Chapter Text
You lived along the seaside in your humble home where you fished and gave your goods to the community, supporting them as best you could. You all were there for each other in the midst of danger, kicking any bad guys' asses that got in eachothers way!
The house you resided in had been lived in throughout generations of your lineage and carried so much history you wondered deeply about. This home was now yours since a strong fever had taken your father. It was similar to the other cottages and huts that resided in your oceanside town; a simple structure of stone and logs that was perched onto a hillside overlooking the town below. There wasn't a lot of people living here, but maybe that was a good thing.
The days passed just as quickly as the tides did. You heard rumors of a raid possibly happening here but you didnt believe it, what could this crumby town possibly have to offer?
The sea had been your teacher since your father had died, and you learnt it's lessons very well and very quickly. You knew what times and seasons the most fish resided, and when to respect the seas warnings to stay ashore. The best part about living in such a small community is that nobody was greedy, and only took what they needed.
You were convinced that this small town was strong enough to weather any storm! But the constant warnings had been there, following you day by day; increased pirate activity along the coast, a bay 30 miles north had been raided recently, but you were in such a strong state of denial the day it happened was unremarkable—it didnt feel real.
And maybe that was the cruelest part.
✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
It happened in the night, of course it did. Everyone was oblivious and vulnerable during the night!
You awoke to the shriek of screams, both children and adult. Your worry jolted your body out of bed and to peer out of your window—pirates.
Of course it was pirates.
The once quiet and cute town was now being engulfed by flames, a stark contrast from the calm lull of the waves that had sung you to sleep meer hours ago. You didn't have strong weapons apart from a fishing spear you used—which you took, you weren't that stupid.
You ran downhill towards the chaos with the spear gripped tightly in your hands, it felt like you weren't even in control of your body anymore, running on pure adrenaline. The heat from the fires around you were all you could feel, and the smoke in the air burned your eyes and throat as you breathed it in. You saw members of the crew raiding the town; kicking in doors and taking valuables that were probably family heirlooms that the original owners would never get to see again. It filled you with anger as powerful as the flames around you.
Your thoughts we're quickly interrupted by a shrill scream from nearby, you whipped your head around only for your eyes to land upon a mother shielding her son as one of the crewmembers stood above her with a Sabre in one of his hands as she cried, pleading for him to not take her husband's golden-rimmed urn; all they had left of him.
You moved without thinking, you couldn't help yourself.
The spear in your hands rushed forward as you ran towards the scene, screaming wordlessly and furious as tears ran down your cheeks; from the smoke and the woman both.
The raider had turned around in time to raise and slice his sabre before you were able to thrust your blade into him, the spear being knocked off to the side and long forgotten. Before that sickening wave of defeat washed over you, you noticed the woman and her son quickly run away due to you distracting the man before them—at least they were safe with their items. You had nothing to lose but your life.
The man raised his sabre, and before you were able to process it the way the blade reflected the flashing of fire, he thrusted it towards you, you attempted to dodge but it ended up being futile in the end. You weren't fast enough, but it was a good try. It stabbed you in the side, at least you managed to protect your vitals as best you could.
A fierce bloom of rising pain took over your senses as you let out a loud cry, tears streaming down your cheeks as you felt your blood coat the metal of the blade and drip down your clothes. It stole the rest of your breath from you as you gasped, attempting to calm yourself down and breathe.
"Stupid, Stupid girl!" The man snarled, grabbing a fistfull of your hair and wretching your hair back as you yelped. "Should've stayed sleepin' in that nice bed, Eh? Could've burned in your sleep and feel nothing."
You growled in between your tears and tried to punch him—kick him; do anything you could do to save yourself and everyone else as best you could. Maybe that was your weakness, always trying to be the hero, always trying to save everyone.
He was much stronger, he pulled the blade out slightly just to push it back in, you cried; he was practically fucking you with the blade just to watch you cry and writhe beneathe him, begging for mercy.
"Fuck you!" You cried.
Through the blur of your teary eyes you could see other members of the raid making way through the village, ruining everything that everyone had worked so hard to achieve, including families.
"Oi!" Your attention was quickly captured by another pirate jogging over to the man holding you, also with a sabre in hand. You should just die already.
"Cap'n wants any strong fighters brought back to the ship! Says he'll decide what he wants to do with 'em!"
Both of the men grinned, looking at you. You could feel their eyes piercing through you deeper than any blade ever could.
The man holding you then spoke up.
"This ones got the spirit. Tried to gut me like a fish!"
You stayed quiet and listened, your eyes darting between the two men before you. The other one grinned, and the way he did filled you with fear.
"Pretty thing, hm? Cap'n might not need her. We could?... Maybe..."
His implication made you sick, but you were glad the man who had attacked you clearly had more common sense.
"No. Captain decides." He interrupted firmly. "Nothing's done until he's had a thorough look."
He then tore the blade from you a final time, you saw your blood clinging to it drip down the metal and onto the stone you knelt on, your hands instinctively flew to grasp at your wound; but were torn away and wretched behind your back just as quickly as you brought them fourth. One of the men were focused on tying your hands together, while the other sloppily bandaged you up—just enough for you to not bleed out.
"Help! Please!"
You begged, only for your prayers to be shut down by God and your peers. A bundle of torn cloth was then shoved into your mouth, preventing you from screaming, it tasted of salt.
You were dragged through the village, watching your whole life be ripped away from you. You thrashed and fought every step you took, but it was useless and you knew that. You caught glimpses of bodies being thrown into fires—people you knew and loved. You glanced up and behind you and saw your cottage on the hillside still dark and untouched, at least up there people had a chance to run away.
The docks then came up to view, the ones you adored now being turned into something you dreaded seeing upon being greeted with 3 large harbor ships. Raiders already beginning to load them up with crates and barrels of valuables, but no people yet; maybe you were the first one.
You were then shoved up a damp plank to board the biggest ship of the three, your feet slipped a little as you walked up, but you managed to board it. The ships were chaos, different members eyed you like prey while others shouted different orders and securing cargo. You were shoved to one of the poles that held a large sail, and were bound to it, forced to sit down and do nothing but watch your hometown burn, and have the life ripped away from it.
You breathed harshly from your nose due to the gag. The ropes that bound your hands together dug into your skin, you swore it would tear at it until it was nothing but your flesh showing. Your wound—it still burned from the blade piercing and constantly fucking your wound, still being able to feel the warmth of trickling blood slowly soak your poorly done bandages.
The pirates worked with brutal efficiency that you've never seen before, loading stolen goods as they laughed to one another; joking about the raid and how easy it had been, and finally getting ready to set sail. You focused on the discussion that passed by, and each word just made you feel worse about yourself. It made the reality of the events you had experienced sink deeper into your bones.
"Cap'n 'll be pleased!"
"Good haul, didn't lose anyone from those weaklings!"
"Shame 'bout the lack of gold though..."
"Poor village had nothin' worth taking!"
"Ay! At least we got this beauty!" One of the men smirked and pointed to you, one of his bloodied hands rustled your hair. You felt dirty, you didn't want to fight back anymore.
"Captain said to grab anyone who fought back since they're valuable or somethin'... This gal was the only one stupid enough to try! The res' of 'em just laid down and died!"
Those final words sealed your fate. They had moved on, and your eyes squeezed shut as you fought back tears that threatened to fall, you couldn't bare the thought of giving them the satisfaction of reducing you to a weakling like the others. You were alone. You had nobody aboard this ship with you apart from these assholes.
You finally heard someone yell that everyone was now on board, and how they were ready to depart. Sails unfurled above you with great snapping sounds and the ships began to move, tearing themselves away from the dock as the last thing you saw before weariness took over you was your home burning to ash.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
You groggily awoke to the sound of fewer footsteps, and seabirds obnoxiously chirping to make their presence known. You were disoriented and aching all over, it felt like your muscles were ripped out of your body and ripped to shreds before being shoved back inside your flesh. For a very short blissful moment, you didn't remember much of what happened or where you were.
Once awareness came crashing over you much like how the waves crashed against the edges of the ship you snapped your eyes open, and were shocked at the sight before you.
The ship seemed much larger, but there wasn't nearly as much crew members on deck as there was when you boarded that fateful night. It made you more unsettled rather than relieved. These weren't ordinary pirates. This was something dangerous—this was organized, efficient, and deadly. You had to be careful.
You whimpered softly as you tried to sit up straighter, bringing your knees up to your chest and slouching, quickly being reminded of your wound; at least it looked like you were properly cleaned up, and your bandages were changed. Your wrists were still numb though, the rope tightly digging into them feeling more painful than you being stabbed. In addition to this torture; the cloth had dried your mouth, leaving you in a state of discomfort.
At least you were alive, did you even want to be anymore?
The rest of the crew began to stir awake, but it still wasn't as much as you remembered. They didn't tease you anymore either, they'd steal glances from you—but most of them ignored you entirely.
You then heard another pair of footsteps, it sounded different from the other material of boots the crew wore. You lifted your head weakly in curiosity, the beaming light of the sun shone into your eyes; but you were able to make out who it was.
The Captain.
He didn't seem that tall compared to the rest of the crew, but he still seemed to reign over them effortlessly. His coat was long and a gorgeous shade of red that you didn't think could fit someone so well, he looked out of place amongst the other uniforms; he looked like if royalty collectively decided that being a pirate was better than a king or queen.
Even with his attire, it was his eyes that caught your attention the most. They looked so soft and innocent, but the deeper you looked, it was harder to tell what his intensions were—but regardless if they were good or bad, they were intense. You didn't tear your eyes away from him. You weren't going to cower, you wanted to humiliate him like how his crew did to you.
He stood a few feet away from you and studied you in the uncomfortable silence. You could feel him analysing every detail about you—how you'd writhe a bit against the robes, the stained blood, and your tangled hair. Maybe it was his way of silently telling you that you were a mess, and that he only wanted to ruin you more.
Finally, he crouched down in front of you, directly infront of you, just to show he wasn't afraid of you. Up close you noticed soft details about him. Aside from how bushy his eyebrows were, he had soft freckles on his cheeks, sun kissed. His coat buttons also looked very neatly polished, you could clearly tell where the riches went to.
He then began to speak.
"Well, what do we have here?" His voice wasn't anything like his crew's. He had an English accent, and was laced with refinement rather than having rough dialect. Maybe you were right about the royalty part?
You couldn't answer him with the gag in your mouth, so you simply stared at him in silence, trying to show as much hatred as you could from just your eyes. He seemed amused by this, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
"One of my men told me that you attacked him with a fishing spear, quite bold I have to say. Imagine he was a fish?" He teased, but there wasnt much malice behind it.
His hand then moved down to caress your waist where your stab was, you quickly jerked away from him and he didn't bother to touch you further.
"He mentioned he had to weaken you quickly as well... What a pity. I'm sure you would've put up a better fight if he didnt."
He leaned forward and you leaned back as much as you could, but he only took the gag out of your mouth with a surprising gentleness. You silently worked your jaw, trying to get is quickly used to the feeling of not being pried open.
"There... Now let's start with something simple, What's your name?"
"Go to hell!"
His eyebrows rose and he smirked.
"Maybe I should start... Just call me Arthur, or Captain now that you'll be part of the crew till I find something for you to do."
He stood, brushing off his knees.
"You clearly seem to be a bit confused about the dynamics here. You don't speak to your captain like that, for you are now my prisoner. Your life belongs to me. I can be merciful, or cruel, it's all your choice! If you need help, since it clearly seems like you do... A large part of it is with how cooperative you are."
"I'll never!—" Arthur glanced at his crew and they turned away just as quickly as he would interrupt you.
"Never... What? Cooperate? Help me? Submit to your feeble position?" He stayed quiet for you to respond, but you never did.
"Good, you're already learning."
Arthur looked like he was about to leave, then paused and looked back at you, his expression quickly turned unreadable and it worried you. His eyes couldnt help but stay glued to the wound on your side, the blood stains very prominent.
"Hey!" Arthur's voice powerfully rang out across the deck, sharp with authority as his eyes focued on one specific man. The pirate who'd captured you appeared immediately, looking a little nervous. It was a nice contrast to see from when he had attacked you, when his ego was skyrocketing.
"Cap'n?"
"Did I or did I not give explicit orders that civilians were not to be harmed unless absolutely necessary?" Arthur's tone was stern, but you could hear the threatening air to it.
The man shifted uncomfortably, but stood his ground. "You did, Cap'n. But, Hey! she came at me with a spear, everyone saw it! And—"
"And you couldn't disarm a fisherman's daughter without running her through?"
Arthur interrupted, his voice raised. Youweren't scared of him really anymore, you were just... Confused? Why would he care about your physical well-being admist his strong crew?
"How Humiliating! I wasn't aware that my crew had become so incompetent that they need a blade to handle a girl, who probably didn't know how to fight in the first place!" Ow.
"I didn't kill her through, Cap'n! You can see I jus' stabbed her!"
"That's just as foolish, and you stabbed her to do what exactly? To prove a point? She's useless to me dead or dying of infection, and now I have to waste my time fixing your mess. If you can't follow simple orders, perhaps I need to reconsider your position on this ship."
The man paled and you had to fight back a grin. "It won't happen again, Cap'n."
Arthur hesitantly nodded at him, and he hurried away. Arthur turned his full attention back to you, his expression shifting again.
"That needs tending," he said, almost to himself—but gestured to your wound with his boot. He studied you with that same calculating gaze he seemed to always wear.
"Can you walk?"
You stared at him blankly. All you were trying to do was understand his sudden shifts of emotion from his crew to you. He'd just threatened you, established his absolute power over you, and now he was... Just concerned about your injury?
"I asked you a question," he said, his tone still laced with the same stern voice from previously. "Can. You. Walk."
"I don't know." You finally admitted, your voice was still rough from the lack of water you drank despite being surrounded by it. Your legs had been folded beneath you for hours in the same position, and you weren't sure they'd support your weight because of that even if he untied you.
You thought and theorized about whether you'd be able to or not. Arthur then suddenly crouched down again and pulled a sharp knife from his belt. You tensed instinctively and backed up against the pole—but all Arthur did was cut the ropes binding you to the pole you backed desperately into, then the ones around your wrists. You sighed in relief as blood flow returned to your hands, a silent thank you for his small act of generosity.
"Come on, get up." he commanded, standing and waiting expectantly with his arms crossed once he put his knife back into his belt.
You tried shift your legs, wincing due to the feeling. It felt like pins and needles were being shot through them, in addition to this, moving sent sharp pains through your wounded side.
Eventually, you managed to get your knees under you through the help of your hands. You then used the pole for additional support to drag yourself upright. The world swayed alarmingly and looked surreal, You lost more blood than you'd realized... and you hadn't eaten or drank anything since the night before which felt like a lifetime ago now; your legs trembled, threatening to give out beneath you.
Arthur didn't do anything but watch your struggle with that same detached interest, making no move to help. He knew deep down you'd be able to walk. When you finally stood, swaying but upright, he nodded once and placed his arms back to his sides.
"Good enough."
Then, surprisingly, he stepped closer and gripped your upper arm; it wasnt roughly, but firmly enough to steady you and use him for some support so you wouldnt collapse.
"We're going to my cabin before you bleed through that rag you're wearing and make a mess of my deck."
Once again you couldn't tell if he was trying to be rude or caring, he sometimes seemed like a very confusing mix of both. He guided you across the ship, trying to get you to walk but in your weak state it seemed like he was just dragging you across the deck toward the stern of the ship. The crew parted before him without needing to be told, their eyes sliding away from you both; not wanting to get the same treatment the man attacking you got. You caught glimpses of their faces as you both passed by. Some of the men were honestly curious, some wary, some smirking.
Arthur's cabin was closed off by a heavy wooden door that he opened with his free hand, pulling you inside before shutting it firmly behind you both.
The sudden privacy after being so exposed on deck was new, but you honestly didnt mind it; it saved you from the constant stares.
The space was larger than you'd expected, but was still modest by land standards. A desk dominated one wall, it was covered in maps and charts held down by various instruments, a sextant, a compass, an inkwell; it also had some letters on the desk, wonder who those were from...
A built-in bed occupied another wall, it was made with neatness you didnt expect from a pirate!.. Maybe you shouldn't stereotype them anymore after this encounter...
There were some books as well, actual books... How educational! Finally, a small table with two chairs sat near a window that had a great view over the seemingly endless ocean.
The thought that this man was the one who started the raid on your villiage made your head spin with confusion... Should be doing something better with his life.
"Sit." Arthur commanded and gestured towards one of the chairs at the table you previously admired.
You managed to lower yourself into it, gripping the edge of the table for the support you needed and sighed. Arthur moved to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of what looked like rum, two small glasses, and a wooden box with small engravings on it. He set them on the table near you and then retrieved a carved wooden bowl alongside a pitcher of water from another cabinet.
"This'll hurt, but you're a strong gal, y' can handle it." Arthur said as if you already knew that (which you didnt), and poured the clean water into the bowl.
"But hey, if your wound gets infected, you're useless to me, and I don't like to keep dead weight on my ship."
He then grabbed and pulled the other chair that sat across you at the table, and brought it closer than what you thought comfortable but was probably normal to him—and sat, opening the wooden box to reveal few medical supplies. It revealed bandages, a needle and thread, alongside various bottles and tins. He took some of them out of the box and laid them on the table.
"Gotta see the wound properly." Arthur said, his eyes meeting yours as he wettened a cloth. "That means you'll need to undress, or at least lift up your shirt." He said and gestured vaguely at your clothes as if those words didn't make his point thorough enough.
Your hands moved to clutch the fabric defensively, heat rising to your face.
"I'm not—"
"And I'm not interested in your modesty."
He cleanly cut you off, his tone flat and really not seeming too interested in your shenanigans. "I'm not weird like my crew, which I'm sure you may have experienced already. You can lift it yourself, or I can cut it away. Your choice, but its just for medical reasoning."
You glared at him, it wasn't much directed towards him as a person, but moreso the situation; hating how powerless and vulnerable you were in this state. But you knew from the severity that the wound did need tending, and the throbbing pain would comf in waves—getting worse little by little.
With shaking hands, you slowly lifted the side of your shirt with a hitched breath, exposing the gash into your torso.
Arthur leaned forward, examining it with up most care before he spoke up again.
"That man... What an imbecile." He muttered to himself every so often.
"This could have been avoided entirely... Should kick him off my ship, Idiot..." He redipped the cloth in the water and began cleaning the wound skillfully.
You whined at the contact and instinctively tried to pull away due to the feeling, but Arthur's other hand quickly shot out and gripped your hip, attempting holding you in place so he wouldn't cause you further pain.
"Stay still. It's not the worst part."
His touch was clinical, and was just used for your betterment but you were hyperaware of it regardless. He had taken his gloves off and his fingers left a comforting warmth against your skin, his face was close enough that you could see the faint freckles scattered across his nose and see the intense focus in his eyes. He worked in silence, cleaning away the dried blood with gentleness you didn't expect by a man like him.
"It's not as severe as it could be..." Arthur spoke up, thankfully clearing the silence.
"You're lucky. A few more inches to the left and he'd have caught something vital." He reached for one of the bottles and unscrewed it. "Now, this is the worst part. It'll burn."
"Wait!"
But before he could process your protests he was already pouring it over the wound. You bit back a scream, but a loud cry tore itself from your throat. Your vision going white at the edges from the burn you felt and one of your hands clutched at the table, while the other did his shoulder so hard you thought the wood might splinter, or that you'd break his bones. Even with this—Arthurs hand remained on your hip trying to steady you, his grip tightening slightly as you writhed.
"Breathe." He said, in a way it sounded like he was begging once he stopped pouring the alcohol, closing it and putting it on the table. "It's nearly done."
He wiped away the excess rum with the wet towel, then picked a needle and thread from the box.
"It needs stitches. Hold still... I promise, Last part.
You wanted to protest, to tell him to just let you die of an infection—but the words wouldn't come. You could only sit there, trembling, as you watched him sew your flesh back together. Arthur worked with the same precise efficiency he'd demonstrated with everything else during him playing doctor. His stitches were small and nearly perfectly even. Each pull of the thread sent fresh, but small sparks pain through you, you forced yourself to stay still, to breathe through it like he had told you to.
"You did well," Arthur said quietly as he tied off the final stitch and brought his hand up to swipe away tears that had rolled down your cheeks, before bringing himself back to his authoritarian state.
"Fighting back, I mean. Most people freeze and cry when violence comes to their door, but you... You acted, I admire that."
You didn't want his approval, but... It felt nice to have it.
"I couldn't just watch my people die."
"I know."
He said, reaching for the bandages; he began wrapping the bandage around your torso in the now comfortable silence.
"You're worth the trouble."
"I'm not here to be useful to you." You muttered, your voice low and angry despite your previous vulnerability.
"You destroyed my home. Killed my—"
"Killed who?"
He asked as he pulled the bandage tight, it wasn't supposed to cause you pain but it did anyways, and tied it off.
"I gave orders that casualties were to be avoided. We're not barbarians."
"You're pirates!"
"We're businessmen!"
Arthur corrected you more aggressively than he had liked—but as long as he was able to get his point across. He sat back, finally releasing you. Using the extra rum, pouring into short glasses he had previously grabbed and pushed one toward you. "Drink. It'll help with the pain, usually helps me."
Something told you to refuse, but you kind of trusted him. Your hands were shaking and your side felt like it was on fire and you were so, so tired. You gave in; picking the glass up drank, the rum burned down your throat, harsh and strong—but you finished it immediately.
Arthur watched you, sipping his own drink more slowly... You thought he wouldve done it quickly like you, how humiliating.
"You'll sleep here, with me tonight." He said after a moment.
"You'll be in my bed. I'll take the chair."
"I don't want—"
"I don't care what you want." Arthur said firmly, but his tone lacked his usual intensity.
"You've lost blood and you're in shock. Below deck, you'd be at the mercy of my crew's curiosity, and I really dont want you going through that."
You understood what he meant.
"Up here, you're under my protection. No one'll bother you, promise."
"Your protection." you repeated bitterly. "From the same men you command."
Something flickered in his eyes—irritation, maybe, you're questioning his authority, but he ignored it.
Arthur instead stood up and collected the medical supplies he didn't use and returned them back to their respective places. You watched him move around his cabin, this man who had seemingly destroyed your entire world, had made you feel a confusing tangle of emotions—hatred, yes, but also something else. He tended your wound himself rather than letting you suffer under the hands of someone else, or just letting you bleed out. He was offering protection, even if it came with a price.
"The bed." He reminded you, gesturing to it with one of his hands as he began to rid himself of his layers of clothes. "Sit on it at least, You look like you're about fall asleep on the chair—maybe even fall over, and I'd rather not have to catch you."
You wanted talk back to him, but the exhaustion and dying down pain were pulling at you relentlessly. You reluctantly moved to the bed carefully, testing your balance with each step, then sat on the edge; the mattress was honestly softer than it looked.
Arthur remained at the table momentarily, pouring more rum into both glasses before he brought them over and offered you one as he sat beside you on the bed. He wasn't touching you, but he close enough that you were very aware of his presence. The heat of him, the way the mattress dipped slightly under his weight; small things.
"Drink slowly this time, alright? You need to stay coherent."
You sipped the rum, similar to how he did previously and felt it's very welcomed warmth bloom your chest, dulling the edges of the pain slightly.
Silence stretched between you, it seems like it always did—but this time it was charged with something you couldn't quite name. It was strange, surreal, sitting here on his bed drinking with the man who'd destroyed your life.
"Why?" you finally asked, your voice quiet while Arthur stared at you in confusion.
"Why did you raid my town? We had nothing. Barely any gold to sustain, no valuables actually worth taking. Just... people trying to survive."
Arthur studied your tone before gazing down into his glass, swirling the amber liquid thoughtfully.
"I guess it was strategic location." He said after a moment. "Your villiage provided excellent shelter, and we needed supplies. The raid wasn't personal—it was business. As I told you, previously."
"Business." You repeated, emotion hard to read. "You burned homes, destroyed lives just for the sake of business."
"Yes." He met your eyes, and you were struck again by how green they were, how intense. He didn't bother to at least try and lie to you, and maybe that was a good thing. You needed a slap in the face from reality sometimes.
"That's the world we live in, unfortunately. The strong take from the weak."
"That doesn't make it right."
"I know." Arthur agreed with you, which honestly was surprising. "But morality is a luxury I can't afford. Neither can you... At least not anymore." He took a long drink, then leaned over to set his glass down onto his desk careful precision to not knock it over. "You're going to have to learn if you want to survive here, be who you are."
"But who am I now?" You couldn't help but ask quietly. "What happens to me now?"
Arthur was silent for a moment, considering his, and your options.
"It depends on you, I suppose. On what you choose to make of the situation." He looked at you, and you noticed his expression had softened. Was it recent? Or did it happen previously?
"You could let the situation break you, ruin you just like that town... Or you could survive it, maybe even find purpose again—I've seen both happen in my lifetime."
"Purpose?" You repeated after him, with a breathy laugh. "On a pirate ship?"
"Why not? You make it seem like its impossible to be happy with this lifestyle, but look at me! I'm proud of who I am, and you could be too."
You studied him, you furrowed your brows; how could he speak like this when you watched people die at his hands. "Are you trying to convince me this is a good thing? That I should be grateful?"
"No, No, Not at all." Arthur shook his head firmly as he kept speaking.
"I'd never ask you to be grateful for what happened today. But I am saying that your life isn't over. It's changed as you can see, drastically and very unfairly, but it's not over. Is it?"
You didn't know what to say to that, so you just stared.
This wasn't the cold, calculating captain who'd taken you prisoner. This was someone uncertain, maybe even a bit lonely... But who wouldn't be living like this?
"I still hate what you did." You said softly, but pain was still laced in your voice.
"I know, and you should." Arthur turned back to face you you. "But maybe someday you won't hate me quite so much. Maybe..."
He trailed off, looking almost embarrassed as he shook his head, looking away from you.
"Forget it. I don't know what I'm trying to say."
"Me neither."
You admitted; but you, and probably Arthur as well had noticed the air had shifted between you. It felt less... Violent, but definitely more complicated.
Arthur cleared his throat, seeming to gather himself as he stood up, ready to go sleep on the chair.
"You should rest soon, but... is there anything you need? Anything that would make tonight a little easier for you?
You knew you should say something devastating, something that would constantly haunt and remind him that he'd destroyed your home, that nothing could ever make this situation right; but the rum you had was warm in your veins... and his eyes were so green and seemed so caring. You lost everything—what did it matter if you lost this too?
"What would it be like?" you asked, barely above a whisper as you gazed into his eyes, lost in them.
Arthur's brow furrowed, confusion blooming over his features. "What would what be like? You need to be specific."
You subconsciously felt heat rise to your cheeks, suddenly self-conscious. Maybe the rum had made you even bolder than you should be. "You said earlier... about somethin' how I could make my situation different... I wanted to know what it'd be like If we'd met some other way." In contrast from your usual bold self—now your voice was small, hesitant.
"What would that be like?"
His eyes were blank until surprise took over his features, mayhe even a bit of vulnerability in his gaze. He was quiet for a long moment, studying your face as if he was only just seeing you for the first time.
"I..." He started, then stopped, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that seemed very out of character for him•uncertain. "I don't know. I hadn't actually thought about that."
"Oh." You looked down at your hands, feeling foolish. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."
"No, no, it's fine." Arthurs hand subconsciously moved to yours, not grabbing but just resting there gently, warm and solid. "I meant... I don't let myself think about things like that. Different circumstances. Other lives." He paused, and another blanket of silence over took the both of you.
You looked up at him, finding his green eyes already on you, and you felt your heart tighten in your chest. Words poured from your mouth before you could even stop to think about what you wanted to say.
"Stay with me."
You heard yourself say. It was like your brain and mouth were on autopilot.
"I just... don't want to be alone tonight."
Arthurs brows raised momentarily, then his expression softened back down; pausing before he spoke back up.
"I'm not going anywhere, not unless you want me to."
The few words that he had spoken hung between you. Neither of you spoke, and simply just gazed into eachothers eyes. It was so confusing for both of you, you didn't know what to do, but it felt nice. You were still aware of how close he was, his warmth still radiating from him, and the way his green eyes had stayed holding onto yours.
"Then stay." You whispered. "Really stay."
Something shifted in his expression. You felt your heart racing, but you continued to hold onto his gaze.
"I-I don't think I'm really asking you not to stay with me tonight... I guess I'm asking you to..." You cut your words off and hesitantly reached up, your hand trembled slightly as you touched his face, your fingers tracing the soft line of his jaw.
"I want you to help me forget... to make me feel something other than the loss and grief I delt with."
Arthur's eyes closed briefly at your touch.
"If I touch you..." He spoke, his voice was low, and even a bit strained. "I don't mean for it to just be comfort, it won't be meaningless. Do you understand?"
"Yes." you breathed, leaning forward.
He leaned down slowly, giving you every chance to change your mind, back up and reject him.
But then before you knew it—he was kissing you, and it was nothing like you'd ever experienced before. It was deeper, more passionate, andachingly tender. His hand cradled the back of your head for your comfort while his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer against him, trying to be mindful about your wound. You could feel the barely restrained want in the tension of his body, especially through the kiss, but he was very controlled; obedient to you.
You made a small sound in the back of your throat when he gripped you particularly tight, and Arthur immediately pulled back, breathing hard. "Your side—I'm sorry."
"I don't care." You said breathily, but he ended up shaking his head at your response.
"I do." He whispered, shifting both your bodies carefully, settling you back against the headboard and setting himself in between your legs—a position to hopefully keep painful pressure off your wound while he attempted to give you deserved pleasure. His hands rested on your hips, thumbs stroking gentle, absentminded circles through the thin fabric of your shorts.
The intimacy of the position made heat flood through you. You didn't know what he was going to do first, but you were face to face now, your hands resting on his shoulders, and your faces inches apart.
"Is this better?" Arthur asked, yearning for your confirmation.
You nodded, not trusting your voice for the silly reason that it may crack. Arthur's eyes searched yours for a moment, then he pressed himself against your lips, down into another kiss, this one more desperate, a little less restrained; but still mindful of your injuries. His hands slid from your hips to your thighs, the heat of his palms burning through the fabric as his hands traced the edge of your shorts, pulling them down.
You gasped against his mouth, and he took advantage of it, sliding his tongue between your lips using it to deepen the kiss, to dizzy you with it. Your fingers tangled in his blond hair, wanting pulling him impossibly closer, and you felt him groan—a sound that sent shivers down your spine and straight to the wetness inbetween your legs.
"You drive me insane... he murmured against your lips, his hands moving back up to rub two of his fingers between your folds, and using his other hand to skim your side carefully, mindful of your bandages. "Insane for a girl I just met..."
"Good," you breathed, sighing at the feeling of his fingers before he pushed them in, tightening your grip on his hair as you bit back a moan.
Arthur couldn't help but giggle under his breath at your noises, then moving to kissing your jaw, your throat, attempting to find every sensitive spot that made you gasp and shiver; and man... Was he doing a great job with that. His hands never stopped moving, stroking, caressing, learning the shape of your vulva and vaginal canal as his fingers worked you.
"Tell me what you want."he murmured against your neck, followed by an open-mouthed kiss to it, his breath hot on your skin. "Tell me what you need, please.
"You!" You managed to speak up, your voice breaking as you ground your hips against his fingers as he fucked you with them, getting right up to the knuckle. "Just you. All of you, Arthur..."
You kissed him, cutting off whatever he wanted to say, using it to pouring everything you couldn't manage to muster up into it—your grief, your fear, your desperate need to feel alive, and underneath it all, the love you felt for him. When you pulled back, you were both trembling. "I'm sure." you begged. "Please, Arthur. I need this, I need you—You don't understand my need..."
Something in his demeanor changed, and he kissed you again—it was with the same depth, more desperation as before. "You're so... I don't even know where to begin." He murmured as more of your skin was revealed.
"So impossibly perfect."
The cool air hit your skin, as he used his one free hand to remove your shirt; you having to help him a bit. But once it was gone, his hands were warm as they explored, and mapped over every curve of your skin with attention it deely craved. When he reached your bandages, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the fabric.
"I'm so, so sorry." He whispered against your skin as he began to kiss across it. " 'M sorry for all of it."
You pulled his face up to yours, kissing him fiercely. "I know... I know..." you breathily said and his fingers kept moving, curling against your spongy walls as you moaned out for him—for his attention, for his love.
Arthur smirked, and then made sure his hands were everywhere—gentle but working you. He made sure to draw sounds from you that you didn't know you could make, he took his time; learning what made you gasp, what made you arch into his touch, what made you say his name like a prayer. Learning that was his favorite.
You couldn't stop it. You kept chanting his name as he fucked you with his fingers, they filled you almost perfectly... You were sure some other part of him would be able to make it perfect; but it was too early for that, maybe some other day.
For now you could feel your arousal quickly rising, your eyes tightly shutting—you didn't bother to hold back your noises anymore. You wanted Arthur and his crew to know you were his. Just his.
When your climax took over your body, you arched so hard against him you were sure you tore your stitches open. You came with such a loud, desperate cry it was almost as if people from islands miles away would be able to hear you—it was that good. It was fucking perfect, and he was a perfect man. Even if you hated him at first, resented him for something that wasn't much of his fault; you were glad that at least now you were able to relish in his love.
He was right after all, but you knew deep down he would've been regardless if he loved you back or not. You did end up finding purpose on this ship.