Chapter Text
He’s been watching you all night.
At least, you think he has. You’ve never been very good at noticing others’ attraction to you, so when your fellow crewmates point this out, your initial reaction is to be stunned, before slipping into strict denial.
For how could Jacob Holland, legendary sea hunter and future captain of the Inevitable, have any interest in you, a fairly new addition to the crew after being fished out of the sea by the scruff of your neck? It was almost a year ago, in the wake of the wreckage of the Valor, a small supply ship carrying tea and tobacco and also you, a nobody desperate to leave your previous life behind. Anywhere, you’d prayed to who or whatever was listening. Anywhere but here.
It seemed that your prayers were answered (for the first time in your life), but instead of by a higher power, they were answered by the Krakken, which about summed up your luck. You were the only survivor of the total decimation of the ship, and narrowly avoided death by one of its many large, tentacled appendages, which, after looking at your wet, pathetic form floating on a piece of driftwood, decided you weren’t worth the effort and slowly retreated back to the depths from whence it came. To say it added insult to injury (many injuries, to be precise) was the understatement of the century.
The fire of offense at the sea monster’s decision was what fueled you to stay alive for the next few days until you were pulled from the sea by none other than the fabled Captain Crow himself. He and the rest of the crew had been more than welcoming; Jacob especially, as he could empathize with your situation. After warming you up with a blanket and a cup of strong coffee, Crow, his first mate Sarah Sharpe, and Jacob had brought you into the captain’s quarters to ask you questions about the Valor , and its attack.
“No survivors?” the Captain had asked as he slid a mug to you from across the desk. You took it in your hands. The wisp of the steam and heat of the cup was enough to send a wave of warmth through your bones.
“None,” you’d confirmed, and took a sip. It nearly scalded your tongue, but you welcomed the feeling. “The Valor was taken by the Krakken, and I was the only one left alive.”
“I see.” The mood was solemn, and all three of them were quiet as they watched you, wet and shivering in a thin blanket. Sharpe was sitting on the desk, polishing one of her many firearms, while Jacob regarded you from his position leaning against the wall.
You swallowed and scoffed bitterly. “His mistake.”
The Captain’s brows rose at that. “How so?”
“Stupid fucking Krakken was too cowardly to finish the job,” you said, and you heard Sarah hum. From the corner of your eye, Jacob’s lips had curled up into a classic smirk of amusement. Crow continued to watch you, though he had a strange look in his eye that you couldn’t decipher.
“And that was a mistake?” queried Sarah, who had risen from her perch and circled around you, slowly. The only other indication that she was behind you came from the telltale thump of her peg leg.
“Aye,” you answered, setting the mug down. “The devil made a mistake by allowing me to live, so I’m gonna make sure he regrets it.” You never broke eye contact with the Captain. He was quiet for a moment, before snorting softly.
“I like them,” he said to the other two, and you had simply smiled, the first in a very long time. “All vinegar.”
After that day, you were adopted into the crew, which was as good of a second chance at life as you were going to get. “You’re damn full of luck, kid,” Crow had told you. “Best not to waste it.”
Granted, you had no prior experience in sea hunting, nor had you ever lived on a ship for more than a week, which wasn’t great considering your last ship was in the pits of Davy Jones’ locker. However, you were a quick learner and a strong fighter, and you carried yourself with the ferocity of a survivor. Before long you were fitting right in with the rest of the hunters, and found some close comradery with a few of them.
Which brings you to now, sitting at the bar in the middle of a tavern in Three Bridges, being told by your closest crewmates that the last person you’d expected to have an interest in you did in fact have an interest in you .
It isn’t that you and Jacob are on bad terms per se; you’re far from it. Jacob is nothing short of polite and charismatic, and he treats you with the same respect he gives to anyone else on the ship. You consider yourselves friends. However, you simply can’t see yourself being an object of his attraction.
For one, you’re quiet, opting not to talk unless you’re addressed or in a situation that requires communication. You make light conversation with those around you, but for the most part, you leave the talking to others, who do plenty. This only perplexes Jacob, as he has plenty to say, but you are content with just listening. This may make you seem socially awkward, but you don’t really mind.
For another, it isn't that you didn’t find yourself attractive; you do, and many others seem to agree as well, based on your past experiences. And it isn't as if you aren’t attracted to Jacob either (if anything, you are completely attracted to him, though you would never admit that). You just can’t see yourself as someone he would pursue. And you’re okay with that.
At least, you thought you were. Now that both Fen and Old Nick, the latter of which likely has more alcohol in his veins than blood at this point, have pointed out his attention, you are starting to doubt. If you have been completely oblivious to Jacob’s feelings toward you up until this point, or you’ve been making up everything in your head. This is not helped by the fact that both of your friends are currently very very drunk.
“For God’s sake, kid,” growls Fen, her hook curled around what seems to be her umpteenth drink this evening. “The man’s been watching you all night. He hasn’t been subtle in the slightest either.”
This is true, as you can feel his brown eyes burning into the back of your skull. You refuse to turn around to look at him because you know his gaze will incinerate you on the spot.
“I dunno,” you say with a frown. “We’re in a tavern. There’s lots of people here, many of whom we don’t know. He could simply be keeping an eye on us.” Your pint of beer has gone untouched for most of the evening, and you swish it around slowly, staring at your reflection on the surface.
Old Nick rolls his eyes and downs the last of his drink. “Don’t be stupid. He’s practically announced to the entire room–no! Village– that he wants you.”
You glower at him. “He does not.”
“He does,” counters Fen as Nick motions to the bartender for another drink. “Best you snatch him up now before someone else gets to him. Many sailors don’t stay lonely when they’re on land.” She punctuates her statement with a wink to one of the waitresses, who blushes and then giggles as she walks away.
Fen is right about Jacob. He’s like a magnet, and women and men alike gravitate toward him. He is objectively handsome; tall, blond, with a strong build and muscled form, and not to mention charismatic and charming.
“Exactly,” you argue. “Jacob could have anyone he wants. Why waste time with me?” Both Fen and Old Nick groan in exasperation.
“You can’t be serious,” Nick argues. “If he truly wanted someone else, he’d be gone a long time ago.” You open your mouth to reply but realize that he has a point when you turn in your seat to gaze at Jacob. It would be a waste of his time to stick around now, what with the half dozen men and women hanging on his arms and drooling over him as he recounts a daring tale of his experiences out at sea. All of them are flashing him the bedroom eyes and all but outright begging him to take someone to bed with him.
“Okay, okay,” you say, raising your hands. “You’re not wrong.” The old sailor flashed a smug smile and clicked his tongue, and you scowled in return. “But even if that’s true, it’s unlikely that he would seek…companionship…in me. He’s probably not in the mood.”
Fen stares at you. “Not in the mood?” she repeats incredulously and snickers.
You swat at her with your hand. “ Shut up! I’m serious!” This only serves to amuse her more.
“Mate,” Old Nick starts among Fen’s now poorly concealed giggling, and he rests a hand on your shoulder. “Come to your senses. We’ve been at sea for over two months. Everyone is in the mood.” He raises his eyebrows as he waits for you to catch his drift.
You realize rather quickly and rip your shoulder away from him. “Oh, my God, no! He doesn't like me! At least–not like that! End of discussion!” you snap, bringing your gaze back to Jacob and gesturing wildly toward him. “Look at him! Him looking at me does not automatically mean that he wants me! He’s too busy entertaining his admirers to even look at…”
Almost as if on cue, Jacob’s eyes shift up from the crowd around him and meet yours. He jumps slightly, as if he hadn’t expected you to be staring back at him. For a moment, the both of you are frozen, only focused on the other, oblivious to the happenings around the rest of the tavern. You swear that you can feel your heartbeat, hard and fast, and that the two of you are breathing in complete sync. As far as you know, you are the only two people in the room, in Three Bridges, hell, in the entire world. And it feels amazing.
The trance is broken when he is offered another drink from one of the waitresses, and he turns back to the people around him. But not before sending you a large smile and wink.
Heat travels through your body, and you can feel your cheeks burning; they’re practically on fire. You turn swiftly back to your friends at the bar. “Okay, maybe he likes me.”
Old Nick guffaws and claps you on the back. “Kid, he’s whipped. ‘Maybe’ won’t cut it.”
You groan and rest your head on the bar, hoping the cool surface will calm your flushed face, to no avail. You don’t know how to feel about the fact that Jacob might like you as more than a friend. For one, it excites you, because you’ve always sort of had eyes for Jacob, not that you ever told anybody. A harmless crush. But you had never expected it to be anything more than that. Now that there is a chance that your feelings could be requited, you feel nervous. Scared. Afraid you might be misinterpreting his intentions and could possibly ruin a perfectly healthy friendship over hypothetical feelings.
Fen senses your mixed emotions–she knows your tendency to overthink quite well–and places her hand on your shoulder. “Hey,” she says, and you turn your head to look at her. “Don’t work yourself up over nothing. You’re a great crewmate, and an even better person. He’d be lucky to have you as a partner. Everyone else seems to agree, too.”
Well, that certainly got your attention. You shoot up from the bar, back straight and eyes wide. “What do you mean everyone else ?” you hiss at Fen, and she and Old Nick exchange glances.
“You…you didn’t honestly think that no one else has noticed whatever the hell is going on between the two of you, did you?” Nick questions with a raised brow.
“No!”
He and Fen look at each other once more, and then erupt into laughter. You try to shush them but they only laugh harder.
“Aye, calm down! Everyone knows you like him,” Fen says with a wheeze. Your face reddens even more, and you can feel others’ attention starting to catch onto the interaction.
“And that Jacob fancies you!” Old Nick adds rather loudly.
“Shut up! Shut! Up! ” you hiss at him, but it’s too late, for the lookout of the Inevitable, Lea, has joined in on the conversation.
“Jacob fancies who?” she queries with a look of confusion.
“Them!” says both Nick and Fen in unison, and they both point a finger at you. Your only response is to cover your face with your hands and groan. Your face, no, your entire body is so hot and flushed that you might as well be spit roasted over an open fire, which, at this point, feels like a much more favorable fate than this.
“Oh, right!” Lea says with a laugh, and she turns to you. “Good luck going after him, mate! I’ve got a lot of money riding on ya!” She nudges your arm with a wink.
“Money!” you gasp. “ You placed bets on us? ”
“Aye,” she says, and rolls her eyes. “The whole crew has. I’ve had my bet sitting on you two for months. Honestly, it’s about damn time.”
Months. The word echoes in your head as you start to question and rethink every single interaction you’ve ever had with Jacob in the past year. Talking with him. Laughing with him. Hunting and fighting with him. Days, weeks, months spent pleasantly in his company, silently pining for him before you even knew what that feeling was.
“ Everyone knows about…us?” you ask quietly. Us. It feels weird in your mouth, but it also feels right, in a way.
“Aye,” all three of them confirm dryly. “Except for, ironically, you and Jacob,” adds Fen as she knocks back another pint. You press a clammy hand to your forehead in a futile effort to quell the sweating.
“How?” you ask, and Lea chuckles.
“Mate, I’m the lookout. I notice things,” Lea says before taking a sip of her drink. “Subtlety is neither you nor Jacob’s strong suit.”
“The rest of us aren’t blind either,” chimes Old Nick. “Hell, even the Captain’s noticed. And he’s only got one eye!” Everyone bursts into laughter, except for you, as you realize that everyone, including Captain Crow himself, is well aware of Jacob’s and your complicated relationship.
“I’m fucked,” is all you can say, and everyone erupts into laughter once more. The ruckus attracts the attention of Peter, a young sailor boy and one of the newest additions to the crew of the Inevitable.
“What’s so funny?” he asks as Fen orders him a pint bigger than his head and shoves it into his hands with a grin.
“They’ve got the hots for Jacob,” says Lea, jabbing a thumb at you. Old Nick snickers knowingly.
He turns to you beaming. “He really likes you, you know! Talks about you sometimes when you’re not around.”
This grabs your attention. “He does?”
The boy smiles and nods. “More than you think. About how quiet you are, or something you’ve said that he finds funny, or how he finds you attractive, or–”
“Wait, wait, wait,” you interrupt, cutting Peter off from his rambling. “He finds me…attractive?”
Peter’s eyes light up as he takes a swig of his mug of ale, only for his face to twist at the sour taste, and Old Nick laughs, clapping him on the back roughly. “Easy, lad. You’ll grow to like it.”
Peter swallows and grimaces before turning his attention back to you. “Oh, yes, he does!” His gaze shifts behind you. “Probably why he’s coming over here now!”
You whip around in alarm. “ What?! ”
Sure enough, Jacob is standing up to make his way over to you, excusing himself politely from the small group of people around him. Peter, oblivious to the situation, continues to babble, “Aye! You know, I was beginning to wonder if he would ever come over here. He’s been watching you like a hawk all night–” He’s cut off when Lea elbows him in the side. He winces and is about to tell her off for hitting him when he notices your oncoming mental breakdown. “Oh.”
Jacob has just started turning away from saying his goodbyes, body already moving toward you. He’s ready to make his move.
You, however, are not.
“Bloody hell,” you curse, and bolt for the front door.
Even though the exit is a relatively short distance from your seat at the bar, you quickly realize how poorly you thought through your escape plan (i.e. no thoughts whatsoever). The middle of the tavern is a flurry of people, all clustered at the center of the room. Some are dancing, others are singing and playing their instruments, and there are many groups of people just standing and talking, loitering directly in your path to the outside.
Your escape attempt is made significantly slower by the fact that you have to weave, squeeze, and elbow your way through people. Though you consider yourself to be a fairly strong person, it seems as if every person is somehow ten times stronger than you’d expect them to be, as if God is personally trying to intervene in your cowardice. So far, God is winning.
You continue to shove your way through the crowd, saying the occasional “Sorry!” and “Pardon me!” to no one in particular. There aren't many thoughts in your mind besides the fact that you are trying to run away from Jacob, but you don’t exactly know why. And the more you think about it, the more it seems incredibly stupid. You like Jacob, and it is very likely that he feels the same, so why are you running?
Before you have time to dwell on it, you are thrust out of the crowd of people and into a group of dancers, all of them circling quickly and elaborately in the middle of the floor. You are frozen in place, unable to move without being hit by one of the dancers. You can see the door, so close yet so far out of reach. Part of you wishes to turn around, return to your seat, and talk to Jacob like a normal person. But another part of you knows that you’ve gotten this far, and you sure as hell aren’t turning back now, not when freedom is so close within reach.
You don’t have time to make a decision as one of the larger dancers slams into you full force. The impact sends you stumbling, practically flying, out of the circle, and you yell out a “ Fuck! ” as you prepare to hit the hardwood floor at full tilt.
Except, you don’t.
You still hit something very hard, but also soft, warm, and smelling of sea salt and oak wood. You feel arms wrap around you, stopping your momentum from carrying right into the ground, and your hands instinctively clutch at the thing (or person) you’ve stumbled into. You’re already apologizing before you can even process what just happened.
“Oh, God, fuck. I’m sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry–” you babble out an apology, though you’re interrupted by a lower voice, a smooth timbre that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.
“Woah! Easy , there, doll. What’s gotten into you?”
Jacob Holland. You realize that the voice you are hearing and the arms you are cradled in belong to none other than Jacob fucking Holland.
Your heart stops, and you immediately freeze. You’ve somehow managed to run straight into the person you were trying to avoid. If there is a God, he would be laughing at you.
All you can focus on are Jacob’s eyes, honey brown and gorgeous, and currently looking over you with concern, making sure you aren’t injured or hurt. He continues to speak as he rights you and sets you back on your feet.
“Here you are, love. Steady now.” His voice is low, quiet so only you can hear and smoothing over you like molasses. It’s enough to make your knees wobble, and you feel like they would actually give out if he wasn’t already supporting you with both hands around your waist.
“Right. Thank you,” you say quietly, and lower your eyes. Jacob is much taller than you are, so your eyes are level with his chest. You hadn’t realized that your hands are fisted in his shirt, and your grip loosens slightly, but you don’t let go completely. All you can focus on is his breathing, his chest rising up and down under your hands, and the heat of his steady breath next to your ear, where his head is bowed. It takes everything in you not to shudder, and you close your eyes, trying to savor the closeness between the two of you.
He brings you back to reality when he says your name. “Hey. Are you sure you’re alright?” You are snapped out of whatever trance you are in and quickly rip away from him, as if his very touch burns you (it does, but you’re already humiliated enough as it is).
“Yep. Yes, haha. Tota–I’m totally fine. I’m great,” you assure him with a nervous chuckle, mentally kicking yourself for how fucking stupid you must sound. He raises an eyebrow and gives you a look of skepticism, because who would believe your pathetic excuses? All you can do is cough and turn your head away, your cheeks aflame.
You think that looking anywhere but him will ease your embarrassment and turn toward the bar, where your fellow crewmates were sitting. Upon turning your gaze to them, you are filled with immediate regret.
All of them–Nick, Fen, Lea, Peter, as well as a few others–are staring directly at you, watching your humiliating interaction with Jacob as if it is the most captivating thing they have ever seen. As soon as you share direct eye contact with Old Nick, the sailor starts to drunkenly whoop and holler at you, and the rest of them follow suit.
“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose, and turn back to Jacob, deciding that facing him was infinitely better than whatever the hell is going on with the others.
He frowns in their direction. “Are they…yelling at us ?” he asks, and you feel like you are going to drop dead on the spot. Hell, you want to. You’ve never considered yourself a particularly religious person, but now you’re praying to anyone that would listen to please fucking shoot me down right now.
“Uh… yes. Mostly me. But yes,” you say softly. You can barely meet his eyes. It’s made worse by the fact that the group at the bar is still catcalling you, now yelling thinly-veiled innuendos directed at you and Jacob.
“ Aye, lads!” calls Fen, and the rest of them turn their attention toward her. The waitress from earlier is seated on her lap, her fingers combing gently through Fen’s hair. “I see our dear Jacob is about to show them what a real sea beast is!”
They all erupt in laughter, and you roll your eyes with a scoff. You hurriedly turn to leave, pushing past a stunned Jacob, but not before Old Nick adds, “Careful! That beast will leave you sore come morning! I’ve got half a mind to wheelbarrow you back to the ship!”
Once again, they roar with laughter, and the rest of the tavern has joined with them, their eyes following you as you bolt toward the door. Your lungs are constricting and your head is pounding, and you can’t leave the damned hellhole fast enough. When you reach the outside, you swear your head is swimming from lack of oxygen and you gasp for air, unable to breathe from the sheer humiliation.
Your moment of peace is short lived, however, as you feel a hand on your shoulder, and you whip around to see Jacob, the door shut behind him. The noise of the tavern is suddenly muffled with the closing of the door, and the both of you are bathed in quiet. Not quite silence, but a calm ambience that soothes you immediately.
“You’re leaving?” he asks, and his face contorts into one of disappointment, one of hurt. You feel upset on his behalf, but you feel like you’ll explode if you spend one more moment in his presence.
“I–Yes. Goodnight,” you say, patting his hand and removing it from yourself, and quickly turn away from him, trying to make your escape. However, you are stopped when he lunges forward and grabs your wrist.
“ Wait! ” he gasps and turns you back toward him. “You’re going the wrong way.”
It takes you a moment to process what he’s said, as all you can focus on is the fact that his hand is in yours and he is touching you and ohmygod his skin is so warm and you think you might die and—
“Sorry?” You snap out of your trance and pull your hand back from him. He lets go easily, as his grip had been light, but he stares forlornly at the place where your hands had touched for a few seconds, his hand still suspended in the air before he drops it.
“Your room,” he says, and motions in the opposite direction of where you were heading, toward the lodging where most of the crew is staying. “It’s that way.”
“Oh. Right. Thank you,” you say awkwardly, and you are followed by an uncomfortable silence, both of you staring at the other. Not knowing what else to say (as you aren’t entirely sure what else can be said to ease your mortification), you quietly start in the direction he pointed, hoping to leave this whole mess behind and be back to normal tomorrow.
Of course, Jacob being Jacob, he simply cannot leave things be, and the silence is broken behind you.
“I can walk you,” he offers, and you can hear him starting to follow you. You stop walking and turn your head to listen to him. He comes to a halt a few steps behind you, and you can hear him breathing. “You don’t seem well. I can escort you back. If you’d like.”
You open your mouth to say no, but stop, and twist slightly at the waist to study him.
Jacob is a big man. He’s tall, and strong, and fit, and perfectly made for hunting the beasts of the deep. He is brave and unwavering, and he’s never backed down from a fight.
But when he is standing here, looking at you, he seems small. Unsure in the way he stands and fidgets with his hands. Like a kicked puppy, and you suddenly feel awful. He has been nothing but kind to you all night, and you’ve only been rude and a nuisance. You feel stupid.
So you answer before you even know what you’re doing. “Okay.”
His eyes light up, but to his credit, he is able to keep his face neutral. “Yes?” he confirms.
With a nod, you resume walking and call back to him, “Come on, then.”
You don’t need to look back to know that he is following you.
END OF PART I