To Sail the High Seas: Pirate England x Reader #Wattys2017

Chapter Twenty~Three

The captain left you to yourself once again, now more conflicted than before. The guilt which gnawed at your conscience was still present, however significantly less prevalent, instead allowing for the war between your head and heart to rage on louder than ever. The former argued that everything you had done was to your own advantage, and to all intents and purposes this wasn’t wrong, however it had been at the expense of another human being.
A human being who was clearly mad, she had no life left for her on land.
You had settled this topic with yourself a thousand times over the past week, but it always came back to the same conclusion: in the end you had been given a choice, and you had chosen Arthur.
The protector over the madwoman, it was a logical decision.
And had it not been for the girl’s last words, you would have been content with that.
But the truth of the matter is, you chose the pirate over the victim, and herein lies the real problem.
“You’re one of them, huh…?” You groaned as your thoughts brought you back in a full circle, no closer to finding a solution for your inner turmoil. “Maybe I am.”
You looked out across the vast ocean and watched the gentle rise and fall of the water with each wave, the calm disrupted only by a growing blot on the horizon. You frowned, knowing for a fact you were too far out in open waters for the shadow to be land of any kind. It wasn’t long before you were able to make out billowing white sails, marking the intrusion as a ship, however it took you another hour of pondering to realise something of vital importance. You knew that ship. Every merchant knew that ship, it was just as infamous as the vessel which you currently sat aboard, and the colours flying at her mast only confirmed your suspicions.
“Holy shit.”

You slid down the rigging, cursing like a sailor - or the pirate you refused to admit you were becoming - the entire way. Urgency spurred you onwards and, not wasting time to indulge the catcalls and flirtatious comments from the men you passed, you flew into Arthur’s private quarters. He, Allistor, and a few other men were gathered around the desk in the centre of the room, presumably plotting the ship’s course and deciding which town to terrorise next. Right now you couldn’t care less. All heads shot up upon your arrival, but of the six figures in the cabin, you had eyes for only one.
“Everybody out.” When no one moved, instead looking at you with varying degrees of confusion and shock, you growled in frustration. “Do you not understand English or must I repeat myself? Everybody. Out. Now.”
“Does the little lady think she can be givin’ us orders now? Listen darlin’ the captain may like ‘em feisty but outside of the bedroom it’s not such an endearin’ quality.” You turned on the large man and suppressed the growing urge to claw his eyes out. He was, you realised with disgust, the abusive prison guard who it had been your great displeasure to meet when you first arrived on the ship.
“Speaking of endearing qualities, your voice is not one of them. Now shut up and get out before I make you.”
“Is that so!” The brute let out a piggish laugh, spittle flying from between his meaty jaws and splattering over your cheek. “And how would a pretty little thing like you go about a great big task like that?”
Closing your eyes in repulsion, you wiped the saliva from your face very slowly and deliberately, leaving a window for the vile man before you to speak again.
“But maybe I’d be willin’ to indulge you just this once. After all, if the Captain’s kept you around this long you must be some good in the sack, maybe I’ll give you a go when he’s done with you.”
Your eyes snapped open at this, a snarl working its way onto your features. The other men in the cabin, some of which had previously appeared amused by the conversation, paled at his words, all eyes flickering to the Captain. You saw Allistor’s hands flex into fists, and had you not been so utterly revolted by the man before you, the Scotsman’s protective gesture would have made you smile. Your favourite reaction though, was Arthur’s. He had paled with cold fury, his green eyes burning like hot coals and his entire being tensing. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at his response, until you vehemently crushed the warm feeling in favour of dealing with the beast who stood before you.

As the brute laughed again, one sweaty paw reached for you. Before anyone had the chance to blink you ducked, crouching on one leg while you hooked the other behind the oaf’s knee. In one swift movement, he had collapsed to the floor on his back, an ugly grunt leaving his throat at the impact, and you were poised over him with a fine blade pressed into the grotty skin of his neck. The entire room fell silent.
“You will not lay one filthy finger on me or I swear to God this blade goes straight through your heart; if you have one that is.”
The pathetic man beneath you attempted to squirm away from the blade, reminding you of some grotesquely obese slug. The knife bit into his skin when you applied just a tad more pressure, causing a thin line of blood to slide down his neck and his movements to cease. You lowered your voice to a venomous hiss.
“And if you want to have a go, I suggest you reconsider.” He whimpered in agreement and you couldn’t help but sneer at his wretched appearance. “Now get out of my sight.”
You sprang up and stepped swiftly away from his foul stench. As soon as the pressure of the blade against his neck disappeared, the fearful man scrambled across the cabin floor and out of the large oak door without looking back. Your eyes soon shifted from the door to the remaining men in the cabin, all of whom stiffened under your sharp gaze.
“Does anyone have anything to add, or are we done here?” When you were met with a mumbled “no ma’am” and several pairs of downcast eyes, you drew your lips back in a charming smile. “Wonderful.”
At that, the men filed out of the cabin, stumbling over each other in their desire to vacate your immediate vicinity as quickly as possible. As the last man reached the doorway you shook your head.
“Not you, Allistor.”
“Well I jus’ assumed tha’ since ye an’ Artie obviously have a lo’ tae talk abou’, I shouldnae disturb ye.”
“No, I really think you should be here too, being the first mate and all.”
“I wouldnae wan’ tae ge’ in the way o’ a lovers tiff-”
“Excuse you?” You fought the rising flush in your cheeks at the redhead’s words.
“Well then, I’ll be takin’ me leave.” With that, he disappeared out the doorway leaving you to turn on the only remaining man in the room.

“Why would he assume something like that!? He’s so-”
You were cut off when the captain gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling you to him for a rough kiss. Ending as abruptly as it had begun, the kiss left you stunned, and you could do nothing but blink at the captain in dismay.
“You cannot just kiss me every time you want me to stop talking.”
“It seems to have worked so far.” You slapped his cheek lightly, and he gave you a small smile before dipping his lips back towards yours. You found yourself pinned against the desk as he stole you lips time and time again, his hands slipping under the flimsy fabric of your shirt and leaving gooseflesh in their wake. Your half-hearted protests fell on deaf ears and rough kisses rained down upon you, growing more passionate by the second.
His crewman’s words had affected him more than Arthur would be willing to admit. He hated the very idea that another man would even think about touching you, let alone have to audacity to say so in front of him. Had you not whipped out that knife as quickly as you did, he would have had his own sword at the pig’s throat, and the crew probably wouldn’t take too kindly to their captain cutting down one of their own for something as simple as speaking out of turn.
Perhaps I push him overboard next time they start drinking, it wouldn’t be the first time a man has drunk himself into the waves.
Deciding that was a good plan, his attention returned to you and the positively delicious sounds you were making. Each breathy objection was contradicted by the way your fingers buried themselves deeper in his hair, and every murmured complaint was interrupted by a mewl of pleasure. Arthur found himself wanting to turn those mewls into moans, and he pressed his body closer you yours with every intention of doing so.
“No, Arthur we have a-” You gasped in delight as he nibbled a tender spot on your neck, and heard him give a pleased growl in response. “We have a problem.”
“I really don’t think we do, love.” He pressed his lips to yours again, and you almost forgot your original reason for interrupting whatever the men had been talking about before you came in. Finally you found the sense in your mind to push the blond away firmly, holding one finger to his lips. The Captain frowned, but before he could try anything you spoke one word to silence any protest.
“Carriedo.”