Not a Treasure of Silver and Gold - Jack Sparrow x reader

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟖 - 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐮𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞?

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the warm, bright Caribbean sun shining down on you, the heated, soft sand surrounding your feet and the soothing sound of the sea. There was a salty breeze in the air that caressed your nose and tasted briny on your lips. Waves were constantly rustling, and your skin felt pleasantly warm and tickled by the sunshine. 

In this moment, you almost felt comfortable, you almost felt like waking up in your cosy, comfy, soft bed on a sunny, spring morning in Nassau. A bed which you had missed so terribly, so painfully in the last few weeks. 

But you only felt almost comfortable, almost like in Nassau. 

Something was different: The rhythmic, steady sound of a beating heart ringing in your ear. The continuous rise and fall of a ribcage moving your cheek. The constant tickle of someone's breath against your skin.

You opened your eyes abruptly.

You were still on the beach of the small island where Barbossa and the hellish crew of the Black Pearl had abandoned you, the endless blue sea in front of you. But your face was not lying on the white sand like the rest of your body, no, when you had opened your eyes, you had directly looked into the sleepy features of no other than Captain Jack Sparrow.

You blushed madly at his sight and hastened to quickly squint your eyes again, overwhelmed by the sudden closeness of your faces. But after a few seconds your curiosity got the better of you and you opened your eyes hesitantly afresh.

Letting your gaze wander alongside his features, you noticed once again that with his eyes closed, he looked much more peaceful, much more tranquil, more like a cuddly boy instead of a sneaky pirate, more like an adorable child than an unpredictable adult: His long, curved eyelashes, of which you were particularly envious, framed his closed eyelids, on his curved lips was neither a brooding nor a grin, and he breathed air rhythmically through his nostrils.

You tried hard to remember how you had ended up sleeping snuggled up against Jack, with your hand and cheek against his chest. But the more you tried to remember, the more your head hurt like a nasty bruise. It was an irritating, painful throbbing in the front of your skull that constantly tapped against your forehead whenever you tried to use your head.

I must have drunk too much alcohol, you thought. You had already witnessed the miserable long-term effect of an over consumption of alcohol once: some mornings in Tortuga's rotten pubs you had served guests who were hanging over the counter, moaning and yelping, complaining about headaches. 

And now, you were one of them too, not able to think about what you had done the moment before you had fallen asleep.

And yet you didn't demonize the drinking you had done the previous night. You had never felt so free and relaxed as you did this particular evening, life had never been so colourful and vivid. You had enjoyed yourself a lot. And while it was true that you had let some things slip that should have remained a secret, it hadn't seemed like Jack had formed suspicions about it. 

So, apart from the piercing headache, you had no regrets.

Eventually, after some moments of concentrated thinking, you remembered how the previous night had ended: After calling you my love, Jack had drunk his rum in one gulp and had knocked himself out. You then had laid down next to him and probably subconsciously - at least you couldn't remember doing it – had moved closer and closer to him during your sleep until you got to this interesting sleeping constellation.

Ashamed, you looked away. What would your father say about all of this? Or Chris? What would they say about you taking up with a lascivious pirate, surely a heartbreaker and a man whore on top of that?