exhaled and then began to follow the path of the bubbles. It was a common seafarer’s trick: the ocean could appear dark on both sides, the surface identical to the depths, but air would always rise.

It only took a moment longer to realize his cleverness would not be enough. He was deep underwater, the waves only hindering his chances to surface, and the impact surely shocked much of the air from his lungs. Vivienne watched his movements slow and falter as he used the last of his breath, still eight feet or more from the surface. 

His crew would not reach him before he drowned. She doubted the crew could even pinpoint his location beneath those dark and churning waters.

It had promised to eat his heart if the waters claimed him. That was the nature of a siren - to charm men into the waters and eat their hearts. This would be easy prey. 

Vivienne twisted in the water and pushed ahead, gliding through the water as quickly as it was able. She caught the first mate around the middle, the weight of his body falling against her shoulder, and lashed its tail against the added resistance. She broke the surface only a moment later, bursting from the water with a spray of silver droplets and landing hard on the deck of the ship high above.

“Stubborn man,” she hissed, dragging itself across the deck as the first mate began to hack and cough, “I told you to heed the storm. You did not take my warning. You are lucky you’re still breathing.”

He managed enough air to lift his head, and gave the siren a long look through dark, bloodshot eyes. His chest still heaved for breath, and his body was pelted with sheets of rain as they cast over the deck, but his eyes were strangely steady as he looked at his rescue.

“Next time,” Vivienne hissed, baring rows of sharklike sharp teeth at him as it spoke. The time for charm had long fled. Now it was inclined to frighten him into understanding. “Next time, when you are told of a storm, you listen. Or there may be no more rescue for you.”

She arched her back and lashed her tail, acting the part of some vicious animal, reminding him of what she might have done had she not chosen mercy. She looked at him with her devil’s-eyes, bared him another shark’s grimace, made herself into the most inhuman thing she could muster - if kindness could not drive him from the water, perhaps fear would. It had shown him its humanity, but there was something far more monstrous that lay beneath.

The first mate did not speak. His expression never changed. It was not fear, but neither was it gratitude. Vivienne could not begin to glean his thoughts. Perhaps that was for the best.

The ship rocked with another wave, and she allowed herself to slip from the deck. There was a single flash of colorful scales against the darkness of the water below, and then her form was swallowed by the depths of the sea.

It was as if she’d never been there at all.

____

Mr. Wojchek had resumed his place at the helm. The ship had survived the storm, as had all of its crew, though his throat still felt roughened and hoarse from its intake of seawater. Night had fallen heavy around him, and he had sent much of his crew to bed. They were exhausted from the storm, and needed a night’s rest if they were to conduct good work in the morning. The waters had calmed enough for him to manage on his own, he said, and he’d sound the alarm if any further issues arose.

In truth, he simply wanted to be alone.

Wojchek had known all his life that there was mysticism in this world. He had believed it since he was a boy. His mother had told him of pixies in the garden and trolls beneath the bridge, and he’d taken in those stories as a kitten laps up a bowl of cream. As he’d grown, he witnessed stories from many a seaman when they brought their ships to the docks - leviathans, they said, great sea-beasts larger even than their ships, visible only by the massive swells of their fins as they crested the water. They told of wailing phantoms, lost brides and drowned children, ghostly slaves dragging waterlogged shackles.

And they told him of sirens. 

For all his history and all his superstition, Mr. Wojchek had never once expected to see such a beast face-to-face. They existed in separate worlds in his mind: what he’d been told, what others had experienced, and what he had seen himself. 

He had thought, for a time of several hours at least, that he might have imagined the whole incident. Once he returned to the wheel and his mind became focused again on keeping the Demeter on its course, the events seemed to fade into something like a dream. He’d fallen from the ship, yes, but it must have been a crewman who pulled him from the water. The impact, and the water in his lungs, had simply clouded his memory. There was no sea-beast with violet scales.

He had turned the thoughts over in his mind for half the night, but he simply could not convince himself of it. He’d fallen far from the ship, and the waves had knocked him about until he knew the others could not have seen nor reached him. He remembered the feel of the siren’s skin, soft and smooth like that of a skate, and the glinting fish-scales of its tail under the water. And he could not forget its words. He could not blame that on his own mind.

Mr. Wojchek looked out at the sea beneath him. The water was dark and calm, as if the storm had never happened. Such was the way of the sea. 

“Siren.” he said, careful not to wake the crew sleeping below him. There was no response but the lapping of waves against the hull of the ship, so he tried again, perhaps a little louder: “Siren.”

He was met again with silence, and found himself almost hoping for that silence to continue. It would be easier this way. It would be easier to believe his superstition was still unfounded, and he would reach port with nothing more than a story to tell another impressionable boy on the docks.

More minutes passed, accompanied by nothing more than the lapping of tides against the hull and the subtle creaking of the masts as the wind picked up, and finally Mr. Wojchek determined it time to concede. The siren was gone, if it had ever really been there to begin with. 

A soft splash left the water, hardly any more than the rest, and then he heard a gentle thump from the deck behind him. He turned just in time to watch the illusion of humanity ripple across the siren’s figure, its tail folding inwards and its ice-blue skin warming to a soft pink blush.

She sat on the deck with her legs folded beneath her, looking at him with pale blue eyes. A water-drenched skirt covered her legs, but she was completely bare from the waist up. Her hair was long and ginger, somehow soft despite the saltwater that plastered it against her skin. Her expression was placid, almost friendly, though he suspected that was as much an illusion as the rest of her. 

“I do have a name, you know.” she said, and her lips curled up in a faint smile. Mr. Wojchek merely scoffed. He returned his eyes pointedly to the sea ahead of him. He had heard that a siren could bewitch a man with nothing more than a song from its throat or a glance at its eyes, and he had no intent to be bewitched on this night.

“I have no interest in learning your name,” he responded with a voice still rough from seawater, “I only wanted to thank you for your rescue. Nothing more.”

“You don’t want to learn the name of your rescuer?” it asked, though it pressed on before he could protest, “They call me Vivienne.”

Her voice had drawn nearer, and he risked a glance to find her upright and standing merely a few feet from him. She began to pace the deck in lithe, careful steps, slinking in a half-circle until she blocked his view of the horizon. Something about the look in her eyes made him want to shiver. He thought of siren magic and ducked her gaze once again.

“And they call you Wojchek, do they not?” she continued, heedless, “I overhead your crew. I presume that is your surname.”

“It is.” He’d keep things brief. He had granted his thanks, and he would move on. Soon this beast would see there was nothing more for her here.

If there was some small comfort in this very unnatural circumstance, it was that he did not feel he was in any real danger. After all, why would it have plucked him from the sea if it meant to hunt him down and consume his heart merely hours later? Tomorrow, he thought, all truces might vanish. Tomorrow was a new day. But today it had the chance at prey and had not taken it, and he doubted it intended to harm him here.

What it truly wanted if not to hurt him, though, Mr. Wojchek did not know.

“What is your first name, then?”

A brittle laugh broke from his lips, and he shook his head. 

“Oh, no. I know these tricks. I will not give my name out to a creature of the sea.”

“This creature rescued you from the sea, if you remember,” the siren replied, and crept nearer until she had a hand on the wheel and was looking him right in the eyes. She was tall, merely a few inches shorter than himself, and that brought them to eye level. He couldn’t look away.

“I don’t ask any other reward for your life,” she said, “Just your name.”

Mr. Wojchek considered this. He did not trust such a proposal - he had heard countless stories of witches performing curses with a man’s full name, and sirens were close enough to witches. He felt that this could be a trap, another way to snare him in her magic. He was too clever a man to be entrapped in such a way.

But by the same token, he feared refusing might come with its own set of consequences. If she did not receive his name, she might demand more. His life, or the lives of his crew. And if he refused that deal… sirens were the storms of Poseidon. He could not afford the god’s wrath, least of all when the Demeter had only narrowly survived the last whirlwind.

The Demeter was his home. Its crew were his brothers, in duty if not in blood. If the choice came between his own safety and theirs, he would fall on the sword time and time again. The siren was correct: it could have asked much more in return for saving his life, and his name was not such a large price to pay in the end. 

“Antoni,” he said, “Antoni Wojchek.”

“Antoni.” The siren seemed to approve. His name fell heavy against its tongue, and its lips curled again in something like a smile. Much as he distrusted the illusion she had cast over herself, she had a pleasant smile. He supposed again that that was the point of a siren. He was meant to be charmed by her. He was meant to be drawn in. Physical attraction was the trap they all utilized, and he knew this was no different. She was a predator, a shark, and if he gave her the opportunity, she would consume him.

He would not allow himself to be swayed. He would not give in to her charm.

Vivienne nodded and took a step back from him, creeping back towards the railing of the deck. The illusion began to melt away in ripples, her skin losing its luster and her eyes fading to a pearlescent silver-blue. Her gaze pierced him with something uncanny, with no split between the irises and the whites of her eyes, but in some strange way it was also a comfort. There was more transparency in it, less trickery, and he felt as though he saw it truly for what it was.

She leapt over the railing in a single graceful motion, and then he heard a stronger impact against the hull of the ship. Wojchek resisted the urge to step towards her and steal a glance - he knew enough what he’d see, a broad fish-tail covered in scales of violet and crimson, and he did not wish to be dragged into the water for his curiosity. He caught a glimpse of a fin, soft and feathered as it peeked above the railing, and the siren offered him a tricky half-smirk at his intrigue. It had the railing propped under its arms, holding itself in place for one final moment.

“I pray I will see you again soon, Antoni.” it said, and dropped out of sight. Mr. Wojchek listened for another sound, for the waters to rise or the ship to lurch in another storm, but no other sound came to him. He took a deep breath of the cool nighttime air, hoping to steady himself after such a strange interaction. His mind was reeling, and from more than simply fear.

Finally he whispered his response to the night, in prayer or in promise.

“I pray I will not.”

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

🤔⛵️🥰 please 🫶

Wooden Treasures - Romantic Wojchek Headcanons

Warnings: Bit of angst because it's Wojchek, it's like a requirement.

Notes: Some romance with my jolly sailor bold? You guys are spoiling me Q//w//Q This ended up being a bit of a broken up drabble since it's hard to write romance for someone who's away for so long, so when he is around that's when the true headcanons start 😊 I hope you enjoy~ 💗💗💗

You meet him in the most unromantic way possible, while he's coming ashore to check cargo and you're passing by completely distracted. You bump into him as he's in the middle of his inspections, the payment for his cargo knocked out of his hands and onto the dock, the coins spilling every which way and into the water. The look he gives you is nothing short of loathing, and you end your first meeting gathering everything up and reimbursing the rest, plus a little extra for the trouble.

The next time you see him he's returning, and since there's no rush you introduce yourself and offer to maybe buy him a drink to make up for last month, but he doesn't even remember you, the moment so inconsequential once the money was handed over that he concentrated on the voyage and pushed you right from his mind. He does hesitate at turning you down though, and while it still isn't very romantic while everyone drinks and talks and sings around you, you learn his name is Wojchek and that he prefers to drink outside rather than inside.

His next voyage isn't for a week and a half while they restock and buy new livestock, so you end up seeing him quite a bunch while you go about your day. He sticks to his ship, preferring to sleep on board instead of renting a room on solid ground, and you learn that when you're closing your window in the morning chill and see him stretching on deck. You almost call to him but don't, preferring to watch as he breathes in the sea air, his hair even more disheveled as he pulls his suspenders over his shoulders and heads for the dock. You invite him out to breakfast instead with the excuse that you were just on your way, and he seems almost fond of you as he asks if you'd want to eat on deck with him while the sun rises.

By the time the first week was almost over, he'd seen you so many times that he'd remembered your name, and you learn that he wasn't just distant, he was just so used to moving around that he never bothered remember anything outside of his crew. You don't realize how important this made you to him until he was the one asking you to dinner, but not at one of the many seafood places lining the docks, but instead on the Demeter while the others were out. He doesn't use any of their growing supplies, they needed to save them after all, instead buying rarer things from the import section of the open market nearby, using them to make you something from his home country to share. You don't realize it's an actual date until he lights the lamps as the sun starts to set, a candle on the makeshift table he and the others had carried up on deck just for this, and he tells you all about the recipe as you enjoy the meal he'd made just from memory.

He's very self-sufficient, living on the sea had made him grow up fast, but it also means he was now a jack-of-all-trades, from cooking, to mending his few clothes once it became unavoidable, to even repairing the ship. He loves working with his hands, this becoming apparent when you find a handcrafted wooden sculpture of a fish waiting for you on your doorstep the night after your date. There's a lot of care put into it even though he would've had to work fast, the next one coming a couple days later when you step out to visit the market before the morning rush. This one is of a bird, and it sits in your pocket as you do your shopping and feel him there with you.

He can only stay for one more day, the new cargo coming earlier than expected and allowing them to make even better time, and while you knew it was coming you hoped you'd at least have a couple extra days to get to know him better. As he tells you this on the docks he seems different than before, the serious, stoic sailor who'd made you want to jump into the water to avoid his rage now replaced with the man asking if you wanted to have one more dinner together before he had to go. Again he cooks for you as you invite him into your home, only this time he teaches you what to do as he chops and simmers, helping you commit this part of him to memory so when he left you could make it on your own and remember him. When it's over he kisses your hand and wishes you goodnight, and you almost don't let him go as he heads back to the Demeter in the dark.

You meet him on the docks the next day, unable to bear the wait without one last goodbye, and this time he presses a new sculpture into your hand with a kiss to your forehead and a promise that he'll return to you spoken in his native tongue.

You don't hear from him for weeks until they reach their destination, someplace far away that you can't even place without visiting the library and looking over their hand drawn maps of the world, and you count the days and memorize every word on the page until you can see the stars with him.

He sends another letter when they make an emergency stop halfway home, one of the animals they'd brought on board had gone rabid and caused quite the panic, and it was only through a miracle that no one was hurt. In it, because it'd been over a month by that point, he confesses to you how much he missed seeing your face in the morning, how the sunrise used to be the only thing that warmed his heart, it replaced by you and your laugh instead. He promises that even if they can't return for long, he still wants to hold you in his arms, otherwise it'll be hard for him to leave again. You make the recipe he taught you that night, but it doesn't taste the same without him sitting across from you.

His sculptures find a permanent spot on your windowsill so you can wake up and think of him as soon as you see them, and when the wind knocks one over you finally notice the words you can't translate carved into the bottom of each.

When the Demeter finally pulls into port, you race down the stairs and through the duplex door straight to the docks, the commotion of other returning ships doing their best to stop you until you trip and crash into a bunch of people. The hands that catch you are strong and steady, and you instantly know it's him before you even look up and see him. His eyes are tired from the delayed return but the smile he gives you holds so much that you make sure he makes good on his promise as you throw yourself into his arms.

He only has a few days before he's gone again, this just another small stop on the way to their next job, but he really does make good as he finds you the moment he's done with his tasks. He needs to find a bigger crew to take care of this one, the cargo much bigger than the usual hauls, and as you walk together you joke that maybe you'll come along this time. He doesn't joke with you, something in his eyes telling you he wants you to be serious, and you actually consider it as he almost kisses you goodnight on your doorstep.

You're only able to see him again before he leaves, your eyes on the Demeter all night in case they need to leave early, your chair pulled up to the window as you watch for any sign of movement. When they start moving around you get dressed and rush out, but there isn't any time to say goodbye as the sails are lowered and the ship starts to leave. You call for him as your heart aches, and before it pulls away you see him appear at the end, and he points behind you as his voice gets lost on the wind. You turn to find a box waiting for you by your doorstep, you'd run right past it, and when he disappears from sight you find all the others letters he was never able to send along with over ten new sculptures, each one different and sporting the same text as the others on the bottoms, and you just hold them and pray that he'll return to you faster this time.

You space out the letters, one per day until he can send something new, and you miss him as he tells you about how beautiful the sea looks when the sun is low and it shines like gems, but how it's nothing compared to what he sees when he looks at you. He shares more recipes with some, stories from in his past in others, but the final one you can't read as it's entirely in polish, and the next day you go back to the library to see if you can translate it yourself.

The wait doesn't feel so long as you pour over your books, slowly recognizing the words until you can chip away at the last letter piece by piece. He sends a couple more but you hold off on reading them until the whole thing is finished, and it's rough and badly translated in some places but you still understand that it's a confession about how he thinks he's falling in love with you all the same, the page filled with everything he loved about you and why for the first time in his life he wanted to stay. You cry as you read the last sentence about how maybe someday he'll have the courage to tell you this himself, since he knows you can't read it, and how he wishes he could have more time with you the next time he comes to port. You file away each one lovingly into a drawer, the new sculptures joining the rest, and finally you understand as you read the words on the bottoms: Kocham cię. "I love you."

You space out the new letters but they're more closed off than the last, no more secret messages for you to translate as he talks about how he wished you could see the shorelines of the places they pass, how you would love the quick stops they make at those coastal towns, but nothing else. You blame yourself for not leaving sooner, even though you know that you never would've been able to read his confession before he left, and you start on your own to give to him when he returns.

It takes almost 3 months this time but finally the Demeter returns to port, and you let him work as you watch from your window, his letter sealed and waiting beside you as you rest against the sill. You wait until you see him glance towards your place, and you catch his eye as he hurries towards you, his letter in your hand as you take the stairs two at a time until you're opening the door and he's there. He reaches into his pocket to grab something for you but you hold out your letter first, and he just stares at it before coming inside to read it. You wait as he struggles a little with your amateur translation, but it must still make sense because when he's done he's holding you to his chest and speaking to you in words you still don't understand, you can only read them, and you tell him this before he finally kisses you.

For once he doesn't go back to the Demeter as he cooks one of the recipes he shared in his letters with you, delicious and new smells filling your home as he tells you about their upcoming voyage. They'd been hired to transport cargo all the way to London, so he'd be gone a long time again, but there was a bonus pay waiting for them there if they made good time. You ask him what he'd do with his share as you grab two plates, and he answers in polish again but doesn't translate this time no matter how much you beg him to. He spends the night for the first time, and you whisper for him not to go as you fall asleep in his arms.

You receive no letters as the weeks drag on, your worry increasing with each passing day that you don't hear from him, and you know something's wrong when a storm hits you as you're coming home, all of your sculptures knocked to the ground as the wind and rain invade your living room. When you're on the docks heading to market you finally hear what happened, how the Demeter ran aground and was shattered against the rocks when it reached London. You froze in your tracks right there, your knees giving out as the word that there were no survivors shoots right through you and makes you break down right there.

Your collection of gifts from him becomes your treasure, each one valuable to you as you move the sculptures from your sill to your dresser. They line up in front of your mirror, guarding you as you sleep alone each night, each letter memorized again and again until your tears make the letters smudge. You force yourself to leave them alone, you can't lose the way he loved you so soon, his confession still unspoken as you wish you could still feel him laying there with you.

A few months go by before you start to move on, your sea view no longer beautiful as you walk along the docks in order to reach the market. A ship had pulled in around the time you left, the sailors all piling out to hurry for the bars, but you just ignore them as you try not to look. They all brush past you as you just try to get by, your chest hurting with each one that makes you stumble until you finally trip and fall, crashing hard into someone with a bag slung over his shoulder. You both fall to the ground, his bag tearing on the old wood, and you just barely get out an apology before you see the wooden sculptures sprawling out beside you. You take them all in before looking up at the person you landed on, and you can't stop your tears as you see him there, wincing, bandaged, scarred, but alive. You can't speak as he explains that he jumped overboard before the crash and it only just saved him, but everyone else was lost in the storm, he didn't know who else made it. You'll care later but you don't now as he's the only important thing to you, and you kiss him before helping gather up everything he made you while he was recovering. There are no letters though, and he admits that he didn't want to hide behind the ink any longer as he meets your eye, and before he can say anything else you tell him you love him, his hand leaving his pocket at the same time. You stare down at his hand as he tells you he spent the last of his money on this before he boarded the ship to come back to you, and you translate his final mystery sentence from months ago in your head as you lovingly pick up the ring sitting in his palm.