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[hearts-hunger]

Chapter One: A Flash of Steel and Silver {Series Masterlist | Series Playlist ♫}

Series Summary: You've been called the Jewel of the Bay, a lady born and bred in one of the Royal Navy's most profitable ports of call. On a fateful summer night, taken aboard the pirate ship Starcatcher, your world is turned upside down. To survive, you must put your faith in the honor among thieves and learn to trust the devotion of a pirate to his most precious treasure.

Pairings: Jake x Reader, Sam x Danny, Josh x Reader | Chapter Word Count: 4.7k | Warnings: AU-typical violence, harassment, historically accurate misogyny

A/N: My sweethearts! This is my very first time doing an au like this, and I'm very excited to share it with you. I have no concrete plans for this series, and no update schedule - I'm just seeing where the wind takes me on this one. I know it's different from my other fics, but I really hope you like it! ♡

Pirates. 

The word alone struck fear into the hearts of the people of Sapphire Bay, sending them inside to lock their doors and close the window shutters with a firm crack. Those devils marked by the branding iron were hated and feared, considered with a mix of awe and horror and morbid curiosity. To meet one meant certain death; for the superstitious, even to speak of one meant the calling down of hell’s rapacious wrath upon the new world’s fragile kingdom of islands. Everywhere, in hushed voices and cautious glances at the western horizon, people dreaded the coming of those demons. Pirates.

You had learned to fear them just as much as anyone, the threat of them always lingering in the back of your mind, but there was an insatiable curiosity that held you captive any time you so much as heard them mentioned. Your late father, the former governor of Sapphire Bay, had spoken of them often; you’d grown up on snatches of conversations heard from the other side of his study door, tales of murder and thievery and drunken escapades, stories of freedom and bravery and adventure.

Those stories had continued to fascinate you even as you became a woman, and you were more interested in them now than you had been as a child. Lucky, then, that you’d been betrothed to Commander Kit Drake of the battleship Black Smoke; his own closed-door conferences about the pirates that roamed the seas provided an endless diversion to your hungry imagination.

Hearing those stories was perhaps the only lucky thing about your betrothal, and you reminded yourself to try and think of other silver linings as your lady’s maid dressed you for dinner at the Commodore’s estate. 

“He’ll tell me how beautiful I look,” you said to yourself, touching light fingers to your lightly rouged lips. “Surely he will.”

“Indeed he will, miss,” your lady’s maid said as she styled your hair. “You’ll be the jewel of the bay this evening, all sparkling in the candlelight.”

You met her eyes in the mirror. “Thank you, Tabby. You’re very kind.”

She smiled. “Have you decided what necklace and earrings you’ll be wearing tonight, miss?”

You brushed a hand over your deep blue bodice. “I suppose the sapphires would be best, wouldn’t they?”

“As you say, miss. Commander Drake will surely be pleased to see you wearing his gift.”

Tabby finished your hair, a relatively understated crown of curls, and spangled you with trinkets from your jewelry box that could have fed and housed a family for several months. You touched a hand to the blue gem that rested in a swath of silver, the centerpiece of the heavy necklace that felt more like a collar for a dog than a gift of love from your fiancé. 

“There you are, miss,” Tabby said when you were ready. “I’ll tell the footman to bring the carriage ‘round.”

The Commodore’s estate was right on the bay, a sprawling mansion that put even your father’s estate to shame in sheer grandiosity. Several carriages stopped outside the main doors, ladies in fine dresses and men in naval uniform stepping out to join the group that filed into the golden, candlelit hall inside. Your attention was drawn to the sea as you waited, watching the way the moonlight dashed itself to bits across the glittering surface of the water.

“My dear. You finally made it.”

You looked over from the bay to the door of your carriage. “Kit.”

A frown tugged at your fiancé’s expression. “You mustn’t call me that here, dearest, you know that. Commander Drake or ‘sir’ will suffice.”

You flushed, wishing you’d remembered that rule. “Of course, sir.”

You accepted his hand when he offered it to you, and you looked up at him with girlish eagerness to see if he’d comment on your appearance.

“I wore the jewels you gave me at our engagement,” you said quietly.

He gave you a distracted glance. “Oh. Yes, I suppose you did.”

“Do you... do you like them?” you asked, crestfallen.

He breathed a short sigh. “They’re lovely, my dear. Let’s not tarry, shall we? I’m afraid you’ve already made us late.”

He offered his arm, and you hung off of it as a good young lady should. Your head turned back to the sea, just for a moment, and you thought you caught a glimpse of a shooting star reflected on the waves.

“We’ve got to double our presence on the coasts of the southern isles. We’ll rout them simply by being there in force. They wouldn’t dare to try and attack any of the ports there if we made our presence more obvious.”

You took a sip of wine and tried to look bored, knowing that the quickest way to get navy men to stop talking of pirates was for a lady to show an interest in their conversation. If they didn’t consider you too delicate or stupid for that kind of talk, they’d fear for some kind of longing to spark within you, the same kind they allowed to rage unchecked as they sailed on their mighty seafaring vessels.

“No corsair in these waters is a match for any of our fleet,” Kit argued. He gesticulated and narrowly missed your wine glass as you set it down. “I say with conviction, gentlemen, that there is no need to add even a single ship to those we already have out of port.”

“Maybe they’re not a match for your ship, Commander,” said a lady on the opposite end of the table. You glanced over with mild panic, wishing you could tell her merely to listen, but the gentlemen she was interrupting didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ve heard you gentlemen say the Black Smoke is the fastest ship in the Royal Navy,” she said, and there was a flirtatious intonation to her voice that drew the men in like moths to the flame. “However, I’ve also heard it said that there is a pirate galleon in our waters that can match it for speed.”

“Name the ship,” a lieutenant challenged.

The lady smiled. “Starcatcher.”

The name caused a flutter of excitement to stir in your breast. Starcatcher. It certainly sounded like a fast ship, and no vessel in the Royal Navy had such a wonderful name.

“Nonsense,” Kit said, waving her remark aside even as he trained his attention on the coy curve of her mouth. “The Starcatcher is a myth told to frighten new deck hands. No such ship exists.”

“No?” the lady asked with an elegant lift of her brow. “And what of its sister ship, the Indigo Streak? Some men say it can disappear into thin air.”

“Some men are fools,” Kit said, and his smirk betrayed his arrogance. “No doubt you’ve heard these same men claim to have seen the witches that serve as the figureheads of each ship.”

“They’re not witches,” another man protested. “I’ve heard they’re meant to be Nike and Themis, goddesses of victory and justice.”

Kit scoffed. “Victory and justice, indeed. Even if these ships did exist, what victory and justice could be won outside the King’s authority?”

“Pirates don’t consider the King’s authority legitimate, though, do they?”

All gazes swung to you, and you felt a wash of embarrassment follow the heady flush of having impetuously offered your own opinion. Kit’s face went pink with anger.

“What a pirate thinks of the King’s authority means little,” he said sharply. He took your hand under the table and gave it an uncomfortable squeeze, leaning close. “And what a woman thinks of it means even less, my dear, so I suggest you keep such foolish thoughts to yourself.”

He released your hand with disdain, and you shied away from him as far as you could. You understood perfectly well why the lady with the deep red lips was allowed to speak and you were not; her comments were meant to incite men to braggadocio and pride, and yours only called into question their self-assurance. You would not speak merely to stroke a man’s ego, pirate or King’s man or anyone in between; most at the table considered it better, in that event, for you to keep your mouth shut entirely.

You took another long drink of wine and tried to keep your hands from shaking. Of a sudden, everything was overwhelming; the sound of tittering laughter and silver forks against china dishes, the smell of dozens of different perfumes, the heat of the candles that cast flickering beams onto jewels and gold buttons and silver sword handles. You felt pressed in on all sides with an extravagant meal you couldn’t hope to finish in front of you, men to the right and left of you, servants behind you to tend to your every need should you so much as wave an indolent hand. 

You took a deep breath, as deep as you could with your stays laced as tightly as they were, and dug into the reserve of feminine gentility and self-control that had been trained into you since birth.

“Commander,” you said quietly, touching your hand to his sleeve. He ignored you, and desperation clawed at you.

“Sir,” you said in a pleading whisper.

With a frustrated huff, he turned away from his companions and met your eyes. “What is it?”

“I beg your pardon,” you said. “I — I suddenly feel quite ill. My head, it’s...”

He snapped his fingers, and a footman came to his side to await his instruction in perfect silence.

“Attend the lady,” he said, gesturing to you with impatience and contempt. “She’s taken ill, apparently.”

The footman bowed his head. “M’lord.” He pulled your chair out and gave you his hand; you took it, offering a feeble excuse to those few who noticed your departure and cared to comment.

“Shall I show you to one of the guest chambers, m’lady?” the footman asked when you were safely outside the dining hall.

You shook your head. “No, thank you. I wonder... could you help me find the gardens? I would be so grateful for a breath of fresh air.”

“Very good, m’lady,” was the man’s response. He escorted you to the gardens. “Shall I ring for a lady’s maid to accompany you?”

“That won’t be necessary,” you said. “Thank you for your help, sir.”

He bowed. “M’lady.”

A bit of the peace you so dearly needed was found out in the garden, and you wandered in the cool darkness of the shrubs and trees blossoming with flowers of every hue. You took a deep breath of the warm night air as you walked over the cobblestones, closing your eyes for a moment to drink in the quiet of birdsong and the ever-present hush of waves upon the shore. You longed to go down to the water, if only for a moment; what relief it would bring to feel the cool waves lapping at your ankles, to feel the salty breeze skim over your cheek with all the tenderness of a lover’s hand. You opened your eyes and felt its dark, silver-scaled presence call you like a mother to a child, begging you to leave the world you knew behind.

“Foolishness,” you whispered, pressing your hand against the merciless shackle of sapphire and silver that hung about your neck. You could never leave. You would be here, always, looking out upon the water, wearing its color on your breast, never quite close enough to touch.

You heard your name called from a direction opposite the ocean. Footsteps sounded behind you, and you did not allow yourself to breathe the sigh that waited ever-ready at your lips.

“I only needed some air, Commander,” you said without turning to him. “I’ll be well enough to join the ladies in the parlor after dinner.”

Without warning, Kit grabbed your wrist in a punishing grip and spun you towards him.

“Turn to me when I call you,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “Do not presume to speak to me with an air of indifference.”

Your blood ran cold at the anger in his face. “I didn’t — I wasn’t trying to — ”

“I knew you weren’t ill,” he said, squeezing your wrist tighter. “You left because you wanted to shame me, didn’t you? Or perhaps because you were petulant about my correction?”

“No,” you said weakly, trying to tug your hand from his grip. “Please, Kit, you’re hurting me.”

He took your jaw in his other hand and squeezed it. “I told you not to call me that. Do you mean to respect me at all tonight? Or shall I have to teach you a lesson in obedience?”

You paled. You tried to find your voice to try and calm him, to apologize, but another man’s voice broke in before you could.

“Take your hands off the lady.”

Kit released your jaw, more out of surprise than any desire to obey. You tried to pull out of his grip, but he held fast to your wrist.

“Who spoke?” Kit asked into the darkness of the garden. “Show your face.”

“Take your hands off the lady, as I said,” the man repeated. “I’ve got a pistol aimed straight for your heart, Commander, and I assure I won’t miss.”

Kit’s face flushed an angry red. To your surprise and relief, he let you go, and you put a few steps of distance between you.

“How dare you speak to me in such a way?” Kit thundered. “I demand that you to come into the light and show yourself.”

No sooner had he spoken than a man sauntered out of the shadows of a copse of palm trees, a flintlock pistol held in an almost lazy manner in Kit’s direction. The hilt of a cutlass on his hip caught the light of the moon.

“You demand it, aye?” the man asked. His long hair was dark, his frame lean and hard-muscled; he was practically indecent, his cotton shirt unbuttoned to reveal a collection of necklaces that rested against his tanned chest. You blushed and averted your eyes when he looked at you.

“Makes you wonder,” he continued conversationally, turning his attention back to your fiancé. “Perhaps your King ought to call you Demander rather than Commander.”

Kit put his hand to the hilt of his saber. “What are you, boy?” he said derisively. “Beggar? Thief? Be on your way before I arrest you for harassing an officer.”

The man’s mouth turned up in a crooked smile as he returned his pistol to its holster at his waist. 

“Go ahead, Commander. Though I doubt if you’ll find there’s any jailhouse to throw me in by the time you do.”

Kit looked the man over in confusion and absolute fury. He opened his mouth to speak, but an explosion from the outskirts of town effectively cut across him.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Kit raged. He looked to see the billow of smoke from the direction of the jailhouse, then whipped his head back to look at the man.

“You’re a fool to attempt a prison break,” he said. “There’s plenty of brigs in the fleet to throw you and your worthless comrades in once we collect all of you.”

Kit drew his sword, and the man had drawn his and disarmed Kit in a flash of steel and silver quicker than you could see it. Kit’s sword clattered across the cobblestones and skidded to a halt at the man’s feet.

“I’d be careful who you draw your sword against tonight, Commander,” the man said. He kicked the saber back towards Kit. “You won’t find my men as forgiving as I am.”

“Your men?” Kit blustered, shame and fury mottling his face. “Who the devil do you think you are?”

A cocky smile lit the man’s face, and you found it somewhat maddening and almost alluring. Confidence radiated from him like warmth from the sun, and you watched in fascination as he took a step closer to Kit.

“You don’t know me?” he asked. He lifted his sleeve; just above the white bracelet he wore was the scarred mark of a pirate.

“You gave me this, Commander Drake,” the man said. “Though I suppose you were only a lieutenant back then, weren’t you?”

“Scum,” Kit spat. “I should have known. I’ve branded enough of your kind that you all run together into one wretched mass.”

“I see,” the man said. He sheathed his cutlass again even as Kit bent to retrieve his, seemingly unconcerned with the possibility of a duel. He tilted his head towards the Commodore’s house.

“In that case,” he said airily, “I’d love to be the one to tell you that the wretched mass is running together in your Commodore’s estate as we speak. Taking your jewels, your gold, your spit-polished swords that have yet to taste blood. It’s only a matter of time before they interrupt your little dinner party, I fear.”

As if on cue, pandemonium erupted from inside the house. Doors burst open, sending a flood of screaming party guests outside with pirates right on their heels, each of them armed to the teeth and crowing with delight.

“Filthy pirate!” Kit howled. “I’ll have you and every one of your men hanged for this!”

“Oh, Commander,” the man said with a winning smile. “You’ll make me blush with that kind of talk.”

Bang. A bullet whipped past the three of you, slamming into the trunk of a palm tree and sending out a shower of splintered wood. You flinched and raised your arms to shield yourself.

“Aye, watch yourself,” the pirate called to whoever had fired. He sounded only mildly annoyed rather than fearful for his life, and you wondered if it was bravery or stupidity that made him so calm.

Suddenly, Kit grabbed your arm and snatched you close to him. For the second time that night, he held you in an iron grip, and there was little you could do to fight him off.

“You’ll tell your men to let me go,” Kit said, panic crawling into his voice. “You’ll order them not to shoot me, because if they do, they’ll hurt the lady.”

You startled at the knowledge that your fiancé was using you as a human shield, offering you as a bargaining chip to a pirate. You tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he held you fast.

The pirate scowled. “Coward,” he spat. “What sort of man are you, Commander?”

“One not condemned to death,” Kit said, a maniacal glee in his voice. “Not tonight.”

He started to drag you with him as he made his way out of the garden, heading with slow steps towards the docks rather than the house where screams and gunfire still rang through the air. You kicked and clawed, begging him to let you go, terrified that a bullet meant for him would kill you too.

“Let me go, Kit!” you pleaded, tears streaming down your cheeks. “You worthless coward, let me go!”

“Silence yourself!” he hissed in your ear. “Once we’re well away from this, we’ll both be safe.”

He clapped a hand over your mouth, and it only made your panic and anger worse. You had to get free of him — he was squeezing you so tightly, you couldn’t breathe — 

In a last, desperate attempt at freedom, you bit down, hard, on the soft junction between his thumb and first finger. He bellowed in pain and released you.

“Bitch!” he howled, backhanding you across the face. The force of it made you dizzy, and his signet ring cut your cheek; you stumbled backwards, falling in a tangle of blue skirts to the unforgiving stone walkway.

“Right, that’s it.”

You heard the pirate’s voice as if from somewhere far away. You looked up with a bleary gaze; he stood next to you, his pistol held aloft and pointed right at Kit.

“No!” you shrieked.

You grabbed at his leg to try and stop him, somehow, blind devotion for Kit urging your forward. The pirate didn’t even seem to notice you, and your whole body flinched at the sound of gunfire. You squeezed your eyes shut even as sobs wracked your body.

“Come on, lass.”

You felt the pirate's callused hands reach to help you up, and you reacted in terror-stricken instinct.

“Don’t hurt me!” you begged, trying to get out of his reach, woozy with fear and pain. “Please, don’t hurt me. Let me go. I won’t tell anyone you killed him, I promise.”

“I didn’t kill him,” he said harshly. “Quit fighting, lass. I won’t hurt you, but you have to come with me.”

You looked up at him, and his face was blurry through your tears. “But you’re a pirate.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “And your only chance of making it out of here alive.”

He offered you his hand, and you didn’t see any other choice but to take it. His grip was strong and steady, firm enough to help you but gentle enough to keep from hurting.

“Attagirl,” he said when you were standing. “Steady, now. Can you walk?”

“Yes,” you breathed. For some reason, you didn’t let go of his hand. “Where are we going?”

He nodded towards the bay. “My ship. You’ll stay there until all this settles down, and then I’ll take you back home.” 

Shattering glass brought your attention to the house momentarily; a raging fire billowed out of the broken window, sending great clouds of smoke up towards the sky.

“Unless you live here,” the pirate said. “In which case, you’ll have to find other arrangements.”

You could do nothing but stare at him for a moment, bewildered and dazed. “But... why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you helping me?”

He looked over your shoulder towards Kit, who lay groaning and weak in the grass with a bullet wound to the shoulder. His expression held nothing but disgust and contempt for your fiancé.

“I don’t like to see a lady mistreated,” he said. He gave your hand a gentle tug. “Come on. This way.”

You followed after him, helpless not to, feeling outside of yourself as you tried to think past the pain in your jaw and the overwhelming fear that still held you captive. He led you through the garden and down to the Commodore’s private docks where a skiff was waiting.

“Wait.” You stopped and tugged on his hand, and he turned to face you.

“What is it?” he asked, a touch of urgency to his voice. 

You looked to the skiff and then back to him. “How — ” You swallowed nervously. “How do I know you won’t hurt me?”

He looked a little lost for a response. “I don’t know, lass. I believe you’ll just have to trust me.”

“Trust a pirate?” you asked, choking a little on the words.

He gave you a grim half-smile. “Could be worse.”

“How on earth could it be worse?”

He didn’t answer you, distracted by the sight of several more skiffs approaching the docks. You followed his gaze and saw they were coming from two huge galleons further out in the bay.

“Heavens,” you breathed. You didn’t know how you could have missed them, but they suddenly loomed like two great monsters on the surface of the water.

He pulled you towards the boat. “Come on, lass,” he urged. “The second wave’s coming in soon, and they don’t mind me as well as I’d wish them to. I’d rather you not be out here when they come.”

You met his gaze. “Second wave? There’s more of you?”

He huffed a short, mirthless laugh and ushered you into the skiff with little grace. Your became hopelessly tangled in your skirts and sat uncomfortably on the opposite side from him.

“You may wish to take off some of those cumbersome overskirts, lassie,” he said, taking the oars and rowing you out to the giant ships. “You’ll get them caught in something and get hurt.”

You blushed vividly. “Take off my skirts?” you repeated, incredulous and mortified at the idea, though you noticed you didn’t sense any salacious undercurrent to his suggestion. “I certainly will not. Just because you run around in a state of undress does not mean I will.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

You sat in silence as you came ever nearer to the twin galleons, feeling a caving pressure in your chest as they loomed closer. You looked around for something, anything, to distract you; against your better judgment, your gaze landed on the movement of your pirate rescuer’s strong arms with each pull of the oars.

You looked away, chastising yourself for such foolishness in the face of everything else that had happened.

When you reached the closer ship, you looked up at the cargo net that hung over the side with more than a little trepidation. How were you ever going to climb it in your dress?

Your pirate — when had you started to think of him as your pirate? — gave a theatrical gesture to the net. “Ladies first.”

You huffed, feeling anger at your situation start to override any other emotion. All you’d wanted tonight was to have a nice, unexciting dinner, and yet here you were, standing before a pirate and about to board his ship in the middle of the night.

“Very well,” you said tartly, dredging up some reserve of courage and feistiness from whatever was left in the hollow of your chest. With some difficulty, you reached under the waist of your blue overskirt and untied the two underskirts and hoop skirt underneath. He had the decency to avert his gaze, at least, but your face was still hot with embarrassment as you shimmied out of them and slipped off your uncomfortable shoes.

When all that was left to cover your undergarments was your overskirt and bodice, you stepped in your stocking-feet onto the first loop of rope on the cargo net.

“Mind your gaze, pirate,” you said, managing with a fair bit of exertion to climb the net. He scaled it with you, quick and nimble, and gave you a grin when he reached your perch.

“Pirate sounds such a dirty word when you say it,” he said, and there was a teasing lilt to his voice that gave you the strangest fluttering sensation in your chest. “You’d better just call me Jake.”

Oh, but you didn’t like knowing his name. Not one bit.

“Fine,” you said, tearing your gaze from his. “Mind your gaze, Jake.”

He grinned. “Only if you mind yours, lass.” He stepped up another rung and climbed the rest of the way with ease. You gave a dejected sigh and continued your laborious ascent to the railing of the ship.

When you reached the top of the net, Jake was waiting for you. He offered you a hand up, and it was only with his help that you managed to get aboard without falling on your face.

You looked up when you were steady. “Oh, dear.”

Several pirates stood frozen along the deck, watching you with a mix of shock, hostility, and undeniable interest. Each one of them was armed, sword hilts glinting at their hips and pistols tucked into belts that looped over their barrel-sized chests.

“Easy, lass,” Jake said, taking hold of your arm again. You barely registered that you’d made a sudden, jerky movement to flee the ship and go back down the net, but he’d stopped you before you could go anywhere.

“None of my men will hurt you,” he promised, and when you met his eyes with a terrified glance, you saw that he meant it.

“I have to trust you on this, too?” you asked feebly.

His mouth curved in a smile. “Aye. You’re getting the idea, lass.”

He let you go, a testament to his trust in you not to try and run, and nodded to the stairs before you.

“Allow me to escort you to my quarters,” he said.

You flushed. “Y-your quarters?”

“Indeed. Where I shall leave you to your own devices and come back out to be with my men.”

You gave a shaky sigh of relief. “Oh. Very well.”

You’d taken no more than two steps towards the stairs when another man appeared at the top of them, his features strikingly similar to Jake’s but done up in dark makeup that matched the black clothes he wore.

“Why, my dear Jakey,” he said with a glittering smile. “What have we here?”

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