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gyuswhore · 7 months ago

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Never Shall We Die (1)

«« Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line. »»

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

SYNOPSIS: Deadliest pirate on the high seas or a damn fool? The stupid King and his men have snatched Hoshi's precious pirate ship with their too clean, too soft hands; grounds to question his own vices. Except, when he and his crew land in the quarters of a navy ship, revenge on their roster, they stumble across a princess in its gallows. Hoshi wonders if he's just struck gold, or if you'd become the final tread to his downfall.

GENRES: pirate!au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut [minor dni], some pirates of the carribean vibes but ? idk

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

Part 1: 17.07k | Part 2: 15.2k | Part 3 [final]: 15.8k

@highvern's out of context comment box: new fear unlocked: hoshi with explosives, victorian ankle moment, HATE HIM (need him carnally), hoshi covered in soapy water would distract me enough, strip for me pirate mingyu [hes litrally taking off his jacket], your honor hes a bitch, freaks!, mingyu crushes hoshi's head like a grape, WONWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, massive dick, the way i literally gasped like an old scandalized woman

masterlist

WARNINGS: slowburn, plot heavy, happy ending bc no angsty endings in this household, being taken hostage, knives, bombs, and guns, mentions of blood, mentions of SA (does not happen and it is not explicitly mentioned), alcohol, mentions of death (patricide), hoshi is ✨selectively moral✨but kind of moral nonetheless, side character death, [pls lmk if im missing something its alot] smut tagin following parts

[AN]: thank you so much to @highvern for betaing for me and helping out with the plot so much, this fic would not exist if it weren't for her!!!! and thank you reader!!! for clicking on this and reading it, this one's been about 7 months in the works and I would love to hear what your thoughts are when you're done, plsplspls leave a rb or a reply with your brainrot lol <3 happy reading

HOSHI’S BOOT IS STUCK in the ground.

No, that’s a branch.

Or is it a plank?

He doesn’t try to find out as he yanks his foot out of whatever stopped him from moving. A tree root, he finds as he kicks the remnants of jungle rubbish from the surface of the shrouded root. He kicks it to satisfy himself.

His crew resides on the beach; where he can see them attempt to build a fire before sundown, the mound of discombobulated twigs making up most of the sad pile of wood. Hoshi trudges up to it and drops another handful of puny branches into the mix.

Exhaling loudly as Mingyu calls for him, he falls to his bottom and sits cross legged on the sand. Mingyu trudges up next to him to inspect his pile, sighing when he realised this was all he had to work with. He picks up two hefty looking stones and begins to strike them together, putting his faith in the primitive fire.

Hoshi stares into the horizon, watching the died down waves drift onto the shore, moving closer by the minute.

Hoshi thinks, which he can’t say is something that he does very often. Perhaps that’s why he was sat on this nature-overrun island as a shipless captain of his shipless crew. He chews on his tongue as he thinks of his Tigress, his beloved hunk of wood and metal; the beloved hunk of wood and metal that he could not see on the shoreline, because she was taken by the royal navy.

He wonders if Tigress would ever forgive him for letting that happen to her, for letting those clean, soft handed soldiers rip her away from his grasp.

Hoshi needs to start thinking more often.

Mingyu is frantic over the small flame that erupts in the middle of his leaves, dropping his rocks to blow into the fire, encouraging it to grow.

“Captain, it’s done! We can rustle up those fish we caught, have supper sorted.”

“Hm.”

The bustle of the entire crew lasts until night has fallen and they’ve gotten food in their stomachs. Hoshi hasn’t moved from his spot for hours, something the others noticed very quickly, but decided not to mention for fear of waking something dangerous. They understood he was suffering from a broken heart.

It isn’t until the first of the crew had begun to doze off that Hoshi speaks. Chan is propped up against a tree while Seungkwan laughs at the dangerously low coconut that hangs above his head. Mingyu readjusts his trousers after a full meal. Minghao stretches onto the sand, feet facing the water.

His voice isn’t loud, nor is it commanding, nor does it have his usual edge of jest—in fact, it sounds nothing like Hoshi at all.

Or does it?

“Who wants to steal a ship?”

YOU'RE AWOKEN BY THE sound of yelling. Which is never a good sign in any case, but especially not when it’s pitch black outside and you’re on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

The grogginess is quick to fade as you try to understand what’s going on outside your quarters. Your room isn’t a mess, all the trinkets and royal seals remaining in their places on the walls and shelves. Nor is the ship lurching or moving in odd angles to indicate an unexpected spat from the skies. A quick peek outside the window shows you clear, calm water amidst the mostly dark expanse of ocean.

There is only one other answer in your head that would cause this much commotion—especially on a boat where the admiral resides (and a princess).

Slipping out of the covers, your feet hit the cool hardwood floors of your quarters, a small shiver going through your spine from the cold, with nothing to cover you but your thin nightgown. You’re in the middle of tying your robe to see what the ruckus was about outside when a particularly loud thud hits outside of your door. You immediately freeze.

Staring at the doorknob, you attempt to move backwards in the space, heart beating faster as you watch the knob move slightly. The back of your knees hit the bedside table with a thud, the sound has you gasp out loud. Whoever it was outside your door jiggles the knob harder, the force exerted having you scan the room for something you could use as a weapon.

Spotting the letter opener on your desk, you lurch across the room to grab it, holding it in front of you as you back away from the door. The knob continues to bang against the wood as you refuse to take eyes off of it. There’s sounds of men outside, loud and rambunctious, momentarily halting the grievances.

Until the knob moves again, slower this time, a light click that could be heard as it unlocks itself, opening into the low light of your quarters.

You recognise the frazzled looking soldier at your door.

“Lieutenant,” you voice in recognition. “What’s going on?”

He eyes the letter opener that you hold defiantly in front of you from across the room, and it has you retracting your force slightly.

“Pirates, your Highness,” he breathes out. “We must get you to lower deck—”

“Where is the Admiral? The Captain?” you ask as you take a couple steps forward.

“They’re handling the situation, your High–”

An arm has come up behind the soldier that pulls him into a headlock, a swift pull to have him dragged away from your vision. You would’ve gasped if your voice hadn’t been caught in your throat, refusing to make itself known as fear brews in the pit of your stomach. Your hold on your makeshift weapon is tighter than ever before, yet you doubt how it’s going to help you as the culprit finally steps over something to appear in your doorframe.

His clothes are in a disarray; slashed, torn and covered in grime. There’s a deadly looking machete in one hand, the blood that coats it has you eyeing the trail that drips onto his hand and on the floor. His forearms are perched up on the doorframe as he inspects you, tongue to cheek as he stares.

Threatened as you feel, there was less hunger in his gaze as you had expected, more like he was trying to figure out who you were. He eyes your tiny letter opener you hold like a knife and lets out a little exhale you think might be a laugh. It has you gripping the handle impossibly tighter. The man moves his face into the hallway, to where you know the staircase to the main deck is.

“Hoshi!” he yells loudly. “How’s this for bait?”

Your back is pressed inexplicably against the wall, wanting to sink into the wooden boards as you attempt to gain your bearings amongst the nauseous bouts of mortification that surge through you. Your only exit is blocked.

No. You have one more option.

The sound of more men bounding down the hall has you praying there were more soldiers here, but the calm regard the man has for the approaching people has your heart sink to the depths of this very ocean itself.

More faces peer into the room, men with the same haphazard, grimey clothing complete with equally sinister weapons in their grasps. One of the men breaks out into the biggest grin as he lays his eyes on you. You nearly throw up.

For the first time in your life, you wish you’d listened to your father.

“Jun, you savvy motherfucker,” the grinning man explodes, slapping the man who found you on the back.

Another voice speaks from behind him, “Ships cleared, captain.”

“Perfect. Bring a spring upon ‘er. Get as far away from those cleans as you can, let them fend for themselves in a tiny boat for once.”

Captain. The grinning, stupid looking one is their captain.

He regards the rest of his crew as he finally steps through the threshold, waving them away as he enters your quarters.

It was taking everything out of you to not buckle your knees as you stood, every step he takes is turning your strength into dust. He keeps his eyes on you, eyes on your sorry excuse of a weapon. He registers the mix of fear and determination in your eyes.

He stops a few feet away from you, looking directly at you past the makeshift knife you hold.

He says nothing as he drops the knife in his own hand to the ground with a loud clang. He removes a pistol, a couple more knives, a grenade and a sword. Weapons drop to the floor one after the other, emerging from all over his body and clothes. All in a pile on the wooden floors. He puts his hands in the air.

“No weapons on me. I merely wish to talk.”

The look on his face is not ordinary, some strange combination of mock innocence and jest. You don’t answer him.

He continues, “You can keep your… scalpel… if you so wish.”

“What did you do to the soldiers?” you finally rasp out.

“They’re not dead, if that's what you’re asking.”

“Yet?” you ask with a slight tremble to your voice.

“They’ve been shoved into a boat with a map and a compass to fend for themselves. I’m not entirely ruthless,” he adds with raised brows and a hint of a smile. “Admiral, were they calling him? You must be his wife.”

“W-what?”

“Oh, guess not. Daughter? Captain’s wife, Captain’s daughter?”

Your previously stagnant brain is now running a derby with all the thoughts galloping across your mind. He doesn’t know who you are. Yet, anyway.

He’s scanning the room now, nodding at the trinkets and trophies scattered across the place. “Can’t imagine giving a lieutenant’s anybody quarters like this.” He circles back on you, eyes sharp. “Who are you, darling?”

You don’t think you have anything that should give you away, but the way he starts pacing the room has your anxiety going through the wooden roof.

He has his back turned to you. You’re not sure if he’s confident or careless considering you could drive your weapon into his back and make a run for it. But then what? By the looks of it there’s an entire crew of pirates pacing the deck. Perhaps the soldiers haven’t gotten that far; they know you’re still on board, they know it’s their heads on a pike if they leave you here.

He’s reached your desk during your thinking, inspecting your stationary, picking at the bejewelled quills and paper weights as he mutters nonsense to himself.

“Oh!” he announces, a little too enthusiastic. “What’s this?”

He brandishes the loose leaf of paper, and you recognise the print on the back immediately. It was a letter from your father, the King.

“How on Earth did you read this, the writing is illegible.” He flips the paper over, double taking when he sees the royal seal on the back. He looks into the letter closer now.

You wait with baited breath.

“The kingdom needs their princess…your father…ah.”

Should you plunge the knife into him anyway? You almost do it, but stop when he begins to turn around to face you again. His eyebrows are raised, a slight hint of exasperation on his face when he begins to laugh a loud, loud cackle.

It’s mortifying, especially when you don’t understand what on earth was so funny to elicit a reaction like that. The man is downright hysterical. He wipes a lone tear from the corner of his eye as he drops the letter back onto the desk.

“W-what’s so funny?” you try to sound brave.

“It seems, miss princess, that we’ve gotten more than we bargained for,” he says, looking straight at you as he sobers up. “You’re the King’s daughter, now, are you? What are the odds the first ship I hop onto with a royal seal slapped on it, held the crown jewel of the kingdom in its gallows.”

And then he starts walking, towards you, for that matter. Imperative because you know for sure that this is how it all ends.

You know you still have your one last option, the option that is now pressed against your back as you shimmy to it with miniscule movements. The window is cool on your hand that rests on the glass, you know the lamp will be enough to break it, enough for you to push through and fall into the abyss of the dark, dark sea. He knows who you are now, and you’d rather drown than die at the hands of a pirate—or go through whatever it was that’s curling the minds of all the men on this ship.

He takes another step forward, hands on his hips. “He’s not going to like this, is he? His dear daughter in the hands of the Kingdom’s favourite degenerate captain.”

What?

He then adds in a whisper to himself mostly, “Or least favourite with all the wanted posters off the churches and brothels.”

Hoshi. Hoshi. Hoshi.

The man who had found you had called him Hoshi. Hoshi the pirate. Hoshi the pirate that’s been giving the Kingdom and its court absolute hell for as long as you can remember.

The man that you are now trapped alone with on a ship is the most feared pirate the Kingdom has ever seen.

You don’t doubt your face has gone grey, feeling your breathing turn near erratic. “Oh God.”

He smiles wryly as the life is sucked out of your very soul.

This was bad. Very bad.

“Now, fear not, you will soon be returned to daddy dearest,” he places a mildly dramatic hand over his heart. “Pirate’s honour.”

He paces back to pluck the letter off the table, pocketing it. “All you need to do is relax and tell me a few things so we can part ways as soon—”

“No.” The word blurts out of your mouth before you can stop it, horrified at the thought of giving information to any pirate, let alone this one.

“No?” Hoshi looks genuinely shocked, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised. He laughs a little incredulously, “Oh, I see, can’t tell all the delicate details to a scary ol’ pirate.”

He smiles a little bit, “Worry not, miss princess, we shall only need a few minor details. Just enough to have your father sprinting to get you out of here. We all win.”

He stares at you almost expectantly, and you wonder if you look as confused as you feel.

“Well, I’ll be bidding you goodnight now, I’m sure we’ve interrupted your beauty sleep enough. Rest assured we won’t be bothering you for the rest of the morning.”

Hoshi begins to make his way to the door, picking up his pile of weapons off the floor before wrenching the door open. He’s calm as ever, but your mind is in a disarray.

A ransom, but whatever for? Gold could’ve been retrieved by raiding any ship, and it sounded like he’d chosen to hop on a ship belonging to the navy. Come to think of it, as much of a nuisance this man has proved himself, you don’t remember a case where he’s directly meddled with the Kingdom. All of this can’t just be for gold.

Steeling yourself, you bet your odds against your voice and asked him, “What do you want from my father?”

You watch as he halts in his tracks, halfway through the door as he finally looks over his shoulder. The look on his face has you wanting to break open the window immediately and let the water flood in, once and for all as you take these bastards down with you.

“Your father has something of mine. And I intend to take it back,” he says, before finally slamming the door shut. You hear a shuffle and a thud, and you do not doubt that he’s locked you in.

Your knees give out almost immediately, dropping to the ground as you breathe in quick, shallow breaths. Trying to look past the dizziness, you try not to think about the last thing he’d said before he left, moreso the look on his face as he did.

The first rays of morning sun are beginning to shine through the windows, casting the beginnings of a glow in your quarters. You think of the supposed assurance he had given you, that they wouldn’t hurt you, that they intended to return you.

The thought leads to a faraway memory, yet one that’s tucked itself into a front corner of your mind, you can almost hear your father's voice as he says it; never trust a pirate.

You remain on the floor, and you remain wide awake.

THE SUN IS HIGH in the sky by the time you put your limbs to work.

The first hours after the pirate locked you in your quarters were spent trying to reign yourself to earth. You can’t be entirely sure your soul has come back to your body, but whatever little of it that has landed is whispering some very dangerous things.

The lamp remains, the ornate jewels glinting almost enticingly in the afternoon light. The flame inside it has long died, but you itch to give it another purpose. You don’t note the trembling of your hand as you reach for it, pushing yourself to your feet as you get a feel for the heavy hunk of glass and metal in your hands.

If there was a level of regard before, it disappears when you set eyes on the bright window and the creases of crystal blue water. With all your strength, you don’t think twice when the lamp makes hard contact, a loud thud erupting as a result, but no damage when you pull away.

You go again, harder this time, and only vaguely register the glass of the lamp that shatters into your hands. Gripping the metal bit tighter, you swing for the third time, pulling back for the strongest blow yet.

A hand wraps around your elbow and you’re yanked backwards, landing on the floor. There’s a kick at your hand that’s flown into the air, the one that holds the bludgeoned lamp. It goes flying across the room as you retract your hand into yourself.

You don’t register a thing as you’re suddenly being pulled back up to your feet. Face to face with the pirate captain, your soul finally clicking back into place.

“Didn’t think I scared you this bad.” He’s made a joke, but all you can see is his face that’s a mask of rage.

The initial instinct is to move away, pulling your elbow out of his grasp in an attempt to flee. You fail as he tightens his grip to a painful degree, hauling you towards the ajar door of the quarters.

It’s only then that you realise that there’s more people in the room.You note another big, burly man next to the window you just assaulted, inspecting it with another shorter man. You don’t get to note more as you’re pulled into the narrow hallway, begging the saints he doesn’t take the turn towards the lower decks. Instead you find he leads you upstairs to where the main deck is.

Walk the plank? Did navy ships have planks to walk on? Not that you’d mind too much, you were trying to drown yourself and this ship in any case. But then there’s a settle of dread in the pit of your stomach, realising death may be the most merciful thing this man could give you.

The pirate captain pushes you against a mast, one of his other minions rushing in with coils of rope on his shoulder. The sun beats down on the deck, not a gust of reprieve from the wind.

“Keep the ropes tight, she’s got less wit than I’d thought,” the pirate captain says with a grunt, huffing as he lets go of you. He takes a few steps away, hands at his hips, the image of vexation.

The person who ties the cords around your hands whispers slowly, “Stop moving.”

But you can’t, not when the panic is near the lip, not when all the possibilities are flashing gore filled images into your vision. It's scary to blink.

“Why won’t you let me die?” you ask to the back that’s turned.

He turns around, not even bothering hiding the exasperation that paints his face, mouth opening furiously before closing again. “Why won’t—Because you were trying to take us all with you!”

“Kill me!” you all but scream. “They won’t know till you’ve gotten what you want, I’d rather be dead than let you try whatever’s brewing in all your sick heads!”

He’s silent for a moment, noting your defiant gaze, your pull against the ropes, the heaving of your chest. Taking a few steps forward, Hoshi seems to be attempting to bring the boil in his blood to a low simmer, “Listen, princess. We’re pirates alright, but me and my crew, we keep to ourselves. If your daddy the king hadn’t decided to meddle and steal my fucking ship, you would’ve been home in your pretty palace, asleep in your bed of gold by now.”

The pirate captain’s face is closer than you’d ever be comfortable with, seething in a way that has you pressing further into the mast. “We may be degenerates but we keep our own morals, as twisted as your people heed them to be.”

When he finally pulls away, you take a breath and thank the air that simply exists, eyes downcast as you attempt to look braver than you feel.

“I’m not pushing you overboard. I’ve duped your people once, they’ll be more prepared next time. We need you alive while you’re in our hands.”

“How are you going to summon a ransom? You sent away your only messengers,” you ask, a sad attempt at a mock, but also because you wanted to know what his plan was.

“Your useless Admiral’s taken up that job.”

“By lifeboat? You’ve left them all for dead, how do you expect this genius plan to work?”

“They could’ve swam to shore if it came to it, we were close enough.”

“How are you so sure?” you spit.

“Do I need to gag you too?” he gives you one last irritated look before stalking off towards the lower deck. You’re left alone in the cooling afternoon heat, the sound of the sea keeping your ears company along with your own slowing breaths.

Everything he said has a good enough chance to be a complete and utter lie. Never trust a pirate. No weapon to cut yourself out of your impossibly tight binds, nothing to protect you or give you reassurance besides a pirate’s word—the worst pirate’s word.

Your battered thinking leads you straight through the setting of the sun, the orange glow of the sky shrouding the ship in the dreamiest backdrop while you live what you can only sum as a nightmare. Perhaps not, for you doubt your mind could ever conjure up a terror like this.

This was life, the most terrifying nightmare of all.

Having managed to wiggle your tied hands downwards, you had seated yourself with your head against the wood of the mast, staring into the translucent skies. So much freedom that taunts you in its illusion of proximity, yet so far still.

There’s murmurs below deck, the only semblance of life you’ve heard in the past few hours after the stupid pirate captain stormed off. It seems to be on the stairs, a heated argument.

“Obviously this wasn’t part of the plan, the chances were supposed to be zero to absolutely none. We landed with that scumbag’s successor, that’s just our piss luck and nothing more.”

“You wanted a woman for bait, this should work the same.”

“Hao, I wanted a woman for bait to trigger a lukewarm reaction, this princess could either doom us all or make our job a fat punch easier, and I’m not betting on the latter.”

There’s a pause.

“If only she’d cut it with the random hysterics and creepy-staring-at-the-sky we could actually get something useful out of her.”

“Pray that window holds up or any chance of a miracle is gone to the wind.”

It’s like you’ve woken up with the way the stupid idea begins to form in your head. You think of your father, the kind of man he is, the kind of ruler he is. All the ‘if’s are guiding you to a conclusion. One that gives you a fighting chance, one that may go beyond this massive navy ship and clear into the rest of your life—if you make it that far anyway.

Your father and his men would come, give this unhinged pirate what he desires so dearly, you know that for sure. But you also know it wouldn’t be for you, but for the crown that’s destined to fall upon your cursed head.

If it’s his ship that he wants…

The next time you see one of the pirate captain’s goons on the deck, you ask for an audience.

“DID YOUR STUPID FATHER drop you on your head as a baby?”

Hoshi stands before you under the light of the midnight moon, an incredulous expression on his face. You try to keep the scowl off your own but it proves difficult when his voice pierces your skull.

You ignore him from your position on the floor, “I know my father, and I know he loathes you enough to finally want you and your incompetent crew gone for good.”

He scratches his chin, “Can’t be that incompetent if he hates us so much.”

“I can help you.”

“You were ready to die than to be on the same ship as us a few hours ago. What’s changed?”

“Perspective,” you shrug in an attempt to remain nonchalant.

“Are you gonna go back to wailing in the morning then?”

God, this was going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

“You want your ship back and you were hoping for someone less important to exchange it for. But you’re stuck with me and you know it’s not going to end well for you. You need my help.”

“Why so merciful, miss princess? Are you not on your father’s side?”

You gulp as discreetly as possible.

“I want something in exchange.”

He raises his eyebrows, staring at you to continue.

“I want you to kill my father.”

If his eyebrows were raised before, they’ve broken for the skies now. He leans his head back, eyes closing for a moment before reopening, reigning back to you before asking very gracefully, “What?”

“I want you to kill my father.”

“No, I got that bit,” he snaps. “Your father as in, the King?”

“Yes, as you’ve pointed out far more times than anyone ever has.” You can’t help but roll your eyes despite the weight of the situation and the hammering in your chest.

He stares at you in an expression you can’t quite read, and it unsettles you deeply. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve gravely miscalculated, watching as he moves around the mast you’re tied to. Out of the corner of your eye you see the metal glint of a dagger, and you nearly short circuit.

Is he about to cut your hands off?

You feel a distinct tug at your wrists, the sound of slicing, and the voice in your head asking why it didn’t hurt.

Suddenly your hands are free, intact and free as you achingly bring them in front of you, wincing audibly at the pain of moving them after so long.

“You can jump into the water if you’d like, I won’t stop you.” He walks back over, sitting cross legged opposite you, at eye level.

“What?”

“You’ve clearly gone mad, I’ll find another way to get my ship back.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Of course, and I utterly enjoy having a kingdom’s worth of blood on my hands. Shall I take the entirety of the court down while we’re at it? Carry out a fucking waltz with Jack Ketch?”

“Why are you acting like you’re above murder? Another part of your strange moral code?”

“No, no, not above it at all. But I like my head and rather not have it guillotined. They might skim over the death of some too-nosy soldier but I doubt they’d leave me be after I put a bullet between the King’s eyes.”

“I’ll protect you.”

He looks at you for a moment, “Quite reassuring.”

You sit up straighter, licking your lips as you prepare yourself. “My father isn’t a good man.”

The pirate captain snorts, “Oh, I’m well aware.”

You try not to stare too hard at the still unsheathed dagger that he digs into the floorboards, knifing out splinters in disregard.

“My father doesn’t want me home, he wants the crown home. He wants me to be a carbon copy of himself, he wants to be in control long after he’s gone.” You try not to grind your teeth too hard but it’s difficult when your father’s face burns behind your eyelids. “I want control over the throne, full control.”

“And your conclusion is to eliminate him.”

“I don’t have another choice.”

“Then what? You’ll pardon me and my crew after we get our hands dirty for you?” he asks, eyes wide in mock hope.

“Yes. You can do whatever it is that you sail about doing and no one will be of bother. I might ask you for sparing favours. For a wage of course. But other than that, you can live as lawlessly as you wish.”

“You’re asking me to become your personal lackey?”

“Having a queen’s favour is no small feat I hope you’re aware. Besides, it's a leap better than the hoops you’ve been jumping through during my father’s reign.”

You realised his face had been shrouded by the dark between your negotiating and the clouds that had veiled the moon. Every moment that was supposed to strengthen your understanding of the man that sat across from you only brought you more confusion.

“You want your ship and freedom of land and sea,” you continue when it’s silent for a beat too long. “I only ask for a small favour in return.”

“I’d argue the miniscule nature of what you’re asking from me,” he scoffs.

“Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line.”

There crawls in the silence once again, the same one that seems to grab you by the throat for every moment that ticks past undisturbed.

“We’ll have to see to that,” he says, huffing as he gets back on his boot clad feet. You follow him with your eyes as he walks towards the creaky stairs that lead to the lower deck, utterly confused.

“Where are you going?” you ask, bewildered at his strange behaviour.

Turning around, just as he had a mere day ago in your quarters and you feel yourself suppressing a shudder. “I have a crew to consult.”

So he was considering it.

“But you’re the captain.”

“And?”

THE SKY IS A lighter sheen of blue, leaning towards the premature hours of the morning. He’d left you untied, and as you gaze into the duned waters in the minimal light, the urge to jump in and create a ripple that goes beyond just the water is less tempting than you’d thought. The prospect of having a dead father, and a dead king, was enough to snap you out of your hysteria despite it being a plot of your own devising.

You’ve been alone for a while, little indication that there was other life on this ship at all with the lack of human activity. There wasn’t much that you knew of sailing or ship handling, but leaving the deck unmanned for this long gave you the vague impression that you were on a vessel with poor practising pirates. If they’d thought you’d be equipped to handle any hiccups, they’d either find out the hard way, or whenever it was that you could find the wit to bring it up to the pirate captain and his strangely attached crew.

Something that sounds distinctly like boots are thudding gradually up to the main deck, the unmistakable blond of the pirate captain himself coming into view. You aren’t quite sure what it is, but the low thuds are sending your heart racing, panic overcoming your senses for a brief moment before you recalibrate. It’s only then that you realise it’s been more than 24 hours since the ship was hijacked. Somehow, you could have believed it was a lifetime.

He’s disturbingly nonchalant, hand at the sheathed hilt of the dagger at his hip, a casual glance around at the empty abyss of ocean and sky. When he reaches the far end of the deck, right above the prow, he stops.

“Are you going to push me off the rails?” you ask, half genuine, half trying to fill the silence as you face one another.

“No.” He said it plainly, the single word reply leaving you even more uncomfortable.

“Have you thought about what I said…with your crew?” you ask, hand coming up to grab the railing for support.

“I did.”

“Do I sense an objection?” you ask, swallowing the lump in your throat

“Not exactly,” he says. “We want to hear your master plan for this heist before we agree to anything.”

He’s asking for a plan, a plan that you do not have.

You aren’t sure how he figured it out, perhaps it was the slight darting of your eyes as you thought of a response, but he seemed to read you like a book. He snorts loudly, “You don’t have a clue, do you?”

“You’ve done this before, you’d know better.”

“And if I led you astray?”

You look at him, this time right into his dark eyes, “Then you lead me astray.”

“Your contentment with death is wildly unsettling.” There’s a ghost of a sneer at his lip.

“I’d rather be lounging in the bottom of the ocean than live with a prospective future with my father.”

“So I’ve heard.”

There’s a huff that leaves you as you steel your voice. “I’m not trying to set you up if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I doubt you’d have that capability,” he says as he leans his forearms over the railing. You briefly consider pushing him over but think better of it.

As much as you wanted to be a sneaky link, you simply didn’t have that trait. You blame all the dependency your father’s fostered into you, ensuring that you couldn’t rule without his influence.

“Are you willing to brew a plan or not? I need to time my dip in the ocean accordingly,” you say, sounding almost disgruntled.

He lets out a big sigh, “Follow me.”

He’s made himself familiar with the ship, you soon realise, as he leads you right downstairs to the lower deck towards the war room. When he opens the door, the room is lit with lamps, casting a golden glow on the reddish interior, warmer than the rest of the ship.

“Stay here, and don’t do anything stupid,” he tells you as he shuts the door behind him, leaving you alone in the cabin.

You only exhale in response as you turn away from the door, towards the large table in the centre. It’s slightly cluttered, studying the scrawled notes as you realise they’re all from the Admiral, his directions and plans of course littered across the table. Turning towards the map on the walls, you lift a finger to trace the lifted ridges of snow capped mountains, trailing towards the dipped shallows of the blue water.

It was an exact replica of the tactile map in the war room back home, and you’re suddenly hit with a pang of nostalgia. Not that you’d been away from home for too long, but the end result of what you're about to do, regardless of the outcome, would change your life forever.

You feel yourself breathing in the lingering scent of mildew, a strange comfort in the warm quarters.

There’s a creak at the door, and you quickly retract to find the pirate captain back at the door, walking in with a trail of men behind him. You recognise them by their faces, watching as they all take their places in the edges of the room. They look relaxed. You note the pirate captain taking his place behind the main drawing table.

“Your throne, miss princess.” He gestures exaggeratedly towards the lone cushioned chair across from him. You’re hyper aware of all the eyes that are trailed on you, and you feel almost embarrassed to take the only seat.

It only lasts for a moment. You walk up to the chair with what you hope exuded confidence and take your place across from the pirate captain. His men circle the edge of the room, and you count five other men.

He sighs, “I think introductions are in order.”

“Mingyu, Minghao,” he points to the two men that had inspected your window right after you tried breaking it open.

“Jun,” he gestures to the one who had found you in your quarters the night it all went wrong.

“Seungkwan and Chan,” you recognize the latter as the one who’d tied you to the mast at his captain’s command.

“They’ll be helping kill your dear father.”

It’s silent for a moment as you attempt to moisten your mouth. You’re reminded you haven’t eaten or drank for hours, not since one of them had come up with a tray of whatever they could find for you from the reserves.

“I know I may not be the most admissible person to trust, or vice versa—” You hear someone snort but choose to ignore it. “But I’m willing to make myself useful to you if it means you would help me too.”

“Would it not be easier to lock him up instead?” someone asks, and you turn to find Seungkwan asking the question from next to the tactile map.

“He has too many people indebted to him, too many that are too loyal for their own good. I cannot truly rule for as long as he’s alive and well.”

“And how do you expect his loyal court mongers to let you bid favour to the people who killed their king?” the pirate captain asks with a raised brow.

“Which is why it needs to look like an accident.”

“How do you reckon we go about that?”

“What message have you given the Admiral?”

“You don’t answer a question with another question—”

“We need to be transparent with each other if either of us wants to make it out relatively unscathed.”

He doesn’t look too happy but he answers anyway, “My ship and five hundred thousand for all our trouble. Two months from now at the Green Islands up north.”

The Green Islands were anything but green, the glaciers being near uninhabitable owed to the ruthless weather. It was smart enough, it’d be near impossible to bring as much violent power that far north, no matter how influential anyone is.

“Is five hundred thousand all I’m worth?” you feel the beginnings of a sneer rise up your mouth. You aren’t sure what prompted it but you don’t want to fight it either.

“Didn’t know I was bartering for a fucking princess’ case, did I?” he snaps. “Now tell us how you want us to commit the undetected homicide of a King.”

“We need to blow up his ship.” To your surprise (and maybe even a little horror), the pirate captain breaks into a slight grin. Neither do you miss other bits of his crew releasing a bit of a snicker.

There’s a flare of defiance within you, “Do you have any better ideas then?”

“No, no. Go on,” he says with his head hung. You’re surprised he has the character to shield his smile.

“He doesn’t frequent the seas but I’m almost sure he’d be present at the exchange.”

“Almost?” he questions.

You hesitate. The combined chance of needing the crown home and seeing to the downfall of his enemies would be enough warmth to send him to the greenlands himself. You were confident, but your father could also be unpredictable.

“He’ll be there. I’m sure of it.”

The pirate captain lifts his head, locking eyes with you. You try not to look as weak as you felt, as unsure as you felt, pooling all the remaining confidence into your face.

He swallows before looking away, addressing one of the crew members. “How big are we talking?”

Jun looks up like he’s only just begun to pay attention, fumbling over the revolver in his hands as it thuds to the ground like a theatrical mistake, “What?”

His captain sighs before replying, “Explosion. How big does it need to be to blow up a naval ship with a King on it?”

The man brings a hand up to the back of his head, scratching his nape. “If it’s anything like this one, we’re gonna need a lot of ammo.”

“Just enough to sink it,” you speak before you could decide not to. “Even better if they don’t realise it’s happening.”

He thinks for a moment. “We could plant it in the bilge somehow.”

“But how do we get on that ship? When they’re giving us a tour of the lower decks?” The man you recall as Seungkwan scoffs.

“Throw a grenade on board somehow?” you hear one of them suggest.

“Real subtle, Chan,” you hear another mock.

The war room is in shambles before you know it, loud voices talking over threats to slit throats and to shove people overboard. The room is humid and it feels as though the light from the oil lamps are fading. You close your eyes amidst the utter chaos, rubbing the heel of your palm on your temple in an attempt to soothe the throbbing vein.

“Enough!” The pirate captain has spoken and you have the urge to ask what took him so long.

Tranquility once again and you almost thank the man. Before anyone can say another word, nausea begins to build in your stomach.

It takes you a minute to realise the room was spinning and that you weren’t completely losing your mind. The ship begins to rock harder as the seconds tick by, everybody in the room seemingly still as they perceive the change.

“Batten down the hatches,” the pirate captain says to no one in particular.

Chan is the only one who moves to the door to leave before he’s interrupted.

“All of you. Those clouds weren’t looking too nice up there, we’ve got a storm on our hands.”

By everyone he surely did not mean you, because as the room rushes out and you hear the thuds of boots clamouring up to the main deck, you’re left alone with the captain. Yet again.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep steady, and you wonder how he’s able to remain balanced while on his feet. It isn’t long before your chair begins to slide as well, the legs croning as they slip on the hardwood. You spring up on instinct, hands coming to the bolted down drawing table to stabilise yourself.

The pirate captain seems unphased, moving the curtains on the far end to try to get a glimpse at where the water breaks. He steps like he knows exactly where the evermoving floor would be, barely glancing below to gauge his footing.

“Shouldn’t you be up there?” There’s effort in your voice, your grip on the table as hard as ever as the ship banks to a hard left. He barely grabs the wall in support.

“Huh? They can figure it out themselves, they’re big boys,” he grunts.

“Your big boys were at each other’s throats a moment ago,” you grunt back, stumbling at a particularly forceful lurch.

“If you weren’t so ill prepared they wouldn’t need to use their brains, that’s always dangerous,” he shoots back. He’s on the other end of the room, pushing the unbolted cabinet back in its place

“I gave you a job and it's up to you to see it done, I’m not—ah— I’m not supposed to be planning at all!”

“Are you?” He’s turned to look at you know, mouth hitched in a snarl as his forehead reflects a light sheen. “Because trying to murder a—”

“Trying to murder a King isn’t a normal task,” you finish for him in a hiss. “Yes, as you’ve reiterated a million times.”

“Great, so you know!” Sarcasm is a deadly look on him, you realise as he walks over from the cabinet to where you were in the middle of the room. The waves have given in, the rocking becoming significantly slower. “Now do you mind telling us about a plan that actually has better odds?”

Your white knuckles have relented, the hands that gripped the table coming loose as you stare back at the pirate in defiance. “I should just hand you over.”

“It’s sweet you think you’re in charge here,” the grit in his voice is evident. “This isn’t your turf anymore, miss princess.”

“You don’t trust me, and you don’t give me reason to trust you—ugh.”

The waves seemed to have decided she hadn’t had enough just yet, this particular lurch sending you hurtling backwards into the wall, back hitting the hardwood as the stable pirate himself loses his footing. You could almost believe you’d landed sideways with the gravity that’s lost its way beneath your feet.

The chair you were once sitting on is hurtling towards you with a vengeance, gaining momentum as you simply watch it approach like a wooden bullet. A boot clad foot kicks it to the other end and you realise the pirate captain’s gotten hold of his bearings before you have.

“What happened to being transparent with one another?” he huffs, breathless and wide eyed as he attempts to pull himself to his feet.

There’s another lurch that sends you both skidding towards the table, just short of grabbing on before you’re hurtled into the cabinet that had moved again, and now slams back into the wall with the weight of the sea and two humans with a bang!

“Fine. You give me your ammo to blow up the bilge, let me on the ship with my dear father and one of you scoops in and saves me before I drown with him,” you yell over the sounds of clanging and banging of everything on this cursed ship, and the whooshing and thunders of the skies, winds and water. “And if I riddled the chances of you letting me drown with my father? Where does that leave me?”

“On the bottom of the seabed,” he deadpans. “But that also leaves me without my freedom.”

You find the opportunity to look at him for a moment, and he’s looking at you too. He looks away towards the door, already making moves to walk out and join his crew above deck. The conversation was over, and it was evident in your lack of reply.

Mother nature, however, sends another one in as a surprise and you're both sent flying to the other end of the ship, yet again.

There’s a cushion to your blow this time as you find yourself landing right into the pirate captain’s chest, hand above his heart in your instinct to save yourself any more bruises. Between your bickering and the staggering of the ship, his shirt had flown open nearly down to his navel.

Your eyes barely register the nasty scar across his left pec, instead moving upwards to lock eyes with him. It’s insanity, how you instinctively dart your eyes towards his half open mouth.

“If you wanted me that bad, miss princess, you could’ve just asked.”

Whatever airborne drug that’d been willy nillying in your noggin seems to spin into a rage as his words register a moment too late. Clenched jaw and a vice grip on his shirt, you spit back.

“I don’t ask for things. They come to me.”

There’s a crash above you and you realise the oil lamp that was suspended above has shattered, raining glass over your forms.

Expect you don’t feel it, because he’s ducked over you and suspended his arms in the air to catch the crystalline.

Before you can decide whether it was instinct or not, you hear a yell at the door.

“Captain! One of the—oh.”

A barely balancing Mingyu, is staring into the now dimly lit war room, his captain and their supposed prisoner pressed against one another in a dark corner of the room.

Your instinct forces you to take a slow step backwards.

“Get back up,” he snarls, already pushing past you to stalk towards the door. He actually makes it this time, shoving Mingyu into the hall towards the stairs.

Not as much as a glance back before he slams the door shut, leaving you in the tattered war room alone, shards of glass at your feet.

THE STORM SEEMS TO have done its damage as it calmed itself for the rest of the morning and well into the day.

One of them had come down and escorted you to your quarters, Chan telling you that you could keep it while the rest of them adjusted in the other cots and quarters aboard. Changing out of your ragged, days old clothes felt luxurious, the familiar scent of your quarters putting your tense shoulders at ease; or at least a semblance of such.

Neither you nor the captain have attempted to speak to each other after the incident in the war room. Having berated yourself for letting your guard down enough, you chalked it up to the lack of food and sleep and put the matter to rest in some deeply buried chest in your head.

For now you board up the door of your cabin (because you haven’t completely lost it), and burrow under the covers for some much needed shut eye.

You aren’t sure how long the universe lets you rest, because unless you’ve slept all the way to the Green Islands the banging on the door seems incessant enough to warrant an arrest of its own. The sleep is slow to leave, and it’s hard enough to push an entire drawer against a door, the bleariness paired with whoever the fuck was outside the door isn’t making it easier to push it away from the entrance either.

By the time you’ve wrenched the door open, you’re thoroughly annoyed, and met with a very alarmed Seungkwan.

“Oh thank goodness, I was about to try opening it,” he says, looking genuinely relieved. “I thought you might’ve….anyway.”

“You weren’t trying to break in before?” you ask.

He only thrusts a tray of rations and water towards you, “Captain said to give this to you.”

Accepting the tray, you try to balance it in one hand with furrowed brows, “Oh.”

“Um. That’s it, sorry for waking you up.” He makes a move like he’s about to turn around and leave but falters. “If…if you need anything a bunch of us are on the main deck.”

And then he’s gone.

You take it as your cue to shut the door, kicking one of the heftier pieces of furniture against it before moving back inside.

When you peer up your tiny window, it’s late afternoon and the beginnings of orange on the surface tell you the sun is beginning to set. You decide it was a good enough amount of sleep. Setting the tray down on the smaller than usual desk, you find that these pirates do not have a knack for subtlety. Many of your letters and papers are haphazardly stacked and shoved into one corner of the table, very obviously sifted through.

Not that you care too much, there was nothing awfully important that you wouldn't have told them yourself. Ripping off a piece of bread from the tray, you take pleasure in chewing as loudly and as open mouthed as you wished, plucking the parchment at the top of the pile to study.

It’s another one signed by your father, not a question of your wellbeing in sight as he scrawls ink on paper all the incorrect things you did in the Southerner’s banquet last month. If anything, you were glad the stupid Admiral was away from your presence, his incessant habit of reporting your every breath and turn to your father was becoming too much to handle.

This was one of his tamer letters, less insults attached to his criticisms but a pain to read anyway. You don’t brush away the crumbs that fall onto the parchment.

There is not a diplomatic bone in your body. Perhaps move on from drinks and dessert and into more important territories besides the Duke’s son. Our kingdom needs a ruler that’s strong, not one that forgets where she is after a sip of brandy!

If you squint hard enough, it almost reads as a parent scolding a child for a spill, like regardless of what you did, he might just love you the same.

You wonder how good of a mood he was in when he wrote this.

Sifting through the rest of the papers you take a mental note of every reason he’s given you to believe that you’d be a hopeless ruler, a few years ago you even questioned why he kept you around before realising his contradicting intentions. As you read, letter by letter, you think of reasons you know are going to make you a better ruler, better than him and better than his stupid court of old men.

These pirates are a blessing, you think, and you aren’t about to let this chance from the universe drown in these waters.

HOSHI ISN'T IN TROUBLE. No, he isn’t. On his butt on the sleek floorboards of the ship, his own golden dagger glinting in the sunlight as it's held in a threatening hold, except it isn’t in his hands.

It’s pointed right into his jugular vein, held by some grimy sailor who considers himself something akin to a pirate. Perhaps the stench this sorry excuse of a crew carries around may be their idea of a criteria, but as Hoshi remains inches away from death, all he can think about is the atrocious fingers around his dagger, and all the scrubbing he’s going to be doing after this is all over.

Mingyu had warned him, told him to take down the flag of the navy from the mast, the royal seal in the smack middle of the ginormous thing. He brushed it off. He wasn’t quite sure if he was tipsy, hungry or just plain exhausted when he made that decision, because he’d forgotten just how stupid some of these simpleton sailors could get.

They were taken by surprise, their only weapons mops and buckets of soapy water as they were ambushed by some overlooked wherry that had suddenly thrown hooks over their railing and climbed up like uninvited sewer rats.

In the initial confusion, interrupted mid-chorus of some pretty siren and her pirate prince, the first few intruders had simply crumpled over onto the slippery deck, a few slipping overboard completely from the suds and water on the wood. His crew, and Hoshi himself, could only stand and watch as the newcomers sabotaged themselves for a few incredulous moments before they gained their bearings.

Chan and Seungkwan swang their mops right into the necks of a couple, sending them into the ocean without waiting for a splash.

Hoshi slips out his dagger with practised ease, swinging the butt of the hilt over the head of another ambushing intruder, right on the head as he crumpled to the floor with a loud thud. He kicks him over for an indication of where he came from. No ink that shows an alliance, no brooch or jewels with a crest.

New guys, ones that were clearly still learning the ropes.

Hoshi’s crew had better senses than required for him to yell out orders, and it only took a few more disgruntled minutes to disable the remaining extra men aboard.

“Where the fuck did these guys come from?” he asks no one in particular, mostly just annoyed that they were disturbed.

Minghao, who’s peeking over the railing replies, “It’s a tiny thing. They either lost their actual boat or didn’t have one at all.”

He vaguely registers him making a jerking arm movement over the exterior before he hears a wail and a splash. “Disgusting.” Minghao holds his hands away from his body like he didn’t want it anymore.

Hoshi’s mistake was keeping his guard down, because before anyone could warn him, the dagger that he held loosely against his hip had slipped out his palm. The next thing he knows, his neck is in some grimy sleeve’s grip, and the point of his dagger is lodged into his own throat. He holds his breath, afraid he might pass out completely from the stench alone.

“Not a move.” He sounds like a boy more than anything, but his grip indicates a harsher life. “Everybody into that fishing boat. I’ll throw this one in when you’re done.”

He sounds unstable, but that only makes him more dangerous. Hoshi can’t try to wiggle his way out of this one, one wrong move and it’s the end. His crew can’t do anything as they stand with broken mops and empty buckets as their weapons.

It was stupid of him to even allow himself to be cornered like this, not when he’s weaselled his way out of more dangerous situations with more ease than this.

His crew looks at him, and he can only close his eyes in encouragement. He watches as Jun steps over one of the defeated bodies to reach the hooks that’ve lodged into the railing. His movements are slow, and he can tell he notices the unhinged nature of this boy that he doubts is barely over 17.

Chan follows, then Seungkwan as Jun double checks the integrity of the ropes. He’s stalling.

“Hurry!” It was supposed to come out as a threat, but it sounded more like a plea from the boy.

And then Jun stops completely, his eyes trained on Hoshi. His eyes are wide, his grip on the rope so tight he can see the whites of his knuckles from the other side of the ship.

No, he wasn’t looking at him, he was looking behind him. Before he can register, there’s a loud bang of a gunshot, and Hoshi feels the body of his captor slump against his back, his dagger dropping to the ground with an ominous clang. He falls with him, turning over to push the dead weight of the body off of him.

There’s smoke in the air when Hoshi looks back and it takes him a moment to realise who just basically saved his life.

You stand in your nightgown, shawl over your shoulders, and a revolver, Jun’s revolver, clenched tightly in both hands. It remains frozen in the air, hovering as he takes in your face. Eyes wide, mouth open slightly, the colour drained from your face.

Hoshi scrambles to get up as the rest of the crew swarm both him and you. He grabs his dagger before anything else, looking back to see a bullet lodged in the back of his captor’s skull, blood pooling the deck.

He looks back at you shoving the revolver back into Jun’s hands eagerly, like you didn’t want to feel the warmth of the metal any more than you wanted to make that shot.

He looks back at the cooling body, and then back at you, an undeniable warmth overcoming his chest.

You just saved his life.

“Are you alright?” he hears Chan ask you. You nod slowly, and then quickly.

“Where did you find this?” Jun asks.

“Uh, in one of the quarters. Downstairs. I went down because I thought it’d be safer, you were handling it and I didn’t want to get in the way. But then…all your weapons were there.”

Your voice sounds airy, like you were in a daze. Hoshi comes to the stark realisation that this may have been your first time with a weapon, and then even more horrifying, your first kill.

“I’m sorry, I just thought it was getting out of hand and—”

“It’s alright,” Seungkwan says. He watches as you let him lead you back down the stairs below decks.

It was like the shock turned you into a different person, complacent, less defiant. Seungkwan clearly had more of an emotional range, because it certainly took Hoshi too long to realise you might be on the edge of panic.

Hoshi doesn’t say a word as you disappear, the smell of gunpowder from the singular shot wafting through the deck. He doesn’t realise he’s staring into space until Mingyu interrupts.

“Should we—”

“Throw them overboard,” Hoshi says, voice flat.

“But, this one seems like he’ll come around. We could question him and drop him off wherever next—”

“He’s a shit seaman, if even a pirate, he’s got what came for him. Throw. Him. Overboard.” Hoshi is out of breath, yet grits the words out through clenched teeth. “All of them.”

Hoshi slips his dagger back into its sheath at his hip. All he can think about is your blown pupils and you in your nightgown. All he can think about is how they were almost bested by a child. All he can think about is how you had to make that final shot to save his ass, that he couldn’t do it himself.

Mingyu senses his mood and asks no more questions, simply pushing the remaining bodies out into the water. He vaguely registers Minghao sending the men a prayer into the sea. Mingyu’s already trying to get the stupid naval flag off the mast, stripping off his jacket and disposing of it at the base to start climbing.

Chan pushes a clean rag into his chest, and he looks down to receive it and notes a tinge of blood at his collar. Right, he was bleeding.

They go back to cleaning, except it’s a lot more silent.

Jun walks back up to help, but this time he has both of his clean, black revolvers strapped at his hip.

THERE WERE FEWER PEOPLE in the war room this time around, the captain sits beside Mingyu, Jun and Minghao as they attempt to sketch out a crude rendition of your discussion. The pirate captain does nothing but use his dagger to pick under his nails, barely speaking as he listens in on the conversation.

Not that you cared, you and the rest of his crew seemed to get along better than you did with the captain anyway. Saving the man’s life seemed to hold no weight to him, not that you expected it but a ‘thank you’ would have sufficed.

“Keep the grenade til the last minute if it makes you feel better, so you’ll know I’m not trying to sink the wrong ship,” you sigh as you clarify. Minghao doesn’t reply as he scribbles the details. Jun rolls his eyes at his meticulous nature.

“We need to port in the next couple days if I’m gonna finish this grenade in time,” he says, looking at his captain pointedly.

“We can stop at Port Ash,” Hoshi says.

Port Ash was no man’s land, which also meant it was every man’s land.

Being mostly occupied by pirates and other thieves and criminals it was considered dangerous territory for anyone who didn’t speak in lies, deceit and fists. This crew would fit right in, but you worry for yourself.

“That’s not gonna be till a week and a half,” Mingyu interjects.

Jun frowns as he looks at Mingyu and then back at his captain, “I can’t wait that long.”

“We’ll pick up what we can at Hasry when we stop for rations,” Hoshi replies.

“But—”

“Deal with it. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Jun looks like he wants to say something, and Mingyu has the good sense to interject again to ask more questions about the plan.

“How much manpower do you think the king’ll have?” he asks.

You sigh, crossing your arms as you lean back in your chair. “I have no idea. Could be five, could be fifty.”

“Not even an inkling?”

“Considering how he wants the lot of you gone, it’s probably on the larger side. But…” you pause.

“But?”

“He’s smart. Always seemingly one step ahead. I wouldn’t be surprised if he catches us blind.”

“I know enough about that,” Hoshi snorts. There’s a glint in his eye that suggests something, but you don’t press.

“I was wondering…we should probably change course even if it takes us longer. My father might intercept—”

“Did that. Didn’t take the obvious alternative route either,” Mingyu replies, and you note that he looks proud of himself. “We can take our time too, the ransom note suggested we took the way past Scarsfield.”

“We should be careful of other boats anyway,” you say, gulping down a lump in your throat before continuing. “Those other sailors could’ve been my father’s men too, for all we know.”

“They were on a smaller boat too,” Hoshi adds, he looks like he’s making connections in his brain. “What’re the odds they were dropped farther back into a smaller boat?”

There’s a pause as you absorb what he’s implying. “Are you saying they’re on our tail?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he says, exhaling heavily through his nose. “He’s done it before. It was a sorry attempt then and it was a sorry attempt now.”

“How did you shake him off last time?”

The panic in your chest is barely there, but as you register the possibility, you find yourself breathing increasingly heavy.

“Circling farther out before going the opposite way so we wouldn’t cross paths.” He shakes his head. “But we can’t do that now, not when we can’t afford detouring. The port stops are as late as I’m willing to go.”

“What if we skip Hasry? It’s our more obvious stop, we’ll just stop at Ash later,” Minghao suggests.

“We’ll starve, we’ve got no food,” Hoshi gruffs.

“Portwater?”

“Too far.”

It’s silent yet again as everyone racks their brains. You feel very useless all of a sudden, you didn’t know the names of harbours or ports this far out.

“We’ll just port at Hasry and be extra careful, there’s nothing we can do.” Hoshi sighs at his own ultimatum.

He gets up and walks around the table to the door, “I’ll update the others.”

You glance as he walks past you, his figure leaving a gust of wind in your face. He smelled nice, which was saying something considering the state some pirates are known to be in. As he brushes past, your gaze is met with the other side of the war room, an empty oil lamp bracket on the wall.

The memory of the storm floods your mind, and suddenly your cheeks are burning. Snapping your head back, you're thankful they’re all absorbed in the papers and plans on the table, oblivious to the memory that’s flashed before your eyes. Mingyu was the one who saw you in your compromising position, and you didn’t know him well enough to decide whether he’d do something as dumb as dish out his captain’s ‘affairs’.

You file out the room with them. They don’t escort you to your rooms, make sure you stay in one place, restrict your wandering anymore. Perhaps they’d realised you weren’t actively attempting to sink the ship anymore, or that if you jumped off the edge it didn’t matter to them that much, but you appreciated the space anyway.

Briefly catching Seungkwan filling Mingyu in on the past couple hours they’d been below deck, you turn over to catch his eye. He waves, and you wave back. You don’t realise what you did till it already happened, noting the smile on his face as he did it. You choose to move past it and find the captain.

There was something you wanted from him.

There’s no trace of him on the main deck, eyes scanning the area to no avail. A movement from above catches your peripheral attention, eyes squinting as you crane your neck up to look. Hoshi has leaned his back against the railing of the crow’s nest, arms crossed, visible hand occupied with a brass telescope that glints in the sunlight.

He isn’t using it though, merely gazing at the horizon with furrowed brows. As though he could see better without the device in his hand. In the few minutes that you’re looking at him, you notice the muraled, multicoloured shirt that blows with the wind, a kaleidoscope of beiges, greens and reds. The crop of his blonde hair blends in with the clear blue-white sky.

Briefly wondering how he’s managing the impossible heat, a hand coming over your own eyes as a visor, you simply look back down. Seungkwan is next to you. You aren’t quite sure how he got there, but he stands next to you, hands on his hips, a pleasant expression on his face.

“Is there anything you want when we dock? We’re trying to make a list,” he says. Somehow, the prospect of pirates making lists boggled you a little. It was a little jarring, not quite sure why he asked a captive anyway.

But then again, were you a captive anymore?

“I don’t think so, no,” you reply and then juggle whether you should push it with another measly formality. “Thank you for asking.”

“That was your first kill, wasn’t it?”

“What?” You knew what he was talking about, but you weren’t expecting him to bring it up in the moment when he’s asking you about restocking supplies. And especially not with a smile on his face.

“That day, when you used Jun’s revolver to shoot the lad.”

A kid. He was a child.

“I…yeah I’d never done it before.”

“What made you do it?” he asks, remaining as nonchalant as ever.

“I—I don’t know, it looked like there wasn’t another option,” you say, not quite sure of yourself either.

Why did you shoot him? You’d never laid hands on a gun before, your father forced you into the category of archery and crossbows, not that you were very good at them either but it was also because you simply wanted to spite your father by being plain bad. It worked, because it only took a year and a half and an arrow straight into his study window to retire from the sport entirely.

Even then, your targets had been apples, barrels and tree trunks. Never a person.

You’d heard of what people tended to do in pressuring situations, and with the way the aftermath unfolded, it didn’t seem like you made the wrong decision to pick up that revolver anyway.

But the feeling lingers, the same one that you saw as you gazed into the back of the boy that held the captain of this ship hostage. It felt wrong. Like watching the pirate captain cornered was a picture you couldn’t quite make sense of in your head.

So you pulled the trigger.

“In any case, we’re glad you made that decision. We all owe you for it.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you gulp, inhale and press your lips in a line. “That’s a lot for a pirate to say.”

“I know.”

BY THE TIME YOU manage to corner Hoshi it’s already the next day, and you’re only a couple hours away from docking at Hasry.

It’s an anxious ordeal, the crow’s nest constantly occupied by someone trying to catch sight of a possible tail. There was no sign, yet anyway.

“I want to learn to use a knife.”

He was piling coiled ropes when you’d said it, pushing the heap to the side, sweating through his clothes. There was a flash of confusion on his face as he registered you.

“Why? So you can slit all our throats in our sleep?” he grumbles as he pushes a barrel against the railing. He’s too aggressive, and the force has the splashback soaking his clothes in freshwater, tsk-ing audibly.

You ignore the way his previously loose shirt now sticks to him, ignore the way the droplets land on your boots when he shakes his sleeve.

“We’ve discussed what we might be up against, I don’t want to be useless when the time comes.”

“Seemed pretty alright with that revolver.”

“Anyone can shoot a gun,” you say, getting the sudden urge to fidget with the front of your shirt. You try to make your voice sound as declarative as possible. “I want to learn to fight. With a knife, with a sword, with my hands if I have to.”

He doesn’t say anything as you look down, fiddling with the tassels on your shirt. Your excuse was the sun and the way it was beating down on the deck this afternoon, getting tired of squinting to simply look straight. When the silence prolongs you look up to push further, juggling with bringing up the fact that you saved his life and that, as Seungkwan very graciously told you, he owes you.

The sound your throat makes is unhuman, because when you look up the captain's soaked shirt is now off his back.

The skin is near white from the glare of the sun, remnants of glazed water that’s somehow made its way to his back as well. The dip in his shoulder blade reflected a dark marking, one that you couldn’t make out.

He wrings it as you can only watch, mouth gaping like a fish. Hanging it over one of the suspended ropes to dry, he mutters as he walks to the lower decks.

“Fine,” he says nonchalantly. “We’ll get you a knife at Hasry.”

Hasry. Right.

The port is quiet, at least as quiet as a port can be. There’s not much to see but fishermen both returning and leaving for another week's worth of fish supply. Minghao manages to pay and convince the harbourmaster that they were merchants on their way back to the Kingdom, stopping for supplies. The naval make of the ship helped, and then the crew pulled lines and ropes secured from masts in ways you couldn’t quite decipher.

You assumed you would stay on board, yet when Chan knocked and brought you some roughspun clothes from the town, you were informed you’d be joining them.

Hoshi deemed it safer, keeping the rest of the crew on board while he, along with you and Seungkwan, ventured into the village to get what was needed and leave before the sun fully set. If they really were being followed, the ship was going to be the first thing they seized.

Pulling the grey shawl further up your head, you attempt to look as blended as you could, Chan pressing down your shoulders to force you into a slouch.

“Stop walking like you're important,” he had said.

“I’m a princess,” you snapped back, but he wasn’t listening, only jabbing at you to keep the haughtiness out of your tone before it caught somebody’s attention.

The town was a quaint little place, something out of what you were read from storybooks, reminiscent of the paintings that you’d run past on the walls of the palace. The streets cleaner than you’d expected, the faint scent of baked goods in the air mixed with, onion soup, was it? In any case you were glad you were past the fish market, the yelling and the stench nearly sending you to the pavement, gagging.

When Hoshi returns, you and Chan are looking at a jewellery stall that’s selling necklaces, bracelets and anklets that look like rosaries; colours of deep ocean blue and sunset pinks, beautifully vibrant against their grey canvas backdrop.

You can only observe from afar, instructed to not interact with anyone while he was gone. Hoshi was gone to get food supplies, but returned empty handed. Systems were in place, that the crates would be on their way to the “big naval ship” at the docks for the rest of the crew to receive.

“They said there was a blacksmith up this alley” Hoshi says, eyes also trained on the uncharacteristically colourful jewellery stall, but he does nothing to move towards it. “We can get your knife there.”

“Knife?” Chan asks, confused.

“Miss princess wants to learn to fight—”

“Don’t!” Chan hisses, eyeing the men in black uniform that patrol the market from the shadows.

“It’s fine, they’re too far,” Hoshi says. “Let’s get this over with.”

You do find a blacksmith, an older man with a greying beard and bloodshot eyes that presents Hoshi and Chan with an array of knives and daggers. Either they were able to give an excuse, or he gave no mind to the third woman that trailed behind, the blacksmith continued to deal with the two men as they haggle over prices.

There’s another seller a ways away, and she’s laid out her goods on the floor on what looks like old drapes. It’s a woman, not much older than you were, unravelling a long string of leather cord. She cuts it, strings a charm through and seals the frayed end with a candle flame that burns at her side.

The curtain she’s laid her accessories on is patterned with bright colours, and you realise you can’t make out any of it from where you stand.

Glancing behind you, the men are still occupied with their bartering, seemingly forgetting of your presence. Taking a step back, you pretend to skim through the neighbouring stalls, glancing breezily at woven baskets, layers of folded fabric and towers of painted ceramic cups.

You stop before the laid out array of more necklaces and earrings, scanning the ground. The vendor looks up and gives you a big, crooked toothed smile, urging you to come forward, to take a look at what she has to offer.

Something does catch your eye, and you immediately crouch down to see it better. Picking up the necklace from the charm, you let the gold and red rest on your fingers as you study the make.

“That one’s new,” the woman says. “Practical too.”

The small brass letter opener that’s looped through the cord looks like it could do its job just fine despite its miniscule size.

“It’s quite popular among the busy merchants,” the vendor speaks in a rough tone, almost like she had a perpetual sore throat. “Easier to use this instead of looking for those bulky ones in their neverending drawers and—and in their cabinets.”

She lets out a laugh, “Quite pretty too.”

You stare at it for a moment, “How much?”

“Ten coin.”

You sigh, setting the necklace back down onto the cloth. Standing straight, you turn to walk away before she yells again.

“I’ll do seven!”

You consider whether you should speak, but you also doubt you’d be recognized just by the sound of your voice.

"I don’t have coin,” you rasp.

“How about that pretty thing on your finger then?” she asks.

The ring on your middle finger is a simple band of silver, a coming of age present from your father’s court a few years ago. You stare at the band, worth boatloads more than what this woman in an alley was offering you.

But you find yourself moments later, middle finger empty, and pocket lined with the long leather necklace with the miniature letter opener charm.

By the time you return to the blacksmith’s shop front, Chan is handing the man his coin as Hoshi holds an object sheathed in fabric. They turn around just soon enough to make it seem like you never left.

“Why are you standing so far away?” Chan asks. “Come closer.”

You listen, moving closer to the both of them as they get ready to make the trek back to the docks where the ship waits.

“The crates have probably been loaded too,” Hoshi says, his hands suddenly empty. You assume he’s pocketed the knife somewhere. “Let’s hurry and leave before—”

“Princess?”

It was your mistake that you turned around to acknowledge the title, something you realise as soon as you register the man that spoke to you.

Henley was a stout man, dressed even now in the finest suit of a berry colour, hair white as a ghost. There was no reason for a merchant so rich he had ties with the royal family to be wandering in a harbour market, but he also had every reason to be here.

If it was the recognition in your eyes, or the fact that they were just being smart, you feel one of the pirates wrap their fingers around your upper arm and pull you to walk away from the alley.

“Princess!” Henley yells and you cringe at his volume. People are looking now, and you briefly wonder why you aren’t running yet.

Your heart is pounding against your chest so hard it’s deafening any other sound in your ears, you still don’t know which one has a hold of you, but you let them guide you into a speed walk as you exit the narrow alleys of the main market.

The shawl above your head is pushed further down, shielding your face in a shadow. There’s nothing in your mind other than Clarence Henley and his rich suit, his gold pocket watch, his trimmed, white hair. His face that you only ever saw within palace walls, always accompanied by your father.

There’s a good chance you’re shaking, because you can feel your body rejecting it with the pain in your palms that you can only consider to be your own nails pressing into your hand.

The stench of the fish market helps, bringing you back from your daze as you finally register the ground beneath your feet. It’s only a few more minutes till you reach the docks and you’re suddenly being pushed up the ramp that leads to the main deck of the ship.

It’s immediate comfort, the familiar brown of the floorboards, the scent of saltwater and warping sounds of the sails. You’re led to your quarters, where you finally let the makeshift hood and cape fall.

“Are you alright?”

Snapping your head up, you’re met with Seungkwan and his concerned gaze.

“Oh, erm.” Your voice sounds…not like your own.

“It’s okay, breathe.” It helps, because it really did feel like you’d forgotten to breathe.

“We’re leaving in just a few, everything’s been loaded. Nobody followed you on board, don’t worry.”

Right. You were on the ship, you were in your quarters with some of the most feared pirates on the seas.

The way Seungkwan is easing you through your gulps of water suggests legends in the mix, but you appreciate it regardless.

When you’ve come round, feeling more like yourself, the ship has already left Hasry Harbour, sailing into the deeper waters of the ocean.

“Captain said they couldn’t run because it just would’ve been more suspicious,” Seungkwan informs you as you nod. “Did you…did you recognise him? The man at the market.”

The thoughts come flooding back, the colour of his suit, the jarring nature of a man of such wealth standing in a rundown port market.

“He’s a merchant, one of the wealthiest. A friend of my father’s. If he even has any friends.”

You pause as you think about the near blackout you’d had, the way the panic more than boiled over, taking over your senses and your rationality.

“I think…” you trail off. “I think I just felt like it was the end. I finally had an opportunity to get rid of that tyrant and seeing something that was from home, felt…it felt like I was going to end up right back where I started.”

Seungkwan doesn’t say a word as you digest your own words, accepting your own fear that had rendered you useless in the time it probably mattered most.

“Do you feel better now?”

“A little,” you answer.

“Maybe a weapon can help.”

At the door stands Hoshi, a stern expression on his face as he looks directly at you on the bed. In his hands, the same fabric covered knife he acquired at the market.

You know that you asked for this, but the jolt in your stomach still makes itself known.

“He’s right,” Seungkwan says, lifting from his chair. “Blades have a way of calming you in any case.”

You note the glinting hilt of Seungkwan’s sword sheathed at his hip, remember Hoshi’s own daggers that he seems to be emotionally attached to.

Lifting your head back to Hoshi, you ask, “Can we start now?”

He smirks.

ALL NIGHT, THE STUPID pirate captain had you taking swings at the air.

“Your opponent’s baked a fruit cake by the time you were done with that swing,” he comments, continuously unhelpful. “Swing faster.”

It’s nighttime, nothing but a few oil lamps on the floor of the deck keeping you and Hoshi in the light. Your shoulder burns, your forearms are liquid, and your non-existent opponent remains forever stronger than you.

“I’m done,” you huff, thoroughly spent. Crumbling to the floor, you bring your non-dominant hand up to your aching shoulder in an attempt to massage it.

It’s been a while, the moon high up in the sky when you finally decide to quit it for the night. He lets you go without a fight, and you doubt you’d have the energy to if he decided to do it anyway.

The following day, he’s tweaked his regiment a little, and you find that you’re finally swinging at something tangible; him.

He leaves himself open, an invitation to strike wherever you want. You feign for his shoulder, but he sees you coming from a mile away, already deflecting your flattened blade that comes for his thigh.

“Don’t look where you want to strike, you’re giving yourself away.”

Furrowing your brows, you dislodge your knife from his own and back away again. He’s immediately cocking a brow, telling you to come at him again. You go for his middle, slashing your knife in an arc as he simply deflects.

“Come on, find a pace,” he grunts.

Coming down with your knife again, he blocks you but this time with his forearm, pushing you back by the wrists. It was a battle of strength, as he forces your wrists down. He was stronger than you, and there was no way you could push away, so you dispel your own force. He stumbles from the sudden forward force, and you pull away to take a swing from above.

He recovers faster than you thought he would, already coming up when you’re ready to swing. He raises a hand to deflect, half a moment too late as your blade slashes across the heel of his hand.

There’s a brief splash of red against the blue backdrop of the sky, and you gasp on instinct, immediately moving away.

There’s an apology ready on your lips, mouth gaping as you watch him inspect the wound. You don’t get to say anything because he beats you to it.

“Deep enough,” he comments, like he was inspecting a painting. “Keep this up and you might actually be good by the end of the week.”

Oh.

“Alright,” he says again, moving back into position.

“Are you gonna wrap that?” you ask, referring to the bloody hand.

“It’s fine, I’ve fought with worse,” he says.

You blink as you reluctantly get back into position, bracing yourself as you continue to look at his hand dripping blood onto the deck.

“You’re getting the hang of pacing, but you need to start considering your blade as an extension of yourself—JESUS!”

You’ve swung at him faster than you ever have, putting everything into that single tug of your knife. He wasn’t expecting it, still talking over your glances at his palm. He had his guard down, and you took the chance. He ducks on instinct, but it could’ve been another scar for him to remember if you’d made it.

You stumble as he circles you to the other end, flattening his blade on your back.

“Nice try,” he says. “Really nice try. But you never turn your back to your opponent.”

“I lost my footing,” you defend, but even you knew that wasn’t an excuse.

“And I just stabbed you in the back. And now I’ll have to present your corpse to your father and hope he’ll accept it and give me my ship. We all lose.”

The pressure of the blade leaves your back and you're suddenly left looking stupid despite doing something somewhat right.

“You’d just swindle another poor sailor off his boat and move on,” you say. “You’re a slippery thing.”

He has a smile on his face that borders a smirk yet is innocently mischievous enough. It’s a strange sight, bloody hand, relaxed face. There’s a clean-ish rag on a nearby closed barrel that he uses to wipe the excess blood off his hands.

“I keep going because I live without regret.”

You can only roll your eyes as a scoff leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You simply turn around, settling to the floor, going back to massaging your still aching shoulder. That last blow only made it worse.

“I don’t regret things, miss princess. Ask me why.”

You remain silent.

“Come on,” he urges, that silly smile remaining on his face. He’s washing the wound now with freshwater from the barrel.

Sighing, you ask him, “Why?”

“Because I don’t ever do things I’d regret.”

“That insinuates you think before you act.”

“Right-O,” he declares, wrapping another torn cloth on his cleaned wound.

“Funny,” you answer. “Because I dont think I’ve ever seen any hint of light behind your eyes.”

He turns around to you, sheathing his dagger at his hip, a dangerous look in his eye.

“You’ve looked into my eyes?”

The clench in your jaw must have been visible, or the look of disgust on your face might’ve been apparent just the same, because the pirate captain simply laughs out loud before retreating towards the stairs to go below deck.

“I’ll send Jun up, practise with him.”

You wanted to send your knife, point first, hurtling into his retreating form.

Never turn your back to your opponent, my ass.

But you don’t, mostly because he’d probably manage to deflect that too. So you resort to sitting cross legged on the deck, staring at your dagger while waiting for Jun to meet you upstairs.

Hoshi said he picked the knife based on a number of things you’d already forgotten, something about carbon steel and having a good grip. It’s quite pretty, you’ll have to admit. It’s plain silver, but the reflection it makes in the sun makes it difficult to look away. You’d gotten used to the handle and how it fit in your palm, Hoshi assured you that the more you used it, the more the hilt would mould into your grip.

Jun stomps onto the deck, revolver-less and instead equipped with an array of knives that he deposits on the deck.

“Should’ve picked a plain old gun,” he grumbles as he holds one of the longer blades in his hand. “Job’s done and you don’t need to get within ten feet.”

“Don’t have to reload a knife, do I?” you comment, taking the first swing.

Jun may have an affinity for guns and explosives, but his handling with a knife was still nothing below an expert level. He pushes your arm off before spending you into a ballroom spin, flatting his blade at your collarbone.

That could’ve been your throat.

“No, but by now I could’ve shot you, thrown you overboard, and been on my way to a nap,” he says in your ear, before releasing you as you get back into position again.

That could’ve been your throat.

THE FOLLOWING WEEK PASSES with your days and nights muddled into a strange mixture of swinging knives and taking breaks slumped against the deck of the ship, unmoving.

It’s a particularly hot day, the giant glowing orb beating down on the deck with no mercy. Not that it stops you, because the sun remains unwavering, high in the sky, and you remain unwavering in your wide legged stances as you lunge for Chan again.

Chan’s entire being glistens in the afternoon light, the beads of sweat that he wipes off his forehead only seem to reappear every couple minutes. His clothes cling to him like a second skin, taking long breaths through his teeth amidst the difficult, humid air.

You don’t doubt you look the same, one hand in your hair suggesting you just took a bath in your own sweat. But Chan seems accustomed to the heat, and while you weren’t, you couldn’t deny your growing comfortability with it all.

It’d been a while since your meal, hence your sluggish movements were slowly turning increasingly sharp, having cornered Chan multiple times in the duration. You’re determined to not be the one to call for a time out, so you find yourself pushing beyond what you’ve been doing for the past week or so.

There’s a particular punch of heat at your sides, and you can feel yourself slowing.

One deep breath, a slow exhale.

It’s all clangs and reflections of knives, tiny droplets of blood as evidence of both of your tiny, unintentional nicks and cuts. You’re succeeding, pushing the man further and further back.

“You’re getting sloppy, aim for the blade not my tendons,” Chan seethes through his teeth.

“I’m trying,” you grunt through the effort.

You’re set back for a couple minutes before you go back to pushing. Your lungs burn, your entire side is numb from exertion, but you give more than your body is made for, and you succeed—kind of.

Chan back is against the railing of the deck before he realises it, and perhaps it was momentum, or sheer exhaustion, because one minute you’ve got eyes on Chan’s hands and his blade, and the next he’s gone. There’s a loud splash, and you suddenly realise what you’ve done.

You just pushed Chan overboard.

You scream before you can help it, dropping your knife with a loud, resonating clang. Pushing against the rails, you peer down to find a giant ripple on the surface of the ocean, whipping your head around to the stairs leading below deck to find Mingyu and Hoshi bounding upstairs.

“What? Where’s Chan, he was supposed to be with you,” Hoshi asks, whipping his head around the deck.

Your wide eyed, horrified response from near the edge tells them all they need to know.

By the time Chan’s pulled himself on board, soaked and dripping like a wet poodle, you’ve sat yourself the furthest away from the railing to prevent any more trouble. He drops onto the floor, creating a human sized puddle.

With the way the two men had merely sighed and threw the ladder over the exterior of the ship, you concluded that this must happen enough for them to be beyond the point of concern. It only adds to it when you see Mingyu nudge Chan’s unmoving but heaving body with the toe of his boot, giggling at his expense.

You make your way over, crouching beside Chan sheepishly.

“Sorry about that, got carried away.”

He’s sitting up now, quickly pulling himself back to his feet and you spring back from your crouched position.

“It’s fine, happens.” He has a small smile on his face as he says it and you conclude that he may find the situation laughable as well.

“Now, Chan,” Hoshi says, not letting Chan move into the deck any further from the railing. “What’s the first thing you learn about brawling on a ship?”

Chan looks slightly embarrassed as he answers, “Be aware of your surrounding—ARGH.”

Hoshi pushed him into the water.

You jump as you run back to the rails, watching as Chan’s head re-emerges at the surface after his second dip in the ocean.

Just as you’re about to say something to Hoshi, he’s stuck his head over the railings as well, yelling at Chan in some singsong voice.

“One time was a mistake, twice is a problem!”

To your left, only adding to your horror, is Mingyu doubled over in his fit of laughter, heaving as he giggled uncontrollably. He’s also holding onto the railings for dear life, but clearly, for reasons completely different from yours.

The situation resolves itself as both you and Chan learn a few lessons of practicality. Deciding you’ve done enough damage to your body, you announce that you’d be retiring for the day.

“Thank goodness, I was about to confiscate that stupid knife, I’ve been hearing clanging in my sleep,” Mingyu mumbles as he pulls the rope ladder back up to the deck.

In any case, you have the urge to take a dip in the ocean yourself, feeling increasingly uncomfortable in your drying sweat.

Grabbing a clean washcloth, you fill a bucket of freshwater from one of the barrels on deck and lug it into your quarters. The soaked washcloth does wonders for your overheated body, feeling enormously better after a change of clothes.

Your scalp, however, remains itchy and burning, so you decide to go back up to the main deck, hoping to manoeuvre a hair wash situation without needing to mop the floors of your quarters.

Refilling the bucket of freshwater, you set it down before scanning the empty deck for another spare bucket. You try not to scoff at the unwavering determination of the pirate crew to keep the deck unoccupied for such long increments, that last altercation teaching them absolutely nothing. You wonder how they’ve managed to survive for so long like this.

Shaking the thought, you use the spare bucket as a way to deposit your waste water as you pour cups of clean water over your aching scalp. The feeling does wonders for you, letting the water wash away weeks worth of grime, sweat and stress.

You’re almost back home in your quarters when the whiff of your hair salts hits your nose, the ones you’d packed for yourself, closing your eyes for a moment as you rub them into your scalp. You don't expect the clench that seizes your chest, but you falter when it happens anyway.

It’s nostalgic, and you hate it.

It smells like the palace, like the incense your ladies in waiting always burned, the stench of citrus having made its way into your bones from the years of exposure to the scent. It’s too much as you blink back tears, owing them to the suds that have made their way into your eyes.

The sting helps bring you back, opening your eyes to an orange glow and the waft of seasalt hitting your nose. You’re more aggressive when you dunk your cup into the bucket this time, too aggressive as you feel the half full bucket tip over and spill water all over the deck as you cause yet another accident.

Cursing loudly, you try to blink away the suds from your eyes, soap still in your hair as you try to figure out how to get another bucket of water without ruining your fresh change of clothes, mentally kicking yourself at not thinking this through.

“You realise we have to make do with that freshwater till we make it to Ash?”

Wet hair still in your hands, you attempt to peer up at the voice, only to find Hoshi standing above you, arms crossed over his chest with a funny expression on his face. Huffing, you grumble out in response, “Can you just get me a fresh bucket?”

“Hm, I don’t know, can I?” He removes his gaze and begins to pretend looking over at the horizon and the setting sun.

Chiding yourself for even bothering to ask, you reach for the tipped bucket yourself, deciding you’d figure it out yourself if this dumb pirate was choosing to be of no help. But before you could latch your fingers on the handle, the bucket’s snatched away.

At first you think he’s being funny, taking the bucket away to watch you struggle even further. “You—”

Except you watch him as he dunks the bucket back into the barrel of freshwater, lugging it back to where you could reach. “Try not to paint the deck with it this time, I’ve already mopped twice.”

The thank you freezes on your tongue, and for some reason you can’t say it to him. So you make a scene of splashing into the bucket with vigour, sending spills over the rim and taking mild satisfaction in hearing him sigh at the sight of more mopping.

He’s already gotten hold of the worn mop by the time you’re done as you remerge with clean hair, wringing your own mop of hair to deposit the excess water. Straightening out your back, you take hold of the spare cloth you brought along with you, patting your hair with it.

The sun remains in its mission to cast its golden glow, but only illuminates Hoshi’s grumbling form as he mops up all the water you’ve spilled.

“You know, I should really be making you—” He halts as he makes eye contact with you, your hands still occupied with patting your hair dry, flicking the wet strands. You have a rebuttal already prepared, waiting for him to finish his jab.

“Make me what? you grind.

You can’t make out the look on his face, somewhere between constipated and on the edge of a yelp, he keeps staring at you. You note a slight trickle of water making its way down your neck and chest, bleeding into your shirt as yet another water stain.

“Nothing,” he says, to your surprise.

And with that uneventful climax, you trudge back down to your quarters, a strange brewing in your chest.

[AN]: congrats you made it to the end of part 1!!!!! reblog ur thots and opinions or send me an ask, id love to hear the turmoil in ur minds lol

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kiss-me-muchoo · 6 months ago

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𝐈𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐈 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞? || 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐚cius 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐆𝐞𝐭a

part one: here || part two; i’ve been the archer

summary_ after returning from Egypt, you are set to marry your half brother Geta. When you fall in love with General Marcus Acaius, your brother tries everything to prevent you from slipping away from him.

warnings_CRINGE, age gap!, semi incest (do not romanticize irl) reader x Geta, drama, angst, VERY quick love confessions, implied SMUT +18

update nov 2024: my phone changed Acacius for Acaius, I’ll change it on these days bye

NOTES_ who’s afraid of little old me?, I just wished there were gallows in Ancient Rome, listen to my awful playlist for Marcus and the classic I have for Pedro bb.

♪ ♫ Pedro playlist + Marcus’s playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

If there was something you’d never miss… were the carmine sunsets. Those lasted more than usual. That kept the beginning of the night warm and made you the silent promise of another good day by the following morning.

It had been easy for your father to send you away as soon as your mother quit their marriage. Your brother was a big inconvenience and a hidden mistake that shattered your little wealthy family. Under the cautious look of the Roman Senate, your parents were still bonded in a strong marriage. But the truth was that your father never truly loved the woman who gave birth to you. Which led to your mother leaving for Egypt, a Roman Province. Soon after her departure, you were sent to Alexandria too.

Each day was a boost to your status. Learning a vast variety of languages and dialects, learning different types of dances, being able to handle weapons, and gaining control over the Egyptian cities, to help your powerful father; The Emperor.

You barely missed Rome. Your mother was a cold Empress that loosened all the knots your father could have tightened around you. Growing up used to the Egyptian parties, drinking the finest beer and bread. Taking occasional lovers since virginity was not a necessity for marriage in Egyptian society. One of those lovers specifically, was a tall warrior with sun-kissed bronze skin that transformed you into a woman in every aspect you couldn’t discover by yourself. It was a shame when he died after a bad injury during war.

In the present, being in your first years as a young woman, things were likely to change, and you were very aware of it. That didn’t stop you from having the time of your life in the vivid city of Alexandria. With very few friends, a dead lover, and a dream.

Every night you savored those carmine sunsets to pray to Venus. Perhaps your dream of finding a true love hadn’t happened yet due to praying to her instead to Hathor; the god of love in Egyptian territory. Nevertheless, you intended to marry a man who was ridiculously, recklessly, and borderline obsessed with you. You wanted to live the broken dream of your mother.

Until desires were abruptly paused one night. When you received a letter from your father.

“A letter from the Emperor. It is the wish of your father to have you back in Rome” Your walls crumbled into pieces. The face of shock was splashed all across your face as you listened to your mother.

“What motivated his decision?”

“I can assure you, I don’t know, my child,” your mother says vaguely, tending his favorite flowers inside the palace.

“Do not lie to me, mother” she sighs and suddenly, she starts crying. You don’t know what to do, but the sight unsettles you.

“He wants you to marry Geta…” your eyes get impossibly wide open, and you gasp in shock.

“My brother?” your mother nods. You pace back and forth, wondering why and how could your father come to that conclusion.

Although you were used to attending weddings in Egypt that came from a mother marrying her son, to a brother marrying his sister, it was… awkward. This was the boy that destroyed your family, the boy that would take half of your rights as heir was meant to be your husband and father of your children.

The mere thought scares you.

“Will you accompany me?” It’s the first thing you come up with.

“I must stay here since Egypt won’t have you now” You frown at her words. But your throat tightens, defying to produce tears that quickly threaten to spill everywhere.

“Be strong, remember everything I’ve taught you. No men will defy the tenacity of the emperor’s daughter.” you nod, your eyes prickling with fear that explodes in your chest.

“And in between, find the love I couldn’t keep, no matter what, y/n…”

“I’m seeing you again, Right, mother?” she nods, giving you a cold hug.

“I’ll always be here…”

For the first time, the carmine sunset does not bring you peace. Your mind is edging towards collapse as you approach Rome. As the light of the light leaves, you question everything. So many questions and nothing of time.

…

There were no shattered crystals after dinner as you expected. Your brother Geta welcomed you in Rome with excitement and it confused you even more. He gave you a short and personal tour of his newest garden and prepared the finest banquet made by all of the servants.

Geta is a sole copy of your father. Same mannerisms and style. Only behind his attentive look, you were aware of the sadistic man who talked to you with respect.

“Where is Father?” you ask him, sipping at your wine.

“An important meeting surged. He’ll join us tomorrow, we are preparing vast festivities”

“Festivities for what?” he smiles, you don’t like how compassionate and polite he’s being.

“Our marriage, soror” The heavy makeup on his face does everything to hide the truth of the narcissistic man he is.

You could swear he hated you because your mother was the sovereign empress and you the rightful heir. Your father just happened to have two wives and two kids at the same time.

And despite everything, you didn’t hate your brother. You despised her mother for drawing your own apart from your father. For convincing him to send you away from your solemn fair future. For transforming your brother into some incompetent who seemed to have a hunger for chaos and madness.

“I must thank you, for welcoming me… despite our background differences” It takes him aback. Geta expected a disheveled girl, a rebellious female who followed the ways of the savages; the Egyptians. But he encountered a bright and marvelous sister who tried to act with peace after being so far from home for so long.

“I wished we could’ve grown together, like a united family” you admit coldly, avoiding the whole marriage issue.

“We will be a family, y/n. I’ll make sure of that” he says hiding his lips in his cup of wine and it sends shivers running down your spine.

Geta sees how you stand up and politely push forward the chair you were seated in; excellent manners.

“As a tradition of mine, I’ll see the sunset and pray before going to rest. Please excuse me….” your brother nods, still processing your words as you leave the imposing place where you were born. You desperately need fresh air.

Near there’s a meadow with empty spaces. It’s just a piece of land that soon would probably serve to build another coliseum.

One thing is noticeable. Sunsets in Rome aren’t carmine… they are mauve. And for some reason, you can’t feel peace.

But you hold tight to your dream. Your happiness is what you’ve prioritized ever since a teenager.

That’s why you hadn’t failed a day to pray to Venus.

Venus, hear me, please. You whose care, throughout all the centuries, the unions of men and their lovers have been placed, what, I pray, have I come to merit? Release me from this uncertainty, gift me a lover, who will warm my heart for eternity. Venus, save me from the hells of my ancestries.

Someone touches your naked shoulder, it makes you gasp in horror.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” someone says. When you turn around, you are facing a man who’s incredibly taller and broader than you. He’s significantly older than you, but he’s graceful. The second he takes to appreciate the sunset as well is your chance to study his profile. Gorgeous classical profile.

“Excuse me, but… Who are you?” you ask, moving aside, leaving his hand that rested on your shoulder in the air. He noticed it.

“General Marcus Acaius… I wondered why a woman was here all alone” you know him. He’s the most successful general your father ever had. He was a concise warrior, even considered a killer.

Somehow, you couldn’t help but find some sweetness in his deep voice. By knowing him for just a second, you felt comfortable by his side.

“I take pleasure in appreciating the sunset…” your soft features intrigued him. You looked slightly different than most of the women he sees in Rome.

“I haven’t appreciated the sky since I was a kid”

“What a shame, General. You would find some peace hidden between the clouds” Your accent was slightly colder than everyone’s. You didn’t have the golden hair that usually meant power. He was infatuated and tremendously interested in the woman he was facing.

“I must know where you come from…” he says, paying attention to your eyes. You smile, touching the little pearls that fall from your pale blue dress.

“I was born here… but circumstances made Alexandria my home. I arrived last night…” his eyes show surprise. He analyzed your bracelets, made of pure gold. You had a leaf crown with tiny sapphires that shimmered around your head. It wasn’t hard to tell who you were.

“majestas… you shouldn’t be here” he mutters and you don’t even flinch.

“I can assure you, General Acaius… I rarely find myself in the position of damsel in distress” he chuckles and you are relieved to see he doesn’t carry a ring around his finger. It was happening so fast, you wanted to know everything about him.

“You may call me Marcus. Except when we are in the presence of your father or brother” you remember you are supposed to marry your brother. But it wasn’t official just yet. And you were quickly falling for this older and gorgeous General.

After a sweet battle or glances, he has to put down his sword. You notice the details and the signs of years of use it has.

“Is this the weapon you master the most?” he nods, noticing the dry blood around the edges.

“Indeed… I learned to wield it before I even went to school” You smile, nervous but eager to throw your next comment. He was speaking very softly towards you. But it was obvious that he was a reserved and serious man.

“I use the spear and axe” Your revelation leaves Marcus surprised. There were very few female gladiators, most of them being treated worse than common slaves. No female in the Roman hierarchy wielded weapons.

“You truly are one of a kind, majestas” As the emperor’s daughter, you weren’t supposed to ever wield a weapon. Contrary to that rule, you were required to learn about politics. In Egypt, you were free.

“Oh, don’t call me that… my name is Y/n”

“Precious name…”

His smile mixed with yours burst in an obvious mutual flirtation. After talking for about two hours, the moon is the only witness in the dark meadows, where Marcus and you kiss until your lips are swollen and he has hydrated him after days of dryness. He promises to keep close to you as his fingers slip under the fabric of your tunic. You swear to welcome his touch no matter what as your hand palmed his girthy length under his heavy armor.

That night both of you seal your fate. That night Marcus Acaius ignites a vivid fire inside your heart.

…

Often, you wondered if candles could run out due to the excessive use of them each night. At least thirty candles are illuminating the place. You patiently wait in the room Marcus had in the Emperor’s palace, seated on the edge of the bed. When the General comes out, he spots you at his resting place. Immediately, you frown at him.

“You said it was a minor injury” There’s a lot of dry blood on his shoulder. He had taken a bath… but the injury was there, uncomfortably lying over his skin.

“It is a minor injury.” He assures, sitting beside you on the bed.

It’s been only a couple of days since you met him… and you are already too keen on him.

“There are no gladiators where I come from. Only warriors… Generals only command their soldiers. We never used weapons as a spectacle”

“I’m starting to believe Egypt is a better place than Rome” you shrug.

“I miss my home. I miss the freedom. I can’t marry Geta…” you admit out loud for the first time. Marcus huffs, he doesn’t have a problem with letting you know he is jealous.

“Right… the wedding.”

“I have to marry him after all. Only that way I could share the title of Empress with him” Marcus sighs tired.

“Am I descending into madness for these strong feelings I have for you?” you turn to look at him. Your hand moves to the end on top of his.

“I look into your eyes… and I feel safe, Marcus” you admit, straddling him. Your fingers trace his beard as you lean to kiss him deeply. He reciprocates and holds your hips steadily.

It’s a wild moment to openly share carnal passion, but neither of you cares. You push him against the feathery pillows and continue kissing. His hair gets tangled around your fingers and his forearms and hands have disappeared under your dress. You start throbbing and he gets hard. But the moment is suddenly interrupted by some footsteps near the room. In a blink of an eye, you get away from Marcus and he stands up from the bed too.

“Use the trail at the end of the hallway. I’ll see you tomorrow, satis” he says, kissing your forehead before you quietly leave his resting place.

Some guards were wandering around the place as usual. You skillfully pass by them, using the trail Marcus told you. But it’s dark and very quiet, not even illuminated by torches. Your sandals barely make a sound against the floors.

So it’s a huge surprise when a hand covers your mouth and the next thing you feel is getting slammed against the wall. It didn’t hurt you but it was violent.

You gasp for air and encounter your half-brother. He has his golden crown and velvet robes, his face almost clean of tints that weren’t his natural skin.

“What were you doing with General Acaius?” You frown.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” his ginger hair is the only thing that shines in the dark trail.

“Quit the lie, soror. Has he made you impure?”

Oh dear brother, if you knew my purity has been gone for many years. But the truth was that Marcus hadn’t claimed you his yet.

“No. And it should not be a matter of importance to you” he chuckles.

Geta isn’t an idiot. He had seen the way Acaius looked at you during dinners. He noticed you came back to rest later than usual. And it was making him boil in anger. His disgust towards you before your arrival was strong. But after you turned to be a delight for his taste, Geta was burning for you.

“Oh, but it is a matter of importance to me. You are my future wife” he says, threatening to seal his lips with yours. The arm that was holding you still sneaked around your waist, applying a little too much pressure.

“Do you think I like the thought of other men touching or even smiling at you?”

Oh… so he was jealous.

His lips gently brush your neck as you set your eyes on the moon, waiting for the moment to be over. His touch is vicious, possessive, and harsh. The trail his lips have followed from your collarbones to your throat ends in your chin, mere inches away from your lips.

“If we can even consider this love… you have an odd way of showing it” he lets you go, the cocky smile on his face never leaving.

“Love or not… you are going to be mine”

“I’m also the heiress of the Emperor. We’ll see about that, Geta.” You spit bitterly, literally running away from him.

You have converted into an enemy for him. And you had to be ready to walk cautiously. Because you had changed your mind. Perhaps you would lose the crown… but weren’t going to marry him.

…

You missed dates so badly, but then the following morning, when a plate of them was included in the morning, you couldn’t resist. You are eating alone. Until the doors open and your father appears followed by two guards.

“Father…” you stand up, making a reverence to him. He smiles, extending his arms to hug you.

“I have wonderful news. We’ve arranged an encounter for you to demonstrate your abilities in combat” You are extremely confused.

“What?” Your father sighs, breaking the hug.

“I’m aware you performed in celebrations back in Alexandria. This is just the perfect opportunity to show the senate and council you are a prepared lady to receive the title of Empress one day…”

“Father… as much as I appreciate the intention. I’ve performed as a way to train for battle; gods forbid us from having to go to war, but… here, your soldiers and slaves fight for the mere feeling of feeding the greediness of hierarchy. I can’t do that…”

You weren’t a target for the empire to show off. You were more than just a woman with the ability to carry a weapon. You valued your freedom. And ever since arriving in Rome, day by day, you feel that you keep slipping away from it.

“The decision is taken. Heavens know why but the official announcement of your engagement with Geta remains being delayed. Hence, I won’t turn the Senate and council against me when there's no need. I may only wish you good luck, dear” You remember Marcus. He could have voted against the encounter. He was the General.

Suddenly you are bursting in anger, making the coldest reverence to your father as he leaves.

Your angry steps lead your way to Marcus. You found him taking a rest on a nearby balcony. When he spots you, his smile vanishes.

“You couldn’t impede that brainless idea of me participating in a combat?” Marcus has to sigh, placing his hands on his hips. He was expecting your anger to be honest.

“I couldn’t say no. If it did, they would suspect. I already have your brother behind my back all the time” You can fight him because he’s right. But it doesn’t dissipate your anger.

“You are going to be fine. I may be able to arrange the rules. I can choose the gladiator that will fight you, but your father and brother have the last word. What weapon do you want to use?”

“The spear…” he nods.

“Female gladiators tend to wield the bow and sword. You can easily disarm her…” you are not scared, you are just frustrated.

“Teach me the methods warriors use here…” you mutter. Marcus nods, taking your hand and giving an apologetic look.

“You will win, my dear.” His fingers place some strands of your hair behind your ear, it melts your anger and transforms it into peace. You want to scream how much you desire him. But you must retain your feelings given the hatred days you were living.

“Let me thank you for the training in advance, General,” you say, getting on your knees.

“Good girl…” Marcus whispered as soon as your tongue started working on him.

…

The usual crowd in the Colosseum couldn’t be compared with the amount of screams and cheers from the people watching the emperor’s daughter fighting one of the greatest female gladiators in Rome; Calista.

The sandy floors were covered in an elegant tapestry that marked the square where the show was occurring.

You are sweating, there's blood running down your chin and you can’t breathe correctly. Calista was ordered not kill you, but for some reason, she seemed to be personally trying to knock you out.

She had a helmet and armor in gold and red. But it was hard to deny everyone was invested in the attire you wore. A golden mask of Neith, the god of war that covered your face and a gold vest and bare shoulders. Everyone thought you were insane for that.

You remember all the things Marcus told you. Soon after your father started the encounter, you learned gladiators were blinded by the necessity of seeing blood on their rival instead of following a technique of combat.

Calista’s sword is sharp enough to give you a long cut by the movement of a soft swatch. You yelp in pain and she kicks your ribs, making you fall to your knees.

Marcus stands worried from his seat, but he soon returns to his place after making eye contact with Geta, who sends daggers with his eyes. Marcus understood your brother was insane when he disapproved of the gladiator he had chosen. Geta picked the most sanguinary and violent warrior to fight you.

Marcus couldn’t do anything. But he was impressed by your skills. He sighed with joy everytime you slipped from Calista’s touch. Even your father was displaying a face of proud.

But it’s not the same for you. You enter in panic, knowing you are at full mercy, almost dropping your spare. Your father is about to stop the encounter. The crowd is impossibly louder. You want to throw up. The sweat mixed with nausea, the cold air of the night, and the dryness in your throat are too much to handle. But you refuse to lose. With the sharp edge of the spare, you cut Calista’s calf. She’s startled, ready to strike back when your leg pushes her on her back. The heavy sword she carries makes a loud noise. Her skull crushes against the floor. It gives you enough time to stand, place your foot in her throat and point the spare against her forehead, ending the encounter.

The cheers are disgustingly excessive. But you’re done. You did what your father asked. You take off the mask and look at your brother in anger. Geta offers you a fake smile. He was surprised to see you were able to slip away, from his evil plans, from defying your father.

You offer your hand to Calista, but she refuses. She looks like she wants to kill you. But she only reverences your family and leaves.

Everything is forgotten when you set your eyes on Marcus. You want to smile and run to his side. He sees you with adoration. He sees the reincarnation of Psyche in you. A woman who Marcus swears it’s even more graceful than Venus and Persephone themselves.

Marcus Acaius makes a decision; He must marry you.

…

After a banquet, your bones and muscles ache with each movement you make, but you run towards Marcus. You need to see him after such a long day. He waits for you in the secure spot of the farthest tower. His light robes and leaf crown are securely dressing him when you spot him. The gold in his attire matches your bronze bracelets and indigo dress.

He’s the man you desire. He’s the man that had offered you a real demonstration of affection. He wasn’t trying to manhandle you like everyone before did. It’s more than enough to make you think your prayers to Venus have worked. You collide in his chest, giggling.

“I love you”

Both of you say at the same time. It leaves you shocked. Marcus smiles and you have to kiss him to believe it’s real.

“I promise you… we’ll be together” you nod dying out of happiness. He kisses you back and you feel you want to cry out of happiness.

What feels like a second was an hour of kissing.

And Geta was able to witness some of that time. Drowning in a monstrous wave of jealousy, he ran towards the Emperor to accuse you of adultery. But it was too late, your father was out of the city for the rest of the day. Geta is beyond enraged with the news. So he sends part of his father’s cabinet to a brothel, hoping his evil plan would work.

Later, when he finds you going towards the garden, he fastens his pace to harshly grab your forearms and stop you.

“That General is no good for you.” He spits with disgust as you squirm away from his touch.

“Neither are you” you fireback, stepping backwards.

“Go find him. You should know he just uses you to have our father’s approval. So I insist you, go find him and see what kind of man he is after you leave his bed” You raise your hand ready to slap him, but you don’t. You simply turn away and keep walking.

Geta’s words echo through your mind. You question him, valuing the honesty of his words. Marcus was a man after all. There wasn’t a perfect man nor a perfect woman, but you liked to believe there was still good in the hearts of the people.

Perhaps Marcus would be disappointed by your mistrust. But the uncertainty of his loyalty was something you couldn’t risk.

That night, you go out in a linen cloak, hunting the man you love. The guards won’t know you went out prowling around the city.

It’s late, but not for the city. Although is not crowded, there are a lot of people in the market. You let yourself wander across the place. There’s handmade stuff that women and kids sell. It makes you think about power and how not all of the people had it. If you ever became Empress, you wanted to see a prosperous and bright city. You want to ensure them with security and peace. You want to get rid of eccentric stuff, including gladiators.

The sound of music along with laughter draws your attention to a specific place. At first glance, you think it’s a tavern. But as your feet made it to the entrance, you gasped in shock. There are more men compared to women. The females are scattered around the place. Some feed grapes to men. Others dance and use their bodies to charm. All of them have their chests bare, showing their breasts and silver bracelets. It shocks you to see some of the females naked, kissing between groups of four or more and almost fucking them at the sight of everyone. The wine smells cheap, the whole place smells like sweat and sex combined.

You see from afar a large table of men. Your eyes look at the head of the table and it causes a great mix of confusion and intrigue. Because it’s your Marcus who’s seated with those men. He talks and looks seriously intimidating with his sword resting on the table. Your heart starts racing as a woman gets closer. She raises her hand to touch him. Marcus turns to look at the woman. She has short blonde hair, pale skin, and purple fabric that barely covers her body. Your eyes water at the sight. Your lover, who promised find the way to be with you hours ago is there, surrounded by naked women and you can hear him cursing. When the blonde woman is about to sit in his lap, you leave the place running away. There’s not even time to tear yet, you are completely covered in shock and disgust.

Soon you are back. You gasp for air, opening the doors of the place you call home. Two guards let you enter and you throw your cloak to the floor. When you look at the end of the long hallway, you spot Geta talking with his counselor. At the sigh of you, he indicates the man to leave. You want to leave him behind so bad, you avoid his eyes but it’s his voice that stops you.

“I told you so…” he says with an evil smile.

“Be quiet…” his laugh is loud and it angers you more.

“He doesn’t care about you. Acaius only cares for power. He could never love you-“

“SILENCE!”

You push him towards the granite bench behind and he is taken aback.

Even more when you lean to smash your lips with his.

It’s disgusting. There’s no care, only two individuals fighting for control in the lips of each other. Even the beetroot juice you applied hours ago has transferred to your chin and Geta’s. His hand is resting with pressure on your nape, and you slightly pull his hair, making him groan before kissing you even harder.

Just when you are about to sit in his lap, you stop. You look at him in horror. There’s no way you just kissed him. That you almost succumbed to his touch. But you remember Marcus with that woman. What were you doing?

Geta sees you quietly crying before standing up from the bench and watching you bolt.

You run to the meadows. The place where everything began. And at that moment, you realized you had completely failed.

Fighting in that encounter with Calista for what? Unnecessary approval of men who would surely die before you birthed your first child.

You pleased your father to live in peace for what? To carry the weight of a narcissistic brother and a traitor lover.

Your prayers were in vain. The love you wanted to find was over before it even started. Because it wasn’t real. You should’ve stayed back in Egypt. Maybe you should have married Geta on the first day. At least whatever he did to hurt you would have a payback. But with Marcus, it resulted in an excruciating pain that you had never felt before. Which makes you feel so ignorant and brainless. All that ego your mother had helped you build collapsed at that moment. You just wished for a remedy. Which for sure didn’t exist. But there must be a way, to make everyone feel at least a drop of what you have.

—————————————————————

part two or what? (Literally didn’t add the part I wrote for the sneak peak lol)

taglist: @drewharrisonwriter @my-dearest-agent @yellowheartz @spookyxsam @natasharomanoffsmotorcycle @uncassettodiricordi @kluvspedritooo @littleblackcatinwonderland

#pedro pascal x reader #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #gladiator 2 #joseph quinn x reader #emperor geta #emperor geta x reader

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arcane-vagabond · 3 months ago

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Fool's Fare: Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Content Warning: Flashback Chapter, Cursing, I played around with mythology in this one, Myths, Curses, Magic, Deals, Mentions of death, Mentions of suicide, Smoking pipes (Tobacco), Regret, Angst, some fluff. I think that's everything, but please let me know if I've missed something!

Word Count: 4.6k

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist

Smoke wafted towards the ceiling, disappearing into the air before the soft tendrils could reach the wooden rafters. The glow of the embers illuminated Tom’s face as he sucked the tobacco smoke into his lungs, the burn a familiar comfort to him after so many years. Blue eyes scanned the crowded room, men gulping down mouthfuls of ale as women sauntered around the room looking for their bed fellow of the night. Laughter broke out on the far side of the room, cheers following it as the last hand of cards was revealed.

These too were familiar to him.

“Don’t suppose the information we were given was wrong,” Beau muttered beside him. Tom’s eyes drifted over to him, studying the quartermaster. Tom wasn’t sure he altogether liked Beau very much, but he trusted the man, and in this life, trust was worth its weight in gold. While Tom knew the quartermaster was loyal, he also knew that Beau’s interest aligned with his own.

“He’ll be here,” he replied, shifting in his chair to lean back, feet propping up on the table. A pretty, young woman strolled casually over to him, fixing him with a sultry gaze and a confident smile. Tom waved her off, earning a pout, but he paid her no mind. He was on a mission tonight, waiting for a man he knew would show his face sooner rather than later.

Pete Mitchell was a right bastard as far as Tom was concerned—the newly appointed captain of the Maverick had earned himself quite the reputation even before earning the mantle from his predecessor.

Tales of the new captain capturing and sinking enemy ships had made their way to every port along the coasts, whispers twisting tales until no one knew what was true and what was falsehood. What had remained consistent, however, was the fact that the young captain had been going around boasting about how no man could best him, not even Davy Jones himself.

Tom wouldn’t stand for that.

The door to the pub opened with a sharp crack to the wall behind it, a smirking young man with fine features, dark hair, and blazing, blue eyes roving over the scene before him.

“That’s him,” Beau whispered, and Tom let out a low grunt in acknowledgement, watching the young man strut into the room like he owned the place. Tom’s jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth, feeling his own irritation rolling off of him in waves. The lad seemed to sense him because his gaze turned to fix on the older man, a brow arching curiously. Slowly, Pete walked over to him, confidence shining from every pore as a lazy smirk curled on his lips. He didn’t wait to be invited to sit, he simply did—the chair knocking against the stone floor as he plopped down in the seat. The man who followed him, much taller than the captain and mustache adorning his upper lip, peered around anxiously before fixing his eyes on Tom and Beau. Tom surmised that he must be Pete’s quartermaster, Nick Bradshaw.

Tom turned his attention back to Pete as the younger man’s smirk became a full-blown grin.

“Evenin’, pops,” he greeted, nodding at him from across the table. Tom felt the vein in his forehead pulse with irritation, leaning back in his chair with a creak and another drag from his pipe. Tom studied the young man before him, noting how at ease he seemed to be despite the dangerous aura that rolled off of Tom in waves. Men twice this boy’s age cowered in his presence, and yet here he was—grinning like a cheshire cat.

It pissed him off.

“You know,” Pete drawled, leaning back to mirror the older captain, “it’s considered polite to answer back.”

Tom snorted, bringing the pipe away from his mouth and staring down the young captain.

“Pleasantries fly out the window once I hear of some upstart going around boasting about how none can best him—even Davy Jones himself.”

“I haven’t even seen you on the seas, old timer,” Pete grinned. “You think I’d beat you like all the others?”

“I think I’d sink your ship in ten seconds flat without even raising my voice,” Tom spat, earning a wary side-eye from his quartermaster.

“Tom here doesn’t exactly appreciate people invoking his name needlessly,” Beau supplied, shifting in his seat as waves of anger rolled off the captain. “Especially when it’s spoken in boast of oneself.”

Pete’s brow arched as his quartermaster’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Nick spoke, leaning forward to look over his own captain’s shoulder. “We don’t even know your name.”

Tom hummed, tapping his fingers on the top of the table. “I think you do.”

A moment of silence passed between the four men, the rowdy crowd around them continuing on in their revelry as if nothing were amiss. It was Pete who broke the silence first.

“You’re supposed to be a myth,” he murmured, all trace of mirth gone from his face. “A legend.”

“Any sailor worth his salt knows not to invoke names of power,” Tom retorted. “Names themselves have power. You shouldn’t speak the name of anything whose wrath you don’t want to earn.”

“And is that what I’ve done?” Challenged Pete, squaring his shoulders as Nick gave him an exasperated look. “Have I incurred the wrath of Davy Jones?”

Tom considered him for a moment. The gall of this man was something Tom hadn’t seen in decades, and he found that he quite liked the challenge the young captain was issuing him. He tried to remember the last time someone had done so so openly and brazenly.

“You’ve certainly incurred the annoyance of Tom,” he replied finally, not missing the sharp look Beau shot his way. Pete frowned in confusion.

“Tom?”

“That’s my name,” he replied with a shrug, inhaling from his pipe as he watched the younger man process his words.

“I thought you were Davy Jones?” Pete asked finally, lips pursed as his guard was up.

“Davy Jones is more of a…moniker,” Tom supplied, closing his eyes as he basked in the warmth of the tobacco in his lungs. “Has a better ring to it than Thomas, wouldn’t you say?”

The young captain stared at him in disbelief before letting out a humorless chuckle.

“You aren’t at all what I was expecting,” Pete mused, and Tom snorted.

“You weren’t expecting much,” he countered. “You didn’t even think I was real until a few moments ago.”

The two men talked well into the night, and Tom had grown a sort of strange fondness for the plucky captain. You’d never get him to admit that he felt somewhat impressed by the stories Pete told him of the several ships he had managed to capture, but he was sure Pete caught the way his eyes alighted with intrigue. As dawn broke above the horizon, the sky painted in a hushed blue and warm pink, the captains bid farewell to each other, Tom warning the young captain one more time to not invoke his name lest there be consequences.

Years passed, and in that time, Tom and his crew had taken many treasures from doomed ships, the begging of crews falling on deaf ears. The captain of the Flying Dutchman having long lost feeling in his heart for the plight of others. No, in this world there was only take, his endless life proof of that.

His crew was not dead, not in any way that may truly matter. Rather, they sat in limbo thanks to a god long thought dead—a goddess that Tom had betrayed.

Thetis had been beautiful, strong, and perhaps the most coveted woman in antiquity at one time. Tom, who had gone by a name he had long forgotten at that time, had wooed the goddess, and perhaps at one time he would have said he even loved her. Together, they had seven sons, but only one would grow to be a man, the others lost to mortality. Thetis had been driven mad with grief, and Tom had closed himself off completely.

Perhaps it was a mixture of pride and the folly of his youth that had led him to betray her. The now faded memories of sailing with a band of his brothers had filled his mind then, and Tom had decidedly wanted more. He knew his wife held great magic in her hands, and he had begged her to use it to secure him power over the seas. Of course, she had been reluctant at first, warning him of the dangers that came from such a request, but Tom had been insistent. The first moment he held the star in his hand, he knew he had doomed himself.

He had left shortly after, leaving his wife heartbroken and his son in the care of a trusted friend. His wife had bestowed power to him, and Tom was ever the fool to think that it had been anything other than her final act of revenge.

He and his crew were doomed to limbo, to wander the seas forever craving more from those who were unfortunate to cross their paths. Time passed around them, and it wasn’t long until Tom learned of his son’s tragic fate, mourning him as best he could despite the never-ending greed that gripped his heart. Time marched forever forward, and soon Tom took on new name after new name until one day he realized he had no memory of who he once was.

The star had been lost to him, having lost it in a gamble or having misplaced it at some point—he wasn’t sure. He wanted it back though, but no matter how hard he tried, the star remained lost to him. The magic cursed to him by his estranged wife, however, made him slave to the whims of the ocean, his name crossing into legend then myth. He took up the moniker of Davy Jones, a name that now struck fear into the heart of every sailor that sailed the seven seas.

All except one.

It was a dreary day when Tom felt the call. Mist clung to his skin as the ship moved forward in the dark waves, an eery silence surrounding him when he felt the call of his name.

It had taken a while for him to notice the first time it happened. His name a beacon on the waves for those sentenced to death on the ocean’s surface. But, soon he realized the call that stirred deep within him. Where the call came, treasure awaited.

Tom signaled to the helmsman to change course, the ship creaking in protest against the crashing waves. Still, the ship spurred on at an unnatural pace, and it wasn’t long before Tom realized he had been summoned to the shore off of southern Massachusetts. He frowned at the location, choosing to go ashore himself and leave his crew behind until he could determine what was happening.

Tom secured the lifeboat up onto the shore, confident that it was far enough inland that the tide wouldn’t pull it back out should he take long. The sand shifted beneath his feet as he walked along the shore, the summons guiding him to where he needed to go. The sun was drifting towards the skyline, the sparse clouds above streaming past up above as his eyes scanned the beach for what he was looking for. It wasn’t long before he came upon a familiar figure sitting amongst the rocks.

Pete was older than Tom had last seen him, only three years having passed since the last time they had seen each other—ten since the first time they had met. Strands of grey started to spot against Pete’s temples, lines littering his face to give him a more distinguished look. He looked up as Tom approached, smiling in way of greeting as the old, sea captain came to a stop beside him, dropping down next to him with a grunt. Tom pulled out his pipe, striking a match and puffing on the old, wooden piece as he let out a sigh.

“Been a while since I seen you,” he offered up after a moment’s silence. Pete nodded with a hum, turning his attention back to the sea.

“It has,” Pete agreed.

“Didn’t exactly part on the best of terms last time,” Tom continued.

“No,” Pete acquiesced. “We didn’t.”

“I don’t have the power to bring the dead back, Pete,” the older man reminded him. “The magic doesn’t work that way.”

“So you said,” Pete muttered, and Tom let out another sigh.

“I’d bring Nick back if I could,” he frowned, shoulders stiff. “You know that.”

Nick’s death had been a terrible accident—a stray bullet lodging into his heart during the heat of battle. Pete had taken it hard, locking himself away to mourn the loss of his most trusted friend. Nick had been a good man, though he had his secrets. Pete had mentioned that Nick had a wife and child tucked somewhere secret that he’d visit from time to time. Not even Pete knew where Nick would run off to during those times.

“I do,” Pete agreed. The two sat in silence for a few moments more before Tom rolled his shoulders, inhaling the tobacco smoke once more.

“So why’ve you brought me out here, then?” Tom prodded.

“Do you remember that girl I told you about?”

Tom paused. He did remember Pete mentioning a girl he’d been spending time with. “Penny, right?” He asked.

Pete nodded, a small smile creeping on his face at the mention of her name. Tom vaguely recalled seeing the girl on one of his last visits with Pete, a pretty thing with a fire that matched the young captain’s. Tom was surprised that she had managed to stick around.

“What about her?” Tom asked, peering over at the other captain.

“We’re married now.”

Tom started at that. He wasn’t sure he’d ever peg Pete as the marrying type, but he supposed he wasn’t one to talk.

“Married,” he echoed with a low hum.

“Two years now. Three in April,” Pete grinned.

“You called me out here to tell me that you’re married?” Tom snorted, the embers of his pipe glowing in the fading light as he inhaled once more.

“Actually,” Pete started, “I’m here to ask a favor.”

“A favor,” Tom echoed once more, this time with a frown. Pete knew there was a price to Tom’s favors—it was the way the magic worked.

“Penny and I have been trying for a family,” Pete explained, “but we haven’t had any luck. I see the way she tries to seem like it doesn’t bother her, but I also see the way she looks after the kids in the village. I want to give her everything I can, Tom. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t try everything?”

“You know there’ll be a price,” Tom warned him, casting a look his way. “There’s always a price to pay for these things.”

“Whatever it is,” Pete murmured, “I’ll pay it.”

“Why?” Tom retorted. “Why would you even risk it?”

Pete smiled at him, a soft look in his ocean blue eyes. “I love her, Tom.”

“Love is for fools,” Tom scoffed.

“Love is the price we pay to feel something in this world, Tom,” Maverick said, looking at his friend knowingly. Tom snorted, shaking his head.

“Fool’s fare then,” Tom relented. Pete’s head tilted back as he laughed.

“Call it what you like,” he chortled, “but the facts remain. Now are you going to help me or not?”

Tom considered him for a moment. What Pete was asking was no small task, but perhaps…

“Tell me,” he spoke. “What do you picture your life being?”

Pete thought for a moment.

“Penny wants a child regardless, but I think I want a son that I can pass my legacy onto. A son to teach the ways of sailing and ride on the waves together,” he paused. “Yes, a son.”

Tom hummed with a nod. He could work with that. He could manipulate the magic in that one, small way.

“The price for a life is a life in return,” he warned. “To gain your son, you forfeit your life after seven years.”

Pete hummed, rubbing at his chin as he considered the price. Tom waited, wondering if his friend would forfeit his own life to make this woman happy. Pete wasn’t a particularly selfish man, but he had a zest for life that was rare in Tom’s experience. People like Pete lived for the love of life, and the thought of willingly forfeiting that should seem like an impossible decision to the young captain.

“I’ll do it.”

Tom blinked, momentarily letting his mask of impassiveness slip to show his surprise at Pete’s decision. He recovered quickly, clearing his throat as he shifted.

“Alright,” he conceded. “If you’re sure about this.”

Pete nodded. “I am.”

Tom felt the magic swirl within him, building as he readied to make the deal. Slowly, he extended his hand, settling on the wording of the spell.

“To gain a child,” he said slowly, “you forfeit your life.”

Pete nodded, grasping his outstretched hand. “I get my son, Penny get’s a child, and you gain a soul.”

Tom frowned. Magic was specific, it was precise. He wasn’t sure if Pete’s added words would affect the spell, but he was sure that he had enough control to alter that one piece.

The magic settled around them, a low hum that rang in Tom’s ears as he let go of Pete’s hand. He took a long drag from his pipe, holding the burning smoke in his lungs before blowing out long and slow.

“So, tell me,” Pete grinned. “What treasures have you found since I last saw you?”

Years passed, and Tom’s plan worked. Soon after his deal with Pete, he received the news that his friend would become a father, and nine months later he received word that Pete’s daughter had been born, a healthy, happy child according to Pete. It was a couple of years later when he first met the little girl.

Tom had never seen his friend look so happy, smiling and bouncing the toddler on his hips as he cooed at her, earning small giggles that made the young captain grin even wider.

“She may not be my son,” Pete told him, holding the little girl close as she dozed off against his shoulder, tiny thumb popped into her mouth, “but she’s my little guppy.”

Tom would have gagged if it weren’t so sweet. He thought back to his long dead son, how small the boy had been in his own arms, and warmth stirred in his chest.

“I’m happy it worked out,” he replied.

“I know you finagled the magic,” Pete told him. “No son means no forfeiture of my life, right?”

“That’s the idea,” Tom admitted. “You’ll live a long, happy life with your family.”

It was two years later that Pete brought a young boy named Bradley into his home, dubbing the boy Rooster.

“He reminds me of Nick,” Pete told Tom one day. “Looks just like him. So much so, that sometimes I wonder if Bradley really is-”

“Don’t,” Tom interrupted, placing a hand on Pete’s shoulder. “Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t torture yourself with possibilities. Just focus on what you have now.”

Pete had smiled and nodded, content with the old captain’s words. Several more years passed, and the two children grew up as Pete grew older. Six years after Pete Mitchell had brought the boy into his home, he sealed his fate.

“Bradley’s grown strong,” he told Tom, pride evident in his voice. “He’s almost ready to take his first job. And, Guppy’s growing up so fast. She takes after her mother, I think.”

Tom snorted, but didn’t voice his opinion that Guppy took after her father rather than her mother—her stubbornness and talent for mischief qualities she inherited directly from the man who sat next to him.

“A son and a daughter,” Pete sighed. “I couldn’t be more proud to have them.”

It was like time stopped moving for a moment, magic stirred in the air like waves against rocks in the surf, crashing into Tom so hard, it knocked the air from his lungs. He started at Pete in horror, terror coursing through his veins for the first time in eons.

“What did you say?” His voice sounded small, even to his ears. “Do you know what you’ve just done?”

“I do,” Pete nodded, unfazed by the magic that now counted down the moments he had left to walk the earth. “And I’ll say it again. Bradley is my son, Tom. I won’t deny him that part in my life to save myself time.”

Tom continued to stare at him. Had he misjudged his friend so badly as to think that this boy would not hold such a place in his heart? Pete was different from the young man he had met over two decades before. Where he had been an inferno in his youth, scorching anyone or anything that got in his way, now he was the steady fire found in the hearth—a beacon to those around him.

“Seven years,” Tom murmured, hanging his head. “You have seven years.”

“Don’t feel bad, Tom,” Pete said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You did for me what you could, and you didn’t have to do that much. You allowed me more years with my family than our deal allowed, and for that I’m grateful. More than you can imagine.”

Tom shook his head, letting out a growl of frustration at his friend’s apparent lack of self preservation. Pete shot him a sympathetic smile.

“Guess the magic got its way in the end, huh?” Pete chuckled, though there was no humor in his tone.

Tom said nothing, and the two sat in silence long after the sun had dipped below the horizon.

Tom ran into Pete several times during those years, either on the sea during their adventures, or when he’d pop into the local tavern. During that time, Tom himself had fallen in love for the first time in ages. She was a pretty, young thing with chestnut waves that rolled down her back and eyes to match. Laughter that filled Tom’s heart with a mixture of warmth and longing, and how he wished she’d pay him more mind.

Kate was her name, and Tom was in love. He watched from afar as she chased after some local boy. Tom wished it was him that she yearned for, but he would love her from afar.

No good would come from entangling himself in her life.

He watched after her for years, content to be her silent protector. In between his moments of quiet pining for her, he’d visit Pete, cognizant of the fact that his friend’s time was quickly running out.

“Have you told them?” He asked one day, Pete looking up from the map he had been studying. Pete grimaced, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t want them to lose sleep over the inevitable. When I go, it will be a sudden, tragic accident. They’ll grieve, but they won’t torture themselves with the notion that they could have done anything to prevent it.”

Tom nodded, fidgeting with his pipe as a moment passed.

“I think I know what you meant about love now,” he admitted. Pete’s brow arched, the twinge of a smile evident on his lips.

“Don’t give me that look,” Tom groused, scowling at the younger man. “I’m only telling you because you’ll be dead soon enough, anyway.”

Pete threw his head back in laughter, Tom slowly joining in after a moment.

“Never one to beat around the bush, aye?” Pete chuckled, wiping a tear from his eyes as aftershocks of laughter rattled through him.

“Never,” Tom agreed with a grin.

That had been the last time Tom saw Pete. The magic had pulled tight at his chest, poised like a string before snapping, and Tom was left with a breathless, empty feeling. The tears came unbidden, a sob choking up out of him as he hunched his shoulders. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt sorrow like this, the last time he had allowed himself to feel close to anyone. Now he remembered why he was cold, why he gave himself to the ocean beneath him.

He would not make that mistake again.

As if to hammer home the lesson, news of Kate’s death reached him only days after. She had confessed her love to that same, stupid boy she had been chasing, and the boy had denied her affections. In her despair, she had thrown herself into the sea, drowning beneath the surface of the waves.

Tom was livid. How dare that boy take such a thing as love for granted. It was no matter, Tom would be the one to teach him a lesson.

And a lesson he had certainly bestowed. The boy had begged for mercy, but there was none to be found in Tom’s empty, aching heart. He thought of his friend who had given up everything in the name of love, something the boy before him had spit on as far as Tom was concerned. And so he had cursed the boy with the very curse that had been bestowed upon him lifetimes ago.

If more is what the boy wanted, it was more he would seek.

Tom had turned his back on the boy, the cries for mercy blending in with the wind as he disappeared into the shadows of night.

He saw the boy six years later during a visit to see you and Bradley, the blond having the swagger of any young captain, and his demeanor almost reminded him of another captain from so long ago.

Almost.

Tom hated him. Hated the very sight of him, and he was sure it was written all over his face as he scowled at him. Of course, the boy had no idea that he was talking to the very man that had cursed him so many years before. Tom made it a point to not let his civilian form slip to reveal the cursed soul that lay beneath. The night he had cursed the young man, he had let his control slip, revealing the skeleton of the man he truly was.

He knew better than to raise his voice in opposition to the idea that Bradley join this man’s crew. Much like the man who raised him, Bradley was more inclined to do the thing you told him not to do—a trait that Tom had found most annoying in Pete. However, he watched you trail after your brother, desperation clouding your judgement, and Tom shook his head in pity. He could try to speak up, but that would risk his exposure. Besides, there was no guarantee Bradley would listen to him, let alone believe him. He watched helplessly as Bradley signed his life away, signed away his future.

Tom could not meddle in the affairs of common folk, not without a price anyway. Stopping Bradley would have meant paying a terrible price, one that Tom would have no control over. Cursing under his breath, he watched as you stormed out of the tavern, tears streaming down your face. A wave of sadness washed over him, and he hung his head lower, squeezing his eyes shut against the realization that you truly would lose everyone you held dear in your life. All because of him. He had played a part in creating your family, and now he was the reason you would lose everyone completely. You’d be alone, just like him.

“I’m so sorry, Guppy.”

A/N: I'm so excited to share this one with you guys. This chapter has been swirling around in my head basically since the inception of the fic. I loved getting to explore the backstory of Tom and his origins as well as his friendship with Maverick. Did you pick up on the mythology? Can you guess Tom's true name? Only one more chapter to go and then we have our epilogue!

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do taglists, so if you would like to be notified on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @arcanevagabond-library ) and turn on post notifications! You can find me and my works on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

#ff #fool's fare #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x you

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byuntrash101 · 1 year ago

Text

lovers on the sun

reader x dom!mingi ft. yunho angst | smut | mdni 4.8k you never understood why mingi chose that life. chose to be an outcast, a loveless bandit. over the years you came to terms with it. you got married, you grew. but when the outlaw finds himself gravely wounded his instincts drag him back to you. to the person he's willing to sacrifice everything for. nsfw tags under the cut

plot, outlaw!au, friends to strangers to lovers (?), hurt/comfort (the hurt part doesn't go too hard dw), a lil' angsty but lowkey wholesome, cheating, mutual pinning, good ending, yunho is mentionned but does not appear. nsfw: nipple play, body whorship (f), pet names (baby, doll) oral (f), slight begging, unprotected sex (i mean they didnt have a choice back then), mingi in the cowboy hat and leather coat (im weak for him </3), big dick!mingi, multiple orgasms (f), creampie, cock warming, he's madly in love with you

playlist: jeannette - el muchacho de los ojos trites, david guetta - lovers on the sun, amy whinehouse - love is a losing game

a/n: thank you so much @ssaboala for hosting this amazing collab. and thank you @hwaightme for helping me so much and brainstorming ideas. also i really recommand you listen to the playlist it will for sure put you in the nostalgic western mood <3

ateez masterlist | navigation

You can’t help but be worried as you wake up to a cold bed. You haven’t seen Yunho in a couple of days. You wonder if he’s fine as you look out the window of your room to the cornfields. It’s just after dawn but the hot summer air is already laying heavy over the fields, making the green and yellow stems undulate.

You sigh heavily, imagining your husband on his horse in his uncomfortable and sweaty uniform combing the streets, the plains, the fields, the whole town, the whole state, maybe even the whole country. All of that on an empty stomach and sleep deprived.

But you knew he wasn’t going to come home before he caught him. Song Mingi. Ever since he was appointed sheriff it has been his life goal to catch him. The public enemy number one. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how much blood this man had on his hands. He pillaged and robbed and murdered. Always slippery like an eel and managing to get out of justice’s grasp.

Until a couple of days ago where he made a fatal mistake. Your husband jumped out of bed in the middle of the night and mobilized the entire department to look for the man. He was hurt and hiding somewhere. He only needed to be found. The dangerous outlaw reduced to a defenseless flower only waiting to be plugged. This time he knew he was done for and Yunho was going to finally catch him and bring him to justice and ultimately to the gallows. Where your husband thought the fugitive’s righteous place was. Behind the church and six feet under.

You chuckled humorlessly to yourself at the name. You used to know this name. You used to know it very well. Or at least you thought you did. You used to be close to Song Mingi. The three of you were. Mingi, Yunho and you. You were just a bunch of teenagers, you didn’t have a worry in the world. But you grew up and Yunho joined the force as Mingi did and you can only guess power got to his head. He eventually got caught involved in shady business with even shadier people. Until he left and became the fugitive. The outlaw you only knew by the wanted posters put up everywhere in town.

His name lost all familiarity. But your heart couldn’t forget about his soft half smile. About the warmth pulling in his orbs when the three of you stayed up in the hill to watch the stars, sleeping under the open night sky, despite the snakes and coyotes. Even the crackling fire couldn’t rivalize with the blaze of his sharp eyes on you. You couldn't forget his rough hand snaking its way on your nape, pulling you closer to lay the gentlest kiss on your lips. You nervously glanced over at Yunho sleeping next to the both you. You felt nervous even if this happened long before you got married, long before he confessed to you. And for Mingi there was not a trace of doubt on his sharp features, no evil in his eyes. Only love. You thought at least.

That was the very last night you saw him. The next day he fled to the valley and proceeded with his life of crime. Your heart ached again, how could he have chosen that life… over what he had. Why would he choose a blood stained pile of shriveled dollar bills instead of this night on the hills with you… instead of this kiss? Instead of you?

You shook your head trying to forget about the uncomfortable feeling of your skin crawling as the wholesome memory turned into bitter dormant ache. You have accepted it over the years. Truth was you never knew Song Mingi… You only knew about the sheep but never about the wolf.

But then again you have to get on with your day, and carry on. Life goes on and doesn’t wait. You have to take care of the animals in the barn.

Since Yunho was the town’s sheriff earned enough money for the both of you it wasn’t necessary for you to have a huge farm. A couple of pigs, some hens, two horses and a cow was well enough and tending to them was the only labor you ought to do.

You traded your nightgown for a dress more appropriate to work in. A light blue flowy ankle length dress with long sleeves and a high neckline that was going to protect your skin from the hot sun, but would still let you breathe through the light material.

You hoped in your worn out brown leather ankle boots and headed to the barn. First of all, you start by checking if the hens laid eggs, you gently push the chickens to harvest the six eggs and place them in your basket that you set aside then you go to feed the cow. You go to take a big serving of hay and you make a mental note that you’ll have to go by the neighboring farm and purchase some more because you are running out. Maybe the cow and horses have been especially hungry lately.

You place the hay in the big manger and head to the fence to let the cow take a stroll in the prairie next to the house.

As you reach out the fence, you nearly scream. The handle is covered in blood. The colors leave your face as you realize that the traces are fresh as you see one single drop on the dusty floor. You squint and realize there’s a trail of blood going out the barn. You follow the trail circling the barn and landing behind it, the trail disappearing behind tall weeds and bushes that you had left unattended for quite a while.

You pushed aside the leaves and discovered some rags maculated with blood and at the end of the trail a man, lying, his back resting against a small trunk, sitting on a pile of hay. Barely holding off.

Mingi didn't even know why he dragged his mutilated body out here to rot in the sun, he didn't know why he took that chance. He just had to. If he wasn't going to see the sun rise again tomorrow then he at least wanted to see it set on a familiar face. A face he held in his memory so dearly. Even after all these years.

After all this time, when he finally sees it, the face he pulled through thick and thin for. Your face. Your face emerging from the bushes. There are not enough words in the world for him to express the relief he feels. He doesn’t have enough time to carefully curate them and voice them outloud. So he only chooses to smile.

You, on the other hand, felt your heart jumping in your throat, the frantic muscle getting stuck there, making you swallow thickly as your eyes grow in surprise. You have trouble believing your senses. Have you stayed in the sun for too long? Have you contracted yellow fever? Can you trust your eyes, reflecting this image of the past? A figure you thought (and maybe even hoped) you would never see again? But you know your eyes aren’t deceiving you the second his lips curl into a half smile, rounding up only one of his cheeks. The familiar sight takes you back to the hills, to the crackling bonfire, to the starry sky, to the warmth of his orbs. Even if you see the red tint of diluted blood on his teeth and the way pain twits his eyebrows. It’s the same. The same smile you remembered.

“Mingi?” you finally breathe out, broken voice hindered by your heart still sitting in your throat. Barely audible. But still heard by the beaten man.

“Hi doll” his deep voice echoed yours, hardly louder than a whisper.

There’s no resentment, no hatred, no evil in his voice, in his eyes. And for that instant you forget about the endless tales of horrors, about the murders and the blood and you forget about the wolf. Because you see only the sheep, hurt and needing your help.

You throw yourself on your knees next to him, you wrap your arms around him, careful to avoid the wounds.

Mingi closes his eyes and you lean against him as he suppresses a cough. He almost forgot about the smell of your hair, about the warmth of your hands, about the sound of your voice. Almost, but he didn’t. He could never even if he tried. He could lose everything but you. And if you were only a memory then it was all he needed.

***

You brought the man inside, limping and leaning on your side. You sat him in the wooden and creaking chair of the dining room. The tall man grunted as he settled down.

You kneeled next to him. And very carefully, you lifted his long leather coat to uncover the blood maculated shirt.

"So... How does it look doc?" Mingi joked, even going as far as to lightly chuckle before the sharp pain on his side wiped the half smile off his face.

"Let me help you" you said, carefully peeling the fabric off, the coagulated blood stuck to the opened wound, making Mingi wince as he felt the air blow on his sweaty skin. You ran your finger across his skin, carefully avoiding the wound.

Your touch was so soft, so gentle. Mingi sighed, closing his eyes. Your tenderness almost making him forget about the pain jabbing him. It's been so long, so so long since Mingi has felt this. He hasn't felt a soft touch in a lifetime, a contact that was free of any kind of aggression, that didn't demand anything from him, that only intended to soothe him.

It's been so long since he's felt safe.

That was the word. He felt safe. Safe with you even though he was half naked, wounded and unarmed. He felt safe.

You took your time to treat the wound, cleaning it with what you had on hand, which was the rest of a bottle of home distilled bourbon, warm water and clean rags. You patched him up and handed him his hat back.

"You should go, Mingi" you started after a long silence. You tried to conceal the lump inside your throat as you enunciated the heavy words.

Mingi looked up at you, grabbing his hat. He didn't want to go.

"Y/n.. I-"

"You know he might come back. If he finds you here he's gonna..." you hesitated. “Finish the job”

"You mean kill me?" Mingi looked you dead in the eye, a coldness laying latent in his orbs, a coldness that gave you shivers along your spine even with the hot sun heating up the windows of the small dining room.

You closed your eyes shut trying to chase away tears. After all these years and all he’s done. You couldn’t bring yourself to hate him.

Mingi wanted to scream. Why did he get to be with you, to touch you, to lay next to you every night while he was perpetually running, fleeing and living on the edge of the world like a wild dog. Barely surviving on the sole memory of you and the love he felt and feels for you.

"Mingi..." you started hesitantly. You had the chance to ask now, maybe this opportunity would never represent itself again.

"Why did you kiss me that night?"

Mingi’s anger evaporated into smoke as his eyes snapped to you. For all these years he had feared you somehow resented him. That somehow the tales of his life came back to you and poisoned your heart. He feared that you too saw him as the bandit, the outlaw he had become. But there was no hatred in your quavering voice, no bitterness pooling in your orbs. Only incomprehension and sorrow.

Your eyes were glazed over by a sheen of budding tears, drooping in sorrow and you looked up intensely at the man.

You waited for an answer, you waited long enough, you waited for years. And waiting again for those few seconds was too much.

“Why did you kiss me if you were going to leave me Mingi?” this time you called his name. And Mingi felt like the question had wrapped around his heart and was holding it tightly, squeezing it until the agonizing organ gave out.

“What did he tell you?” Mingi finally spoke, tipping his cowboy hat down, making sure to conceal his face.

“What?”

“What did Yunho tell you?” Mingi reiterated, this time his voice broke, echoing the shattering of his heart.

“I-” you started, stuttering.

“I never did any of those things, y/n” he finally rips the hat off his face, the disheveled and sweaty hair adding a layer of urgency to his state of despair as he raises his voice in frustration. “Yunho planted the evidence! He framed me! Because he couldn't stand that I was to become sheriff, he wanted to control the city, he wanted the power and he wanted… you…”

Mingi took a deep breath, his voice softening to a whisper. “He wanted you for himself. Because that night I-... I-” Mingi hesitated as you hung on his lips. “I wanted to marry you, y/n.”

You felt the blood vanish from your face. You became livid and your vision blurred, your world was crumbling before your very eyes.

“This is impossible” you whispered more to yourself than anything else.

“In the morning I told Yunho that I had kissed you and wanted to marry you and he couldn't bear it. So he framed me as a bad man to get me out of your life. I ain't no saint! I know! But the rest of it, I only did because I needed to survive. I stole to feed and killed to defend myself. Never in cold blood. Y/n, you have to believe me!”

Mingi’s words were mushing together barely making any sense in your ears that were already rigging, you felt dizzy, you felt ill. How could that be the man you married? The man you shared your life with. The man that looked at you with the most innocent big round eyes. The man that you knew cherrich justice above all else, so much that he didn’t care that sword of justice he was wielding struck his best friend because he was led astray and that was the treatment reserved for criminals.

But that was all an act. It was never about righteousness and justice, it was about vengeance and envy.

Your knees gave out and you stumbled onto Mingi’s chest. He caught you in time, wrapping his strong arms around you, grunting as you pressed your weight onto the fresh wound.

Your life was collapsing. Your chest started to heave up and down rapidly, your heart racing as your reality faded to black. Nothing to anchor yourself to. Nothing real, nothing you could hold on to to keep yourself afloat. Only lies and smoke. And you fell and fell into panic and into Mingi.

Suddenly you were back again, back from the darkness and you looked at him to find your peace again, both lost in this familiar silence. He protectively wrapped his strong arms around you, and soothingly pressed your head against his chest, the leather of his long coat brushed against your cheek as Mingi held you just like that. He felt his warmth, you heard his heart beating against his ribs and you felt… him. Not the outcast, not the outlaw, but just your friend Mingi.

Ever so gently, with a softness you had never ever known from a man, even your husband, he wrapped his hands made rough from labor around your chin and gently lifted your face upwards, you found that Mingi’s eyes were as deep as the sea, just as mysterious and alluring, strangely welcoming.

And slowly, very slowly Mingi closed the distance between you. Giving you all the time in the world to voice your desire for him to stop if you felt that way. But you didn't want him to stop, instead you gripped at the long coat tighter, somehow afraid that he too was a mirage, a body made of haze that was just another lie. You had to make sure he, at least, was real. True.

And he was.

When your lips connected you felt as if your body has gone up into flames, open fire bursting from your chest to your heart, convincing you to close your eyes, and give complete access to Mingi. But even though he didn’t that use trust to his advantage, he didn't engulfed himself into you. Instead he gently deepened the kiss, taking the time to let you warm up as your fingers relaxed around the worn out leather. Mingi’s hands were getting to know you, caressing the soft cotton of your dress. His rough palms contrasted greatly with the softness of his touch.

Slowly he parted his lips, his tongue gently slipping into your mouth inviting your tongue into a dance, giving a few kitten licks and getting to taste you, you moaned when his hands reached down to the small of your back.

“Mingi” you breathed against his mouth. There was no words to describe what that simple word did to him. Simply his name gently murmured like this. It was like having an angel speaking of the devil's name so fondly, so gently. He didn't feel worthy but there was plenty of time tomorrow for guilt. Today Mingi only had time for you.

He gently laid you back onto the wooden dining table and you hoisted yourself up on your elbows, he leaned over you as his kiss spilled from your lips to your neck. You whined once when your lips mourned the loss of his warmth and once when you felt his hot and wet tongue glide across the thin skin of your neck, you let your head fall back as Mingi progressed further down until he’s met with the collar of your dress. You don't want to lose the way he feels on your skin so your hands quickly busy themselves with the buttons, practically ripping them off to take the thick fabric that separated you from Mingi off you while he watches with this signature half smile, satisfied to see you so eager to expose yourself to him.

As soon as you’re done with buttons he latched on your skin again, sucking on your collar bone going down and then up the curve of your breasts until he reached your bra he swiftly reached around to unclasp it, he drew back to see the way your beautiful breasts spilled out of the article, gently falling over at each side of your chest. Mingi’s breath hitched in his throat as his eyes avidly roamed over you, taking your form in.

The way his eyes turned sharp as he looked at you made you squeeze your thigh together as your felt arousal pool into your lower stomach, heat spilling into your underwear.

“So pretty” he murmured before he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, immediately hardening into a tight nub. He flicked his tongue on the erected knob while his warm hand kneaded the other one, perfectly distributing his attention to your body, already feeling sensitive. You arched your back and pushed his face further into your skin when he sucked on the hardened nipple, making your moan his name.

“Fuck- Mingi” you panted. “Don’t stop”

Mingi briefly stood back up to take the long coat off, only harboring the leather vest that let you admire his toned arms flexing as he ripped the coat off to throw it over one of the chairs. He didn't even bother taking the dress off you, only flipping it over your stomach as he pulled down your underpants, leaving your bottom half completely nude.

Suddenly coy you pressed your thighs together, shielding your modesty from his ardent gaze, he looked back up at you with knitted brows, such desperation swimming in his eyes, as if he absolutely needed to see you.

“Please” he exhaled. “Please let me see you, y/n” he pleaded.

And you finally parted your legs, first your feet then your knees and finally your thighs.

“Fuck” Mingi cursed as he palmed his aching lengh throught his pants. He was finally seeing you, like how he imagined you a thousand times. But even the wildest dreams could never live up to that reality, to the truth of you, you were breathtaking. The way your beautiful center was already swollen with need, twitching in anticipation to be touched, your folds covered with the glistening sheen of your juices lazily running down your entrance.

Mingi felt like he’d finally seen the light. Like redemption was within grasp, somehow contained within your holy form. He felt like he needed to worship you, like he needed to get on his knees and so he did.

He kneeled in front of you, snaking his arms around your things and grasping at the supple flesh to pull you closer to him, bringing his lips close to your most private of places.

You felt heat rush to your face and chest as your heart raced, uncontrollably hammering into your chest, menacing to break free anytime as Mingi dug his nose right into your folds.

“Oh my g-” you gasped as soon as he made contact with you. Your head immediately spinning, your core quivering and demanding more.

Mingi planted one soft kiss on your sensitive bundle of nerves, then went to your entrance where he flattened his tongue to swiped it across, spreading your folds and scooping as much as your slick as possible, earning a whimper from you. Mingi wanted more of this, of your sweet taste, more of your honey coating his tongue, more of your beautiful voice singing soft melodies into his ears, more of your beautiful face looking down at him in pleasure, glossy eyes pleading for more.

“Baby” he moaned against you before burying his face into you, flicking his tongue on your clit as you moaned again, louder this time. Mingi concentrated on this part of you, assaulting your clit with flicks after flicks, jolts after jolts of divine pleasure, spreading heat in all of your limbs. Mingi felt your thighs tense up in his hold and he suddenly let go.

You whined as you felt your desperate center throb for more of him. You looked up at him right on time to see him sink not one but two long fingers inside your tight heat. Immediately curling them into your sweet spot. Your eyes rolled back to the back of your head, once again you let out a lewd sound that bounces off the walls making the hairs on Mingi’s nape stand and his length leak arousal.

“You like that?” he asked, deep voice a little more impatient.

“Yes!” you exhaled. “Please more, more” you begged, your eyes coming back into focus.

“Of course, doll” he said before coming back down to your demanding center. He pumped his long fingers in and out of your heat, each time your eager little cunt pulled them back inside, tightly gripping around them. He wrapped his tongue around your clit, sucking and licking until you were on the verge of your release.

“Please” you said, your hand flying between your legs to keep Mingi’s face exactly where it was. “Don’t stop” you breathed, your thighs tensing, your swollen clit pulsing under Mingi’s wet and hot tongue.

“Fuck” you said, pressing on his face a little harder which made him smirk agaisnt you. “I'm cumming” you said in a strangled moan, you legs trembling your orgasming center gushing more and more of your honey , completely quenching Mingi’s thirst for your sweet nectar, walls fluttering around his fingers as he guided you down.

Mingi hurriedly kicked his pants off him and stood between your legs, large cock resting heavily in his palm, the head made red and shiny with precum.

“Please give me another one of those” he whispered with edginess, deep voice strained with need. “I wanna see and hear that again.” he rubbed his cock against your folds, mixing both of your essences into one, drenching his length with your slick. “Please this time cum on my cock” he gently pushed his tip inside you, closing his eyes shut as he felt your walls fluttering around his cock head, finishing your previous orgasm around his cock, your pretty little pussy pulsing around him as he continued to push himself in, breathing heavily to keep himself from bursting on the spot.

“Fuck” he cried, finally peeling his eyes open. “You feel so good around me baby” he breathed. “You’re so pretty, so perfect” he praised you. Taking a good look at you. You were stunning, beads of sweat running down your temples, your breasts spilling from the half undone dress, said dress completely wrinkled and roughed up, not hiding anything away from him anymore.

“Ok” you said, out of breath, pushing a dampened strand of hair away from your face. “Make me cum around your cock, Mingi” you said, spreading your legs even wider, giving Mingi an even better view of his cock splitting you in two.

“Fuck-” Mingi cursed again, immediately taking you up on the offer. He started to pull out only to push back in again, just as gently. The way his girth split you open made you moan his name. You whimpered at the delicious stretch of your walls accommodating his generous mengh as he filled you up to the brim so perfectly almost like you were made for him entirely.

“Please harder, Mingi” you said, your fingers pulling into the leather cropped vest, where you could see from underneath his toned abs and belly button.

“Of course, doll” he said as he picked the pace, a wince of pleasure sneaking on his face when you gripped even tighter around him, letting out a satisfied groan.

With each powerful thrust he was grazing against your g spot making your moan and arch your back, pushing your hips into him everytime he pushed himself back in.

“Fuck you’re so good to me baby” he panted, a large bead of sweat running from his hairline along the bridge of his sharp and long noze.

You only replied with more moans, growing louder and louder as you both fucked each other, rocking the dining table recklessly the sound of your skin clashing and filling up the space along with groans and grunts.

“Baby, I'm close” Mingi said in a strangled and high pitched moan that was far from the usual deep voice he used.

“Me too” you answered “Please inside” you struggled to make sense. “Please cum inside me”

You didnt care about the consequences right now, moreover you weren't even thinking about them. You only thought about Mingi deep inside of you giving you the raw, rough unfiltered love you have been needing for years. Ever since he kissed you back on the hills. And suddenly you were back at the hilltop again.

Your body started to shake as you came undone again as Mingi delivered large and thick ropes of burning cum inside your heat, your name slipping off his lips a thousand times. Both of your bodies going up in flames, throwing each other in the fire that lighted you both as he kissed you again.

You pulsed uncontrollably around him, as he became sloppy, his thrusts more shallow and irregular until they came to a stop. He crashed over your body, panting, chest heaving up and down as you stroked his hair. He stayed inside you for a while, his cum lazily dripping out of you. He didn't want to lose this connection with you, he wanted to stay right there. Right here with you.

***

“Come with me” Mingi said as he was ready to hop on one of your horses, as the sun was setting over the fields.

“Mingi I-” you started.

“Forget about him” Mingi cut you off before you have a chance to mention your husband's name. He took your hands into his big and rough ones. “Come back with me to the hills, y/n” he said. You opened your mouth to speak again but Mingi didn't let you talk. He was afraid of your answer. “We won't have much but we will have each other. And if I have you then I have everything” he pressed his chest against yours and you heard his heart beat into your ear, testifying of his true feelings, much deeper than any words.

This was your chance to let the deceiving lies behind to embrace a life of true love. And you took your chance. As you hoped on the horse right behind Mingi, leaving the empty house behind. You held onto him, your fingers found their way and intertwining with the leather again as you rode into the sunset, lifting the dry dirt in your wake. The stars finally crossing as your destinies took the same path. The sun meeting you on the horizon, inviting you with it.

Two star crossed lovers on the sun.

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a/n: phewww it is done! i cant even begin to explain the STRUGGLE i had while writing this but i hope it turned out good? maybe? it was wayyyy out of my comfort zone if you liked it please tell me in the comments or reblog (pls don't use the community labels please) or leave a nice ask. that would mean so much <3. anyways thank you for the awesome collab anne @ssaboala. don't forget to check out the other authors' amazing fics here. byeee~

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