He Will Save Us In The End🗣️‼️

S in Sylus stands for Simp

Here a Caleb WIP, It will be uncensored on my Twitter/X @cheeselucky3

I’m never drawing a motorcycle again

Seafoam on the shore

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Tags: Use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW drinking, CW food mentions, TW injury.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 1 >>> CHAPTER 2

You run as fast as you can, your feet flying off the muddy uneven streets. Huffing while a local copper yells at you to stop, his yells get more exhausted every second he chases after you. So far he isn't even near you, one of the few benefits of staying at a provincial fishing town is that the police are either too out of shape to catch you, their bellies round, definitely full of ale. Or they simply don't give a damn about a pickpocket, muttering to themselves how they're not paid enough to do a city cop's job.

Losing your balance, you silently curse at your worn down work boots. Sliding off the ground, skidding off down the streets, disturbing the hustle and bustle of the market. You hit a vegetable cart along the way, wood splintering, scratching your arms. Cabbages and carrots fly off, there's yelling and screaming around you and your legs are aching from the impact.

“Sorry!” You yell back to a disgruntled vendor.

He curses at you and your entire family for ruining his sale. You take a mental note to pay him back somehow when you're not currently occupied.

Digging your heels in, you come to a halt, you're lucky enough to get a hold on a lamp post. Glancing behind, you don't see the cop running after you but you're not taking any chances so you enter a tight alleyway. You know this village like the back of your hand, you have to or else seeing the inside of the jail would be waiting for you in the future.

Knowing there’s a pipe somewhere along the walls, you run your muddy hands along the bricks, the cramp walls touching your back and chest, you stop when your nail hits something metallic.

Your ears perk up at someone snitching, “fuck” without hesitation, you climb up the rusty pipe.

Hands digging into the metal. It creaks and groans, but it seems like lady luck is on your side when you reach the top with no problems.

Hearing hurried footsteps down below, you immediately lie low on the roof. Hiding yourself from his gaze. The cop glances around the alley, scratching his head, confused as to how you escaped without a trace.

“Damn” he mutters, completely winded.

You smile to yourself as he leaves. The sun bares at your back, cotton blouse sticking to your skin. Needing a bath is an understatement.

Standing up, you carefully tread the roof, avoiding floors that look damaged. You definitely don't want a repeat incident of what happened six villages ago. You can never get used to the view from up high, the sea blends in with the orange sky, melting together, blues, greens and reds mingle in harmony. The setting sun paints a picturesque scenery, draping everything it touches in its heavenly light.

Ships and fishing boats float above the waves as if they're dancing to the sound of the water splashing on its wooden sides.

Your hands instinctively reach for the necklace hidden under your blouse. Fingers tracing the etching of a flying bird that you know like the back of your hand.

Despite the open sea, you can't help but feel trapped. The docks beckon you over to somewhere you can't remember, somewhere where you can rest in peace, somewhere across the deep dark treacherous sea are people you can call your home. People who may have been looking for you all this time. Their faces are but a blur in your mind, voices a mere echo lingering in your heart. The pendant leaves a circular indent on your palms as you grip it tight.

Is it possible to miss someone you don't even remember?

Your train of thought gets interrupted by movement from a ship floating along the dock, a large sailboat whose wood differs from each one of its structures. You can tell from how some of it is painted gold and silver like the ones on royal ships, it looks like it was hastily hammered into regular oak with intricate carvings. Some wood blends better together, dark timber melding with ashen wood. Three cannons are lined on the sides, its metal having seen better days, no longer glimmering in the sunlight.

From where you're standing, the figurehead on the bow looks peculiar, like nothing you've ever seen traveling along coastal towns. A fierce creature with sharp teeth opening its jaws, eyes wide and alert. Its red scaly skin adds to its terrifying image. What's more peculiar is the lack of flag flying on its mast. An unknown ship from an unknown place tickles your curiosity.

You slink back down on the roof when a woman emerges from below deck, her blond hair shining under the sun. Another much taller one follows behind her. Raven colored hair flowing in the soft wind. They seem to be arguing, but you're completely bewildered as to how they're allowed to sail. All this time, you can't believe that you can actually step foot inside a boat, moreso sail on it.

This changes everything, you suppose.

You leave the roof, letting the women argue amongst themselves. Expertly hopping from awning to canopy, you land at your final destination, the White Salmon pub.

Jumping down, you land on a cart full of broken fishing nets, it's a miracle that you weren't tangled under all the mess.

Entering the rowdy pub, the smell of ale and pickled fish enters your nostrils. A bunch of sailors sing off key in the middle, too drunk to care about the ruckus they're making. You try to blend in with the drunk crowd, hiding behind people, weaving around them to sneak past the bar and upto the stairs leading up to your room.

“Oi! did ya think I wouldn't notice ya?”

You stop just about the foot of the stairs. Groaning in exasperation, quickly taking off the bandana tied around your face to conceal half of your face. You try your best to put your best smile, turning your charm up to a hundred.

“Hi, aunty Janet” you walk towards her like a child caught with their hands inside the cookie jar. “I got the butter you asked”

Janet huffs, eyes narrowed, her brows furrowed. You place the stick of butter in front of her like an offering to appease an angry God.

“Please don't tell me the coppers will be knocking on my doors again”

“That was one time! Besides I actually paid for this one” you push the butter towards her with your finger. She stares at it like you're giving her contraband.

You give her one charming smile, she sighs, taking the butter from the counter. “You're on thin ice, Y/N. Don't make me regret taking you in.”

“That was a year ago and look, I'm still here!”

“A year and a half, I counted because with every shit ya manage to pull, a strand of my hair turns white.” she points at her hair that's almost completely white. “This used to be black”

“I know, I'm sorry. I just need to–”

“To what? It always seems like you're hiding shit from me and Thena” She tries to hold your hand on the counter but you flinch away.

“Won't happen again, I promise.” A clear lie on your part, you'll just have to be better at sneaking. You vault over the counter to roll up your sleeves, clean yourself up and put on your apron.

“When will you learn, girl?”

“When the king sentences me to death himself!” grabbing an empty tray, you start clearing a nearby table. Janet pinches the bridge of her nose.

After dodging rowdy customers and a flying pint, Thena takes a break with you in the tiny corner of the tavern. She unabashedly sighs loudly, smelling of ale and lavender she hastily rubbed on to mask the scent of alcohol.

You side eye her with a tired smile, Thena sighs again, louder this time, a few patrons gaze your way.

“Alright, what's wrong?”

“Oh nothin' it's just Arthur's back again and he hasn't even glanced my way”

You flick your eyes towards the blonde patron nursing a pint, his green eyes meet yours, he smiles with his yellow teeth and you look away immediately, not from embarrassment, no, but from how you don't want his eyes on you.

Why in the world is Thena so smitten by someone like Arthur who comes and goes into the pub more than he goes inside a bathroom?

“You could do better, Thena. One that actually brings in coins instead of using them all in the pub or a brothel.”

“I know,” she sighs once again. Leaning closer to your side so you slide further away. “But he's the fittest bloke here though” whining, she puffs out her cheeks.

As if some divine comedy, Arthur beckons you over with a twist of his hand. You internally cringe.

Thena gasps, “I think he's finally taking notice of me!” She stands up, sauntering over to his table with the confidence of a newborn deer.

Before you could rescue her though, Janet yells at you from the other side of the room. “Get back to work, Y/N!” She signals with head, pointing towards a table by the corner.

You groan, lumbering your way towards the customers. His large back is turned away from you, brown hair neatly slicked back, clothes looking too neat and expensive for a dingy pub like the white salmon. His companion thumps her head on the wall lightly like she's trying to get water out of her ears. Her hair is cut short, glasses over her almond shaped eyes, clothes equally looking expensive but less neat than her large companion.

Her lips turn upwards once she sees you. “Finally some service” she stretches her legs out, noting how she's wearing trousers instead of the usual frilly skirts rich women wear.

“Sorry, what can I do for you?” You put on your customer service voice that's laced with mild annoyance. The man sits still like a rock, his back still turned away from you.

“Fish and chips, some pickled eggs and a pint.” She glances at her friend before groaning with a sly smirk. “And he'll have plain porridge, no seasoning, just porridge. It's better if it's days old. Right, Miguel?”

The man huffs, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. The single candle light on the table illuminates his chiseled face, turning his eyes crimson.

“A pint will do” his voice is gruff yet calm.

There's alarm bells ringing in your head, the tray falls from your shaking hands. Your heart thumps louder than the clanking metal.

“Careful there, it's bad to drink on the job” His friend’s comment falls on deaf ears as you stare at the man before you. His expression doesn't change except for how his eyebrows lift slightly.

It's been years, surely he doesn't recognize me as an adult, right?

You clear your throat, mustering the best smile you can do. “Sorry about that, I'll get your orders right away” leaning down to take the tray from the sticky floors, your necklace slips out of your blouse, the gold shimmering in the candle light.

He could burn you with just his stare.

Walking briskly, clutching the tray, its metal is uncomfortably cold on your skin. The pub seems to get louder and louder with every footstep, the laughter and rowdy singing makes you dizzy. Janet calls after you as you run up the stairs to your room.

Thinking fast, you lock the door, pushing your dresser to further lock it. Your mind races to the floorboards beneath your threadbare bed. With your bare hands you hastily take the wood out revealing a hollow hole containing your possessions.

There's loud booming footsteps climbing up the stairs. Followed by his voice calling your name.

“Fuck” without thinking, you take the bag from its hiding place, slinging it over your shoulder before you cross the small space to the window.

“Y/N, Please!” He keeps calling after you. “Let me just,” thump, “fuck!”

That's your signal to jump down.

Landing on your heels, you feel your knees aching from the fall. You hear your bedroom door slam open with a force that surely broke its hinges.

You run like you've ran from him like last time.

Suddenly, you're thirteen years old, weaving through the forest, vines prickling your legs as you wade through the thicket. White lilies are but a blur as tears flow freely from your eyes as you keep running without a destination.

Why? Aren't you enough? Did she not love you like you thought she did? What did you do to deserve being abandoned twice?

You're back to the present when he yells your name again. Your heart pounds loudly on your ribcage, lungs burning, you feel like you're about to collapse.

His companion also runs after you, screaming your name desperately.

But you have the upperhand. Using the moon as your guide, you climb up a house, its bricks protruding out of the walls, the place you used to climb to practice, but now you climb it to save your own skin.

Running from roof to roof, you feel a presence behind you. His thunderous footsteps echo into the cold night. You don't dare look behind.

The woman follows you from the ground, her heels clicking on the uneven sidewalk. “Y/N! Wait up–shit!” Without looking down, you hear her fall.

He screams your name again, the same one she called you back then.

You run furiously, jumping off the side only to keep running towards the docks. Panicking, you see a ship leaving the docks, its fishing net left hanging on the side. Without thinking, you make a break for it.

Sprinting on the old docks, you leap the huge gap. Miraculously, you take hold of the net, clinging to it with all your might. Entering the net, you ignore the smell of fish, watching as the place you once called home gets smaller and smaller.

You say goodbye to Janet, who kindly took you in without asking for anything in return. Who gave you a job and a room so you don't freeze and starve outside. Who took care of you when you fell ill to the cold.

You say goodbye to Thena, the only friend you've ever had, the longest friend you've ever had. The same Thena who taught you how to sew and mend your own clothes. Thena who taught you how to throw a punch when a handsy sailor tries to touch you.

Thena whom you've grown accustomed to calling you her sister.

You say goodbye to the fishing town you've only recently called your home.

You say goodbye to the man at the docks who's staring at your fleeing form, whose eyes are narrowed, almost pleading for you to come back.

A/N: There's no Hobie appearance in this chapter yet :( (next chapter though 👀)

Hope you like it, thank you for reading!

ken sato, the beautiful man you are

No one could possisbly love him like I do. He is my muse, my beautiful prince, my Mona Lisa

Hii, this is my first post i ever made here in tumblr so i hopes you like It ^^ @/snowyblanca on Twitter or insta for my other works c:

(here the reference) thank u 🩷

Thinking about Caleb taking care of his girl - mc/ fem!reader - so much, that he won’t put up with her spending any of her hard-earned money

After shutting your door for you, Caleb walks around the front of the car into the drivers seat, shuffling with the seatbelt as he turns the key in the ignition.

You hum to yourself in the meantime and find your lipstick in your bag—your new lipstick, a little more luxe this time, just the right shade to compliment your skin, a treat for yourself after finishing up a project at work. Just a little gift you deserved. You flip down the sun visor and open the mirror, making a pretty o with your lips to carefully apply it, stifling a smile when you feel Caleb watching.

“Where’s that from, baby?” he asks, a hand smoothing up your back.

“Hm?”

“The—uh…” His hand lifts, fingers hesitating near his lips as his eyes linger on yours. “The lipstick. That’s… new?”

You smile, the corners of your mouth tilting up. "Yeah. Just tried it now." You wrap your arms around his bicep for a quick, soft squeeze, then reach up to cradle his face, pecking his cheek - leaving soft pink mark behind. "You like it?"

He nods, almost absently, like he’s still trying to find the right words. Then, softer—surer: “Yeah. It’s… pretty.” A small pause. “Looks good on you.”

But his smile falters, and it has you pouting.

“What?”

“Nothing…” He shrugs. “Just don’t remember buying it. You used my card, right?”

You shake your head. “No, I bought it myself. It wasn’t expensive, honey, I promise.” Half true, at the very least.

“Yeah?” He blinks, then gently shifts back just enough to reach into his coat pocket, fishing out the wad of cash that’s accumulated there. “How much was it, baby? I’ll pay you back.”

“Caleb, I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m doing it anyway.” He counts out one, two, three twenties—

“Caleb, put that away—”

He looks up at you, raises his brows, dishes out a fourth and a fifth. “What?” He doesn’t hesitate for a second, folding the bills in half before leaning over the console to slip them into your purse. As he does, he presses a quick kiss to your cheek—light and teasing, knowing exactly what it’ll do. He grins, just a little, watching the way your attention drifts. One hand rests casually on the wheel—strong, veined, just enough to make you pause—and the other gently holds your jaw, guiding you toward him. He kisses you again, this time softly at the corner of your mouth, careful not to mess up the lipstick. “Use my card next time, yeah? Doesn’t matter what it’s for.”

You frown. “But I feel bad . . . I make my own money, you know.”

“You’re not supposed to spend your money, baby, you’re supposed to spend mine.”

He lifts your chin with two fingers—gentle, but sure—guiding your gaze back to him when you try to look away. His eyes search yours, steady and soft.

“Let me take care of you, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss to your lips—slow and certain, like a promise. “That’s what I’m here for.”

And honestly… when he says it like that, it’s hard to do anything but let him.

I think Caleb would be a bit overstimulated after making out for the first time with mc (lil comic that i made from that tiktok trend c:)

“Nine months,” Caleb murmured, staring at the tiny baby in his arms. His baby. Their baby. His eyes were shining with awe—but his voice carried a hint of betrayal. “Nine months inside your mom’s womb… only to come out looking exactly like me.”

You rolled your eyes, the corner of your lips curling up into a soft smile. Your attention remained fixed on the minimally interesting documentary playing on the TV. “Good job, baby.”

“Good job?” He continued to pace in circles while cradling the baby. Caleb ran a finger along his son’s cheek, gently poking it, amazed by how soft and chubby it was. “It’s not that I don’t like him—he’s cute, and I love him. But I wanted a mini-you running around the house, giving me headaches. Instead, I replicated myself.”

“Yeah, sometimes genetics do that.” You replied, starting to feel a little sorry for your husband. “Besides, he hasn’t even turned one month old yet, maybe he’ll pick up my personality or some other trait of mine?”

Caleb sat down next to you, careful not to disturb the pillows surrounding you. “You think?” He spoke a little too loudly, then flinched as he felt the baby stir, waking up. Slowly, his tiny eyelids fluttered open, granting his dad a glimpse of his purple irises.

There was a long silence between you, the only sound being the narrator’s voice echoing through the room.

You took a deep breath, trying to suppress a laugh. Caleb held one of the baby’s tiny hands, attempting to entertain him. “Your genes didn’t even try…”