#the corset would open at the front to reveal the ribcage and glowing heart below

[lokimostly]

Polaris (Ch.1/?)

Loki x Reader, Pirate!AU Word Count: 2,768 Warnings: none Summary: Your life has always been set in stone. Born to a wealthy merchant family in the Caribbean, you’ve spent your years as an heiress in the daytime, escaping at night to wander the streets of St. Thomas. Now, on the eve before your life settles into mundanity for good, you discover someone who could change everything-- if you choose to trust him, that is.

A/N: The bitch is back! (Me. I’m the bitch). I’m super excited for this, and I hope you are, too! It was promised a long time ago and it’s finally here. Let me know what you think~~ 

Chapter Two ~ Chapter Three  ~ Chapter Four ~  Chapter Five ~ Chapter Six ~ Chapter Seven ~ Chapter Eight ~ Chapter Nine ~ Chapter Ten ~ Chapter Eleven ~ Chapter Twelve ~ Chapter Thirteen ~ Chapter Fourteen

Night fell like a curtain of embroidered silver stars over the port of St. Thomas. The moon rose in a honey-colored crescent over the black blanket of the sea, where the last ships of the day were tied to the docks: all of it visible from your window, the double panels open and welcoming the warm summer breeze. Mid-July was beautiful in the Caribbean.

This would be your last July here. 

You fastened your cloak and set one final look to your bedroom door – locked, of course – before leaning over your nightstand to blow out the lone candle that flickered warmly. You shouldn’t have been awake at this hour; you had a pressing day tomorrow, a day which had already caused several quarrels with your father. 

You also shouldn’t have been climbing out your window.

The dark material of your cloak weighed heavy on your shoulders as you bunched up your dress and swung one leg bravely over the windowsill, bracing yourself against the suddenly-stronger wind that teased and pulled at your hair, enticing strands around your face to come loose. You pulled your other leg over and shifted carefully, searching with one foot for the foothold you knew to be there.

A-ha. You planted your foot onto the brick, pushing out carefully – a fall from this height would be deadly – and stood with practiced balance. You exhaled softly, calming your nerves as the wind blew against your back and rippled through your dress. A gecko skittered across the wall and disappeared over the crest of the roof. You watched it go before pushing the panels of your window shut, leaving them unlatched for you upon your return, and began your descent. 

You kept your hands on the windowsill and found the next brick. This convenient path of rugged stone was your tiny stairway to the world at night, to the city below, to freedom. Even though you’d done this so many times before, the taste of anticipation at the adventure to come made your heart flutter happily inside your ribs. 

Your feet hit the cobblestone without a sound and you breathed a happy, exhilarated exhale, pulling up your hood. You cast one last glance at your window before turning and heading down the alleyway, towards the twinkling light of the oceanside town.

The night was yours. 

Despite the sweltering warmth of the night, you pulled the fabric of your cloak a little tighter when you slipped by the front of your father’s estate. Even at this hour there were servants around, standing post at the iron-wrought gates or mingling outside the door to the kitchens. All it took was one pair of eyes, and your little expedition would be ruined.

Not that it mattered, really. You doubted that you’d ever get the chance to do this again.

You would never claim to hate your life. There were just certain aspects of it– the formalities, the frivolities, the bone-crushing corsets – that you could happily do without. But being the only child of a moderately wealthy shipping merchant meant that you were born into these things, and expected to die in them. 

You relaxed as your feet carried you further downhill and out of sight from your estate. The streets turned narrower and more crowded despite how late the hour was. Soon, you were making your way through crowds of people: sailors, harlots, vagrants, fishermen, maybe even pirates… not that you would know one if you saw one. Everyone thrived under moonlight.

You would never get the chance to live like these people, so the most you could do was get close. Close enough to taste the salt of the sea, to imagine the feeling of coarse rope between your hands. There was so much you would never experience that you so desperately wanted to: what it felt like to get drunk on cheap tavern liquor, how to handle a ship in a storm, the taste of someone’s lips against yours… 

Well, not the kissing part. Out of everything life had to offer, romance was furthest from your desires. Partly because you’d never been interested in anyone – which was far from a problem in your opinion – but also because it would be forced on you so very soon. The marriage that had been arranged for you since before your birth was coming to a head: you were meeting your fianceé tomorrow. The thought of it made your stomach turn in upset. 

The way you saw it, marriage was the final nail in the coffin of an adventurous life, and you were about to be buried alive.

Once you were in the thrall of the seaside crowds close to the docks, you removed your dark hood and pulled out your braided hair. You inhaled the sweet, salty stench of the ocean, mixed with putrid perfume and the alcohol-ridden breath of the people who passed you by. The ships rocked gently, their wooden bodies creaking like aching joints. Lamplight and candlelight made the port feel like a living being with glowing eyes, blinking away the dark.

It was wonderful. But what to do?

You had every intention of staying out till dawn. Whether or not this was destined to be a remarkable night, you were determined to make it so. It was your last hurrah of freedom – consequences be damned.

The corner pub was positively throbbing with noise, like a pulse point of energy. Somewhere in the clamor you could hear someone playing a four-string fiddle. The sweet sound was mixed with raucous laughter and the occasional breaking of glass. 

A perfect start to your evening.

You slipped in past the crowds outside and immediately found yourself immersed. Tankards clanked together, barmaids wove in between tables, and in the darker corners of the room men played cards and laid wagers amidst cigar smoke and sordid expressions. Everyone here felt open: there was no hiding behind etiquette or polished niceties. There was no stiffness or reservation like you were used to in the daytime. 

Despite the hoots and wholly inappropriate catcalls of the soldiers, you slipped in entirely unnoticed. Free to observe without interruption. You briefly considered buying a drink, but discarded the idea almost immediately. You didn’t care for the taste. Cards, maybe? A quick glance at the tables told you no – there were no women playing, and you wouldn’t dare venturing to a table of burly men on your own. Your nighttime excursions had earned you a few friends through the years, but you couldn’t find any of them in the bar tonight. It was probably better that way – you wanted this night to yourself. 

You found a banister to lean against, wondering what to do, when a laugh caught your attention. It wasn’t the rough and weather-worn roar of a sailor, or the tittering giggle of a barmaid. This laugh was clear as a bell, deep and light at the same time, drawing your attention almost by force.

The source of the sound was sitting at a round table, mid laugh with a tankard in hand. He was unlike any sailor you’d ever seen: fair skin and slick black hair that tumbled down in gentle waves against his shoulders. A jawline you could cut your finger on. The white, bishop-sleeve shirt he wore opened in a wide V that travelled almost halfway down his chest, revealing a scandalous amount of toned muscle. His smile was wide and brilliant and wolfish.

Your heart did a somersault in your ribcage. He was devilishly handsome, there was no denying it. The stark contrast between him and everyone else in this grimy seaside pub was staggering.  But there was something about him that frightened you- something lurking beneath the depths. You couldn’t put your finger on it.

You decided not to stay and find out. You turned towards the door, and immediately collided with someone. The glass bottle in their hand hit the floor and shattered. For a split second, the tavern was entirely silent. Even the fiddler in the corner had paused mid-tune.

Then the sound resumed. The fiddler continued his jig; laughter howled and chairs scraped across the wooden floor. Your heart was in your throat as the sailor you’d just slammed into – and also cost a full bottle of rum – turned around with an ill-fated look in his eye.

Oh, god, he was enormous.

“Hello,” you began nervously. Why did your voice have to tremble so much? “I’m terribly sorry–”

“What do we have ‘ere?” He growled, snatching your wrist and squeezing it painfully tight so you couldn’t run. His eyes raked over your figure, surveying you like a choice cut of meat. His breath reeked of alcohol. You grimaced and tried to pull away, but his bear-like hand only tightened its grip. “No, I don’t think so,” he drawled, obviously more than a little drunk. “You got a debt to pay.” 

Your eyes widened and you shook your head - you’d left your coin purse at home. “I’m sorry, I— I don’t have any money,” you pleaded, trying once more to get away from him. It was a futile attempt. The sailor yanked on your arm and you yelped as he pulled you forcefully against his chest. You resisted the urge to throw up – his shirt smelled even worse than his breath.

“Please,” you begged, cowering in spite of yourself as he towered over you. To think you had felt so brave only minutes ago. 

The sailor gave you a nasty smile full of rotting teeth. “I weren’t talkin’ about money.” 

Before you could think of a response (how were you going to get yourself out of this?) you felt the ghost of a hand on your back and a clear, polite voice that spoke through the noise of the tavern. 

“That won’t be possible, I’m afraid.” 

The sailor’s sluggish eyes drifted upward and his grip on your wrist loosened as he realized who was speaking: the dark-haired stranger, whose sea-green eyes were staring at the sailor with a fury so cold it made you shiver. This glare was elegantly countered by a charming smile.

“I’d be more than happy to mitigate the debt,” he continued politely, sounding very much like he intended to do no such thing, and would seriously hurt the man if he accepted. The sailor, despite being as drunk as he was, picked up on this subtlety, and dropped your wrist entirely. He muttered something indiscernible – with a few inelegant profanities directed your way– and went back to the bar. 

You rubbed your wrist like it had been shackled, letting out a shaky sigh of relief. You hadn’t realized how fast your heart was beating. Now you had a chance to compose yourself, maybe find some of that courage you had been wanting for. 

The dark-haired man leaned down and whispered into your ear, “if you’ll allow me to escort you outside, milady.” His warm breath on your neck made you shiver.

So much for composing yourself.

You managed a nod and made your way out of the bar with him close behind. You wove through the crowds easily, but people seemed to part for him instead, making way like he was some kind of prince.

Or maybe a pirate.

The thought occurred to you as soon as he stepped out onto the cobblestone street and beckoned for you to follow him, heading a little ways from the lights and crowds of the bar. He walked with a certain gait that you could only describe as cat-like: keeping his shoulders squared, but with a sort of elegance that made him seem quick on his feet. Like he always knew where he was going. 

And against your better judgement, you followed.

“Thank you,” you began, still holding onto your wrist. He slowed, and turned around, gazing at you with eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. You shivered. 

“Tell me,” He said, raising a dark eyebrow and setting his hands on his hips as he stepped towards you, “What’s a girl like yourself doing in there? Shouldn’t you be at a gala somewhere?” He sounded like he was teasing you, but the smirk on his lips threw you off. 

You bristled, feeling your pride swell up a bit. “You don’t know what kind of person I am.”

He chuckled. “I’m afraid your dress speaks for itself,” He pointed out, nodding to your fancier-than-usual clothes. Your face flushed and you pulled your cloak around you. He was right. Despite your attempts to dress down, you had never owned anything that wasn’t embroidered with lace. The fact that he saw right through your disguise in less than a minute was more than a little embarrassing. 

The handsome stranger eyed you curiously, watching as the gears in your mind turned over. He held out his hand to you– elegant fingers outstretched in silent offering. You looked down at his hand. Despite its initial beauty, you could see now that his fingers were calloused, and a few white needle-thin scars lined the palms of his hand. Curious.

“Allow me to walk you home,” he said. His words were phrased so sweetly, they were practically dripping with honey. 

You forced yourself to remember why you were out here. What awaited you tomorrow, and for the rest of your life.

You couldn’t let your last night go to waste.

You shook your head, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Why did you feel like you owed him an apology? You had nothing to be sorry for. Yet something about those sea-green eyes had you entirely at his mercy.

His eyes narrowed and he retracted his hand. “Why not?” 

“It’s just… this is my last night.” His brow furrowed, but you continued on. “I don’t get another chance to do this, and quite frankly I’m not looking forward to the rest of my life.” You swallowed, staring at him and setting your shoulders. “I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I can’t.” 

The handsome stranger merely stared at you. There were micro-expressions that crossed his face while he mulled over your words: a twitch of his eyebrow, a slight narrowing of his eyebrows. It should not have been so fascinating to watch a man think. Then again, he had destroyed a lot of your so-called certainties tonight: most particularly, the idea that you would ever want to kiss someone.

But god above if you didn’t want to press your lips against his. You were so distracted by them that you hardly heard him when he began speaking.

“Let me help you, then.”

You blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Let me help make your last night worthwhile.” 

Your eyes narrowed with suspicion and you crossed your arms, trying to figure out why on earth he would offer to help you. “Why?”

He shrugged and smiled, holding his arms out. “If you’re so intent on getting into trouble, you might as well have a friend.” 

“We’re not friends,” you muttered, though the idea was sounding more appealing the more he talked about it. No, snap out of it! He’s playing you like a fiddle, your conscience pleaded.

Unfortunately, you were no longer listening to your conscience. His hand was extended to you once more, and he gave you a look that said ‘go on. Be brave for once.’ 

You were never one to shirk from a challenge.

“Don’t you trust me?” He asked. 

There was that teasing tone again. You held back a snort. “Absolutely not.” 

He grinned. “Smart girl.”

~

Hours later, when the sky was beginning to dim, you climbed the uneven brick wall with tired muscles and lifted yourself onto your windowsill, taking a moment to stare at the city. Even at near-dawn, the lights were still twinkling. The moving specks along the docks that you knew to be sailors were beginning to load the ships with crates and barrels. You breathed in the smell of ocean air, closed your eyes, and savored it for a moment before opening your window carefully, sliding off the sill and landing on the wooden floor. You latched the window behind you.

Your room was undisturbed. You took off your cloak and folded it quickly, shoving it into your dresser. Your dress came off just as fast, despite how tired you were; it fell from your shoulders and pooled on the floor around your feet. With a contented sigh, you fell into your bed, where sleep took you the minute your head hit the pillow. 

And as the sun rose, you dreamed. 

Next Chapter  _____

A/N: Thanks for reading! The tag list is wide open. Tell me what you think! <3

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