Ok so originally this was supposed to be a little buggy x reader imagine but like, Good Luck Babe coded. Then it turned into a 1400 word monstrosity I typed on my phone at 2 am while listening to Sub Urban and Breaking Benjamin.
Enjoy, please, so I can justify the pain in my thumbs and the severe lack of sleep.
There's some mentions of drinking, but that's really it? Oh and angst, fairly angst.
Like, Reader spent her early twenties with Buggy, gave her everything to him
Like, attached at the hip, not technically together, but like. So in love.
Would refuse to admit she loved him, but spent every waking (and sleeping) moment together
So in love with the wild life he lived. They lived. Together.
Holding the glasses while he poured shots. Pouring the gasoline while he threw the match. Staying up to see the sunrise. Getting so drunk that they had to hold each other to stay standing. Running wildly through ports. Ducking gunshots. Near death experiences only survived because they worked together.
But the long nights start getting to her. She realizes she can't maintain the wildness for her whole life. And he shows no signs of stopping.
Gets herself a steady job. Gives her hand to a merchant. Gets a nice cushy home. Everything at her beck and call.
But every night, she stands out on the balcony. Feeling the wind race through her hair. Cold nipping at her skin. A fresh seabreeze begging her to return. It feels wild and free, like him.
Sometimes he lands in her town. Surfacing just for a moment. And when she hears, her heart races, desperate for one more hit.
She remained unflinching for many years. Certain that if she never acknowledged the tribulations within her, that she would move on. She wouldn't need him. After some time.
But the longing breaks her. She can't admit it, but she was wrong. Can't admit that life was better when she was on the run. When she didn't know if she would wake in the morning.
When his arms were the only things between her and certain death. When he would hold her close as they fled crime scene upon crime scene. Bounties higher and higher.
It was more exhilarating. It kept her blood pumping. Her heart pounding. Her lungs inhaling. Just staying alive to see that wild grin on his face, when he would grace her with his focus.
Her heart aches. So sometimes, when she longs so deeply that she can barely breathe, she'll pull a cloak on. Slipping past her merchant in the dead of night. Past the gates of her house on the hill. And she'll descend upon the town.
Find the bar with the loudest shouting, and pull up a chair. There he is, standing on a table, regaling the crowd with his most recent escapades. Some cheer, while most remain wide-eyed, terrified of his crimes. How could this clown be so terrible.
But she remembers. He does it because he wants, no, needs, to be remembered. Begging for an audience to the unyielding tsunami of history.
You have to be just as catastrophic, if you want history to shine a light. That's what he would say. In the darkness of the shared room. Even basking in her love, a endless limelight, he still couldn't get enough. He needed to prove he deserved to be remembered by everyone. Not just her.
Funnily enough, he would always be remembered. Should she ever bare a child, they would know of him. They would hear endless tales of the flashy fool, the genius jester. His history would stain every generation of her family. She would make sure of that.
But one family singing his praises wouldn't be enough. He needed more and she knew that rotten truth through and through.
She never needed for anything with him. Mind it, ill-begotten goods were what she received. But the morals weren't the issue. He just couldn't understand that he was enough. Just the way he was. He constantly gave her more, bathed her in riches. Every member of his crew wanted not. But their praises weren't enough. They weren't nearly enough for him.
He had made it clear that one day, he would move on. That he would be the pirate king, everyone would bow to him and him alone. He would have the perfect ship, the perfect crew, and the perfect woman beside him.
But his gifts, praises, and good-times had blinded her. He had always been clear about his dreams. It had just taken her too long to wise up to what they meant.
Those memories made her weep. Feelings so cleanly muzzled and chained within her breaking loose and wreaking havoc. So she would pull her hood further down, to hide the misting in her eyes and once again leave him.
For all it's impossibility, she needs him desperately. Her heart beats out of its cage. Knowing the perfect comfort was only yards away. Beating it's way out of her chest, tearing away. Begging for a reprieve from its endless torment. Even if it meant laying down her life.
Maybe a single word, a single drink, a single conversation, a single night would be enough. She could finally move on. But no. It wouldn't be enough and she knew it.
He could completely enrapture her. That glow, the warmth of basking in his presence was euphoric. And she would never walk away again.
But he would never give her all of him. He would pursue his glory, his kingship. And she would one day be left with nothing but the sunlight he bathed her in. And she would be sucked dry, left with nothing. Gave him all of her, but receiving so little in return.
So she stays there. Just a block away, tears drying on her cheeks, laying in the street. People bumble past, heading home from the bars. Assuming that she simply did not make it that far. Too drunk to function.
If only they knew. If only she knew. If she could regain control. The feelings in her chest, in her gut, poured down her face. They must be denied completely and totally. Or else the regret would ruin her. Thrashing about, bruising her ribs and exploding through her sternum. So it was restrained to bitter wimpers.
She would go home, face bright red and glistening from her tears. She would slink into her shared room, where her merchant slept so peacefully. Naive to the ways she betrayed him. It's not like he was much better though. She knew about the little tart he kept on his ship. Hardly mattered though. No need to blow up her life.
For all the ways it might satisfy her need for thrill. She wouldn't do it. Would be too difficult to pick up the pieces.
No guarantee that he would take her back. And besides, she didn't want the world like he did. She just wanted him. He hadn't understood that.
The world would never truly understand her, but he did. He knew who she was. Its easy to know your own flesh. An extension of himself walking away from him. But he couldn't command this one to come back.
For all his talk of taking the world, it always included her by his side. He wouldn't have admitted it then, nor now, but he missed her just as deeply. He was unsatisfied with his fame. The world's a stage, yes. But the limelight is freezing, and the stage is far too big for him alone. But he couldn't admit that, it would mean that she was right to leave. His pursuits were hollow and he gave up everything for them.
She was the closest to heaven he had been.
He knew she lived there in the port city. It was the only reason he risked getting caught so often. Just to catch a glimpse of her. The detached limb he never got back. But he never did, so he'd find a quiet spot, away from prying eyes, and just watch. Stare up at that house on the hill till the sun came up. Somber and sterile as it was, at least he knew she was safe. Couldn't be hurt there.
Maybe she missed him sometimes? Maybe she still thought about him. But surely after all these years she had moved on. She had a good life. A man who loved her. Everything she could ever want. What could he offer that the merchant couldn't.
Nothing.
He was just some no good pirate captain with a mediocre crew. He only stumbled into good luck, cruel mistress she was. Not worth dragging a good woman down with him. No, she deserved the world, and every beauty it held. He couldn't give her that, so he didn't deserve her.
