#potc reader insert

[witchthewriter]

𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒃 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒇 Jack & his chaotic s/o

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

'Relentless...' the word hadn't left you alone since you'd woken up this morning. Like most mornings, you found yourself warm in Jack's arms, the smell of rum on his lips as he kissed you awake.

With the shared blanket tucked into your side, Jack hummed one of the hearty tunes from last night into your neck. Murmuring, you allowed yourself to bask there for a few moments until you were fully awake.

The swaying of the Black Pearl was something you loved. Even in rough seas, you're the first one soundly asleep. And yet, unease wrangled itself in your stomach. Coiling and uncoiling it went, alerting you.

Seconds passed before you wiggled your body away from Jack, and he let you get up with a sigh.

You were about to say something when a thunderous noise broke out on deck.

"Always so bloody loud," he grumbled, voice gruff from sleep.

The air was crisp from the cold. A heavy fog set around the Pearl. Unnecesarily heavy it was, but you heeded it no mind. Too occupied in your own thoughts to comprehend the lurking dangers.

"Maybe the right one to use is ... unrelenting..." You thought out loud.

Until you heard a pained cry and the reason for your wariness became so utterly clear.

Dark clouds swirled above you, swords clashed and you pulled your sword from its scabbard.

"How the 'ell did they find us, aye?" You heard from your right, Jack said as he adjusted his hat.

With that unanswered question hanging in the air, your body took over with the knowledge of engagement. Left, right, block, parry. On and on.

Until you paused mid fight with the soldier.

Your brows furrowing. Arms coming to cross over your chest as you pondered. This happened from time to time. You forgetting where exactly you were to get lost within your mind. But you were always safe. It was as if luck was on your side...

And Luck had just diverted a shiny sharp dagger from embedding itself in you.

With a loud clash, you felt a familiar presence. One blade put you in danger, but another, the dagger of luck, saved you from a death blow.

"What is it, love?" Jack said slightly out of breath. Unbothered by the fact that he saved your life by an inch.

"Well... is it relentless?"

"What is-", Jack was stopped mid-sentence and kicked the running soldier. "Bloody hell," he sneered.

"Fuckin' hurt that did."

Mind lost to your whirling brain, you couldn't help your thoughts.

"Or is the proper word unrelenting? You know-" your attention turned to Jack. Now fully facing him, Jack had a bloody nose and a split right across his eyebrow.

He cut you off, already knowing Gibbs' had ensured the crew's victory.

Quite literally grabbing you and sweeping you off your feet he mumbled, "well, whatever the correct word is; that's what my love is for you."

"Oh Jack, stop ..." You blushed and moved to give him a kiss on the cheek.

[enby-jellyfish]

Caribbean Night

Captain Hector Barbossa X GN!Reader (POC friendly)

Pronouns: You/Your

Summary: As dark thoughts about your cursed existence threaten to consume you, you find comfort in your captain.

Warnings: Depressive thoughts, canon typical body horror

Word Count: 1338

A/N: THIS GROSS OLD MAN IS MY ACTUAL WIFE!?!?!??!

It is a cold night on the Caribbean sea, or so you assume, it is not like you are capable of feeling it.

The crew is celebrating below deck, we found three pieces of the cursed of Aztec gold today. Three pieces closer to being human again. Only one of the eight hundred eighty two left, we are getting so close.

Despite this victory you cannot find it in yourself to celebrate. You climb up on deck and wander over to the Pearl's railing.

As you trace the grooves in the black wooden planks with the tips of your fingers you listen to the faint sounds of the crew celebrating, the waves of the sea gently beating against the hull, and the rigging knocking against the masts.

It is peaceful. And yet you feel anything but.

Before your depressing chain of thought can begin to spiral you feel a sudden, familiar weight on your shoulder.

"Heya, Jack." You scratch the capuchin’s head and he makes a small noise of content, closing his eyes for a moment before jumping down from your shoulder onto the railing next to your hand. You notice something shiny in his hands.

"Whatcha got there?" You questioned the monkey, already knowing the answer. He proudly holds up the golden coin to show you and confirms your suspicions.

You manage to fish a few non-cursed coins out of your pocket and hold them up to him. "Care to trade?"

Jack looks between you, the coins, and the golden piece for a second, torn between the options. You hold out your hand closer to him, shaking the coins, causing them to make a clinking sound.

"C'mon, when have you ever refused new shiny trinkets?" As if he could understand you he snatched up the coins and dropped the golden piece into your expecting hand and ran off, presumably to his owner.

You look at the coin in your hand, tracing the intricate markings with your thumb. The heavy gold pressing down into your palm, it is heavier than other gold coins you’ve handled, though you suppose that is because of the curse. You can’t tell whether the coin is warm or cold.

You let out a deep sigh. Your soul is full of longing for a state of being you haven’t experienced in too many years. You ache to taste again, to feel again, to be alive again.

The sound of heavy boots approaching catches interrupts your thoughts full of grief over your past life. You don’t need to look up to know who those boots belong to.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Turning around you face your captain, Jack is perched on his shoulder.

“If only it wasn’t. Would have saved us a whole lot of trouble…” You sigh out, handing him the coin and turning back to the railing, looking out over the dark sea, moon hidden behind the clouds.

Barbossa hands the coin to Jack an tells him to put it with the others. You hear the pitter patter of the monkey’s little feet on the deck as you feel your captain lean on the railing next to you.

“Why aren’t you celebratin' with the rest of the crew?” He questions, you can feel his eyes on you.

You start tracing the wood again. “Didn’t feel like celebrating.”

“Aye, I suppose I can understand that.” You hear a pain in his voice, a pain you share.

“I miss feeling the rain.” You lament. It has been so long.

“I miss feeling the sun.” He speaks, gaze upon the horizon. You look at him, the light of the lit lanterns framing his sorrowful face. You can see every detail of his face so clearly.

You catch yourself staring before he can and turn your gaze back to the sea. If you weren’t undead you would be able to feel warmth spreading over your cheeks by now.

“Do you believe we can actually do it, break the curse? I mean, we’ve lost the kid before.” The question falls from your lips before you could take the time to think the repercussions of such a question aimed at your captain through.

Luckily he doesn’t take it in a bad way and decides to tease you instead. “Not losing faith in me are ye?” You laugh at that, suddenly feeling more at ease.

“Please, I have been with you since the Cobra. I helped pull you from the wreck if you care to recall.”

Now he’s laughing as well, a barking sound you haven’t heard in ages. Both of you shift to face each other.

“Aye, ye have been loyal since the very beginning, that be true.” He closes moves closer to you as he speaks, shoulders bumping into one another. It feels good. Comforting.

“How could I not? You accepted me into your crew when no one else would. You took care of me, and still do. I thank you for that.” You speak softly and earnestly, causing the mood to switch to something more vulnerable. You have been wanting to get that off your chest for so long now.

He smiles softly at you. Well, as softly as an aged sea-hardened pirate like himself can manage. “It has been a genuine pleasure to have ye aboard.” He nods his head in a mock-bow.

You smile at that, staring into those piercing blue eyes of his, finding him to be staring back into yours.

You lose yourself for a moment. Your mind coming up with a whirlwind of what ifs about possible scenarios with him. In these fantasies you would be happy, alive, with him.

Your wishful thoughts were interrupted by the moon appearing from behind the clouds it was previously hidden. You watched as the moonlight revealed your true selves, flesh melting away to reveal the cursed undead skeleton appearance underneath.

You bring your hand up to inspect it. Even after so many years it was still a shock to see the withered bones.

“C’mon.” Barbossa takes your skeleton hand into his own and gently leads you toward his cabin.

Once inside, hidden from the moonlight, you don’t look dead anymore.

Barbossa sits you on a chair near his desk, still holding your hand, running his calloused fingers across the back of your hand in a soothing motion.

You close your eyes for a second, letting out a deep sigh while hiding your face in your free hand. You would be crying if you could.

Barbossa’s free hand reaches towards your chin and gently tilts your head to face him. “Now, none of that. No point in mopin’ around. We will get our lives back, I promise ye that.” He mumbles, your faces are but a few inches away.

“Swear to me.” The sentence came as a mere whisper.

He kneels down to your level, his lips almost touching yours as he whispers your name. “I swear to ye, upon the very stars guiding our way, under the watchful eye of any deity willing to bear witness.” The hand holding your chin drifts towards the point where your jaw meets your neck.

“Captain, I-”

“Hector.”

“Hector, I-”

Your eyes flit down towards his lips. They are chapped, but then again, yours are probably as well.

A pause. Then your lips finally meet.

You don’t feel the familiar warmth or contentment you have come to associate with kissing over the years, and yet it is the best kiss you believe you’ve ever had.

Hector parts from you for a moment, forehead resting against yours, eyes closed. “We will find Bootstrap’s little whelp, and the cursed final piece he sent away.” He presses his lips to yours again in a sweet peck. “If I have to sail to the very ends of the world to find them.”

His lips are on yours again before you can find the words to reply. The slightest flicker of comfort blooms inside of you.

You may be cursed, but right here, right now your existence doesn’t seem so hopeless as it did before.

Pirates of the Caribbean Masterlist

Masterlist

Thank you for reading <3

[hannaswritingblog]

Imagine: Jack Sparrow and James Norrington getting jealous of you

Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean

Suggested by anon [x] – I really hope that this imagine is at least close to what you had in mind and that you like it! And if you have any other suggestions, my inbox is always open. 😊

You're walking down a pier in the Port Royal harbour, trying to clear your mind. Everyone's been waiting for James Norrington to be promoted to Commodore for a while now and today, on a day of the official ceremony, the area is buzzing with excitement.

Being a part of James's immediate circle, you should feel that excitement too. Deep in your heart you certainly do. But at the same time you can't help but wonder how your life would've gone if you didn't abandon your life at sea. Your life as a pirate...

Lost in your thoughts, you don't realise you're not alone anymore until you feel a tap on your shoulder, forcing you to turn around only to see the soon-to-be Commodore next to you.

"Is something bothering you, Y/N?" Norrington says, smiling softly.

"Oh, it's... nothing, James. Nothing's bothering me. I was just thinking about... my past."

His smile immediately fades away, but he manages to keep his composure as he tells you:

"You don't have to worry about your past. Nobody around knows that you were a pirate except me, and I intend on keeping your secret safe, just as I promised."

"Thank you. But... you know who was my captain during my time as a pirate, right?"

A solemn expression crosses his face before he says:

"Yes. Yes, I know. And it doesn't change a thing."

Deep down you know it changes a lot, but neither of you is going to admit it. But even though his pride must be hurt, you appreciate that James is steady in his promise.

"I'm glad. If you could give me one more minute alone though. I'll join you soon."

"Of course."

He bows to you slightly and walks away. You wait for Norrington to be gone from your sight before reluctantly following him.

On your way out of the harbour you pass a familiar figure. It takes you a second to realise where you know the person from, but once you do, you can't help but turn around and call out:

"Jack!"

"Oh. So it really is you, Y/N," Jack Sparrow says, walking back to you. "Didn't expect to see you around, sweetie."

"As if it wasn't where you dropped me off last time we saw each other," you respond.

"Okay, so maybe I knew I'd find you here. But not in the company of an officer of the Royal Navy, for sure."

"Oh, Norrington? He's just a..." You stop for a second when you notice that Jack's usual sly smile is now gone. "Wait... are you jealous?"

"What, me? Jealous? Of some officer? Never." Only when you raise an eyebrow at him, he admits: "Okay. I might be just a little jealous. But if this is how you live now..."

"Yes. I believe it is."

"...then I won't try to change your mind."

Something in your heart stings, as if you wanted him to try. You almost ask him to, but instead you catch yourself saying:

"Thank you. I still hope you'll stick around; Norrington is promoted to Commodore today, it's a chance to have some fun."

"You should stop tempting me, Y/N. A chance to have a good time and be in your presence? I reckon I shall stick around."

Jack sends you a smile before you part ways. And that smile is how you know he's back to his usual self and besides the fun, you can definitely expect some trouble.

[wittyandobsessed]

𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | James Norrington x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | I got so carried away! Oh my God, when I started writing, I never thought I wouldn’t be able to stop. Consider yourself warned—this is all your fault, anon, lol! You’ve reignited my love for this character, whom, I must admit, I had almost forgotten. Anyway, it turned out extremely long, so… happy reading!

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓: 7. Holding hands tightly during a difficult moment

𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐆𝐨

The sea stretched out before you, endless and glimmering under the golden sun. It was supposed to be a routine diplomatic mission—an opportunity for you, the governor’s youngest daughter, to prove your worth beyond the silks and societal expectations of Port Royal. Commodore James Norrington had been assigned to oversee your safety, an arrangement that neither of you had spoken much of, but one that had intensified the unspoken tension that always lingered between you.

James was everything a man should be—capable, stern, yet undeniably gentle when he allowed himself to be. And you? You were reckless, headstrong, and, as your father often reminded you, too stubborn for your own good. Perhaps that was why you and James circled each other like opposing tides, never quite colliding, but always drawn close, an invisible force tethering you together.

James had always been a constant in your life, though never quite within reach. He had been there when you were younger, watching with a quiet sort of amusement as you trailed after Elizabeth, longing to join in on her adventures. He had been there when you stole away from tedious lessons to sneak down to the docks, always finding you before anyone else did. He had never scolded you the way others did, never truly reprimanded you for your recklessness—though his sighs of exasperation had become a familiar sound.

“You know,” you said idly, turning to face him, “I was rather surprised when my father insisted that you personally accompany me.”

James barely reacted, though you caught the way his fingers flexed behind his back, clasped neatly together as always. “It is my duty to ensure your safety,” he replied, voice measured. “Your father merely trusts that I will see it done.”

You smiled, tilting your head. “That’s a very practiced answer, Commodore.”

His gaze flickered to you then, just for a moment, before returning to the horizon. “It is the truth.”

It was always like this between you—carefully chosen words, half-truths wrapped in propriety, a game played between stolen glances and the briefest of touches. Even now, as you stood side by side, there was an invisible line neither of you dared cross, though you toed the edge of it more than he did.

“You take this duty very seriously,” you mused, shifting closer. “Have you no faith in my ability to protect myself?”

James exhaled softly, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “I have faith in your ability to find trouble, which is precisely why I take this duty so seriously.”

You laughed at that, the sound carrying over the deck, and for just a second, his expression softened. It was brief, but it was there—the gentleness that he so rarely allowed himself to show.

The voyage had been uneventful for the most part. The HMS Dauntless cut through the waves smoothly, the crew well-trained and alert. James had remained professional, his interactions with you measured, though his glances lingered a second too long, and his fingers always seemed to brush against yours when he handed you something. You had exchanged teasing remarks, always underlined with something deeper, something unspoken.

But then, the peace shattered.

The warning bells rang through the ship, and a voice from the crow’s nest bellowed, “Sails on the horizon! Black flag!”

Pirates.

The once-orderly deck erupted into movement. Sailors dashed to their stations, boots pounding against the wooden planks. Commands were shouted, muskets were pulled from storage, and the heavy creak of cannons being dragged into position filled the space between crashing waves.

Your heart pounded against your ribs. This was no ordinary encounter—this was a battle. A fight for survival. And you had no place in it.

James had made that abundantly clear just hours before, his tone leaving no room for argument. “If anything happens, you will go below deck immediately. Do not argue with me.” But now, with chaos about to break loose, you couldn’t move. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the growing silhouette of the enemy ship, its dark sails billowing like an omen against the bright sky.

James was at your side in an instant, already fastening his sword belt, his face set in stone. Even as the world around him teetered on the edge of violence, he remained collected, the perfect image of a commodore. But you knew him too well.

You saw the flicker of something else in his gaze—not just duty, not just determination.

Worry.

For you.

“Go below deck.” His voice was firm, steady. It was an order, not a request.

You shook your head. “No.”

His eyes darkened, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Y/N,” he warned, stepping closer, his voice dropping to something quieter. Something more desperate.

His fingers wrapped briefly around your wrist, his grip warm despite the chill that had settled in your bones. It was a rare moment of raw emotion, a break in the carefully measured distance he always kept between you. His touch wasn’t harsh, wasn’t forceful—but it held urgency, a silent plea beneath the hardened exterior.

“Please.”

Your breath caught. James never begged. Never pleaded. And yet, for the briefest of moments, the ever-composed Commodore Norrington looked at you not as an officer under duty’s command—but as a man afraid of losing something precious.

But before you could respond, the first shot rang out.

A cannon blast ripped through the air, and the Dauntless lurched violently beneath your feet. You staggered back as the ship groaned in protest, wood splintering in a deafening explosion. Shouts erupted all around you.

And then—chaos.

Cannons fired in rapid succession, their booms shaking the very air as black smoke billowed across the deck. The sharp clash of steel followed—the unmistakable ring of swords meeting swords. Pirates swarmed, swinging from ropes, leaping onto the deck with battle cries that sent ice down your spine.

James had already drawn his sword.

You had never seen him like this before.

James moved like a force of nature—swift, precise, and utterly unrelenting. Every strike of his blade was deliberate, every step calculated, as if the battle itself bent to his will. His coat flared behind him with each movement, catching the light like the sails of a ship in full wind. He was the embodiment of control, of power, of a man who had spent years perfecting the art of war.

He was untouchable.

Until he wasn’t.

A sharp cry.

Your heart clenched as you whirled around, just in time to see him falter. It was small, barely a stumble, but the sight of it sent terror crashing through you like a tidal wave. A dark stain bloomed across his side, stark against the crisp navy of his coat. The pirate who had struck him barely had time to gloat before James, with gritted teeth and sheer determination, drove his sword through his attacker’s chest. The enemy crumpled, lifeless.

But the damage was already done.

You could see it—the way his breathing hitched, the way his stance wavered just slightly. He pressed a hand to his side, fingers slick with red, his knuckles white with tension. He was trying to ignore it, trying to fight through it, but you knew better.

“No—no, no, no,” you whispered, the sound barely audible over the clash of steel and the roar of cannon fire. Panic surged through you as you shoved past the chaos, dodging swinging blades, slipping between bodies. You didn’t care about the battle raging around you, didn’t care about the danger—only him.

He barely had time to register your presence before his knees buckled.

You caught him just before he could collapse, your arms straining under his weight. “James—James, look at me,” you pleaded, lowering him gently onto the bloodstained deck.

He gritted his teeth, his face pale beneath the sweat and grime. “I—” He exhaled sharply, pain etched into every syllable. “I told you… to stay below deck.”

His voice, usually so steady, was weak now, strained with pain. The ever-composed Commodore Norrington, the man who had always seemed so unbreakable, was breaking before your eyes.

“Shut up, James,” you snapped, your hands pressing firmly against his wound, desperate to stop the bleeding. Your fingers were already slick with his blood, warm and horrifying as it seeped between them. “Just—just hold on.”

His lips twitched—whether in amusement or delirium, you couldn’t tell. “Giving me… orders now, are you?”

His attempt at humor sent fresh panic through you. “Don’t,” you begged, your voice breaking. “Don’t joke, don’t talk, just—just stay awake.”

The battle raged on around you—cannons roared, swords clashed, men shouted—but in that moment, none of it mattered. Not the pirates still swarming the deck, not the cries of the wounded.

All that mattered was the man in your arms.

James—your James—was bleeding out, and you were powerless to stop it.

Fortunately, the crew managed to defeat the pirates. The battle had been fierce, the clash of steel against steel ringing out over the waves, the scent of gunpowder thick in the salty air. But at last, the enemy had been driven back, their ship battered and their numbers dwindling. Before you knew it, they were scrambling onto their vessel, trying to flee, their torn sails catching the wind in a desperate attempt to escape.

The officer in command did not hesitate. His voice was sharp, unwavering. “After them! We end this now!”

Orders were shouted, boots pounded against the wooden deck, and the ship began to turn in pursuit. But your focus was on James, on his face that was slowly paling.

A cold dread wrapped around your heart.

There was no time to chase pirates.

“We need to turn back,” you said, your voice urgent, but firm. Your chest was tight, your pulse hammering against your ribs, but you kept your tone commanding. You turned sharply to the nearest officer, your eyes flashing with determination. “Turn the ship around. Now.”

The officer hesitated. His gaze flickered between you and the crew, uncertainty in his expression. “Miss, we have orders to—”

“I do not care about orders!” you cut in, your voice rising. Fury and fear tangled inside you like a raging storm. “Do you know who I am? Do you know who my father is? This ship turns back now, or I swear, every single one of you will answer to him personally.”

A heavy silence fell over the deck. The crew exchanged uneasy glances. The officer’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might refuse. But then—

“Aye, miss,” he said at last, stiffly. He turned, barking orders, and the ship began to change course.

The tension in your chest loosened just slightly, but relief was fleeting. James let out a shaky breath, his hand reaching for yours. His fingers were cold, weak, yet he still managed a shadow of a smile.

“That,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “was very improper.”

A breathless laugh escaped your lips, though tears stung at the corners of your eyes. You tightened your grip around his hand, as if holding on to him could keep him from slipping away.

“Proper behavior,” you said softly, leaning closer, “is the least of my concerns, James.”

The return voyage felt agonizingly slow, each passing moment stretching endlessly as you clung to James, refusing to let go. The boat rocked gently beneath you, the rhythmic lapping of the waves against the hull a stark contrast to the chaos that had led to this moment. His body was limp in your arms, his skin cold and clammy, and with every shallow breath he took, fear clawed at your chest.

Your fingers were locked tightly with his, holding on as if sheer willpower alone could keep him tethered to you. His grip was weak, barely there, but when he stirred, even the slightest twitch of his fingers was enough to make hope flicker inside you.

“Stay with me,” you whispered, leaning in close. The scent of salt and blood filled the air, mingling with the dampness clinging to his skin. You brushed a few damp strands of hair from his forehead, your touch featherlight, as if afraid he would break beneath your fingers. His face was pale, far too pale, and his lips were tinged with a shade of blue that sent a fresh wave of panic surging through you.

“I’ve got you,” you murmured again, your voice soft but firm, a promise you weren’t willing to break.

His eyelids fluttered, his breathing uneven, but at the sound of your voice, his grip on your hand tightened—a desperate, fleeting show of strength that sent relief flooding through you. He was still here. Still fighting.

You swallowed hard, blinking away the sting of tears. The boat creaked as it moved forward, but it still wasn’t fast enough. Every second counted, and yet the shore felt impossibly far away.

The cold wind bit at your skin, but you barely noticed. The only thing that mattered was the faint rise and fall of his chest, the trembling of his fingers as they held onto yours.

"Just hold on," you pleaded, your voice breaking. "We're almost there."

James didn’t answer, but his fingers curled slightly against your palm, and you held on tighter.

The crew moved with urgency the moment the ship docked at Port Royal. Boots pounded against the wooden planks, voices called out orders, but you barely heard any of it. Your focus was on James—on his pale face, the way his chest barely rose with each shallow breath. His body was limp in their grasp as they carried him from the ship, but you never let go of his hand. You walked beside him, matching their hurried pace, your fingers still locked with his, unwilling to loosen your grip for even a second.

The streets of Port Royal blurred past you as they rushed him toward the infirmary. The scent of the sea still clung to your clothes, the tang of salt and blood lingering in the air, but none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was him.

Inside the infirmary, the scent of herbs and medicine filled the small, candlelit space. The surgeons moved quickly, their voices low but urgent, gathering supplies, pressing cloth to his wounds, barking orders to assistants who scrambled to obey. One of them, a man with kind but firm eyes, stepped toward you, trying to usher you back.

"You need to step aside," he said. "Let us work."

But you didn’t move. You didn’t even loosen your grip on James’ hand.

“No,” you said, your voice steadier than you expected. “I stay.”

The surgeon hesitated for only a second before nodding, then turned back to his work. No one else tried to remove you. So you stayed.

The hours stretched on, slow and heavy. You sat by his bedside, your hand still wrapped around his, unwilling to let go. His fingers were cold, his skin too pale, but his chest still rose and fell, steady and slow, and that was enough.

You whispered to him, your voice barely more than a breath in the quiet room. You told him he was strong, that he was going to be fine. You told him stories—silly little memories, things he might not even remember, but they filled the silence and kept you from thinking about the worst.

When no one was looking, you stroked his fingers, tracing the lines of his palm as if memorizing them. You pressed your lips to his knuckles, letting them linger there for a moment longer than necessary.

Outside, the world moved on. The city bustled, the waves crashed against the docks, the crew likely went about their duties, but none of it reached you.

Your world had narrowed down to this one small space, this single moment, waiting—praying—for James to wake up.

The sound of hurried footsteps against the stone floor barely registered in your mind at first. You were too focused on the steady rise and fall of James’ chest, on the slight warmth of his fingers beneath yours. But then, a familiar voice—one laced with worry and authority—cut through the heavy quiet of the infirmary.

“Thank heavens.”

You looked up just as your father, Governor Weatherby Swan, stepped into the dimly lit room. His powdered wig was slightly askew, a rare sign of distress, and his fine coat, though impeccably pressed, bore the creases of someone who had rushed here without pause. His eyes swept over you, wide with relief, and before you could so much as greet him, he was already speaking.

“I heard about the attack. I came as soon as I could. When the report arrived, I feared the worst,” he admitted, exhaling shakily as he took a step closer. “You are unharmed?”

“I am,” you assured him, though your voice was quieter than usual, your exhaustion evident.

His shoulders sagged slightly, his concern easing. But his gaze barely flickered toward James, lying unconscious in the bed beside you.

That subtle disregard—intentional or not—made something in your chest twist uncomfortably. Of course, he was relieved about you, but James… James had nearly died. Did that not warrant even a fraction of worry?

Your father’s attention returned to you, his expression softening as he took in your appearance. His lips pressed into a thin line, his brows knitting together.

“My dear, look at you,” he murmured, his voice edged with disapproval. “Your hair is in complete disarray, your dress—” His eyes darted to the deep stains of blood, James’ blood, dried onto the fine fabric. His nose wrinkled slightly. “You must come home at once. You need to change, clean yourself up—”

“No.”

The word left you sharper than you intended, firm and unwavering. Your fingers tightened around James’ hand instinctively, as if to further cement your place beside him.

Your father frowned. “This is hardly proper. You cannot stay here like this—”

“I’m not leaving him,” you cut in, your voice rising just enough to make his eyes widen in faint surprise. “I will not move until he wakes.”

Silence hung heavy between you. The disapproval in his eyes remained, but beneath it, something shifted. His gaze flickered downward, to the way your hand was locked tightly in James’, the way your thumb absentmindedly traced soothing circles over his knuckles.

And then… he understood.

You saw it in the way his lips parted slightly, in the way his expression softened, not with fatherly exasperation, but with quiet realization. He knew.

He knew you loved James.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, with the weight of that understanding settling in his eyes, he simply exhaled and gave a small, almost weary nod.

“Very well,” he said, his voice quieter now, less insistent. “But promise me this—once he wakes, you will return home, if only for a moment.”

It was a compromise. One that told you he would not fight you on this, not now.

You swallowed, nodding. “I will.”

Your father gave one last lingering glance at James, unreadable thoughts flickering behind his gaze, before turning back to you.

“Then I shall leave you,” he said simply. He hesitated just a moment longer before adding, “Join me when you can.”

And with that, he turned and strode out of the infirmary, leaving you to watch over the man who had stolen your heart.

You didn’t know how long you waited after that. The minutes bled into hours, time moving sluggishly, the dim candlelight of the infirmary flickering against the stone walls. The soft rustling of linens, the distant murmur of voices outside, the rhythmic ticking of the clock—all of it faded into background noise as you sat by his side, your fingers never leaving his.

You stayed, watching, waiting, whispering quiet reassurances even though he couldn’t hear you.

And then—finally.

A stir.

A groan.

Your head shot up, your breath catching in your throat. His fingers twitched in yours, just slightly, but it was enough to send a jolt of hope through you. His eyes fluttered, unfocused at first, dazed and disoriented. You held your breath as his gaze wandered, searching, until finally—finally—it landed on you.

His brows furrowed slightly, confusion giving way to something softer as he took in the sight of your hand still wrapped tightly around his.

Then, his lips curved just barely.

“You’re still here,” he murmured, voice hoarse and rough with exhaustion.

The sheer relief that crashed over you was overwhelming, stealing the air from your lungs. Your chest tightened, your throat burned with unshed tears, and for a moment, all you could do was exhale shakily. Then, with a breathless, almost delirious laugh, you answered, “Of course, I am, you idiot.”

James let out a weak chuckle, the sound barely more than a breath, but you saw the hint of amusement in his tired eyes. His thumb brushed weakly against your skin, his touch featherlight but warm.

“You never do listen to me, do you?” he rasped, a teasing glint flickering behind the exhaustion.

You sniffed, blinking back tears as you tightened your grip around his hand. “No,” you admitted with a wobbly voice, your emotions slipping through the cracks. “And I don’t plan on starting now.”

His chuckle came again, though this time, you saw the flicker of pain that followed. His body was weak, aching, but despite it, despite everything, he still looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

His eyes traced over you—the tangled mess of your hair, the dark circles beneath your eyes, the way your dress was still stained with dried blood. He saw the raw emotion on your face, the tears you were desperately trying to hold back, but failing miserably to.

And to him, you were beautiful.

Not just because of how you looked, but because you stayed. Because you were here, because even after everything, you never left his side.

Maybe it was the near-death experience, maybe it was the pain or the sheer exhaustion, but before he could stop himself, the words slipped past his lips, soft but certain.

“You were always here,” he murmured, his voice rough but steady. “Even when we were children and I had to search every corner of Port Royal to find you. Even when you grew up into this—” He paused, exhaling shakily, his eyes never leaving yours. “This beautiful, maddening, incredible woman.”

Your breath caught.

James swallowed, his fingers weakly squeezing yours. “You were always here. In my mind. In my heart. No matter where I was, no matter how much time passed, I always found my way back to you.” His voice wavered, but his gaze held a certainty, a quiet devotion that made your chest ache. “And I think—I think I always will.”

The quiet confession stole your breath.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, eyes wide, heart thudding violently against your ribs.

Then, the tears finally spilled over.

“Oh, James,” you whispered, voice breaking as you cupped his face with trembling hands. His skin was warm beneath your touch, alive, real, here.

And that was all that mattered.

With a soft, shaky inhale, you leaned in, closing the space between you. And then, without hesitation, without second thoughts, you kissed him—good and proper, full of everything you had been holding back for far too long.

It was gentle and desperate all at once, a silent promise, a declaration stronger than words.

James sighed against your lips, his weak fingers threading through yours again, holding on, as if he never wanted to let go.

▸ Everything

@alexxavicry

[lieutenantselnia]

POV: He's holding your hand💕

[macabrebatz]

Gonna crosspost some of my old fanfiction tonight. I recently logged back into my old Wattpad account and I'm re-editing a lot of my old one-shots so I can post them here & on AO3.

A majority of it is about horror movie slashers but there's some other miscellaneous stuff that I might post here as well (like my old Pirates of the Caribbean one-shots).

I also found a half written Nightcrawler one shot that I guess my younger self never felt like finishing just sitting in my drafts. I think I'm going to do a bit of rewriting and finish it up.

[persnicketypomelo]

I just read your James Norrington post. I really liked it, I've been looking for stuff on him. If it's not to repetitive may I please request more romantic Yandere James Norrington with a pirate reader (she's part of Jack's crew), at all his character ark stages. Like commodore, reluctant pirate, regaining his status through betrayal, and finally his redemption (au where he lives). Thank you.

Sure thing--I'm not tired of writing for him. He is my favorite character of the whole franchise, but I get the feeling that the producers did not want us to care about him much. I'm also disappointed that there's little content on him. :(

obsession, spoilers

Yandere James Norrington with a Pirate

Commodore

For obvious reasons, the commodore doesn't think too highly of you initially

He is an idealistic man--fighting for justice, or at least what he deems to be so--and you self-serving pirates represent the antithesis of what he stands for

He worked hard for his position up to lieutenancy, and then his role as a commodore, while you and your kind steal and thieve your way to success

Although Norrington never was able to catch Jack Sparrow, the same cannot be said about individuals of his crew...

Perhaps in his pursuit to save Elizabeth, and his various scuffles with pirates in the process, he manages to imprison you

While you're stuck, imprisoned on the brig, he might as well see if you can be of use and provide him some information about Sparrow

What he doesn't expect, however, is to find you so attractive, especially for a pirate, disheveled and dirty, sitting on the filthy floors of the brig

And once he gets to talking with you, he finds that you have more in common than he would have thought

Despite being a pirate, you have some personal code of honour and sense of loyalty

This is when Norrington's obsession first culminates

He held some physical level attraction to you since he saw you, but now he feels that, after knowing you better, he can rehabilitate you and help you find the err in your piracy

During this phase of his character ark, his intense affection manifests through a saviour complex

He does not want you to hang, as would be his normal policy towards pirates, because he believes you can be saved

(And his stomach lurches at the thought of you dead)

Before he can actually manifest his plans, however, you slip away, unbeknownst to him

After dealing with Barbarossa's undead crew, a strange longing to see you and talk with you

Only, when he checks, your cell, after the whole ordeal, you aren't there

And all the while you're gone, his resentment of the captain Jack Sparrow grows for taking you away

Piracy

Disgraced and burned by his destroyed ship in pursuing Sparrow, he goes into hiding

While his interest in you before, as a commodore, was certainly unusual and intense, now, stuck in the echoes of his own mind, his fixation spirals

The copious amounts of alcohol surely doesn't help either

It is in his desperate enlisting to the Black Pearl that he finds you again--no longer so disheveled as during your imprisonment

Even after so long from your escape, he can't help the jolt in his heart from seeing you again

The fallen commodore's fixation is no longer along that lines that he can rehabilitate you--how can he when he can't even help himself?

Now, he is more honest with himself that he desires you, he wants to be with you, and after losing all his titles, there's no reason he can't now

In this stage of his character, it’s likely that he will be forthright in his intention—flirting with you outright

He is no longer a commodore, and the stoic, strong front he portrays from his experience in the navy is no longer necessary

He dreams of restoring his lost honor, and when he does, you best believe that he will take you with him

And a lucky break comes for him through the heart of Davy Jones

Admiral

This is where he’s most dangerous

Restored to his previous honour, and promoted to admiral, you are helpless to the power he has

And Lord Beckett surely wouldn't mind if he takes one measly pirate for himself

But all the while, he thinks about you...you're clearly not cut for piracy, and likely forced into it

He will take you away from the cruel and unbefitting world of piracy

And once he learns that the man he trusted and dedicated his services to betrayed his trust, his determination to sweep you away blooms tenfold

Lord Beckett had killed Governor Swan, someone Norrington trusted and admired

The incident is enough to send his obsession over the edge

After releasing the prisoners from the brig, he severs the ties between the Empress and the Dutchman

You come with him on a separate dinghy

And if you resist, confused by his actions and your sudden kidnap, he will point his pistol at you, telling you to comply with him for your own good

Norrington doesn't intend to shoot you, no matter what, but it is more to calm your struggles and your confusion

He insists this is for your "own good", but the single-minded and determined look across his face makes you worry if he might be more of a threat to you

Redemption

James Norrington wouldn't marry you--at least in an official manner

You have to remember that marriage serves as a business transaction, not solely for the spirit of love, or at least in this time

He would certainly take care of you as a spouse, just that there's no official records of such

Besides, he wants to hide you from the cruelty of the world as much as possible, and a marriage with you would just herald your existence to the world...to the evil who might wish you harm...

Undoubtedly his betrayal to Lord Beckett would hurt his professional prospects, but perhaps with time, he can regain a position of some valour

His dedication to service and honest work speak for him as much as his accomplishments

And if he ever regains a position of power again, your chances at escape are even slimmer

He is not paranoid, but he would feel at more ease to take certain...precautions...to prevent you from harm...or escape

He will be very dedicated to you, though he isn't particularly adept in expressing the earnest love he feels for you

But, if you ever manage to escape from his grasp...

Then you would truly see the depth of his obsession

[ivorydragoness44]

Theodore Groves x mermaid!Reader: In The Waters

Word Count: 6,129 Warnings/Notes: Takes place during the events of Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides. Mentions of mermaids attacking a ship and men screaming, worried/frantic/scared men. injured Theodore, angst, playful interactions, kissing… I think that’s all. Summary: Lieutenant Commander Theodore Groves ventures with Captain Barbossa and crew to Whitecap Bay. There, he meets an unlikely future ally and friend, a mermaid. Can Groves push aside his contempt for the mermaids’ attack on their ship to let his curiosity for this mermaid flourish into something else?

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

  The waters within Whitecap Bay had been quiet. After the fiery explosion caused by one of the pirates, the pod of mermaids had fled into deeper waters that very night. As the morning sun rose behind the clouded horizon, the mermaids stirred beneath the depths of the waves.   The water cut past your fins and those of your sisters. Something large approached. From the familiarity of the sound pushing through the waters surface, you knew exactly what it was.   The shipping vessel neared, but stopped short of entering the bay. There, under the cover of the water, the mermaids waited with great patience.   One ship at night, one ship by day; there was no coincidence. The pirates had made it quite clear of their intentions and by the end of the night, they had claimed one of your own.   Looking to your sisters,  they made no move to pursue the small boats of men that were soon dropped into the water. It was decided quickly and unanimously of the steps they would take with these men. They wanted to attack before the men did. But also, to avenge the mermaids that you all had lost that night, vengeance trickling over your scales.   Though you agreed and supported your fellow mermaids, you did not want to risk the life of a single one of them again. The pirates had arrived prepared. What did these new strangers bring?

  As the men rowed their boats away from the main ship, you followed. Their loud calls to one another lowered when they passed into the bay, and your curiosity grew.   Nearing the center of the bay, a flick of your tail sent you to the surface. Carefully, you peeked your head up out of the water for a moment. These men dressed identically, with short curled white hair to match. Peculiar men. By their shifting eyes and soft voices, you could tell how uneasy they were. All with good reason.   All too quickly, you ducked back down under the water’s surface. You kept a safe distance as you trailed behind them just shy of the shoreline.   The men in white hopped out of their boats to pull them up onto the sand. One man in particular, you noticed when you bobbed up with a wave, had a wooden leg. He appeared to lead, a small group following him onto the sand. The hat he adorned on his head was wide like a setting black sun, and his long coat held details of gold accents. His appearance gave a sense of importance between him and the less decorated.   Diving toward the rock formation that lined the bay, you indulged in your curiosity. There, you held onto the smooth surface to steady yourself. You looked on as the men spotted a dead mermaid beached ashore. A coat detailed man stood before her limp body and gave it a firm kick. You bit back a hiss at the sight. However, a second man rushed over, kneeling beside your sister. He took up her seaweed-like hair and ran it gently over his hand. The wind carried their voices to you. Not that they were exactly quiet creatures.

  “Mermaid,” said a third less garbed man. He walked around the kneeling man who remained in awe. Or fear. “Give up this madness now.” He said, to who you now supposed was indeed their captain.   “I cannot,” he replied as the worrier continued to the other side of the mermaid’s body, turning he attention back to the captain. “Ever walk on the back, to look back and see your footsteps in the sand? It’s like that, except the footsteps lie before me,” he said, stepping away, only to pause in his motions.   A fourth man had since stood behind him. “Footstep, actually,” he corrected, much to the captain’s disliking.   The second man stood, speaking directly to the captain. “Whitecap Bay, sir. We must hasten.”   No sooner the words had left his mouth, angry shrieking of mermaids cried out in the distance and too the screams of the crewmen.   The four men looked over in turn. The otherwise busy crewmen ashore stopped their duties upon hearing the horrific scene.

  You needed not look yourself. It was clear to your ears of the sound of your sisters ripping the ship apart with ease. Of how the men would try to flee but ultimately be pulled down to the depths.

  Curiously, their captain did not seem the least bit concerned.   “We travel by foot. Gibbs, I require a heading.”   The second man whipped around in dismay, shocked by the lack of action and compassion. “But, sir, the men,” he said, walking around the unfortunate mermaid corpse to face the captain.   “They be dead already.”   They both looked toward the ship and back again.   “They don’t sound dead,” the man’s voice deepened into an angered gruff.   “Oh, is that so?” The captain questioned. Pulling out his pistol as he stepped closer and pointed it up toward the man’s chin without breaking eye contact. “Well, I hear nothing but seagulls nesting,” he countered. “What is it that you hear, Mister Groves?”   Chest heaving with fear for his fellow men and anger, Groves peered over at the ship again with his eyes as the men continued to shriek. With restraint anger, he said. “Seagulls…nesting. Nothing more.”   “Heading, Gibbs?”   The captain and Groves turned to the man in question whereas he looked over at the wood creaking ship. The men still screamed for their lives, the vessel beginning to tip to its right down into the waves.   Everyone except the captain paid any mind to the scene. Both Groves and Gibbs took steps forward.   “My God,” Groves breathed out in disbelief.   Frustrated to his breaking point at the wasted time, the captain stomped over to Gibbs. Pointing the pistol at him, he said. “Your heading or my heading. I’ll have me one or t’other, I don’t care which.”   Gibbs took two breaths, blinked out the rain hitting his eyes. The pistol was pressed under his jaw, but he soon turned away and walked up the beach with the captain in toe.   “All hands, forward!” The fourth man called out for the other men to follow. To leave the beach and the scene entirely, he and the men already began to saunter up the sand.   Groves however, continued to look on between them and the sinking ship. Could they truly continue on with their conscience in tact?

  As the captain managed his way over the sand with the others following behind, one did not. Groves remained, watching in horror as their ship and crew were torn apart by the both hungry and vengeful mermaids. Until the ship was out of sight, he stared, but the screams could still be heard.

  Feeling sorrow for his loss as you looked upon his face from a distance, you frowned. You glanced over your shoulder to view the ship as it crumbled into the water, pulled under the choppy waves. One by one, dragged to the depths for a feasting frenzy by your fellow mermaids was very likely. You doubted any man would be kept for other means.   When you leisurely looked back over to the shore again, you were met with the in-awe eyes of this Mister Groves. His mouth even hung slightly agape at the sight of you.   Never had anyone looked at you in such a way. It struck you odd, but you did not hate it. Then again, it was usually a look of horror if any man did get a chance to look you in the eyes. As you typically attacked from behind, it was rare. Stealth could be a good strategy in hunting.   You smiled kindly, though not so boisterous as to frighten him, or otherwise make cause for a negative reaction. You found yourself even giving him a small wave of your fingers in greeting. Intentionally in the moment, you did not want to appear rude to a human being that even remotely appeared compassionate to others in need of help. Especially those in dire peril. You thought it even a sprinkle of hilarity that he was the only one to have noticed you. For you were quite close to shore and in plain view of them if they were to pay attention.   Groves slowly and cautiously made his way around the wreckage toward the water and the other set of rocks, looking down occasionally to watch his own footing. To any one of his crewmen that had not passed by his location, it would have appeared as though he was following behind himself.   While Groves was walking over, you remained beside the rock for a time. Holding onto the natural formation stabilized you from the waves that splashed up against you and the rocks. But as soon as his black buckled shoes touched the water, you sunk a little lower into the light waves. However, just enough to have your eyes still peering over the surface to observe him. Though, as soon as you did, Groves extended his hand toward you in slight alarm. He appeared to not want you to leave just yet. Perhaps you seemed not as treacherous as the other mermaids in his eyes. For what mermaid would look on at men talking if she were to have otherwise bad intentions? Then again, there were a possibility of reasons.

  “No, no, please wait!” He called out to you, jogging onto the black rock that extended through the and ad water lining the bay.   Two other men called out to him questioningly. “Sir, what do you see?”   “Stay there!” Groves called back over his shoulder, though his words made them all the more cautious. Tis was especially so since he was climbing up the few steps of the rocks, as if speaking with an unseen person.

  Groves stopped short, at least two feet from the edge, not wanting you to swim away, or attack him for that matter. “I’m sorry,” he spoke softly for only you to hear, looking at you with more curiosity than fear. “D-do you—”   “Speak?” You finished for him with a gentle smile. Bringing your head back out of the water, you gripped onto the rock with your hands.   “Yes,” he stared in awe, unable to formulate any more words at the moment from both the sight of a mermaid and your shear beauty.

  However, now that your head and torso were visible above the water and your location pinpointed by the man near you, the other few crew members called out, alerting the others in warning. “Mermaid!”   You eyed them closely, wondering if either of them would dare fire upon you, or, better yet, go into the water after you. They may not be pirates, but they were still men.

  Quickly ignoring the others and focusing your attentions back on the interesting, and dare you thought handsome, man in front of you, you spoke again. “I am sorry,” you said simply, implying about his attacked ship and crew.   “What for?” He asked, brows knitting together as his crew behind him scurried around.   “Your ship and crew,” you uttered as you bobbed in the water from the movement of you tail. With your shoulders exposed, your soaked hair clung to your scaled skin.   “Oh,” he muttered quietly to himself, looking down for a solid moment as his jaw noticeably clenched in thought before looking back up to you. “And did you have a say in that?”   He was still angered at the occurrence, as it did happen moments ago. For the men’s screams had stopped by the time he had reached you.   “I made my choice,” you said, confidence grazing over the simplicity of your words. Pushing yourself up slowly on the rock in his direction, he shuffled in the slightest and stood up straighter.   “And what choice was that?” He asked, his voice dipped in the anger that he held for his lost crew and the captain for abandoning them.   “Not to avenge my sisters,” you replied. Laying one arm against the other at the top of the rock, feeling the rain hit against your back. “Your ship was not the one who harmed, killed, or captured any of us. I chose to stay behind.”   “Why didn’t you stop them?”   “We live and hunt together, but we still make individual choices. Their choice was unanimous, mine was not,” you clarified.   “So, you looked on instead,” he accused, as if trying to prove that despite you intentions, you were still in the wrong.   “And where would you have liked for me to have gone?” You countered in protest.

  He remained silent to your question, coming to terms that in some instants, the minority cannot change the will of the majority. The same worked in the occupation he found himself involved with. He had no word against Barbossa. Gilette and himself were practically babysitting the former pirate as he received a second chance in the profession.

  “What is your name?” You asked sweetly, changing the subject. Finding yourself not wanting to despise you as well.   “M-my name?” A little frazzled by the question that you steered toward for a conversation more personal so quickly.   “Yes,” you smiled up at him, swaying your tail and fin beneath the water.   Groves stepped forward and slowly crouched down, careful not to slip on the wet rock as the rain continued. “Groves, miss.”   You quirked up a wet eyebrow and teased him with a smirk. “Miss Groves?”   “No,” he finally laughed, looking away briefly in embarrassment. “Lieutenant Commander Groves.”   It oddly made you feel better that he was becoming more at ease in your presence. More so that he was now within less than an arm’s length of you. The charms of a mermaid. “And does this Lieutenant Commander have a first name?” You questioned further, enjoying the new exchange.   “Theodore,” he likewise smiled, becoming all the more enchanted with you by the second.   “Theodore?” You asked to clarify the pronunciation, looking into his kind eyes.   He nodded in agreement, water dripping off of his hat. “Yes.”   “I like your name without all of the titles, Theodore,” you complimented, leaning a little closer to him.   “And what is your name, if I may ask?” Groves inquired politely, though immediately interrupted as soon as he finished.

  “Sir!” A few of the Englishmen called out to their Lieutenant Commander, having watched the scene unfold between mermaid and man. He looked over to his left at the men, feeling hesitation to leave. The tone of their fear and urgency was far too familiar.

  “You must rejoin your crew,” you spoke quietly. Taking a breath, you looked between him and his fellow men.   Groves looked to you curiously, not knowing quite what to say.   “Be careful,” you warned gently, a seriousness running across your face, “the journey to the Fountain of Youth can be a treacherous one.”   His eyebrows rose together in his surprise, “How did you…?”   You gave a gentle laugh, “Until next time, Theodore,” you nodded. Guiding yourself back down into the water, you were careful not to scratch or cut yourself upon the rough surface.   “Am I not to know your name in return?” He asked hastily, leaning forward on to the ledge.   You smiled and pulled yourself back up to him, your faces mere inches from one another. He did not shy away. For only him to hear, you spoke your name. It was not given lightly, as it was a personal thing to do. But it felt right.   Groves whispered your name and smiled softly. “I like that. It suits you.”

  By your closeness to the Lieutenant Commander, his crewmen hollered in anxious protest and alarm. The two of you, however, ignored the rushing of the men. No harm was being done.   Retaining your smile, you leaned closer, as if to brush your lips against his, but stopped. “Mind your footing,” you said, “and I shall see you again…Theodore.”   Groves’s lips parted, but as soon as he blinked, you dove off to the side and into the deeper water. The fin-end of your tail splashed against the surface as you did so. There he stayed for a few moments longer. Hoping that his mind had not played a foul trick on him, he stood to rejoin the others.

  It had been many hours since you had encountered Theodore. Strangely so, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. Swimming around the far side of the island, you felt a disturbance trickle through your scales. Without hesitation, you swam immediately toward the deep pools that resided near the Fountain. Though the likes of any mermaid dreaded the place, you had no intention of stopping. For men in search of the Fountain tied up the mermaids they captured and left them to die.

  Popping up to the surface of one of the many small pools of water, you shipped your head around anxiously in search of the Lieutenant Commander. It was far too quiet. Away from the crashing waves, it looked like an endless scatter of trees. Perhaps you were too late, and had missed the men’s escape from the Fountain. Or, as it would seem by the commotion of approaching men through the line of trees, you were merely early.

  Two men in particular rushed through the trees. It was who they were carrying between them that caught your attention. Everything about him was the same, with the exception of his lack of white curled hair and hat. His head hung low, and his body limp, but you knew that it was Theodore Groves. You could sense it.   “Wait!” You called out to them.   The group of men stumbled to a halt, hastily looking around for the source of the womanly voice.   “Over there!” One pointed toward you. “In the pool!”   “Mermaid. Stay clear, men!”   “Forward! Make haste!”   “He is hurt!” You spoke up in return, your sympathy evident in your voice. They took notice, and you used that. “I can save him. Bring him to me.”   Their voices were too muffled together as they pondered quickly amongst themselves.   You thought it remarkable that they had landed on a collective decision. Together, they brought Groves toward the pool, lying him down gently.   “He was shot in the stomach,” one said, eyeing you closely. “What will you do?”   “I will take him into the water. You will find him safe on the shore of Whitecap Bay.”   He began to ask further questions but stopped upon hearing a small groan come from Groves.   Groves’s hand searched and pressed against his own wound with a wince.   Reaching out a hand, you gently turned his head to you. You smiled as his eyelids forced themselves open. The wonder he had replaced the pain as he looked into your eyes.   “I can save you. You need only ask,” you whispered.   His furthest hand stretched over in your direction. As if to confirm that you were real, his fingertips brushed the length of your hair.   “Theodore,” you pushed through his haze of pain and disbelief.   Almost inaudibly, he breathed out his answer. “Please.”   With a flick of your tail, you rose above the water. Tucking an arm under his, you secured your hold on his torso. The other was more gentle, yet just as firm behind his neck. As your lips neared his, his eyes shut before your lips claimed his softly. The rest you left to gravity. Once Theodore slipped down into the pool, you swam the pair of you down. Soon, he would be completely healed and fully conscious.

  Theodore’s eyes widened as shadowy figures closed in. Just as his nerves were rising, the mermaids simply swam past.   Bringing him to the surface for air, you kept your hold on him.   His brows furrowed as he surveyed his surroundings. “Whitecap Bay.”   You nodded in confirmation. “I will take you to shore so you may rest.”   “Thank you.”   When he was ready, you swam the rest of the way.

  As the water began to shallow and his feet were able to touch the sand beneath, you released him. He slowly made his way toward the shoreline as you leisurely swam around him.   “You could out-swim the fastest ship in the fleet,” he complimented.   “Yes,” you smiled, your tail brushing against the ends of his coat.   “I don’t know how you did it…or how I could ever thank you for saving my life.”   “Refrain from standing in harm’s way.”   “Literally,” he frowned at the thought.

  As the pair of you drew closer to the sandy shore, you could see that his mind wondered with thoughts.   “Is this where you take your leave?” He asked, the water pooling around his waist.   “You wish for my company, Theodore?” You swam to a stop in front of him.   “I do.”   Pleasantly surprised, you hummed happily. “Then I will wait with you until your companions arrive.”   “And then?”   “You all will leave. Will you not?”   Theodore’s inner conflict showed on the creases of his face. “I must. I have a duty to my country.”   Nodding in understanding, you swam in larger circles around him until the small white waves pushed against his calves.   Trudging out of the water, he sighed. The beach was quiet. The smoke from the rubble and lighthouse had stopped since his first time arriving to Whitecap Bay. The longboats that he and his crew used to reach shore remained. It was only a matter of waiting for them to return as well.

  Gathering himself, Groves sat down on the flat dark rocks, only steps away from where the longboats were anchored. He ran a hand over his short brown hair. A thought had occurred to him: if he looked as exhausted as he felt. Thankfully, the healing of his body had relieved most of it.   “Theodore,” you said. Your voice enrapturing his full attention. “When you and your men leave in your boats,” you began, swimming up beside his knees, “it would be safer for you if I followed alongside for a while. I would not like for my sisters to attack you.”   “I would be most grateful,” he smiled. With a shake of his head, he laughed to himself.   “I do not understand,” you said, studying him curiously with a single hand steadying yourself on the rock.   “I apologize, it’s just… This has been a strange and somehow remarkable journey for me. Before we sailed here, it was but a rumor aboard the ship. The men—even I—feared the very name of this place. There have been stories told. Especially of the mermaids guarding the water to the Fountain.”   “And are we mermaids as terrifying as the stories that have been told?”   “Yes,” he said quietly, placing a hand on top of yours. “But you ave shown me much more otherwise.”   You smiled at the gesture. A brow teased upward as you spoke next. “You would not like me when I’m angry.”   “I’m sure that is something we can both agree upon.”

  It was silent of words afterwards, comfortably so. The rays of the sun began to dry out his naval uniform. And by the looks of the bright day, if would not take long for his clothes to be completely free of moisture.

  Theodore had long since removed his long coat. It laid out on the stretch of rock beside him to dry.   You did not want to dry out as well. Slipping down into the warm Caribbean water, you sighed contently to yourself. The feeling of the water coating over your scales was much needed. As you again rested your arms on the rock, you met eyes with Theodore.   “Forgive me, I…I thought for a moment that you were leaving.”   “Not as of yet, Theodore,” you smiled. Flicking up your tail, you let it hit the surface of the water none too gracefully. The water droplets that flew up from the splash reached him and the surprise on his face sent you into a stream of happy laughter.   A large grin spread across his face. “Wetting me again, are we?”   “You make it all too easy,” you beamed, lightly squeezing his knee.

  It was a wonder. You found yourself enjoying these moments the more you spent them with Theodore. Of course you knew that they could not last forever, but that was not going to stop you.   “Do you think that we will ever see each other again? It may be a silly thing to ask, considering that I live in London now. The weather is quite different compared to here. Much colder some days.”   “Yes, the water is colder beyond the Caribbean. Here, it is warm and safe. Any animal traveling to a drastically different environment…it could be lethal.“ To humor yourself on a lighter note, you began, “However, it would be quite the journey to swim that distance. I could potentially board a ship.”   “Would you truly stow away aboard a ship?”   “If I wanted to.”   “Will you?” He asked, almost hopeful.   Your face slowly fell at the reality. “A mermaid should not. There are creatures—beings, that call the oceans and waters their home. There is a reason why we are separated; land and sea.”   Gently, to your amazement, he took your hand in his. “I may not fully understand, and I doubt any man could, but I accept your decision, for it is yours and yours to make alone. However,” he gave a small smile, “if you ever find yourself in London, please do find me.”   Another smile graced your lips. “You would be the reason why I would be there.”   As he too smiled, smitten at your words, you moved. Pushing yourself up onto the rock, you twisted and sat beside him.   Theodore’s eyes strayed respectively, raising his head to meet your eyes again, but flushed at your words.   “My body is covered in scales, Theodore. There’s no need for you to become flustered.”   “My apologies,” he said in his unwavering sincerity.   “Perhaps you should visit, to become more accustomed to the island,” you suggested, patting his arm.   “I would love to, but my job would hardly allow it, and it would make for an expensive venture.”   “Money, gold, power,” you shook your head. Inhaling the ocean breeze, you calmed yourself. “The ways of men elude me.”   Clutching your hands into his own, he leaned close. “Please believe me that I would if I had the means.”   Gazing into his eyes, you felt his truth. There was both a plea and a pain in his eyes, a kind that you had never witnessed before. “You do not need those means here. They have no use, no value. You could stay.”   Bringing your hands up to his lips, he kissed them sweetly. “I’m afraid that this could all be but a dream,” he kissed your hands again, his lips lingering on your skin.   “You will think so,” you said so quietly, assuming his decision.   “And so I will hold onto the memory of this dream for as long as I can.”   Slipping your hands out of his grasp, you cupped his face tenderly. You smiled as he waited for your words. There may have been a thought or two, but you remained silent. With a pleasant hum, you leaned into him and pressed your lips to his. You felt the air leave his body from your action.   As you lingered and continued, you felt yourself enjoying such an intimate exchange. Though Theodore kissed you in return, his hands remained stationary. He dared not touch you, and you wondered for what specific reason.   “Theodore,” you whispered in question.   In response, he sighed out your name, making your tail flick over toward his legs.   Pulling away for a moment, he followed. “I won’t bite you,” you assured.   His brows furrowed as he opened his eyes to peer at you.   “I won’t bite, if you rest your hands on me,” you clarified.   Briefly, he glanced away in his sheepishness. “I did not want to be so bold.”   “You have good qualities, Theodore Groves.”   “Thank you.”

  Motion stirred the water. The feeling swirled up through your tail. However, you elected to ignore it for the time being, deciding to kiss him instead.   He did not appear to mind. Not that he gave any indication that he would. Especially so when he finally placed his hands onto your arms, though light and hesitant.   And as his hands began to slowly caress your arms, and over to your back, you wanted to ignore the sounds beyond the Bay. However, a breath that did not match either of yours caught your attention. Pulling away from Theodore again to seek out the disturbance, you nearly did not. With his forehead to yours, he remained, basking in the moment. But your tail twitched. Another mermaid. Shifting your head slightly, as to not alert Theodore, you looked over the water. Your eyes widened to the sight and you felt you heart leap.

  “You’re alive.”   Realizing that you were not talking to him, Theodore too looked over.   In the water a few yards out were two figures. Though they were only visible from their shoulders and upward, you knew one to be a mermaid and the other not.   Diving off of the rock, you were met by your fellow mermaid. Swimming around each other, you saw a recent wound healing on one of her fins. As the pair of you rose back out of the water to wade at the surface, you shared kind smiles.   “The pirates,” you inquired. “How are you alive?”   “Philip saved me,” she said, looking over her shoulder to the man trudging his way toward them in the water.   “But you saved him first,” you said with playful skepticism.   “And you him,” she eyed Theodore behind you, sitting on the rock with a look of wonder and bewilderment.

  “Hello,” Philip called over as he neared the shore. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Philip.”   Theodore stood, his boots splashing the water. “Lieutenant Commander Theodore Groves,” he nodded in kind.   “Pleased to meet you.”  The two shook hands and tried their best not to gaze adoringly at the other two in the water. “Are you waiting for the ship as well?”   “Yes, but I would be surprised to see Barbossa sail Black Beard’s ship near this Bay.”   “If we don’t have hope, what do we have?” He countered softly.

  The two men were utterly silent for a couple of moments. Their shared uncertainty drew to the surface. Eyes averting the other, listening to the call of the birds and the calm crashing of the waves.   “Syrena?” Philip questioned. The water where the mermaids had been was as smooth as glass. Whipping their heads around, both men did not see a single trace.   “We should get to shore,” Philip advised warily.   “Agreed.”

  Returning to the surface, you and Syrena exchanged curious looks. As the two men sloshed their way onto the dry sand, you both simply watched.   With a subtle nod to the right, Syrena indicated toward the longboats resting in the sand. Slipping just under the water, you both swam over to the small wooden vessels.   It was a short distance with a handful of tail flicks to guide you. In the shallow water, the gentle waves washed over your backs. If you were to reach out, you could just touch one of the boats. It was a wonder that such a thing could withstand the ocean beyond the Bay. Though perhaps its durability had its limits there as well. After all, it was hardly a challenge for your sisters to split one apart.

  Muffled thuds rippled through the ground as Theodore and Philip jogged over toward the boats.   “For a moment, we thought you left us,” Theodore stated, kneeling down to your level.   “We did, but not for long,” you said.   “Your ship nears,” Syrena indicated.   “The Queen Anne’s Revenge? Where are they headed?” Asked of Philip. He too kneeled onto the wet sand.   “Out to sea. Philip, you must board this boat. We’ll bring it alongside the ship so you can rejoin the others.”   “We can’t possibly catch up, even with the pair of us rowing hastily,” Theodore reasoned.   You wanted to wipe away the creases that appeared on his brows. Surely he knew enough about sailing and the ways of navigating the waters, but the abilities of mermaids should continue to surprise him.   “Syrena and I are going to swim beneath the boat to pull it toward the ship. Would that be fast enough for you?” You asked, enjoying his astonished disbelief.   “Truly?”   “Yes, but you must hurry before the winds favor their sails.”   His eyes widened. “Yes. Come along,” he instructed of Philip.   The pain pushed one of the boats into the water. When it no longer scraped along the sand, they hopped aboard. As they did so, Syrena and yourself placed your hands on the bottom of the vessel to steady it. You did not want to make a habit of saving them frequently.   “Thank you.” Philip smiled over at the pair of you. “I suppose this is farewell then, for now,” he said solemnly to Syrena.   To give them privacy, you swam around to the other side of the boat. A smile found its way onto your face yet again. As you had looked up, you found Theodore leaning over the side of the boat, watching your every move.   “Theodore,” you whispered, liking the way his eyes lit up by your mention of his name. Placing your arms on the rim of the boat, you held yourself up.   “We don’t want to alert the others on the ship,” he spoke softly. His eyes closed in the slightest as you nudged your face up under his jaw. “There’s no telling what Barbossa would order the crew if he saw you.”   “If,” you whispered against his earlobe.   The action caused him to shiver. “Did you not urge us to hasten?”   “I could stop an entire ship if I wanted to.” You kissed his cheek until he turned his head, letting your lips connect.   “A most wonderful dream,” Theodore sighed, gently cradling your face in his hands.   The expression on his face in his sincerity could have made a tear fall from your eye. “Hold on tightly, Theodore Groves,” you advised.

  Dropping down into the water, you were met with the determined eyes of Syrena. She angled herself horizontally with the length of the boat. You mirrored he actions and took a firm grip on the planks of wood. Together, you batted your tails against the water. It was none too comfortable when accidentally scratching your scales against the wood, but you learned to ignore it for the time being.   Reclining your head back, you saw the underside of the Revenge coming into view. Though you would much rather keep away, you swam the boat closer.   As you approached the larger vessel, you noticed a strange sight. There were hardly any barnacles attached to the ship. Peculiar for an older ship.   Two thuds knocked against the boat. Peering over at the other, you and Syrena slowed to a stop. It could only be assumed that the two men aboard deemed it suitably close enough to board the other vessel. Under the guise of the boat, you remained. Smiles were not withheld as clear ‘thank you’s were heard just above the surface of the water.   The boat rocked and men shouted, likely scattering about the deck. When the boat ceased its movements, you knew they climbed aboard. You could only guess that they would pull up the boat next, but no such action came.   More shouts muffled their way passed the water’s surface from above. Men could be so noisy. Though, not comparatively so when attacked upon.

  All too soon, the ship crept forward with increasing speed. A part of you, not so deep down, wanted to rip the ship into splinters. But you calmed yourself. Theodore chose to leave, and so you honored his decision. What you did not expect was the growing ache in your chest. A scream bubbled up in your throat, but you trapped it there, locking in your sorrow.   As the ship faded out of sight, you looked upon your fellow mermaid beside you. When you locked gazes, you noticed that she too was saddened by the men’s departure. Even so, daily life would continue and the waters of Whitecap Bay would once again become quiet and serene. No pirate would again seek the youth of the fountain. But, you could always flirt with the idea of Theodore Groves someday returning to you.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Finally...after I don't know how many years...this fanfiction is complete!

Thank you for reading :)

If you would like to read more fanfiction/imagines from me, be sure to check out my Masterlist of Masterlists post pinned on my blog.

[berubara-4-ham]

 "The servants dressed the little mermaid into the finest English gown. Adorned with laces and gold trim. The main fabric is the color of peach and orange. She wore pink diamond jewels that Miriam, James’ mother, let her borrow to wear it. And matching shoes with a little ribbon on the pair. Next, her hairdresser styled (y/n)’s hair into an updo with dropping curls and decorated it with string of pearls that reminded the mermaid if she was still a mermaid." 

~

I inserted myself into mermaid reader in my Norrington x mermaid reader fic, "The Mermaid and the Commodore". Like Elizabeth's dress, I also reference to Hamilton's character, Angelica.

If you haven't read my fic, read it on ao3 link

[asherxz]

HELLO PEOPLE! I have opened my requests, FOR THR FIRST TIME >:D!! Feel free to request, but remember to check out the rules! I can't wait to start writing

[estelofrivendell]

Greetings,

You are taking requests for LOTR correct? Can I ask for a specific request with Aragorn, Legolas and Boromir?

Reader insert (or OC insert or whatever) has a very unique and pirate like hairstyle. Their hair is messy, kinda dirty, and completely adorned with beads, golden or silver clips; basically like from Pirates of the Caribbean. //clearly it’s obvious I’ve just recently watched it-//

They don’t necessarily have to BE a pirate (but they could if you’re interested in that path ;})but I think that since hair is seen as something very important- especially with elves and dwarfs- people would have a lot of emotions towards it such as curiosity or fascination. Thank you!

From yours truly, me 💚~

A/N: I tried watching POTC and just... didn't like it. I didn't like Elizabeth and found Will extremely annoying, I hope I try to do your request justice, since I made this general.

ARAGORN, LEGOLAS AND BOROMIR WITH AN S/O WITH MESSY HAIR

ARAGORN

You know how general consensus in LOTR fandom is Ranger Aragorn's hair being infinitely better than his hair the moment he became king? I think he would have the same idea for you if you decided to do your hair and tamed it even if it was just for one time. Untamed messy hair is nothing to him, though the beads and clips you would put on caught his attention and he would ask you where you got them from.

So if your hair ever stayed flat for just one second and he saw it, his reaction would be the gif I put. He never imagined you with tidy hair that the sight looks so strange and he honestly prefers you with the messy hair everyone knew you had.

LEGOLAS

You and Legolas would be seen as a bizarre pairing to others around you. Can you imagine an elf with perfect hair being with someone who has the opposite of perfect hair? He seems the kind to me to make fun of others with extremely messy hair at first until he matured in that sense, but he will never not find messy hair bizarre. He couldn't take his eyes off the beads and would never admit that he wants his own to put on his own hair. As an elf, he's bound to think those beads mean something significant, and is genuinely confused when you tell him they don't mean anything and you put them for your own enjoyment. Also Legolas is bound to feel curious and touch your hair whenever he felt like it.

BOROMIR

He's in the middle, between Aragorn and Legolas. He's not as used to people with hair that can't be tamed as say Aragorn, but he knows they exist unlike Legolas and doesn't have dramatic first impressions about it. He's a soldier and spent so much of his life defending Gondor and they don't come home with hair that looks like it just had conditioner on, lol. He'll assume you do a lot adventuring and your own things that don't leave enough time to comb your hair and doesn't ask a lot of questions, if any, but was interested when he learned how your hair just can't stay flat no matter how long you brush it. I can see your hair becoming his favorite part about you over time, however.

[enby-jellyfish]

Sailor Song

Captain Hector Barbossa X GN!Merfolk!Performer!Reader (POC friendly)

Pronouns: You/Your

Summary: Barbossa finds out your secret and makes you an offer.

Warnings: Slight manipulation and blackmail, mentions of murder.

Word Count: 837

A/N: Kinda 'What Is this Feeling?' from Wicked vibes.

You sit in front of your vanity. Having just made the finishing touches to your costume, you listen to the ongoing play right outside your dressing room. You’re not nervous. You’ve performed more times than you can count, and even if you hadn’t, your talent speaks for itself. You are a great dancer and actor, but are especially known for your angelic voice.

You check the softly ticking clock on the wall. It’s almost time. You check yourself in the mirror one last time, making sure you look perfect, and leave the room for the stage. It’s a full house tonight, and one of the seats is filled by King George II himself. You’d be one of the last people to admit you like the man, but his presence at your show brings good publicity.

You enter the stage at your cue and perform your heart out. You hit every mark, every punchline, and obviously every note. Another perfect show. You grin widely as you take your bow, looking over the standing ovation the audience is giving you. Everyone is clapping, cheering, and whistling, all except one.

In an upper balcony seat, close to the king’s, there is a man dressed in blue and gold with the usual giant powdered wig on his head. He stays seated and unmoving, an odd look in his eye you are able to notice all the way from the stage. The man stays on your mind as you exit the stage and get changed for the afterparty.

When you enter the grand room, decorated with gold embellishments and extravagant murals, people immediately start applauding and congratulating you. A drink gets pressed into your hand before you notice the king waving you over. “Your performance was magnificent, as usual. You must perform for me again soon.” The king proclaims with a flourish of his heavily jewelled hand. “You flatter me, your majesty.” You bow with a smile.

“Ah, allow me to introduce you to my newest privateer,” You immediately recognise the man he waves over. “, captain Barbossa. He’ll serve as a great asset to gain the upper hand over the Spanish Armada.”

Now that he’s standing you notice the peg leg. You turn to him, extending your hand. “Yes, I noticed you in the audience. Not a fan of my singing, are you?” Barbossa gives you a forced grimace before shaking your extended hand. “Simply astounded by your talent, my dear.” You give him a forced smile back. Prick.

The king is oblivious to your distain for each other and spends the rest of the night showing the two of you off, parading you around the room like a child with a shiny brand new toy. It is late, almost morning, when you manage to bid the king goodbye and depart the party.

You are waiting for a carriage to take you home when you suddenly get grabbed by the shoulders and roughly dragged into a nearby alley before you have time to react. Your head bangs against the stone wall as your back is pressed into it. “I know what you are.” Your captor says in a rough whisper, pressing you further into the wall for emphasis.

“And what would that be, pirate.” You spit. “Privateer.” Barbossa corrects with that same annoying tone he used when introducing himself. “Same thing, you can’t change your nature.” You taunt him. “And ye’d know everything about that, wouldn’t you.” He tightens his grip on your shoulders slightly, digging his sharp nails into your skin.

“You are a merfolk.” He states, pupils blown from the adrenaline of finding you out. “So, what if I am?” There is no point in lying, but it’s quite entertaining to provoke him though.

“What do you think his royal majesty will do to you when he finds out his precious songbird is actually a man-eating siren?” Barbossa taunts. “Not just ‘man’.” You correct. Barbossa gives you a disgusted look before composing himself. "Any proper man would slay you where you stand and present your corpse for reward, "

He leans back slightly, putting a hand over his heart in an attempt to appear humble. “, but luckily for you I, in all my humility, will offer you a choice.” He finishes with a smug grin. “Not much of a choice when one of the options is death.” You argue.

He chuckles at your reply. “The king has offered me to guide an expedition to the fountain of youth, I’m sure you’re familiar.” You tense up. “The fountain doesn’t do what you think. Trust me, it’s not worth it.” Your people are taught about the dangers of the ritual from childhood. So many of you have been murdered for your tears.

“Ah, but it’s not the fountain I be after. I’m after something much sweeter than eternal life.” You relax slightly. “Revenge.” You fill in. He releases his grip on you, voice turning soft as he coerces you. “How long has it been since you’ve been out there?” His hand comes up to caress your face and you don’t find the need to push him away as he continues. “Felt the salt on your skin.” Too long. You love your work, but you’ve felt like you’ve hit a ceiling as of late. You miss the ocean.

Your choice doesn’t seem so difficult now.

Pirates of the Caribbean Masterlist

Masterlist

Thank you for reading <3

[thestateofardadreaming]

Sometimes I think about that POTC fanfic I wrote 20 years ago with a Mary Sue (almost self insert) romance with Jack Sparrow. Self indulgent. Fun. Without any filter. (No beta either so it's painful to reread)

And you know what? I don't regret a thing. It made me meet some good friends who are still my friends. I still receive occasional likes and very rare reviews. I haven't reread it recently but last time I did I found it amusing

And I enjoyed writing, posting it and receiving readers' reviews.

So yes, write that self indulgent piece. In 20 years, you won't regret it.

(It's in French but if you're curious : Le secret de Jack Sparrow)

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Davey Jones x first mate reader 🐙👧

The angel of the Dutchman😇

A/n: hello this was a request from @savvythepirate​.

Synopsis: the reader has an encounter with someone from her dark past and Davey tries to protect her from it.

Warning: death.

The flying dutchman arose from the depths of the seas, a storm brewed across the sky as the cursed ship had risen. Rain poured over the front deck, sounds of screams could be heard as the upper crew whipped the lost souls. The captain of the ship was on top of the upper deck, his tentacle beard twirled in the rain. Davey Jones sailed through the storm like he owned it, the ocean was his. The crew had either feared him or respected him; he was the only one that could control them. Over the years barnacles and rotten fish parts had grown over the crew, that was except for one person. That one person being the only one who hadn’t had to suffer like the rest, the only person Davey saved instead of dooming.

Y/n was the first mate of the dutchman, she had sailed with Jones over the years and over those years he had grown close to her. Davey had never ever and would refuse to put a protection with just anyone, but y/n was a special case. The legends say, “if you plead to the angel of the dutchman, mercy will spare those in need”.

Y/n had lived many legends and myths, she was a living ghost, the mercy to the judgement, Jones’s good side. She was the only person that Jones’s would listen too, he would never let anything harm her and if the crew went behind her back, a sword would greet their fate. However even legends have unfortunate fates, terrible tales of heart aching pain they wish to forget.

Many have heard the story of Davey Jones but none of the angel of the Dutchman, y/n was set to be a sacrifice due to her father paying his debt through his daughter. Y/n’s father was a captain, he had no bravery nor generosity, y/n’s father paid anything to save his own skin including his daughters soul. Davey had agreed to take y/n’s soul, in turn the father would live to see another day. The thing is, he had never said anything about eternal life and therefore due to unfortunate events, passed during a storm leaving y/n on the dutchman.

Y/n earned her position through learning Davey��s story, she sympathized with him unlike most mortals. The first mate position was “previously” taken, but to y/n’s luck he had an opening.

“Captain Jones, I caught sight of a ship trailing our waters” y/n smiled.

Davey’s head turned to his first mate, he was prepared to torture those who haven’t fulfilled their debt or promise. “Those who trail the water’s of the Dutchman shall join the crew or die at the depths of seas” as the rules states.

“I believe we be needin’ more ta’ add to our crew” Davey laughed; he had changed course to track down the lost ship.

The flying Dutchman sailed through the storm to catch up to the lost ship, all the crew were changing course as screams of agony could be heard on the main deck. The dutchman was catching fast to the lost ship trying to sail away, the ship had no where to go as the dutchman pulled it’s canons to the side of the lost ship. Many sailors from the lost ship jumped overboard knowing they wouldn’t want to suffer a fate worse than Jones’s ship. The remainder had been captured and taken on board the ship of legends, the Flying Dutchman.

Davey had his pipe in hand and eyed up the new potential members of his crew, his tentacles curled in curiosity.

He approached one of the men “Do ye fear death” smoke blew out of his mouth onto the frightened sailor. “Y,y,y” the sailor trembled “yes-, Ah!” Davey’s crewmate plunged their sword into the trembling sailors chest.

The next sailor lost at sea had caught y/n’s eye, he looked familiar, yet she couldn’t pin point the exact person she remembered. “Do ye fear death” he spoke in a raspy voice.

The sailor eyed Davey “No, no I don’t” he replied coldly.

Y/n wasn’t expecting such a cold answer, this man had no fear. Y/n still wondered why the man was so oddly familiar, was he someone from her past life, was he someone who looked coincidentally like someone else.

The answers in her head were buzzing by until the sailor spoke of her name “Y/n, y/n l/n”.

Y/n wandered up to the man, she pushed past Davey’s crew to be standing before him. “Ye be the captain’s daughter, why aren’t ya’ dead yet” the sailor questioned “I be surprised the Dutchman still has ya’ alive, ye father betted ya’ off ta’ save himself”.

Y/n’s hands gripped together, she didn’t want to relive her harsh life, her father was a cruel man. The crew would often use y/n as a torment for their entertainment, she was never free on that vessel and her father wouldn’t bat an eye to save her life. Y/n had to learn how to survive, how to fight and how to thrive for her own life. The crew was wiped out thankfully to the Dutchman while y/n’s father begged for Jones to take his daughters life instead of his. The debt was paid but to a cost, y/n’s soul, she was neither dead nor alive, just someone trapped in limbo on the Dutchman.

Y/n grabbed out her sword and held it at the man’s throat, this was the first time Jones had ever truly seen y/n in a fury. “Ye be best keepin ya mouth shut or I’ll dig be diggin’ me sword deeper inta’ ya gullet” Y/n growled.

The sailor laughed, he wasn’t afraid of the girl, he wasn’t afraid to overthrow her and drag her to the trenches. “Ye have the same spirit as yer’ father, if ye not careful, ye will end up just like him” the sailor mocked.

Y/n pushed her sword further against the man’s throat, now it all came together, this man was from her father’s crew. She remembered the man smiling down at her torment, she remembered when he was standing by her father’s side. This man was her father’s first mate, he had escaped prior to the dutchman’s arrival and underwent a new name.

“An’ what business do ye have’ with me first mate” Jones crawled up beside y/n, he held his sword directly in between the sailor’s eyes. “Me business is here with the daughter of a coward” the sailor grinned, y/n felt her stomach twist, she was having flashbacks toward her past, her past she wished to forget.

Davey had seen the horror’s from y/n’s eyes, she had no business to be tormented by this man. A sound of laughter emerged from the sailors mouth, with that a sudden swing of the metal blade had plunged the sailor’s throat. The sound of laughter had turned into gurgling as the first mate had fell to the ground, a colour of red poured from the man’s body and mixed within the rain. Y/n’s eyes slowly closed; she felt a slimy hand touch her shoulder “tha’ man ain’t even a soul worthy of sailin’ with us”.

Y/n’s hand touched Davey’s in reassurance, she had realized, she had people who truly cared for her. Y/n had someone who took her on, he may not have been the kindest nor the most sympathetic man in the world, but he raised y/n to be someone of her own. She was thankful the captain had a soft spot for her, he protected her from terrible and terrifying things. A soft smile appeared on y/n’s face as she hugged the man who saved her from death itself.

The captain awkwardly froze in confusion, his claw hand patted the girl’s head gently. Y/n smiled to herself as the captain and the angel hugged in the rain.

Y/n was known as a legend of the Dutchman, a ghost that shed mercy toward those that needed it.

anyways that’s all I have for now:

Ta Ta✨

Oneshots: open

Headcanon: open

Imagine: open

Moodboard: open

[make-me-imagine]

Pirates of the Caribbean Masterlist

(Link to Main Masterlist)

If you notice any broken or missing links, please let me know!

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Captain Jack Sparrow

Gif Imagines:

‘Being Jack’s child and searching for him’ 

‘Being a Pirate Captain & having a friendly rivalry with Jack’ 

‘Being Elizabeths sister and falling in love with Jack’ 

Headcanons:

‘Being in a relationship with Jack’ 

‘Jack Sparrow having a crush on you’

Fics/Drabbles:

Treasure (fluff/romance)

‘Anything for You’ (action/angst/fluff)

Lost Moment (romance)

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William Turner

Headcanons: ‘Sex with Will Turner’ (NSFW/18+)

Ship Drabble: 'Moment of Realization' (cute/fluff)

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Elizabeth Swann/Turner

Fics/Drabbles:

Ship Drabble (Reader Insert) - ‘Proposal’ (cute/fluff)

Christmas Baking + Hot Chocolate (fluff/cute)

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James Norrington

Ship Drabble (Reader Insert) - 'First Realization'