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nova-writes-about-things · 1 year

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captain jack sparrow x gn!reader word count: 1867 warning(s): mentions of violence, blood, and gunshot wounds (not graphic)

(REQUESTS ARE OPEN!)

prompt: “do you mind saying that again when I can actually remember what it is you just said?”

in your life as a pirate, you tended to take danger in stride. it’s just the way that it was. if you’d bothered to be afraid every time you were in a dangerous situation, you’d never have a bloody minute to think!

an attack on your beloved ship—your home—by fellow snarling pirates? not an issue. a blade held to your neck in a ridiculous attempt to use you as a hostage? not the first time, certainly wouldn’t be the last.

but you didn’t realize the true meaning of fear—not really—until the day a gunshot hit jack square in the chest.

when the pearl had encroached upon a merchant ship on the horizon, her black sails whipping wildly through the air and catching up in no time at all, the captain had immediately thrown up their white flag. it seemed to be an easy surrender, and it was—at least, until some hay-brained young sailor on board decided to take a shot at your beloved captain.

it was at that moment that you realized exactly how afraid you were of losing him.

jack handled everything as if he’d expected it all along. he was the definition of devil-may-care attitude, of someone who had the world by the strings and was fifteen steps ahead at any given time.

you knew he wasn’t immortal—not for lack of trying, on his part—but it was easy to think as much when he escaped danger on the daily with not so much as a scratch. but immortals don’t bleed, you thought distantly, as you watched him hit the ground.

he clutched at his chest. blood seeped through his shirt and vest, and his eyes were wide and frantic. that momentary look of being taken so off guard—was it fear?—is what spurred you into action.

you hardly registered the pearl’s crew tackling the sailor boy to the ground. you were focused on rushing over to jack.

“he shot me,” jack ground out through his teeth. “damned boy bloody shot me.”

kneeling on the ground next to him, you pressed your hands against the wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. “just keep some pressure on this, alright?” you said quietly.

you turned toward the crowd, barely noting the wide-eyed looks from the merchant ships’ crew and the terrified looks from your own crew. “someone help me get him back,” you commanded, your voice leaving no room for argument. “now.”

it took two or three crew members from the pearl, gibbs included, to carry jack across the gangplank and bring him safely to his cabin. what a sight, you mused later, once the dust had settled. pirates who took care of their own. the worst pirates anyone’s ever heard of.

you, in the meantime, took immediate command of the ship. you demanded movement, and fast. you needed towels, tools, equipment. you just needed jack to be okay.

the pearl was in a frenzy.

“take care ‘f him for us,” gibbs had told you, once jack was left on the mattress in his cabin and you’d gotten the things you needed. “we’ll handle things out here.”

“thank you,” you replied, and hoped the authenticity of your words showed. he nodded, then quickly took his leave. you turned towards jack, who’s breathing had become labored. not good, not good, not good.

you pushed aside your fear long enough to make a cohesive plan. you’d need to be able to see the wound to treat the wound, and to do that, you’d need to have access to his chest. and to do that--

oh.

right then.

you ignored the rushing heat to your cheeks. instead, you chastised yourself for being so childish at a moment like this, and took a breath. you had a job to do.

as it turned out, removing jack’s clothes was a bit tougher than you’d thought it’d be. (not that you’d thought about it.)

jack had practically turned into dead weight. taking off his effects, coat, vest, and shirt underneath was a lot more difficult to do when he couldn’t help you in the process. but you’d done it, and the lack of any suggestive comments on his end left you with naught but an unsettling fear in your gut.

“rum,” he mumbled instead, and you understood well enough. rum would dull the pain. you found one of his hiding spots where he hid his own stash away from the rest of the crew--he’d told you about it months ago, when you were both drunk on the very thing--and uncorked it, handing it to him. he wasted no time in taking a swig, though the very movement seemed to cause him pain.

luckily for jack, the sailor boy didn’t have as good an aim as much as he was foolish, meaning the bullet had landed closer to jack’s shoulder instead of hitting any major organs or arteries. unluckily for jack, however, the bullet also hadn’t made a clean exit. you would have to get it out yourself.

you sucked in a breath. “this is going to hurt.”

“’ve been through worse, love,” he muttered, not exactly looking at you while he did so. he took another long pull from the bottle of rum, then set it down, lying back on the bed.

there was a part of you that didn’t want to do this. a rather large part of you would’ve rather left the damned thing where it was just so you wouldn’t have to be the one to pain him.

but you also didn’t like the way his skin had paled, and how his eyes had a glazed shine to them where there shouldn’t have been one. you knew he would be worse off if the bullet stayed where it was. and so, taking a deep breath to steady your hand, you went for it.

jack, for the most part, became delirious with fever. he kept talking quietly under his breath, murmuring words that you couldn’t quite catch. you thought you heard something about a garden party, or a mention of pretty ships. it wasn’t as though you could follow his train of thought when you were too busy trying to fish lead out of his skin.

regardless, you preferred the nonsense mumblings to the moments of frightening silence. jack being quiet was a bad sign at the best of times. jack being quiet after an injury like this was far worse. after the first bout of silence, you’d asked him to keep talking—to make yourself feel better, if not only to keep him from falling unconscious.

you weren’t sure who was more drained by the time you got hold of the bullet. you’d quietly murmured apologies, assurances that things would get better, as he winced at every movement you made for the last half hour or so. and by the time it was over, you’d both been spent.

you held the bullet up once you had it in hand. jack seemed to regain his lucidity enough to regard it, a shaky laugh leaving his lips. “should keep it, don’t you think? add it to my collection.”

“this isn’t funny,” you admonished, though you were glad he still had his sense of humor. it had to count for something, right? you placed the bullet down on a small nightstand next to his bed, then exhaled, exhausted. “i’ll need to dress this. have you any wrappings in here?”

“it’s that-a-way,” he mumbled. he lifted his hand and waved it in a vague direction towards his desk which sat in the middle of the cabin. you stood up and walked towards it, going through each drawer. finally, you found what you were looking for, but not before spotting a piece of parchment—a letter, at closer examination—with your name written on it.

you grabbed it, curiously eyeing the letter, before remembering your initial task. you had to take care of wrapping the wound before it got infected. you quickly returned to jack’s side, beginning to work at the wrappings.

you expertly threaded the wrapping through his arms as much as you could while he was laying down. still, you eventually had to guide him towards a halfway sitting-up position so that you could effectively tie the wrapping around him. he settled back down with a wince.

as you dabbed a wet cloth against his face, trying to control the fever, you couldn’t help but let your thoughts wander to that letter. all you’d been able to see was your own name, but you easily recognized jack’s handwriting. why on earth would he bother writing a letter to you when you couldn’t be more than fifty feet away at any given time?

finally, after much unbearable silence, you decided there was no harm in asking. “jack?”

his head lolled towards you. he blinked slowly, as if registering what you had just said.

“there’s a letter in your desk, addressed to me,” you said, keeping your voice as level as you could. “might i be privy to the contents of it?”

he grinned lazily. “ah, that’s just my thoughts speakin.’” he paused and frowned in thought. then, he shrugged. “well, speakin’ in the form of writing. not like I was ever plannin’ on giving it to you.”

you blanched slightly, realizing that in this state, he might be a tad more open with you than he would be in normal circumstances. with this knowledge in hand, you knew you shouldn’t have pressed, but still, curiosity, curiosity—

“and what were your thoughts speaking, exactly?”

“silly, silly things, love,” he said in a sing-song tune. “silly thoughts I never thought I'd think. much less say, I s’ppose. stupid, silly little things.”

“master of evading questions, you are,” you retorted with just a hint of amusement. still, your traitorous heart beat wildly in your chest. “even when you’re half lost to delirium. you’re lucky I like you.”

he grinned widely. “you like me, do you?”

“aye, most unfortunately for me.”

he blinked, tilting his head, when he said, “do you mind saying that again when I can actually remember what it is you just said?”

you laughed. this man would be the death of you, surely. “how about i do that after I find out the truth about that mysterious letter of yours?”

he hummed, then settled back on the pillow, closing his eyes. “we have an accord, then.”

an accord, indeed, you thought.

when he didn’t stir any further, you deemed it safe enough for him to sleep. he probably needed the rest, anyhow. you’d just been about to get up and let the others know that he’d be just fine when his hand shot out and grasped your wrist.

he didn’t want you to leave.

you sighed, and found yourself sitting back down at his side. after a moment, you found that your eyes were stinging just a bit. “don’t go and get yourself shot anymore, alright? don’t know what i’d do if you died on me.”

your words were a whisper, so quiet you barely heard yourself speak, but the corners of his mouth tilted upwards. “i’ll do me best, darling,” he mumbled.

#captain jack sparrow x reader #captain jack sparrow #jack sparrow x reader #pirates of the caribbean #pirates of the caribbean x reader #potc #potc x reader

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nova-writes-about-things · 1 year

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captain jack sparrow x gn!reader word count: 477 disclaimer(s): none, just fluff

(REQUESTS ARE OPEN!)

prompt: ‘how many times must i tell you to trust me?’

you knew better. of course, you did. but somehow, against every logical force of nature, you found yourself in yet another precarious situation—crouched behind a potted plant next to captain jack sparrow while bullets flew above both of your heads in a crowded little bar somewhere in tortuga.

you weren’t sure exactly how this happened—one moment, you were sitting at the bar with jack’s arm tucked ‘round your shoulders, downing a jug of rum while listening to gibbs rattle on with one of his rather far-fetched tales. next thing you knew, one smartass comment from jack had sent one of the nearby drunks reeling, setting off a chain reaction of bar fights and gunpowder.

oh, what a life you lived.

in the midst of the chaos, you turned to look at jack, who was wearing a wide grin on his face. you huffed in annoyance. “this is all your fault, you know,” you shouted over the noise.

he laughed. “what good is a night on land if it isn’t a little interesting, hm?”

nearby, a glass bottle was broken, shattering on the ground. a piece skittered right by your feet. you gave him a pointed look. “sure, if ‘interesting’ means ‘stupidly close to danger n’ death.’”

his eyes glimmered with mischief. “no better way to live, darling. now, what say you to getting out of here?”

“thank bloody hell for that,” you said, eyeing a particular fight between two blokes that didn’t seem like it was ending well anytime soon. “back to the pearl?”

“aye,” he agreed, ducking further at the sound of a bullet heading directly over both of your heads. “‘bout time we head back, anyhow.”

“fantastic,” you drawled sarcastically.

from there, the escape was simple enough—an executed swing of the sword here, a dodging or two of thrown bottles and punches there, and before you knew it, you were out of the bar and rushing into the darkened streets of tortuga.

you both stopped running when you reached a dark alleyway, far enough away from the bar that you didn’t think you had to worry about any of the drunkards rushing after you. panting for breath, you looked at each other for a few moments before bursting into laughter.

“you’re going to get the both of us killed one of these days, jack sparrow.”

he snickered and leaned down, brushing his lips against yours briefly. “captain jack sparrow. and how many times must i tell you to trust me?”

you simply shook your head, unable to keep the smile off your face. this crazy, insufferable man was a walking magnet for trouble, and you had no doubt that remaining by his side would bring you an eternity of moments like these—adrenaline pumping through your veins, danger at every turn.

it was a good thing you weren’t planning on going anywhere.

#captain jack sparrow x reader #captain jack sparrow #jack sparrow x reader #x reader #jack sparrow #potc x reader #pirates of the caribbean #pirates of the caribbean x reader #potc

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