Bucky Simp

Stand up straight. Shoulders back. Pinch your cheeks. Tighten your corset. Be demure and coy. Smile when a man speaks to you, and only respond if he directly asks you a question. Eyes cast downward, unless it’s you he’s speaking to. You need to be the picture perfect essence of what a woman is. Curves and the ability to further a man’s legacy.

A perfect example of high society standards, while being on your knees, and taking what he gives you behind closed doors. Become the animal that he desires you to be. And the next morning you present your pretty put together smile, and pretend that life is perfect.

What a life.

There’s a reason why mothers pray and beg for sons. They know exactly the life that their daughters are going to live. And then after having a daughter, they pray and beg that they are matched with a good man that won’t abuse his power over his wife. That won’t create secrets of just how vile and cruel men can be.

Your mother should have worried. Especially since her death, it was up to your father to be the matchmaker. Too often greed outweighs the daughter’s need for love. And your family aren't long standing members of high society and wealth. It didn’t seem long ago that you lived outside of the city walls. And then your father was angry, cursing you, and telling your older brother it was time to move to city and to fucking grow up.

And now you stare out the window at the roaring sea, wondering how in the world you ended up engaged to a disgusting pompous windbag of an old man. Of course, it was to further your father’s own standing and agenda. Give the young woman that would assure to carry some pig with saggy balls the ability to carry his children. For that’s what all women dream of. Laying underneath a wealthy man, while he pumps you full of his useless seed that won’t yield a child because of he is the one inept.

You’re not stupid to what is going on. You had a nanny, a chaperone, and even a lady in waiting, that was not so ladylike. She acquired more money and secrets by sleeping with the elite. No pregnancy had befallen on her, even though they weren’t careful.

You would meet your death because of this man. He’d already had wives die of mysterious illnesses, and you would certainly be next. All because he couldn’t arise to the occasion. You sigh as you watch a sailor walk onto a ship. His magnificent arms bulging through his wet shirt. That is the type of man you desire. One that could take you away from the city and on a journey. They’d allow you to see the world, while you steal kisses throughout the day until ultimately falling into each other’s arms. Melting in the others embrace, until he melts into you.

That was the promise you were once made. That he would take you away from the life that was thrust upon you. He’d become a captain and make you proud. But he had to achieve some success before stealing you away.

And now it was too late. Now you watch him load his ship. A royal merchant. And a liar. His eyes squint in the sun as he scans the area he’s in before he looks directly at you, and into your soul. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you know he’s trying to make up another lie before seeking you out. Alas it no longer matters. If he removed you from the city, he would be sought and killed on display as punishment. Lord Pierce isn’t someone to mess with.

He would cut out your own tongue if it suited him. Liar. You spit down at him before turning on your heels. Your death sentence has already been signed by the devil himself. There is no God in this way of life. It’s a world where women are property. They are not respected, and they are not treated fairly. They are merely a vessel, and anyone that wants to preach to you about the love of man hasn't felt the cruel hand of pain as it smacks across your face for not agreeing with Lord Pierce quickly enough.

Every strike across your cheek still stings, but not nearly as much as your pride and your former dreams that burned at the stake the moment that your father signed your life over from his own hands to your future husband’s. Your brother is long gone, and joined the royal army, and no longer can help. You’re not even sure if he’s as cruel as the men that you have had dinner with.

You are forced to ignore the snide remarks about your ample bosom, or the nectar between your thighs that would accumulate with an heir for your Lordship. The snickers that ensued after the cruel remarks about all the fun he’s going to have filling you up. He. There is no you in this equation. You are just a hole for him to fuck. A hole to fill with a child so society won’t look down on him and deem him any less than a man.

Pathetic.

You round a corner, and come face to face with him. His blue eyes shine in the sunlight, but you spin on your heels, “Wait!” His kind eyes and supple lips always make you weak.

“I could meet my death before my wedding if I’m caught speaking to the likes of you.”

“There’s no one around,” he pleads, pulling at your arm, and when you jerk away he releases you. “Has he hurt you?”

“Physical pain only hurts for a short while. Heartbreak can last a lifetime. I see you’ve made something of yourself,” he nods, smiling. It’s a smile that doesn’t touch his beautiful eyes. You can take the urchin out of the streets, but a part of him still remains there. His new ship has become quite the commodity in the docks. His return always yields great praise from the elite, “How is business going?”

“I don’t care about business. I care about you.”

“Empty words. I should run, my fiance will be expecting me to stand still and look pretty on his arm tonight. It’s a lovely game when his friends tell me about all the ways that I can take my husband. It’s almost as if they’re going to be viewing him taking my maidenhead,” you smirk at him. That’s the one thing that he can’t take from you.

His hand immediately goes to the necklace he never removes. Your gift to him. “I’m glad to see you still have that,” you nod in the direction of his jewelry.

“It was never the gold that I wanted. It is always you.”

“I suppose you being the first man to split me open was the ultimate gift then,” he scoffs at you, dropping his hands directly at his sides. “If you please, Captain Barnes. I have an engagement to fulfill. Unless you’re making a fool's errand to kidnap me before I walk to my death tomorrow.”

“Meet me at the docks,” you cock an eyebrow up at him. “My ship is scheduled to leave this afternoon. But I have a smaller boat in the dock. They’ll grant us safe passage, and I can’t be accused of taking you,” you step away from him, and glance in every direction. “We chose this meeting place due to the lack of activity around here. Nobody is here. You’re also unaccompanied.”

“Which will be quickly remedied, I’m sure. Lady Margaret is never too far away,” he grabs ahold of your wrist, and jerks you closer to him. He’d never had soft hands. They were calloused from the many years of work he’s already put in, “James.”

“Tell me that you’ll meet me at the docks tonight. You know what will happen after a year if you haven’t given him a child. Please, Milady. Don’t make me beg.”

“I won’t make you beg, but I will ask you to say it,” begging isn’t your idea of love. His sweet words of reassurance that you are worth love is something you crave.

“I love you. And as God as my witness, I will take you from here, and you will have your freedom, and my protection,” you gulp, slowly closing your eyes to stop the burn, and give him a nod. Peering up into his crystal blue eyes you feel safe. It’s been such a long time since you’ve felt adored. Deciding to make love with James had been stupid, rushed, and irresponsible. And yet, you regret nothing. You wanted the first time you laid with a man to mean something, and to be your choice.

“And I will make an honest woman out of you as soon as we are on the ship. I have someone who will marry us. He won’t be able to take my wife away from me,” he brags before his thumb playfully traces lines on the identifiable constellation that your moles make. He never asks about it, but he loves to touch the oddly colored pattern.

“He would make an example of you,” you return the gesture, and rub along his scared skin. It’s an image that haunts you, and one he has never divulged more information on. Your finger slides from the healed skin, and traces the pattern of his merchant’s mark. A mark sealing him to never be part of any other union. Stuck forever as a merchant, and man of the sea.

“Let him try,” his voice is so tender as he pulls you, pressing his precious lips against yours in a chaste kiss. “Midnight,” he whispers in your ear, and pulls away too quickly before he’s running back to the docks, and his ship. For once, he didn’t lie.

Your fiance pulls you close into his side. His lips turn up into a slimy smile as he glances at the guests. Other women in invisible shackles, and men licking their lips like you’re the five course meal. “Margaret tells me about the boy you were kissing this afternoon,” you gulp, but put on a smile, and press your hand over his chest, “Give me a name, and I won’t let these men see you when you take your first cock.”

It has been his plan all along. You look up at him, eyes shuffling around his own to get a read on him. He’s serious. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll take every cock at this fucking table while I watch.”

“And what if one of them gets me pregnant, and not you.”

“The bastard in your belly would still bear my name. Now tell me who you were kissing, you filthy slut,” his words cut deeply. Sure, you weren’t walking into marriage intact, but you laid with a man that you love. You search your brain for any name, knowing that some man was going to bear the punishment that is meant for James. And if you’re lucky, once you get out of here no harm will befall someone.

“It was,” you blink away the tears growing in your eyes, glancing around the room at this disgusting concoction of men, “It was — I don’t know their name. It was the,” fuck. “I think he was the farrier apprentice,” Pierce cocks his brow at you. You just mostly heard that the apprentice was a drunk who didn’t take no as an answer when it came to women. He would be worthy of a punishment.

He leans in closer, “You better be glad Margaret saw you. I’m sure that gutter rat would have taken what belongs to me if given the chance,” he straightens himself up. “It’s what they all do for a chance to sit at this table,” all but admitting in the trade of women to further a man’s standing.

You’ve got to get out of here. Midnight can’t come fast enough.

Checking around a building, you make sure nobody is in sight before you run. Running so fast that tears sting your eyes. You have one chance to get out of here, and you’re taking it whether you live or die. There’s some things worse than death, and whatever hell Pierce has in store for you is worse.

You don’t glance back as you run towards your freedom, and the love of your life. You don’t care about what waits behind you because all that matters is out at sea. You can forgo all the proper dresses, and corsets. Forget about never going hungry. Because the sea means nobody owns you. Nobody can have you.

“Where are you going?”

“No!” You scream as a filthy hand buries your head in a sack. “James!”

“Quiet, you mongrel,” his sweat sticky arms wrap around you, and he hauls you over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t be out at night. She’s too clean to be a whore. For now,” his voice. This isn’t an upstanding citizen of society. This isn’t Pierce’s men. Shit. Some things are worse than death. And you just might have gotten caught by a different devil.

“Tell the Captain, I’ve brought him a prize.”

“Raise the sails, and hoist the colors!”

“Aye!” A round of shouting arises, and you feel every ounce of hope drain out of you. There’s only one ship that changes out their sails. Hydra. While the pirates of Hydra are notorious for their cruelty, they also had the ability to trade in illegal goods, with the same men that proclaimed the goods were illegal to begin with. Bastards. Every last one of them.

Picking at your skirts, you refuse to look at everyone in here with you. From your account it seemed no more than ten women. And yet you’re the one caged. One looks to you, and tilts her head in an almost feline manner. “Who the hell is that?”

“Someone that the hawk brought in here. Says we must feed her, and not let any of the men touch her,” another grouses. You don’t want to know their names. You don’t want to know why they’re here, unchained, un-caged, and just as sweaty looking as the man that tossed you in here. They’re part of it.

“They left that necklace on her. Might be worth something. Give it to me,” she sticks her hand in the cage. You pull the necklace down until the fine chain breaks, and launch it right at her face unceremoniously. “Oh, he’ll like you, you little bitch. Married?”

You glare at her, wrapping both arms around your chest. “She’s not. So a fresh sweet cunny for him,” the women titter, oohing and ahhing over Pierce’s necklace. “The Lord of Banqueesh is your betrothed? Honey, you went from one lion’s den to another.”

“Where am I?”

“You don’t know?” The main one speaking to you asks. Again her head tilts, and it annoys you. Beds in various shapes of unclean line the walls of this tomb. The stench is no normal smell. It’s sex and bodily fluids. “Come now, you know exactly whose ship you're in. He’s what nightmares are made of.”

“Tell your captain, I demand to be taken back to,” you stop. She is right, Pierce is no better than where you reside.

“What were you doing out after dark? You mean that husband of yours wasn’t pimping you out to his friends for sport,” she knows too much about Pierce. It’s true he had a reputation, but most people assumed he was such an amazing man on the island. That he is just and fair to the people. They believe in a charming smile, and a handsome face. But you see his true self.

“We’re no different, you and I. I however married the bastard,” you narrow your eyes looking at her. “And I had my womb ripped out of my body for not producing him an heir. Thrown into the streets to bleed out and have wild dogs rip me apart. Then I found my solace from a hawk.”

“So you’re just as cruel as him?” she smiles, licking her lips.

“I became them. I’ll never let a man own me again, so I become just as cruel as them.”

“Should have killed him first,” her face is always in a cruel smirk. Looking damn near animalistic, like at any moment she will strike.

“Become useful, and they no longer want to use you.”

“What about them?” You jut your chin up to the women in the room. “Whores?”

“Yes,” is her simple reply, and you look down in your lap. “They know their place, and even a whore has a place on a ship. But what to do with you? You’re not in an acceptable dress to be having dinner with the captain.”

“I won’t sleep with him.”

“You’ll do whatever it is he wants you to. You’ll learn real quick he doesn’t respond to the word no well,” she reaches into a wardrobe, and throws a new dress into your cage. “Get dressed. And if you refuse, I’ll make sure you have an audience while you’re made to get dressed. Ladies,” she gives a nod to the women who all scatter out of the room, and she turns her back to you. “Let me guess, your father was an up and coming man, and he desired power and fortune above his daughter?”

“Something like that,” you aren’t even sure what happened. How you wound up here. You remember being in the stables with the stable boy, and… “I don’t tend to make excuses for men. I wasn’t born in the city, didn’t grow up in the city, but I did become a lady for slaughter in the city,” she hums. She knows a bit too much of your situation without knowing. And understanding that once, she was you.

“Are you going to come willingly?” She turns around abruptly, and you’re still lacing up the front of your dress. “Or shall I shackle you, and make you take a trail of shame,” this dress is much more exposing. Your breasts bulge out the top, and there’s no ladylike way to cover them up. “You can be a well behaved girl, huh? Come on. He’ll be ready for his dinner shortly. Head down.”

You do as the woman says. Matching her step to wherever she leads you to meet with the Captain. Trading one lion’s den for another, in her words. For now. She pulls out a chair for you. You sit, and wait. It isn’t fine dining, but somewhat clean. The woman stands too close to you, understandable.

“How long must I wait?”

“Until you don’t have to wait any longer,” incorrigible. Sighing, you look around the dining area. “You will be eating alone. And there’s but one exit. Once the captain arrives I will be outside the door.”

The door creaks behind you, and you sit up straighter. Calming your breath. The woman gives a nod to the captain, and as promised, leaves. You stare up at your captor, just as sweaty and grimy as the rest. He makes no movement, but he stares just as hard as you are. Icy blue eyes try to put you just as low as he thinks you are.

He takes the few steps over to a water basin, and you stare horrified at the grim and blood washed from your hands. You’re doubtful that you were the only thing taken from the island. He stares eerily as the blood sloughs away, refusing to stop until his hands are mostly clean. He has some manners.

“Was there an attack?”

He turns back to look at you, offering a hungry smile. But his hunger isn’t something you can stave off with food. His hunger is something more primal.

His tongue licks over his teeth like he’s going to devour you. “Why am I here?” he just shakes his head, wagging his finger ‘no’ at you. Flicking his finger upwards, you stand.

“You’re quite the woman, Miss…?” The captain’s eyes wander slowly on your body.

You’ve lied enough already, might as well continue, “Isabella,” the man scoffs, and starts stalking around you. Sizing you up. Thinking about what he’s going to do to you. “I am engaged.”

“Lord Pierce won’t be looking for you. He was too busy fucking some whore tonight. You were disposed of a bit early for his liking, I’m sure. But he’ll find a replacement in time,” the longer he waits the less likely his balls will be to secure his legacy. Good. “It’s probably worked out the best for you.”

“Aren’t you just as cruel as Lord Pierce? Are you not a thief?” He shrugs with a smile. “Are you not a pirate?”

“So you’ve heard about me,” his smile stretches out too severely across his cheeks as he bows. “At your service.”

“Not you. Hydra.”

“And who do you think controls them? Who is the captain of this ship?”

“An arrogant asshole?” Steve shakes his finger at you laughing before sitting down. He removes the cloche, and rips off a leg off the giant fowl.

“I like you. Eat,” he doesn’t look like the pirates you have heard about. There’s a handsomeness in his hard angled features. “Eat!”

“I’m not hungry,” your chin tilts up, and you look away from him. He strikes. Grabbing at your arm and slamming it to the table. Screaming, you look at him with tears in your eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

The captain tilts his head curiously, assessing your face before his vision oozes down your body. He lingers on the slopes of your breasts. Too quickly he strikes, pulling your arm closer to him, and his eyes zero in to the last part that James touched. “It’s a birthmark.”

His eyes coast up your arm, and lingers on your tits again. He licks his lips hungrily before his Cheshire grin makes you uncomfortable. He watches your face as his free hand rubs over the cluster of moles, and he laughs when you cringe at the feeling. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like you touching me,” there is nothing satisfactory about the rough hard fingertips of him. You smell the acrid stench of death all over him. You don’t know who or what he pillaged, but it’s obvious you were not the only thing stolen tonight.

“Touching you, or touching it? The so-called birthmark I mean,” he sits back down, but keeps holding your arm with one hand, while the other traces lines between the moles. “It’s curious.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s an odd color,” you shrug. It didn’t mean anything. “It’s in the shape of Ursa Minor,” you shrug again. Clearing his throat, he releases your arm, and gestures to the meat in the middle of the table. “Eat.”

This time you don’t argue, and reach in front of you. “It’s a long journey where we’re going.”

“And that is?”

“The land where we dock,” these assholes. “Have you enjoyed your sleeping quarters?” You snort, and continue to chew your food. He gazes at you for too long before taking another bite, talking to you while chewing, “Very well, I’ll have you join my sleeping quarters.”

“No,” the captain lifts an eyebrow, “No, thank you.”

“You’re a hard woman to please, Miss Isabella,” there’s something in the sound of his voice. He doesn’t believe the fake name that you gave him.

“When you said that Pierce was fucking a whore, how did you know?” He only smiles at you while he takes another bite. “How did you know I was engaged to him?”

“Your necklace,” that’s a satisfactory answer. “Plus, we were coming to collect you.”

“Me?” He nods, reaching to a serving bowl, and dishes some potatoes on your plate, and then to his. “Why were you collecting me?”

“Was asked to.”

“By?”

“Does it matter?” It matters a great deal. Is this the ship that is taking you to Bucky? Or is this some other nefarious deal?

“And are you meant to take me to the person that asked?” That stupid smile again, but no answer. “You’re infuriating.”

“What if I said I was sent to sully your good name? How would that make you feel?”

“My name has already been sullen,” his smile immediately leaves his face, and his chewing becomes slower. An unsettling feeling crawls up your back as you take him in, “Well, if you’re talking about ruining me through my cunt that is. You see, the first time I had sex it was beautiful, and we made love under the moonlight on the beach. Every time after that was in allies and on ships that didn’t belong to us, fucking like rabbits. If it makes you feel better he never spilled in me. Except for the first time. He couldn’t handle the feeling of my tight cunt.”

Your head slings to side as a sharp sting from his hand paints itself on your face, “Now you see, you just fucking pissed me off you — you…”

“I believe whore is the word you’re looking for. I was no whore to anyone but him,” you scoot your chair back abruptly as he takes another swing at you. “Does it bother you to know that I’m not pure?”

“I’ve fucked many a women in my lifetime, and how many cocks she’s had inside her doesn’t piss me off. What pisses me off is your filthy little mouth. Eat your goddamn food, and quit talking like you’re no better than a common street rat,” his eyes move to his plate, and it gives you enough confidence to scoot back.

“I’m no street rat.”

“Yeah, you’re just a late blooming lady that moved into the city just in time for your etiquette teachings, and how to become a wife,” that is not information you divulged. “Street rats are forgotten. Amongst stable boys, ladies in waiting, and everyone you people deem below you. Sometimes the problem is that you think too highly for yourself, not realizing that the ones below you are the ones doing the hard labor you choose not to. Meanwhile, you curse them and blame them for your wrongdoings and they suffer, while you become savory to the people that believe you’re the epitome of grace and purity.”

You are not your father. And you say nothing. Eating in silence, while he stews over his food. “It wasn’t Pierce. He wouldn’t fuck you in the docks. He’d make people watch you as he claimed you for the first time. Who was it?”

You don’t have to have a conversation with the brute. You just need to survive. “On the beach, I bet that cunny got filled with sand. Piss poor place to take a woman’s maidenhead. By the fucking docks. You move into the city to be a lady and you become a whore for a fisherman?” Your brow must have twitched because that slippery smile lifts his mouth again.

“Tell me, why were you not in your bedroom tonight? It wouldn’t have anything to do with the merchant ship that we plundered, would it?” Your interest is piqued, you listen closer. “It does?” He’s only guessing, but clearly your face is betraying you, “Well, they were left with nothing when we finished. Not even a captain.”

“He wasn’t on the ship,” he was meant to meet you at the docks. He was there, not on his ship.

The captain’s sneer turns completely demonic, “You’ve been fucking James Barnes? You dirty little slut,” fear and anger flashes in your eyes, “My apologies. Barnes’ dirty little slut. How does it feel to know that you were no better than an easy fuck in the shadows.”

“Pierce would have had both our heads if he knew! We had to hide because it was him that I wanted!”

“So — you admit it? You’re admitting that Barnes is who you truly love? Or is it only his cock?” You blow out an exasperated breath, glaring at him. “Oh, you spoiled little urchin. You are no Isabella. You think I’m too dumb not to know who you are? Little bitch, lying to me.”

“Who asked you to retrieve me?”

“Natasha! Take the former milkmaid’s daughter down below!” Another piece of information that he was not privy to. Nobody knew your mother was merely a milkmaid.

“Who asked you?!” You screech as the woman from before grabs you up. “Captain! Did you kill him? Did you harm a hair on his body?” He snaps his fingers, and Natasha rolls her eyes. She walks over to a wardrobe and tosses horror onto the table.

“You fucking monster! That — that’s not James,” your voice dissipates when he flips the arm over, and you see his brand on his wrist. The very same image that flies on this ship. A skull with octopus tentacles. One you had just touched earlier today, “Why?”

“Did you see? It’s his left arm. He’ll never be able to wear a wedding band. That’s if he can swim with one fucking arm. Aren’t you glad that I saved him from the fate of Pierce? Your fiance was onto your unfaithful ways. The fisher people talk. Never fuck in the open, you stupid dumb bitch.”

“Was it necessary to remove his whole arm? If it was only his ring finger you were worried about, why not remove that?” What sick and twisted game was he playing? Why did he care if James was to marry?

“My hand must have slipped,” his voice is so cold. He has no regrets for doing what he did. The monster cut his fucking arm off so he wouldn’t be able to wear a wedding ring, and left him for dead in the ocean.

Your lip trembles as you stare at his arm. It’s not just the branding on his wrist, it’s the tattoos of his trade, winding and circling up his arm. James is as good as dead. “Why him?”

“Did you ever stop to wonder how he got that bloody mark on him, hmm? He was pledged to serve my crew for ten years, and then he fled,” the captain eyes you up and down, smiling at your misery. Not just the gruesome display of his arm on the table, but the knowing that he wouldn’t be able to survive that. The realization that the blood he washed only moments earlier could have been James', “And he did this all for some pussy. Take her below deck, and bring me Jezzy to fuck. I need to let off some steam. Nothing like a hard pounding fuck, huh, my little siren.”

“I’m not yours.”

“Keep your mouth shut or it’s your cunt I’m using tonight. Natasha!” You scream at him. There’s no words, just feral wails of rage as you're pulled away. “Don’t worry, one day I will make you scream in all kinds of ways. You didn’t know cruelty until you met me, Siren,” and with that the door is slammed shut, and you are dragged to your cage. To sit with the knowledge that you’re to blame for his mutilation, ending in his death.

Steve cracks his neck, listening to your pathetic sobs for James. Whether you knew it or not, you were already his. He’s always been patient. For you.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @rnurse-kole @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy

Stand up straight. Shoulders back. Pinch your cheeks. Tighten your corset. Be demure and coy. Smile when a man speaks to you, and only respond if he directly asks you a question. Eyes cast downward, unless it’s you he’s speaking to. You need to be the picture perfect essence of what a woman is. Curves and the ability to further a man’s legacy.

A perfect example of high society standards, while being on your knees, and taking what he gives you behind closed doors. Become the animal that he desires you to be. And the next morning you present your pretty put together smile, and pretend that life is perfect.

What a life.

There’s a reason why mothers pray and beg for sons. They know exactly the life that their daughters are going to live. And then after having a daughter, they pray and beg that they are matched with a good man that won’t abuse his power over his wife. That won’t create secrets of just how vile and cruel men can be.

Your mother should have worried. Especially since her death, it was up to your father to be the matchmaker. Too often greed outweighs the daughter’s need for love. And your family aren't long standing members of high society and wealth. It didn’t seem long ago that you lived outside of the city walls. And then your father was angry, cursing you, and telling your older brother it was time to move to city and to fucking grow up.

And now you stare out the window at the roaring sea, wondering how in the world you ended up engaged to a disgusting pompous windbag of an old man. Of course, it was to further your father’s own standing and agenda. Give the young woman that would assure to carry some pig with saggy balls the ability to carry his children. For that’s what all women dream of. Laying underneath a wealthy man, while he pumps you full of his useless seed that won’t yield a child because of he is the one inept.

You’re not stupid to what is going on. You had a nanny, a chaperone, and even a lady in waiting, that was not so ladylike. She acquired more money and secrets by sleeping with the elite. No pregnancy had befallen on her, even though they weren’t careful.

You would meet your death because of this man. He’d already had wives die of mysterious illnesses, and you would certainly be next. All because he couldn’t arise to the occasion. You sigh as you watch a sailor walk onto a ship. His magnificent arms bulging through his wet shirt. That is the type of man you desire. One that could take you away from the city and on a journey. They’d allow you to see the world, while you steal kisses throughout the day until ultimately falling into each other’s arms. Melting in the others embrace, until he melts into you.

That was the promise you were once made. That he would take you away from the life that was thrust upon you. He’d become a captain and make you proud. But he had to achieve some success before stealing you away.

And now it was too late. Now you watch him load his ship. A royal merchant. And a liar. His eyes squint in the sun as he scans the area he’s in before he looks directly at you, and into your soul. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you know he’s trying to make up another lie before seeking you out. Alas it no longer matters. If he removed you from the city, he would be sought and killed on display as punishment. Lord Pierce isn’t someone to mess with.

He would cut out your own tongue if it suited him. Liar. You spit down at him before turning on your heels. Your death sentence has already been signed by the devil himself. There is no God in this way of life. It’s a world where women are property. They are not respected, and they are not treated fairly. They are merely a vessel, and anyone that wants to preach to you about the love of man hasn't felt the cruel hand of pain as it smacks across your face for not agreeing with Lord Pierce quickly enough.

Every strike across your cheek still stings, but not nearly as much as your pride and your former dreams that burned at the stake the moment that your father signed your life over from his own hands to your future husband’s. Your brother is long gone, and joined the royal army, and no longer can help. You’re not even sure if he’s as cruel as the men that you have had dinner with.

You are forced to ignore the snide remarks about your ample bosom, or the nectar between your thighs that would accumulate with an heir for your Lordship. The snickers that ensued after the cruel remarks about all the fun he’s going to have filling you up. He. There is no you in this equation. You are just a hole for him to fuck. A hole to fill with a child so society won’t look down on him and deem him any less than a man.

Pathetic.

You round a corner, and come face to face with him. His blue eyes shine in the sunlight, but you spin on your heels, “Wait!” His kind eyes and supple lips always make you weak.

“I could meet my death before my wedding if I’m caught speaking to the likes of you.”

“There’s no one around,” he pleads, pulling at your arm, and when you jerk away he releases you. “Has he hurt you?”

“Physical pain only hurts for a short while. Heartbreak can last a lifetime. I see you’ve made something of yourself,” he nods, smiling. It’s a smile that doesn’t touch his beautiful eyes. You can take the urchin out of the streets, but a part of him still remains there. His new ship has become quite the commodity in the docks. His return always yields great praise from the elite, “How is business going?”

“I don’t care about business. I care about you.”

“Empty words. I should run, my fiance will be expecting me to stand still and look pretty on his arm tonight. It’s a lovely game when his friends tell me about all the ways that I can take my husband. It’s almost as if they’re going to be viewing him taking my maidenhead,” you smirk at him. That’s the one thing that he can’t take from you.

His hand immediately goes to the necklace he never removes. Your gift to him. “I’m glad to see you still have that,” you nod in the direction of his jewelry.

“It was never the gold that I wanted. It is always you.”

“I suppose you being the first man to split me open was the ultimate gift then,” he scoffs at you, dropping his hands directly at his sides. “If you please, Captain Barnes. I have an engagement to fulfill. Unless you’re making a fool's errand to kidnap me before I walk to my death tomorrow.”

“Meet me at the docks,” you cock an eyebrow up at him. “My ship is scheduled to leave this afternoon. But I have a smaller boat in the dock. They’ll grant us safe passage, and I can’t be accused of taking you,” you step away from him, and glance in every direction. “We chose this meeting place due to the lack of activity around here. Nobody is here. You’re also unaccompanied.”

“Which will be quickly remedied, I’m sure. Lady Margaret is never too far away,” he grabs ahold of your wrist, and jerks you closer to him. He’d never had soft hands. They were calloused from the many years of work he’s already put in, “James.”

“Tell me that you’ll meet me at the docks tonight. You know what will happen after a year if you haven’t given him a child. Please, Milady. Don’t make me beg.”

“I won’t make you beg, but I will ask you to say it,” begging isn’t your idea of love. His sweet words of reassurance that you are worth love is something you crave.

“I love you. And as God as my witness, I will take you from here, and you will have your freedom, and my protection,” you gulp, slowly closing your eyes to stop the burn, and give him a nod. Peering up into his crystal blue eyes you feel safe. It’s been such a long time since you’ve felt adored. Deciding to make love with James had been stupid, rushed, and irresponsible. And yet, you regret nothing. You wanted the first time you laid with a man to mean something, and to be your choice.

“And I will make an honest woman out of you as soon as we are on the ship. I have someone who will marry us. He won’t be able to take my wife away from me,” he brags before his thumb playfully traces lines on the identifiable constellation that your moles make. He never asks about it, but he loves to touch the oddly colored pattern.

“He would make an example of you,” you return the gesture, and rub along his scared skin. It’s an image that haunts you, and one he has never divulged more information on. Your finger slides from the healed skin, and traces the pattern of his merchant’s mark. A mark sealing him to never be part of any other union. Stuck forever as a merchant, and man of the sea.

“Let him try,” his voice is so tender as he pulls you, pressing his precious lips against yours in a chaste kiss. “Midnight,” he whispers in your ear, and pulls away too quickly before he’s running back to the docks, and his ship. For once, he didn’t lie.

Your fiance pulls you close into his side. His lips turn up into a slimy smile as he glances at the guests. Other women in invisible shackles, and men licking their lips like you’re the five course meal. “Margaret tells me about the boy you were kissing this afternoon,” you gulp, but put on a smile, and press your hand over his chest, “Give me a name, and I won’t let these men see you when you take your first cock.”

It has been his plan all along. You look up at him, eyes shuffling around his own to get a read on him. He’s serious. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll take every cock at this fucking table while I watch.”

“And what if one of them gets me pregnant, and not you.”

“The bastard in your belly would still bear my name. Now tell me who you were kissing, you filthy slut,” his words cut deeply. Sure, you weren’t walking into marriage intact, but you laid with a man that you love. You search your brain for any name, knowing that some man was going to bear the punishment that is meant for James. And if you’re lucky, once you get out of here no harm will befall someone.

“It was,” you blink away the tears growing in your eyes, glancing around the room at this disgusting concoction of men, “It was — I don’t know their name. It was the,” fuck. “I think he was the farrier apprentice,” Pierce cocks his brow at you. You just mostly heard that the apprentice was a drunk who didn’t take no as an answer when it came to women. He would be worthy of a punishment.

He leans in closer, “You better be glad Margaret saw you. I’m sure that gutter rat would have taken what belongs to me if given the chance,” he straightens himself up. “It’s what they all do for a chance to sit at this table,” all but admitting in the trade of women to further a man’s standing.

You’ve got to get out of here. Midnight can’t come fast enough.

Checking around a building, you make sure nobody is in sight before you run. Running so fast that tears sting your eyes. You have one chance to get out of here, and you’re taking it whether you live or die. There’s some things worse than death, and whatever hell Pierce has in store for you is worse.

You don’t glance back as you run towards your freedom, and the love of your life. You don’t care about what waits behind you because all that matters is out at sea. You can forgo all the proper dresses, and corsets. Forget about never going hungry. Because the sea means nobody owns you. Nobody can have you.

“Where are you going?”

“No!” You scream as a filthy hand buries your head in a sack. “James!”

“Quiet, you mongrel,” his sweat sticky arms wrap around you, and he hauls you over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t be out at night. She’s too clean to be a whore. For now,” his voice. This isn’t an upstanding citizen of society. This isn’t Pierce’s men. Shit. Some things are worse than death. And you just might have gotten caught by a different devil.

“Tell the Captain, I’ve brought him a prize.”

“Raise the sails, and hoist the colors!”

“Aye!” A round of shouting arises, and you feel every ounce of hope drain out of you. There’s only one ship that changes out their sails. Hydra. While the pirates of Hydra are notorious for their cruelty, they also had the ability to trade in illegal goods, with the same men that proclaimed the goods were illegal to begin with. Bastards. Every last one of them.

Picking at your skirts, you refuse to look at everyone in here with you. From your account it seemed no more than ten women. And yet you’re the one caged. One looks to you, and tilts her head in an almost feline manner. “Who the hell is that?”

“Someone that the hawk brought in here. Says we must feed her, and not let any of the men touch her,” another grouses. You don’t want to know their names. You don’t want to know why they’re here, unchained, un-caged, and just as sweaty looking as the man that tossed you in here. They’re part of it.

“They left that necklace on her. Might be worth something. Give it to me,” she sticks her hand in the cage. You pull the necklace down until the fine chain breaks, and launch it right at her face unceremoniously. “Oh, he’ll like you, you little bitch. Married?”

You glare at her, wrapping both arms around your chest. “She’s not. So a fresh sweet cunny for him,” the women titter, oohing and ahhing over Pierce’s necklace. “The Lord of Banqueesh is your betrothed? Honey, you went from one lion’s den to another.”

“Where am I?”

“You don’t know?” The main one speaking to you asks. Again her head tilts, and it annoys you. Beds in various shapes of unclean line the walls of this tomb. The stench is no normal smell. It’s sex and bodily fluids. “Come now, you know exactly whose ship you're in. He’s what nightmares are made of.”

“Tell your captain, I demand to be taken back to,” you stop. She is right, Pierce is no better than where you reside.

“What were you doing out after dark? You mean that husband of yours wasn’t pimping you out to his friends for sport,” she knows too much about Pierce. It’s true he had a reputation, but most people assumed he was such an amazing man on the island. That he is just and fair to the people. They believe in a charming smile, and a handsome face. But you see his true self.

“We’re no different, you and I. I however married the bastard,” you narrow your eyes looking at her. “And I had my womb ripped out of my body for not producing him an heir. Thrown into the streets to bleed out and have wild dogs rip me apart. Then I found my solace from a hawk.”

“So you’re just as cruel as him?” she smiles, licking her lips.

“I became them. I’ll never let a man own me again, so I become just as cruel as them.”

“Should have killed him first,” her face is always in a cruel smirk. Looking damn near animalistic, like at any moment she will strike.

“Become useful, and they no longer want to use you.”

“What about them?” You jut your chin up to the women in the room. “Whores?”

“Yes,” is her simple reply, and you look down in your lap. “They know their place, and even a whore has a place on a ship. But what to do with you? You’re not in an acceptable dress to be having dinner with the captain.”

“I won’t sleep with him.”

“You’ll do whatever it is he wants you to. You’ll learn real quick he doesn’t respond to the word no well,” she reaches into a wardrobe, and throws a new dress into your cage. “Get dressed. And if you refuse, I’ll make sure you have an audience while you’re made to get dressed. Ladies,” she gives a nod to the women who all scatter out of the room, and she turns her back to you. “Let me guess, your father was an up and coming man, and he desired power and fortune above his daughter?”

“Something like that,” you aren’t even sure what happened. How you wound up here. You remember being in the stables with the stable boy, and… “I don’t tend to make excuses for men. I wasn’t born in the city, didn’t grow up in the city, but I did become a lady for slaughter in the city,” she hums. She knows a bit too much of your situation without knowing. And understanding that once, she was you.

“Are you going to come willingly?” She turns around abruptly, and you’re still lacing up the front of your dress. “Or shall I shackle you, and make you take a trail of shame,” this dress is much more exposing. Your breasts bulge out the top, and there’s no ladylike way to cover them up. “You can be a well behaved girl, huh? Come on. He’ll be ready for his dinner shortly. Head down.”

You do as the woman says. Matching her step to wherever she leads you to meet with the Captain. Trading one lion’s den for another, in her words. For now. She pulls out a chair for you. You sit, and wait. It isn’t fine dining, but somewhat clean. The woman stands too close to you, understandable.

“How long must I wait?”

“Until you don’t have to wait any longer,” incorrigible. Sighing, you look around the dining area. “You will be eating alone. And there’s but one exit. Once the captain arrives I will be outside the door.”

The door creaks behind you, and you sit up straighter. Calming your breath. The woman gives a nod to the captain, and as promised, leaves. You stare up at your captor, just as sweaty and grimy as the rest. He makes no movement, but he stares just as hard as you are. Icy blue eyes try to put you just as low as he thinks you are.

He takes the few steps over to a water basin, and you stare horrified at the grim and blood washed from your hands. You’re doubtful that you were the only thing taken from the island. He stares eerily as the blood sloughs away, refusing to stop until his hands are mostly clean. He has some manners.

“Was there an attack?”

He turns back to look at you, offering a hungry smile. But his hunger isn’t something you can stave off with food. His hunger is something more primal.

His tongue licks over his teeth like he’s going to devour you. “Why am I here?” he just shakes his head, wagging his finger ‘no’ at you. Flicking his finger upwards, you stand.

“You’re quite the woman, Miss…?” The captain’s eyes wander slowly on your body.

You’ve lied enough already, might as well continue, “Isabella,” the man scoffs, and starts stalking around you. Sizing you up. Thinking about what he’s going to do to you. “I am engaged.”

“Lord Pierce won’t be looking for you. He was too busy fucking some whore tonight. You were disposed of a bit early for his liking, I’m sure. But he’ll find a replacement in time,” the longer he waits the less likely his balls will be to secure his legacy. Good. “It’s probably worked out the best for you.”

“Aren’t you just as cruel as Lord Pierce? Are you not a thief?” He shrugs with a smile. “Are you not a pirate?”

“So you’ve heard about me,” his smile stretches out too severely across his cheeks as he bows. “At your service.”

“Not you. Hydra.”

“And who do you think controls them? Who is the captain of this ship?”

“An arrogant asshole?” Steve shakes his finger at you laughing before sitting down. He removes the cloche, and rips off a leg off the giant fowl.

“I like you. Eat,” he doesn’t look like the pirates you have heard about. There’s a handsomeness in his hard angled features. “Eat!”

“I’m not hungry,” your chin tilts up, and you look away from him. He strikes. Grabbing at your arm and slamming it to the table. Screaming, you look at him with tears in your eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

The captain tilts his head curiously, assessing your face before his vision oozes down your body. He lingers on the slopes of your breasts. Too quickly he strikes, pulling your arm closer to him, and his eyes zero in to the last part that James touched. “It’s a birthmark.”

His eyes coast up your arm, and lingers on your tits again. He licks his lips hungrily before his Cheshire grin makes you uncomfortable. He watches your face as his free hand rubs over the cluster of moles, and he laughs when you cringe at the feeling. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like you touching me,” there is nothing satisfactory about the rough hard fingertips of him. You smell the acrid stench of death all over him. You don’t know who or what he pillaged, but it’s obvious you were not the only thing stolen tonight.

“Touching you, or touching it? The so-called birthmark I mean,” he sits back down, but keeps holding your arm with one hand, while the other traces lines between the moles. “It’s curious.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s an odd color,” you shrug. It didn’t mean anything. “It’s in the shape of Ursa Minor,” you shrug again. Clearing his throat, he releases your arm, and gestures to the meat in the middle of the table. “Eat.”

This time you don’t argue, and reach in front of you. “It’s a long journey where we’re going.”

“And that is?”

“The land where we dock,” these assholes. “Have you enjoyed your sleeping quarters?” You snort, and continue to chew your food. He gazes at you for too long before taking another bite, talking to you while chewing, “Very well, I’ll have you join my sleeping quarters.”

“No,” the captain lifts an eyebrow, “No, thank you.”

“You’re a hard woman to please, Miss Isabella,” there’s something in the sound of his voice. He doesn’t believe the fake name that you gave him.

“When you said that Pierce was fucking a whore, how did you know?” He only smiles at you while he takes another bite. “How did you know I was engaged to him?”

“Your necklace,” that’s a satisfactory answer. “Plus, we were coming to collect you.”

“Me?” He nods, reaching to a serving bowl, and dishes some potatoes on your plate, and then to his. “Why were you collecting me?”

“Was asked to.”

“By?”

“Does it matter?” It matters a great deal. Is this the ship that is taking you to Bucky? Or is this some other nefarious deal?

“And are you meant to take me to the person that asked?” That stupid smile again, but no answer. “You’re infuriating.”

“What if I said I was sent to sully your good name? How would that make you feel?”

“My name has already been sullen,” his smile immediately leaves his face, and his chewing becomes slower. An unsettling feeling crawls up your back as you take him in, “Well, if you’re talking about ruining me through my cunt that is. You see, the first time I had sex it was beautiful, and we made love under the moonlight on the beach. Every time after that was in allies and on ships that didn’t belong to us, fucking like rabbits. If it makes you feel better he never spilled in me. Except for the first time. He couldn’t handle the feeling of my tight cunt.”

Your head slings to side as a sharp sting from his hand paints itself on your face, “Now you see, you just fucking pissed me off you — you…”

“I believe whore is the word you’re looking for. I was no whore to anyone but him,” you scoot your chair back abruptly as he takes another swing at you. “Does it bother you to know that I’m not pure?”

“I’ve fucked many a women in my lifetime, and how many cocks she’s had inside her doesn’t piss me off. What pisses me off is your filthy little mouth. Eat your goddamn food, and quit talking like you’re no better than a common street rat,” his eyes move to his plate, and it gives you enough confidence to scoot back.

“I’m no street rat.”

“Yeah, you’re just a late blooming lady that moved into the city just in time for your etiquette teachings, and how to become a wife,” that is not information you divulged. “Street rats are forgotten. Amongst stable boys, ladies in waiting, and everyone you people deem below you. Sometimes the problem is that you think too highly for yourself, not realizing that the ones below you are the ones doing the hard labor you choose not to. Meanwhile, you curse them and blame them for your wrongdoings and they suffer, while you become savory to the people that believe you’re the epitome of grace and purity.”

You are not your father. And you say nothing. Eating in silence, while he stews over his food. “It wasn’t Pierce. He wouldn’t fuck you in the docks. He’d make people watch you as he claimed you for the first time. Who was it?”

You don’t have to have a conversation with the brute. You just need to survive. “On the beach, I bet that cunny got filled with sand. Piss poor place to take a woman’s maidenhead. By the fucking docks. You move into the city to be a lady and you become a whore for a fisherman?” Your brow must have twitched because that slippery smile lifts his mouth again.

“Tell me, why were you not in your bedroom tonight? It wouldn’t have anything to do with the merchant ship that we plundered, would it?” Your interest is piqued, you listen closer. “It does?” He’s only guessing, but clearly your face is betraying you, “Well, they were left with nothing when we finished. Not even a captain.”

“He wasn’t on the ship,” he was meant to meet you at the docks. He was there, not on his ship.

The captain’s sneer turns completely demonic, “You’ve been fucking James Barnes? You dirty little slut,” fear and anger flashes in your eyes, “My apologies. Barnes’ dirty little slut. How does it feel to know that you were no better than an easy fuck in the shadows.”

“Pierce would have had both our heads if he knew! We had to hide because it was him that I wanted!”

“So — you admit it? You’re admitting that Barnes is who you truly love? Or is it only his cock?” You blow out an exasperated breath, glaring at him. “Oh, you spoiled little urchin. You are no Isabella. You think I’m too dumb not to know who you are? Little bitch, lying to me.”

“Who asked you to retrieve me?”

“Natasha! Take the former milkmaid’s daughter down below!” Another piece of information that he was not privy to. Nobody knew your mother was merely a milkmaid.

“Who asked you?!” You screech as the woman from before grabs you up. “Captain! Did you kill him? Did you harm a hair on his body?” He snaps his fingers, and Natasha rolls her eyes. She walks over to a wardrobe and tosses horror onto the table.

“You fucking monster! That — that’s not James,” your voice dissipates when he flips the arm over, and you see his brand on his wrist. The very same image that flies on this ship. A skull with octopus tentacles. One you had just touched earlier today, “Why?”

“Did you see? It’s his left arm. He’ll never be able to wear a wedding band. That’s if he can swim with one fucking arm. Aren’t you glad that I saved him from the fate of Pierce? Your fiance was onto your unfaithful ways. The fisher people talk. Never fuck in the open, you stupid dumb bitch.”

“Was it necessary to remove his whole arm? If it was only his ring finger you were worried about, why not remove that?” What sick and twisted game was he playing? Why did he care if James was to marry?

“My hand must have slipped,” his voice is so cold. He has no regrets for doing what he did. The monster cut his fucking arm off so he wouldn’t be able to wear a wedding ring, and left him for dead in the ocean.

Your lip trembles as you stare at his arm. It’s not just the branding on his wrist, it’s the tattoos of his trade, winding and circling up his arm. James is as good as dead. “Why him?”

“Did you ever stop to wonder how he got that bloody mark on him, hmm? He was pledged to serve my crew for ten years, and then he fled,” the captain eyes you up and down, smiling at your misery. Not just the gruesome display of his arm on the table, but the knowing that he wouldn’t be able to survive that. The realization that the blood he washed only moments earlier could have been James', “And he did this all for some pussy. Take her below deck, and bring me Jezzy to fuck. I need to let off some steam. Nothing like a hard pounding fuck, huh, my little siren.”

“I’m not yours.”

“Keep your mouth shut or it’s your cunt I’m using tonight. Natasha!” You scream at him. There’s no words, just feral wails of rage as you're pulled away. “Don’t worry, one day I will make you scream in all kinds of ways. You didn’t know cruelty until you met me, Siren,” and with that the door is slammed shut, and you are dragged to your cage. To sit with the knowledge that you’re to blame for his mutilation, ending in his death.

Steve cracks his neck, listening to your pathetic sobs for James. Whether you knew it or not, you were already his. He’s always been patient. For you.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @rnurse-kole @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy

Stand up straight. Shoulders back. Pinch your cheeks. Tighten your corset. Be demure and coy. Smile when a man speaks to you, and only respond if he directly asks you a question. Eyes cast downward, unless it’s you he’s speaking to. You need to be the picture perfect essence of what a woman is. Curves and the ability to further a man’s legacy.

A perfect example of high society standards, while being on your knees, and taking what he gives you behind closed doors. Become the animal that he desires you to be. And the next morning you present your pretty put together smile, and pretend that life is perfect.

What a life.

There’s a reason why mothers pray and beg for sons. They know exactly the life that their daughters are going to live. And then after having a daughter, they pray and beg that they are matched with a good man that won’t abuse his power over his wife. That won’t create secrets of just how vile and cruel men can be.

Your mother should have worried. Especially since her death, it was up to your father to be the matchmaker. Too often greed outweighs the daughter’s need for love. And your family aren't long standing members of high society and wealth. It didn’t seem long ago that you lived outside of the city walls. And then your father was angry, cursing you, and telling your older brother it was time to move to city and to fucking grow up.

And now you stare out the window at the roaring sea, wondering how in the world you ended up engaged to a disgusting pompous windbag of an old man. Of course, it was to further your father’s own standing and agenda. Give the young woman that would assure to carry some pig with saggy balls the ability to carry his children. For that’s what all women dream of. Laying underneath a wealthy man, while he pumps you full of his useless seed that won’t yield a child because of he is the one inept.

You’re not stupid to what is going on. You had a nanny, a chaperone, and even a lady in waiting, that was not so ladylike. She acquired more money and secrets by sleeping with the elite. No pregnancy had befallen on her, even though they weren’t careful.

You would meet your death because of this man. He’d already had wives die of mysterious illnesses, and you would certainly be next. All because he couldn’t arise to the occasion. You sigh as you watch a sailor walk onto a ship. His magnificent arms bulging through his wet shirt. That is the type of man you desire. One that could take you away from the city and on a journey. They’d allow you to see the world, while you steal kisses throughout the day until ultimately falling into each other’s arms. Melting in the others embrace, until he melts into you.

That was the promise you were once made. That he would take you away from the life that was thrust upon you. He’d become a captain and make you proud. But he had to achieve some success before stealing you away.

And now it was too late. Now you watch him load his ship. A royal merchant. And a liar. His eyes squint in the sun as he scans the area he’s in before he looks directly at you, and into your soul. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you know he’s trying to make up another lie before seeking you out. Alas it no longer matters. If he removed you from the city, he would be sought and killed on display as punishment. Lord Pierce isn’t someone to mess with.

He would cut out your own tongue if it suited him. Liar. You spit down at him before turning on your heels. Your death sentence has already been signed by the devil himself. There is no God in this way of life. It’s a world where women are property. They are not respected, and they are not treated fairly. They are merely a vessel, and anyone that wants to preach to you about the love of man hasn't felt the cruel hand of pain as it smacks across your face for not agreeing with Lord Pierce quickly enough.

Every strike across your cheek still stings, but not nearly as much as your pride and your former dreams that burned at the stake the moment that your father signed your life over from his own hands to your future husband’s. Your brother is long gone, and joined the royal army, and no longer can help. You’re not even sure if he’s as cruel as the men that you have had dinner with.

You are forced to ignore the snide remarks about your ample bosom, or the nectar between your thighs that would accumulate with an heir for your Lordship. The snickers that ensued after the cruel remarks about all the fun he’s going to have filling you up. He. There is no you in this equation. You are just a hole for him to fuck. A hole to fill with a child so society won’t look down on him and deem him any less than a man.

Pathetic.

You round a corner, and come face to face with him. His blue eyes shine in the sunlight, but you spin on your heels, “Wait!” His kind eyes and supple lips always make you weak.

“I could meet my death before my wedding if I’m caught speaking to the likes of you.”

“There’s no one around,” he pleads, pulling at your arm, and when you jerk away he releases you. “Has he hurt you?”

“Physical pain only hurts for a short while. Heartbreak can last a lifetime. I see you’ve made something of yourself,” he nods, smiling. It’s a smile that doesn’t touch his beautiful eyes. You can take the urchin out of the streets, but a part of him still remains there. His new ship has become quite the commodity in the docks. His return always yields great praise from the elite, “How is business going?”

“I don’t care about business. I care about you.”

“Empty words. I should run, my fiance will be expecting me to stand still and look pretty on his arm tonight. It’s a lovely game when his friends tell me about all the ways that I can take my husband. It’s almost as if they’re going to be viewing him taking my maidenhead,” you smirk at him. That’s the one thing that he can’t take from you.

His hand immediately goes to the necklace he never removes. Your gift to him. “I’m glad to see you still have that,” you nod in the direction of his jewelry.

“It was never the gold that I wanted. It is always you.”

“I suppose you being the first man to split me open was the ultimate gift then,” he scoffs at you, dropping his hands directly at his sides. “If you please, Captain Barnes. I have an engagement to fulfill. Unless you’re making a fool's errand to kidnap me before I walk to my death tomorrow.”

“Meet me at the docks,” you cock an eyebrow up at him. “My ship is scheduled to leave this afternoon. But I have a smaller boat in the dock. They’ll grant us safe passage, and I can’t be accused of taking you,” you step away from him, and glance in every direction. “We chose this meeting place due to the lack of activity around here. Nobody is here. You’re also unaccompanied.”

“Which will be quickly remedied, I’m sure. Lady Margaret is never too far away,” he grabs ahold of your wrist, and jerks you closer to him. He’d never had soft hands. They were calloused from the many years of work he’s already put in, “James.”

“Tell me that you’ll meet me at the docks tonight. You know what will happen after a year if you haven’t given him a child. Please, Milady. Don’t make me beg.”

“I won’t make you beg, but I will ask you to say it,” begging isn’t your idea of love. His sweet words of reassurance that you are worth love is something you crave.

“I love you. And as God as my witness, I will take you from here, and you will have your freedom, and my protection,” you gulp, slowly closing your eyes to stop the burn, and give him a nod. Peering up into his crystal blue eyes you feel safe. It’s been such a long time since you’ve felt adored. Deciding to make love with James had been stupid, rushed, and irresponsible. And yet, you regret nothing. You wanted the first time you laid with a man to mean something, and to be your choice.

“And I will make an honest woman out of you as soon as we are on the ship. I have someone who will marry us. He won’t be able to take my wife away from me,” he brags before his thumb playfully traces lines on the identifiable constellation that your moles make. He never asks about it, but he loves to touch the oddly colored pattern.

“He would make an example of you,” you return the gesture, and rub along his scared skin. It’s an image that haunts you, and one he has never divulged more information on. Your finger slides from the healed skin, and traces the pattern of his merchant’s mark. A mark sealing him to never be part of any other union. Stuck forever as a merchant, and man of the sea.

“Let him try,” his voice is so tender as he pulls you, pressing his precious lips against yours in a chaste kiss. “Midnight,” he whispers in your ear, and pulls away too quickly before he’s running back to the docks, and his ship. For once, he didn’t lie.

Your fiance pulls you close into his side. His lips turn up into a slimy smile as he glances at the guests. Other women in invisible shackles, and men licking their lips like you’re the five course meal. “Margaret tells me about the boy you were kissing this afternoon,” you gulp, but put on a smile, and press your hand over his chest, “Give me a name, and I won’t let these men see you when you take your first cock.”

It has been his plan all along. You look up at him, eyes shuffling around his own to get a read on him. He’s serious. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll take every cock at this fucking table while I watch.”

“And what if one of them gets me pregnant, and not you.”

“The bastard in your belly would still bear my name. Now tell me who you were kissing, you filthy slut,” his words cut deeply. Sure, you weren’t walking into marriage intact, but you laid with a man that you love. You search your brain for any name, knowing that some man was going to bear the punishment that is meant for James. And if you’re lucky, once you get out of here no harm will befall someone.

“It was,” you blink away the tears growing in your eyes, glancing around the room at this disgusting concoction of men, “It was — I don’t know their name. It was the,” fuck. “I think he was the farrier apprentice,” Pierce cocks his brow at you. You just mostly heard that the apprentice was a drunk who didn’t take no as an answer when it came to women. He would be worthy of a punishment.

He leans in closer, “You better be glad Margaret saw you. I’m sure that gutter rat would have taken what belongs to me if given the chance,” he straightens himself up. “It’s what they all do for a chance to sit at this table,” all but admitting in the trade of women to further a man’s standing.

You’ve got to get out of here. Midnight can’t come fast enough.

Checking around a building, you make sure nobody is in sight before you run. Running so fast that tears sting your eyes. You have one chance to get out of here, and you’re taking it whether you live or die. There’s some things worse than death, and whatever hell Pierce has in store for you is worse.

You don’t glance back as you run towards your freedom, and the love of your life. You don’t care about what waits behind you because all that matters is out at sea. You can forgo all the proper dresses, and corsets. Forget about never going hungry. Because the sea means nobody owns you. Nobody can have you.

“Where are you going?”

“No!” You scream as a filthy hand buries your head in a sack. “James!”

“Quiet, you mongrel,” his sweat sticky arms wrap around you, and he hauls you over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t be out at night. She’s too clean to be a whore. For now,” his voice. This isn’t an upstanding citizen of society. This isn’t Pierce’s men. Shit. Some things are worse than death. And you just might have gotten caught by a different devil.

“Tell the Captain, I’ve brought him a prize.”

“Raise the sails, and hoist the colors!”

“Aye!” A round of shouting arises, and you feel every ounce of hope drain out of you. There’s only one ship that changes out their sails. Hydra. While the pirates of Hydra are notorious for their cruelty, they also had the ability to trade in illegal goods, with the same men that proclaimed the goods were illegal to begin with. Bastards. Every last one of them.

Picking at your skirts, you refuse to look at everyone in here with you. From your account it seemed no more than ten women. And yet you’re the one caged. One looks to you, and tilts her head in an almost feline manner. “Who the hell is that?”

“Someone that the hawk brought in here. Says we must feed her, and not let any of the men touch her,” another grouses. You don’t want to know their names. You don’t want to know why they’re here, unchained, un-caged, and just as sweaty looking as the man that tossed you in here. They’re part of it.

“They left that necklace on her. Might be worth something. Give it to me,” she sticks her hand in the cage. You pull the necklace down until the fine chain breaks, and launch it right at her face unceremoniously. “Oh, he’ll like you, you little bitch. Married?”

You glare at her, wrapping both arms around your chest. “She’s not. So a fresh sweet cunny for him,” the women titter, oohing and ahhing over Pierce’s necklace. “The Lord of Banqueesh is your betrothed? Honey, you went from one lion’s den to another.”

“Where am I?”

“You don’t know?” The main one speaking to you asks. Again her head tilts, and it annoys you. Beds in various shapes of unclean line the walls of this tomb. The stench is no normal smell. It’s sex and bodily fluids. “Come now, you know exactly whose ship you're in. He’s what nightmares are made of.”

“Tell your captain, I demand to be taken back to,” you stop. She is right, Pierce is no better than where you reside.

“What were you doing out after dark? You mean that husband of yours wasn’t pimping you out to his friends for sport,” she knows too much about Pierce. It’s true he had a reputation, but most people assumed he was such an amazing man on the island. That he is just and fair to the people. They believe in a charming smile, and a handsome face. But you see his true self.

“We’re no different, you and I. I however married the bastard,” you narrow your eyes looking at her. “And I had my womb ripped out of my body for not producing him an heir. Thrown into the streets to bleed out and have wild dogs rip me apart. Then I found my solace from a hawk.”

“So you’re just as cruel as him?” she smiles, licking her lips.

“I became them. I’ll never let a man own me again, so I become just as cruel as them.”

“Should have killed him first,” her face is always in a cruel smirk. Looking damn near animalistic, like at any moment she will strike.

“Become useful, and they no longer want to use you.”

“What about them?” You jut your chin up to the women in the room. “Whores?”

“Yes,” is her simple reply, and you look down in your lap. “They know their place, and even a whore has a place on a ship. But what to do with you? You’re not in an acceptable dress to be having dinner with the captain.”

“I won’t sleep with him.”

“You’ll do whatever it is he wants you to. You’ll learn real quick he doesn’t respond to the word no well,” she reaches into a wardrobe, and throws a new dress into your cage. “Get dressed. And if you refuse, I’ll make sure you have an audience while you’re made to get dressed. Ladies,” she gives a nod to the women who all scatter out of the room, and she turns her back to you. “Let me guess, your father was an up and coming man, and he desired power and fortune above his daughter?”

“Something like that,” you aren’t even sure what happened. How you wound up here. You remember being in the stables with the stable boy, and… “I don’t tend to make excuses for men. I wasn’t born in the city, didn’t grow up in the city, but I did become a lady for slaughter in the city,” she hums. She knows a bit too much of your situation without knowing. And understanding that once, she was you.

“Are you going to come willingly?” She turns around abruptly, and you’re still lacing up the front of your dress. “Or shall I shackle you, and make you take a trail of shame,” this dress is much more exposing. Your breasts bulge out the top, and there’s no ladylike way to cover them up. “You can be a well behaved girl, huh? Come on. He’ll be ready for his dinner shortly. Head down.”

You do as the woman says. Matching her step to wherever she leads you to meet with the Captain. Trading one lion’s den for another, in her words. For now. She pulls out a chair for you. You sit, and wait. It isn’t fine dining, but somewhat clean. The woman stands too close to you, understandable.

“How long must I wait?”

“Until you don’t have to wait any longer,” incorrigible. Sighing, you look around the dining area. “You will be eating alone. And there’s but one exit. Once the captain arrives I will be outside the door.”

The door creaks behind you, and you sit up straighter. Calming your breath. The woman gives a nod to the captain, and as promised, leaves. You stare up at your captor, just as sweaty and grimy as the rest. He makes no movement, but he stares just as hard as you are. Icy blue eyes try to put you just as low as he thinks you are.

He takes the few steps over to a water basin, and you stare horrified at the grim and blood washed from your hands. You’re doubtful that you were the only thing taken from the island. He stares eerily as the blood sloughs away, refusing to stop until his hands are mostly clean. He has some manners.

“Was there an attack?”

He turns back to look at you, offering a hungry smile. But his hunger isn’t something you can stave off with food. His hunger is something more primal.

His tongue licks over his teeth like he’s going to devour you. “Why am I here?” he just shakes his head, wagging his finger ‘no’ at you. Flicking his finger upwards, you stand.

“You’re quite the woman, Miss…?” The captain’s eyes wander slowly on your body.

You’ve lied enough already, might as well continue, “Isabella,” the man scoffs, and starts stalking around you. Sizing you up. Thinking about what he’s going to do to you. “I am engaged.”

“Lord Pierce won’t be looking for you. He was too busy fucking some whore tonight. You were disposed of a bit early for his liking, I’m sure. But he’ll find a replacement in time,” the longer he waits the less likely his balls will be to secure his legacy. Good. “It’s probably worked out the best for you.”

“Aren’t you just as cruel as Lord Pierce? Are you not a thief?” He shrugs with a smile. “Are you not a pirate?”

“So you’ve heard about me,” his smile stretches out too severely across his cheeks as he bows. “At your service.”

“Not you. Hydra.”

“And who do you think controls them? Who is the captain of this ship?”

“An arrogant asshole?” Steve shakes his finger at you laughing before sitting down. He removes the cloche, and rips off a leg off the giant fowl.

“I like you. Eat,” he doesn’t look like the pirates you have heard about. There’s a handsomeness in his hard angled features. “Eat!”

“I’m not hungry,” your chin tilts up, and you look away from him. He strikes. Grabbing at your arm and slamming it to the table. Screaming, you look at him with tears in your eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

The captain tilts his head curiously, assessing your face before his vision oozes down your body. He lingers on the slopes of your breasts. Too quickly he strikes, pulling your arm closer to him, and his eyes zero in to the last part that James touched. “It’s a birthmark.”

His eyes coast up your arm, and lingers on your tits again. He licks his lips hungrily before his Cheshire grin makes you uncomfortable. He watches your face as his free hand rubs over the cluster of moles, and he laughs when you cringe at the feeling. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like you touching me,” there is nothing satisfactory about the rough hard fingertips of him. You smell the acrid stench of death all over him. You don’t know who or what he pillaged, but it’s obvious you were not the only thing stolen tonight.

“Touching you, or touching it? The so-called birthmark I mean,” he sits back down, but keeps holding your arm with one hand, while the other traces lines between the moles. “It’s curious.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s an odd color,” you shrug. It didn’t mean anything. “It’s in the shape of Ursa Minor,” you shrug again. Clearing his throat, he releases your arm, and gestures to the meat in the middle of the table. “Eat.”

This time you don’t argue, and reach in front of you. “It’s a long journey where we’re going.”

“And that is?”

“The land where we dock,” these assholes. “Have you enjoyed your sleeping quarters?” You snort, and continue to chew your food. He gazes at you for too long before taking another bite, talking to you while chewing, “Very well, I’ll have you join my sleeping quarters.”

“No,” the captain lifts an eyebrow, “No, thank you.”

“You’re a hard woman to please, Miss Isabella,” there’s something in the sound of his voice. He doesn’t believe the fake name that you gave him.

“When you said that Pierce was fucking a whore, how did you know?” He only smiles at you while he takes another bite. “How did you know I was engaged to him?”

“Your necklace,” that’s a satisfactory answer. “Plus, we were coming to collect you.”

“Me?” He nods, reaching to a serving bowl, and dishes some potatoes on your plate, and then to his. “Why were you collecting me?”

“Was asked to.”

“By?”

“Does it matter?” It matters a great deal. Is this the ship that is taking you to Bucky? Or is this some other nefarious deal?

“And are you meant to take me to the person that asked?” That stupid smile again, but no answer. “You’re infuriating.”

“What if I said I was sent to sully your good name? How would that make you feel?”

“My name has already been sullen,” his smile immediately leaves his face, and his chewing becomes slower. An unsettling feeling crawls up your back as you take him in, “Well, if you’re talking about ruining me through my cunt that is. You see, the first time I had sex it was beautiful, and we made love under the moonlight on the beach. Every time after that was in allies and on ships that didn’t belong to us, fucking like rabbits. If it makes you feel better he never spilled in me. Except for the first time. He couldn’t handle the feeling of my tight cunt.”

Your head slings to side as a sharp sting from his hand paints itself on your face, “Now you see, you just fucking pissed me off you — you…”

“I believe whore is the word you’re looking for. I was no whore to anyone but him,” you scoot your chair back abruptly as he takes another swing at you. “Does it bother you to know that I’m not pure?”

“I’ve fucked many a women in my lifetime, and how many cocks she’s had inside her doesn’t piss me off. What pisses me off is your filthy little mouth. Eat your goddamn food, and quit talking like you’re no better than a common street rat,” his eyes move to his plate, and it gives you enough confidence to scoot back.

“I’m no street rat.”

“Yeah, you’re just a late blooming lady that moved into the city just in time for your etiquette teachings, and how to become a wife,” that is not information you divulged. “Street rats are forgotten. Amongst stable boys, ladies in waiting, and everyone you people deem below you. Sometimes the problem is that you think too highly for yourself, not realizing that the ones below you are the ones doing the hard labor you choose not to. Meanwhile, you curse them and blame them for your wrongdoings and they suffer, while you become savory to the people that believe you’re the epitome of grace and purity.”

You are not your father. And you say nothing. Eating in silence, while he stews over his food. “It wasn’t Pierce. He wouldn’t fuck you in the docks. He’d make people watch you as he claimed you for the first time. Who was it?”

You don’t have to have a conversation with the brute. You just need to survive. “On the beach, I bet that cunny got filled with sand. Piss poor place to take a woman’s maidenhead. By the fucking docks. You move into the city to be a lady and you become a whore for a fisherman?” Your brow must have twitched because that slippery smile lifts his mouth again.

“Tell me, why were you not in your bedroom tonight? It wouldn’t have anything to do with the merchant ship that we plundered, would it?” Your interest is piqued, you listen closer. “It does?” He’s only guessing, but clearly your face is betraying you, “Well, they were left with nothing when we finished. Not even a captain.”

“He wasn’t on the ship,” he was meant to meet you at the docks. He was there, not on his ship.

The captain’s sneer turns completely demonic, “You’ve been fucking James Barnes? You dirty little slut,” fear and anger flashes in your eyes, “My apologies. Barnes’ dirty little slut. How does it feel to know that you were no better than an easy fuck in the shadows.”

“Pierce would have had both our heads if he knew! We had to hide because it was him that I wanted!”

“So — you admit it? You’re admitting that Barnes is who you truly love? Or is it only his cock?” You blow out an exasperated breath, glaring at him. “Oh, you spoiled little urchin. You are no Isabella. You think I’m too dumb not to know who you are? Little bitch, lying to me.”

“Who asked you to retrieve me?”

“Natasha! Take the former milkmaid’s daughter down below!” Another piece of information that he was not privy to. Nobody knew your mother was merely a milkmaid.

“Who asked you?!” You screech as the woman from before grabs you up. “Captain! Did you kill him? Did you harm a hair on his body?” He snaps his fingers, and Natasha rolls her eyes. She walks over to a wardrobe and tosses horror onto the table.

“You fucking monster! That — that’s not James,” your voice dissipates when he flips the arm over, and you see his brand on his wrist. The very same image that flies on this ship. A skull with octopus tentacles. One you had just touched earlier today, “Why?”

“Did you see? It’s his left arm. He’ll never be able to wear a wedding band. That’s if he can swim with one fucking arm. Aren’t you glad that I saved him from the fate of Pierce? Your fiance was onto your unfaithful ways. The fisher people talk. Never fuck in the open, you stupid dumb bitch.”

“Was it necessary to remove his whole arm? If it was only his ring finger you were worried about, why not remove that?” What sick and twisted game was he playing? Why did he care if James was to marry?

“My hand must have slipped,” his voice is so cold. He has no regrets for doing what he did. The monster cut his fucking arm off so he wouldn’t be able to wear a wedding ring, and left him for dead in the ocean.

Your lip trembles as you stare at his arm. It’s not just the branding on his wrist, it’s the tattoos of his trade, winding and circling up his arm. James is as good as dead. “Why him?”

“Did you ever stop to wonder how he got that bloody mark on him, hmm? He was pledged to serve my crew for ten years, and then he fled,” the captain eyes you up and down, smiling at your misery. Not just the gruesome display of his arm on the table, but the knowing that he wouldn’t be able to survive that. The realization that the blood he washed only moments earlier could have been James', “And he did this all for some pussy. Take her below deck, and bring me Jezzy to fuck. I need to let off some steam. Nothing like a hard pounding fuck, huh, my little siren.”

“I’m not yours.”

“Keep your mouth shut or it’s your cunt I’m using tonight. Natasha!” You scream at him. There’s no words, just feral wails of rage as you're pulled away. “Don’t worry, one day I will make you scream in all kinds of ways. You didn’t know cruelty until you met me, Siren,” and with that the door is slammed shut, and you are dragged to your cage. To sit with the knowledge that you’re to blame for his mutilation, ending in his death.

Steve cracks his neck, listening to your pathetic sobs for James. Whether you knew it or not, you were already his. He’s always been patient. For you.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @rnurse-kole @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy

Stand up straight. Shoulders back. Pinch your cheeks. Tighten your corset. Be demure and coy. Smile when a man speaks to you, and only respond if he directly asks you a question. Eyes cast downward, unless it’s you he’s speaking to. You need to be the picture perfect essence of what a woman is. Curves and the ability to further a man’s legacy.

A perfect example of high society standards, while being on your knees, and taking what he gives you behind closed doors. Become the animal that he desires you to be. And the next morning you present your pretty put together smile, and pretend that life is perfect.

What a life.

There’s a reason why mothers pray and beg for sons. They know exactly the life that their daughters are going to live. And then after having a daughter, they pray and beg that they are matched with a good man that won’t abuse his power over his wife. That won’t create secrets of just how vile and cruel men can be.

Your mother should have worried. Especially since her death, it was up to your father to be the matchmaker. Too often greed outweighs the daughter’s need for love. And your family aren't long standing members of high society and wealth. It didn’t seem long ago that you lived outside of the city walls. And then your father was angry, cursing you, and telling your older brother it was time to move to city and to fucking grow up.

And now you stare out the window at the roaring sea, wondering how in the world you ended up engaged to a disgusting pompous windbag of an old man. Of course, it was to further your father’s own standing and agenda. Give the young woman that would assure to carry some pig with saggy balls the ability to carry his children. For that’s what all women dream of. Laying underneath a wealthy man, while he pumps you full of his useless seed that won’t yield a child because of he is the one inept.

You’re not stupid to what is going on. You had a nanny, a chaperone, and even a lady in waiting, that was not so ladylike. She acquired more money and secrets by sleeping with the elite. No pregnancy had befallen on her, even though they weren’t careful.

You would meet your death because of this man. He’d already had wives die of mysterious illnesses, and you would certainly be next. All because he couldn’t arise to the occasion. You sigh as you watch a sailor walk onto a ship. His magnificent arms bulging through his wet shirt. That is the type of man you desire. One that could take you away from the city and on a journey. They’d allow you to see the world, while you steal kisses throughout the day until ultimately falling into each other’s arms. Melting in the others embrace, until he melts into you.

That was the promise you were once made. That he would take you away from the life that was thrust upon you. He’d become a captain and make you proud. But he had to achieve some success before stealing you away.

And now it was too late. Now you watch him load his ship. A royal merchant. And a liar. His eyes squint in the sun as he scans the area he’s in before he looks directly at you, and into your soul. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you know he’s trying to make up another lie before seeking you out. Alas it no longer matters. If he removed you from the city, he would be sought and killed on display as punishment. Lord Pierce isn’t someone to mess with.

He would cut out your own tongue if it suited him. Liar. You spit down at him before turning on your heels. Your death sentence has already been signed by the devil himself. There is no God in this way of life. It’s a world where women are property. They are not respected, and they are not treated fairly. They are merely a vessel, and anyone that wants to preach to you about the love of man hasn't felt the cruel hand of pain as it smacks across your face for not agreeing with Lord Pierce quickly enough.

Every strike across your cheek still stings, but not nearly as much as your pride and your former dreams that burned at the stake the moment that your father signed your life over from his own hands to your future husband’s. Your brother is long gone, and joined the royal army, and no longer can help. You’re not even sure if he’s as cruel as the men that you have had dinner with.

You are forced to ignore the snide remarks about your ample bosom, or the nectar between your thighs that would accumulate with an heir for your Lordship. The snickers that ensued after the cruel remarks about all the fun he’s going to have filling you up. He. There is no you in this equation. You are just a hole for him to fuck. A hole to fill with a child so society won’t look down on him and deem him any less than a man.

Pathetic.

You round a corner, and come face to face with him. His blue eyes shine in the sunlight, but you spin on your heels, “Wait!” His kind eyes and supple lips always make you weak.

“I could meet my death before my wedding if I’m caught speaking to the likes of you.”

“There’s no one around,” he pleads, pulling at your arm, and when you jerk away he releases you. “Has he hurt you?”

“Physical pain only hurts for a short while. Heartbreak can last a lifetime. I see you’ve made something of yourself,” he nods, smiling. It’s a smile that doesn’t touch his beautiful eyes. You can take the urchin out of the streets, but a part of him still remains there. His new ship has become quite the commodity in the docks. His return always yields great praise from the elite, “How is business going?”

“I don’t care about business. I care about you.”

“Empty words. I should run, my fiance will be expecting me to stand still and look pretty on his arm tonight. It’s a lovely game when his friends tell me about all the ways that I can take my husband. It’s almost as if they’re going to be viewing him taking my maidenhead,” you smirk at him. That’s the one thing that he can’t take from you.

His hand immediately goes to the necklace he never removes. Your gift to him. “I’m glad to see you still have that,” you nod in the direction of his jewelry.

“It was never the gold that I wanted. It is always you.”

“I suppose you being the first man to split me open was the ultimate gift then,” he scoffs at you, dropping his hands directly at his sides. “If you please, Captain Barnes. I have an engagement to fulfill. Unless you’re making a fool's errand to kidnap me before I walk to my death tomorrow.”

“Meet me at the docks,” you cock an eyebrow up at him. “My ship is scheduled to leave this afternoon. But I have a smaller boat in the dock. They’ll grant us safe passage, and I can’t be accused of taking you,” you step away from him, and glance in every direction. “We chose this meeting place due to the lack of activity around here. Nobody is here. You’re also unaccompanied.”

“Which will be quickly remedied, I’m sure. Lady Margaret is never too far away,” he grabs ahold of your wrist, and jerks you closer to him. He’d never had soft hands. They were calloused from the many years of work he’s already put in, “James.”

“Tell me that you’ll meet me at the docks tonight. You know what will happen after a year if you haven’t given him a child. Please, Milady. Don’t make me beg.”

“I won’t make you beg, but I will ask you to say it,” begging isn’t your idea of love. His sweet words of reassurance that you are worth love is something you crave.

“I love you. And as God as my witness, I will take you from here, and you will have your freedom, and my protection,” you gulp, slowly closing your eyes to stop the burn, and give him a nod. Peering up into his crystal blue eyes you feel safe. It’s been such a long time since you’ve felt adored. Deciding to make love with James had been stupid, rushed, and irresponsible. And yet, you regret nothing. You wanted the first time you laid with a man to mean something, and to be your choice.

“And I will make an honest woman out of you as soon as we are on the ship. I have someone who will marry us. He won’t be able to take my wife away from me,” he brags before his thumb playfully traces lines on the identifiable constellation that your moles make. He never asks about it, but he loves to touch the oddly colored pattern.

“He would make an example of you,” you return the gesture, and rub along his scared skin. It’s an image that haunts you, and one he has never divulged more information on. Your finger slides from the healed skin, and traces the pattern of his merchant’s mark. A mark sealing him to never be part of any other union. Stuck forever as a merchant, and man of the sea.

“Let him try,” his voice is so tender as he pulls you, pressing his precious lips against yours in a chaste kiss. “Midnight,” he whispers in your ear, and pulls away too quickly before he’s running back to the docks, and his ship. For once, he didn’t lie.

Your fiance pulls you close into his side. His lips turn up into a slimy smile as he glances at the guests. Other women in invisible shackles, and men licking their lips like you’re the five course meal. “Margaret tells me about the boy you were kissing this afternoon,” you gulp, but put on a smile, and press your hand over his chest, “Give me a name, and I won’t let these men see you when you take your first cock.”

It has been his plan all along. You look up at him, eyes shuffling around his own to get a read on him. He’s serious. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll take every cock at this fucking table while I watch.”

“And what if one of them gets me pregnant, and not you.”

“The bastard in your belly would still bear my name. Now tell me who you were kissing, you filthy slut,” his words cut deeply. Sure, you weren’t walking into marriage intact, but you laid with a man that you love. You search your brain for any name, knowing that some man was going to bear the punishment that is meant for James. And if you’re lucky, once you get out of here no harm will befall someone.

“It was,” you blink away the tears growing in your eyes, glancing around the room at this disgusting concoction of men, “It was — I don’t know their name. It was the,” fuck. “I think he was the farrier apprentice,” Pierce cocks his brow at you. You just mostly heard that the apprentice was a drunk who didn’t take no as an answer when it came to women. He would be worthy of a punishment.

He leans in closer, “You better be glad Margaret saw you. I’m sure that gutter rat would have taken what belongs to me if given the chance,” he straightens himself up. “It’s what they all do for a chance to sit at this table,” all but admitting in the trade of women to further a man’s standing.

You’ve got to get out of here. Midnight can’t come fast enough.

Checking around a building, you make sure nobody is in sight before you run. Running so fast that tears sting your eyes. You have one chance to get out of here, and you’re taking it whether you live or die. There’s some things worse than death, and whatever hell Pierce has in store for you is worse.

You don’t glance back as you run towards your freedom, and the love of your life. You don’t care about what waits behind you because all that matters is out at sea. You can forgo all the proper dresses, and corsets. Forget about never going hungry. Because the sea means nobody owns you. Nobody can have you.

“Where are you going?”

“No!” You scream as a filthy hand buries your head in a sack. “James!”

“Quiet, you mongrel,” his sweat sticky arms wrap around you, and he hauls you over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t be out at night. She’s too clean to be a whore. For now,” his voice. This isn’t an upstanding citizen of society. This isn’t Pierce’s men. Shit. Some things are worse than death. And you just might have gotten caught by a different devil.

“Tell the Captain, I’ve brought him a prize.”

“Raise the sails, and hoist the colors!”

“Aye!” A round of shouting arises, and you feel every ounce of hope drain out of you. There’s only one ship that changes out their sails. Hydra. While the pirates of Hydra are notorious for their cruelty, they also had the ability to trade in illegal goods, with the same men that proclaimed the goods were illegal to begin with. Bastards. Every last one of them.

Picking at your skirts, you refuse to look at everyone in here with you. From your account it seemed no more than ten women. And yet you’re the one caged. One looks to you, and tilts her head in an almost feline manner. “Who the hell is that?”

“Someone that the hawk brought in here. Says we must feed her, and not let any of the men touch her,” another grouses. You don’t want to know their names. You don’t want to know why they’re here, unchained, un-caged, and just as sweaty looking as the man that tossed you in here. They’re part of it.

“They left that necklace on her. Might be worth something. Give it to me,” she sticks her hand in the cage. You pull the necklace down until the fine chain breaks, and launch it right at her face unceremoniously. “Oh, he’ll like you, you little bitch. Married?”

You glare at her, wrapping both arms around your chest. “She’s not. So a fresh sweet cunny for him,” the women titter, oohing and ahhing over Pierce’s necklace. “The Lord of Banqueesh is your betrothed? Honey, you went from one lion’s den to another.”

“Where am I?”

“You don’t know?” The main one speaking to you asks. Again her head tilts, and it annoys you. Beds in various shapes of unclean line the walls of this tomb. The stench is no normal smell. It’s sex and bodily fluids. “Come now, you know exactly whose ship you're in. He’s what nightmares are made of.”

“Tell your captain, I demand to be taken back to,” you stop. She is right, Pierce is no better than where you reside.

“What were you doing out after dark? You mean that husband of yours wasn’t pimping you out to his friends for sport,” she knows too much about Pierce. It’s true he had a reputation, but most people assumed he was such an amazing man on the island. That he is just and fair to the people. They believe in a charming smile, and a handsome face. But you see his true self.

“We’re no different, you and I. I however married the bastard,” you narrow your eyes looking at her. “And I had my womb ripped out of my body for not producing him an heir. Thrown into the streets to bleed out and have wild dogs rip me apart. Then I found my solace from a hawk.”

“So you’re just as cruel as him?” she smiles, licking her lips.

“I became them. I’ll never let a man own me again, so I become just as cruel as them.”

“Should have killed him first,” her face is always in a cruel smirk. Looking damn near animalistic, like at any moment she will strike.

“Become useful, and they no longer want to use you.”

“What about them?” You jut your chin up to the women in the room. “Whores?”

“Yes,” is her simple reply, and you look down in your lap. “They know their place, and even a whore has a place on a ship. But what to do with you? You’re not in an acceptable dress to be having dinner with the captain.”

“I won’t sleep with him.”

“You’ll do whatever it is he wants you to. You’ll learn real quick he doesn’t respond to the word no well,” she reaches into a wardrobe, and throws a new dress into your cage. “Get dressed. And if you refuse, I’ll make sure you have an audience while you’re made to get dressed. Ladies,” she gives a nod to the women who all scatter out of the room, and she turns her back to you. “Let me guess, your father was an up and coming man, and he desired power and fortune above his daughter?”

“Something like that,” you aren’t even sure what happened. How you wound up here. You remember being in the stables with the stable boy, and… “I don’t tend to make excuses for men. I wasn’t born in the city, didn’t grow up in the city, but I did become a lady for slaughter in the city,” she hums. She knows a bit too much of your situation without knowing. And understanding that once, she was you.

“Are you going to come willingly?” She turns around abruptly, and you’re still lacing up the front of your dress. “Or shall I shackle you, and make you take a trail of shame,” this dress is much more exposing. Your breasts bulge out the top, and there’s no ladylike way to cover them up. “You can be a well behaved girl, huh? Come on. He’ll be ready for his dinner shortly. Head down.”

You do as the woman says. Matching her step to wherever she leads you to meet with the Captain. Trading one lion’s den for another, in her words. For now. She pulls out a chair for you. You sit, and wait. It isn’t fine dining, but somewhat clean. The woman stands too close to you, understandable.

“How long must I wait?”

“Until you don’t have to wait any longer,” incorrigible. Sighing, you look around the dining area. “You will be eating alone. And there’s but one exit. Once the captain arrives I will be outside the door.”

The door creaks behind you, and you sit up straighter. Calming your breath. The woman gives a nod to the captain, and as promised, leaves. You stare up at your captor, just as sweaty and grimy as the rest. He makes no movement, but he stares just as hard as you are. Icy blue eyes try to put you just as low as he thinks you are.

He takes the few steps over to a water basin, and you stare horrified at the grim and blood washed from your hands. You’re doubtful that you were the only thing taken from the island. He stares eerily as the blood sloughs away, refusing to stop until his hands are mostly clean. He has some manners.

“Was there an attack?”

He turns back to look at you, offering a hungry smile. But his hunger isn’t something you can stave off with food. His hunger is something more primal.

His tongue licks over his teeth like he’s going to devour you. “Why am I here?” he just shakes his head, wagging his finger ‘no’ at you. Flicking his finger upwards, you stand.

“You’re quite the woman, Miss…?” The captain’s eyes wander slowly on your body.

You’ve lied enough already, might as well continue, “Isabella,” the man scoffs, and starts stalking around you. Sizing you up. Thinking about what he’s going to do to you. “I am engaged.”

“Lord Pierce won’t be looking for you. He was too busy fucking some whore tonight. You were disposed of a bit early for his liking, I’m sure. But he’ll find a replacement in time,” the longer he waits the less likely his balls will be to secure his legacy. Good. “It’s probably worked out the best for you.”

“Aren’t you just as cruel as Lord Pierce? Are you not a thief?” He shrugs with a smile. “Are you not a pirate?”

“So you’ve heard about me,” his smile stretches out too severely across his cheeks as he bows. “At your service.”

“Not you. Hydra.”

“And who do you think controls them? Who is the captain of this ship?”

“An arrogant asshole?” Steve shakes his finger at you laughing before sitting down. He removes the cloche, and rips off a leg off the giant fowl.

“I like you. Eat,” he doesn’t look like the pirates you have heard about. There’s a handsomeness in his hard angled features. “Eat!”

“I’m not hungry,” your chin tilts up, and you look away from him. He strikes. Grabbing at your arm and slamming it to the table. Screaming, you look at him with tears in your eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

The captain tilts his head curiously, assessing your face before his vision oozes down your body. He lingers on the slopes of your breasts. Too quickly he strikes, pulling your arm closer to him, and his eyes zero in to the last part that James touched. “It’s a birthmark.”

His eyes coast up your arm, and lingers on your tits again. He licks his lips hungrily before his Cheshire grin makes you uncomfortable. He watches your face as his free hand rubs over the cluster of moles, and he laughs when you cringe at the feeling. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like you touching me,” there is nothing satisfactory about the rough hard fingertips of him. You smell the acrid stench of death all over him. You don’t know who or what he pillaged, but it’s obvious you were not the only thing stolen tonight.

“Touching you, or touching it? The so-called birthmark I mean,” he sits back down, but keeps holding your arm with one hand, while the other traces lines between the moles. “It’s curious.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s an odd color,” you shrug. It didn’t mean anything. “It’s in the shape of Ursa Minor,” you shrug again. Clearing his throat, he releases your arm, and gestures to the meat in the middle of the table. “Eat.”

This time you don’t argue, and reach in front of you. “It’s a long journey where we’re going.”

“And that is?”

“The land where we dock,” these assholes. “Have you enjoyed your sleeping quarters?” You snort, and continue to chew your food. He gazes at you for too long before taking another bite, talking to you while chewing, “Very well, I’ll have you join my sleeping quarters.”

“No,” the captain lifts an eyebrow, “No, thank you.”

“You’re a hard woman to please, Miss Isabella,” there’s something in the sound of his voice. He doesn’t believe the fake name that you gave him.

“When you said that Pierce was fucking a whore, how did you know?” He only smiles at you while he takes another bite. “How did you know I was engaged to him?”

“Your necklace,” that’s a satisfactory answer. “Plus, we were coming to collect you.”

“Me?” He nods, reaching to a serving bowl, and dishes some potatoes on your plate, and then to his. “Why were you collecting me?”

“Was asked to.”

“By?”

“Does it matter?” It matters a great deal. Is this the ship that is taking you to Bucky? Or is this some other nefarious deal?

“And are you meant to take me to the person that asked?” That stupid smile again, but no answer. “You’re infuriating.”

“What if I said I was sent to sully your good name? How would that make you feel?”

“My name has already been sullen,” his smile immediately leaves his face, and his chewing becomes slower. An unsettling feeling crawls up your back as you take him in, “Well, if you’re talking about ruining me through my cunt that is. You see, the first time I had sex it was beautiful, and we made love under the moonlight on the beach. Every time after that was in allies and on ships that didn’t belong to us, fucking like rabbits. If it makes you feel better he never spilled in me. Except for the first time. He couldn’t handle the feeling of my tight cunt.”

Your head slings to side as a sharp sting from his hand paints itself on your face, “Now you see, you just fucking pissed me off you — you…”

“I believe whore is the word you’re looking for. I was no whore to anyone but him,” you scoot your chair back abruptly as he takes another swing at you. “Does it bother you to know that I’m not pure?”

“I’ve fucked many a women in my lifetime, and how many cocks she’s had inside her doesn’t piss me off. What pisses me off is your filthy little mouth. Eat your goddamn food, and quit talking like you’re no better than a common street rat,” his eyes move to his plate, and it gives you enough confidence to scoot back.

“I’m no street rat.”

“Yeah, you’re just a late blooming lady that moved into the city just in time for your etiquette teachings, and how to become a wife,” that is not information you divulged. “Street rats are forgotten. Amongst stable boys, ladies in waiting, and everyone you people deem below you. Sometimes the problem is that you think too highly for yourself, not realizing that the ones below you are the ones doing the hard labor you choose not to. Meanwhile, you curse them and blame them for your wrongdoings and they suffer, while you become savory to the people that believe you’re the epitome of grace and purity.”

You are not your father. And you say nothing. Eating in silence, while he stews over his food. “It wasn’t Pierce. He wouldn’t fuck you in the docks. He’d make people watch you as he claimed you for the first time. Who was it?”

You don’t have to have a conversation with the brute. You just need to survive. “On the beach, I bet that cunny got filled with sand. Piss poor place to take a woman’s maidenhead. By the fucking docks. You move into the city to be a lady and you become a whore for a fisherman?” Your brow must have twitched because that slippery smile lifts his mouth again.

“Tell me, why were you not in your bedroom tonight? It wouldn’t have anything to do with the merchant ship that we plundered, would it?” Your interest is piqued, you listen closer. “It does?” He’s only guessing, but clearly your face is betraying you, “Well, they were left with nothing when we finished. Not even a captain.”

“He wasn’t on the ship,” he was meant to meet you at the docks. He was there, not on his ship.

The captain’s sneer turns completely demonic, “You’ve been fucking James Barnes? You dirty little slut,” fear and anger flashes in your eyes, “My apologies. Barnes’ dirty little slut. How does it feel to know that you were no better than an easy fuck in the shadows.”

“Pierce would have had both our heads if he knew! We had to hide because it was him that I wanted!”

“So — you admit it? You’re admitting that Barnes is who you truly love? Or is it only his cock?” You blow out an exasperated breath, glaring at him. “Oh, you spoiled little urchin. You are no Isabella. You think I’m too dumb not to know who you are? Little bitch, lying to me.”

“Who asked you to retrieve me?”

“Natasha! Take the former milkmaid’s daughter down below!” Another piece of information that he was not privy to. Nobody knew your mother was merely a milkmaid.

“Who asked you?!” You screech as the woman from before grabs you up. “Captain! Did you kill him? Did you harm a hair on his body?” He snaps his fingers, and Natasha rolls her eyes. She walks over to a wardrobe and tosses horror onto the table.

“You fucking monster! That — that’s not James,” your voice dissipates when he flips the arm over, and you see his brand on his wrist. The very same image that flies on this ship. A skull with octopus tentacles. One you had just touched earlier today, “Why?”

“Did you see? It’s his left arm. He’ll never be able to wear a wedding band. That’s if he can swim with one fucking arm. Aren’t you glad that I saved him from the fate of Pierce? Your fiance was onto your unfaithful ways. The fisher people talk. Never fuck in the open, you stupid dumb bitch.”

“Was it necessary to remove his whole arm? If it was only his ring finger you were worried about, why not remove that?” What sick and twisted game was he playing? Why did he care if James was to marry?

“My hand must have slipped,” his voice is so cold. He has no regrets for doing what he did. The monster cut his fucking arm off so he wouldn’t be able to wear a wedding ring, and left him for dead in the ocean.

Your lip trembles as you stare at his arm. It’s not just the branding on his wrist, it’s the tattoos of his trade, winding and circling up his arm. James is as good as dead. “Why him?”

“Did you ever stop to wonder how he got that bloody mark on him, hmm? He was pledged to serve my crew for ten years, and then he fled,” the captain eyes you up and down, smiling at your misery. Not just the gruesome display of his arm on the table, but the knowing that he wouldn’t be able to survive that. The realization that the blood he washed only moments earlier could have been James', “And he did this all for some pussy. Take her below deck, and bring me Jezzy to fuck. I need to let off some steam. Nothing like a hard pounding fuck, huh, my little siren.”

“I’m not yours.”

“Keep your mouth shut or it’s your cunt I’m using tonight. Natasha!” You scream at him. There’s no words, just feral wails of rage as you're pulled away. “Don’t worry, one day I will make you scream in all kinds of ways. You didn’t know cruelty until you met me, Siren,” and with that the door is slammed shut, and you are dragged to your cage. To sit with the knowledge that you’re to blame for his mutilation, ending in his death.

Steve cracks his neck, listening to your pathetic sobs for James. Whether you knew it or not, you were already his. He’s always been patient. For you.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @rnurse-kole @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy

Stand up straight. Shoulders back. Pinch your cheeks. Tighten your corset. Be demure and coy. Smile when a man speaks to you, and only respond if he directly asks you a question. Eyes cast downward, unless it’s you he’s speaking to. You need to be the picture perfect essence of what a woman is. Curves and the ability to further a man’s legacy.

A perfect example of high society standards, while being on your knees, and taking what he gives you behind closed doors. Become the animal that he desires you to be. And the next morning you present your pretty put together smile, and pretend that life is perfect.

What a life.

There’s a reason why mothers pray and beg for sons. They know exactly the life that their daughters are going to live. And then after having a daughter, they pray and beg that they are matched with a good man that won’t abuse his power over his wife. That won’t create secrets of just how vile and cruel men can be.

Your mother should have worried. Especially since her death, it was up to your father to be the matchmaker. Too often greed outweighs the daughter’s need for love. And your family aren't long standing members of high society and wealth. It didn’t seem long ago that you lived outside of the city walls. And then your father was angry, cursing you, and telling your older brother it was time to move to city and to fucking grow up.

And now you stare out the window at the roaring sea, wondering how in the world you ended up engaged to a disgusting pompous windbag of an old man. Of course, it was to further your father’s own standing and agenda. Give the young woman that would assure to carry some pig with saggy balls the ability to carry his children. For that’s what all women dream of. Laying underneath a wealthy man, while he pumps you full of his useless seed that won’t yield a child because of he is the one inept.

You’re not stupid to what is going on. You had a nanny, a chaperone, and even a lady in waiting, that was not so ladylike. She acquired more money and secrets by sleeping with the elite. No pregnancy had befallen on her, even though they weren’t careful.

You would meet your death because of this man. He’d already had wives die of mysterious illnesses, and you would certainly be next. All because he couldn’t arise to the occasion. You sigh as you watch a sailor walk onto a ship. His magnificent arms bulging through his wet shirt. That is the type of man you desire. One that could take you away from the city and on a journey. They’d allow you to see the world, while you steal kisses throughout the day until ultimately falling into each other’s arms. Melting in the others embrace, until he melts into you.

That was the promise you were once made. That he would take you away from the life that was thrust upon you. He’d become a captain and make you proud. But he had to achieve some success before stealing you away.

And now it was too late. Now you watch him load his ship. A royal merchant. And a liar. His eyes squint in the sun as he scans the area he’s in before he looks directly at you, and into your soul. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you know he’s trying to make up another lie before seeking you out. Alas it no longer matters. If he removed you from the city, he would be sought and killed on display as punishment. Lord Pierce isn’t someone to mess with.

He would cut out your own tongue if it suited him. Liar. You spit down at him before turning on your heels. Your death sentence has already been signed by the devil himself. There is no God in this way of life. It’s a world where women are property. They are not respected, and they are not treated fairly. They are merely a vessel, and anyone that wants to preach to you about the love of man hasn't felt the cruel hand of pain as it smacks across your face for not agreeing with Lord Pierce quickly enough.

Every strike across your cheek still stings, but not nearly as much as your pride and your former dreams that burned at the stake the moment that your father signed your life over from his own hands to your future husband’s. Your brother is long gone, and joined the royal army, and no longer can help. You’re not even sure if he’s as cruel as the men that you have had dinner with.

You are forced to ignore the snide remarks about your ample bosom, or the nectar between your thighs that would accumulate with an heir for your Lordship. The snickers that ensued after the cruel remarks about all the fun he’s going to have filling you up. He. There is no you in this equation. You are just a hole for him to fuck. A hole to fill with a child so society won’t look down on him and deem him any less than a man.

Pathetic.

You round a corner, and come face to face with him. His blue eyes shine in the sunlight, but you spin on your heels, “Wait!” His kind eyes and supple lips always make you weak.

“I could meet my death before my wedding if I’m caught speaking to the likes of you.”

“There’s no one around,” he pleads, pulling at your arm, and when you jerk away he releases you. “Has he hurt you?”

“Physical pain only hurts for a short while. Heartbreak can last a lifetime. I see you’ve made something of yourself,” he nods, smiling. It’s a smile that doesn’t touch his beautiful eyes. You can take the urchin out of the streets, but a part of him still remains there. His new ship has become quite the commodity in the docks. His return always yields great praise from the elite, “How is business going?”

“I don’t care about business. I care about you.”

“Empty words. I should run, my fiance will be expecting me to stand still and look pretty on his arm tonight. It’s a lovely game when his friends tell me about all the ways that I can take my husband. It’s almost as if they’re going to be viewing him taking my maidenhead,” you smirk at him. That’s the one thing that he can’t take from you.

His hand immediately goes to the necklace he never removes. Your gift to him. “I’m glad to see you still have that,” you nod in the direction of his jewelry.

“It was never the gold that I wanted. It is always you.”

“I suppose you being the first man to split me open was the ultimate gift then,” he scoffs at you, dropping his hands directly at his sides. “If you please, Captain Barnes. I have an engagement to fulfill. Unless you’re making a fool's errand to kidnap me before I walk to my death tomorrow.”

“Meet me at the docks,” you cock an eyebrow up at him. “My ship is scheduled to leave this afternoon. But I have a smaller boat in the dock. They’ll grant us safe passage, and I can’t be accused of taking you,” you step away from him, and glance in every direction. “We chose this meeting place due to the lack of activity around here. Nobody is here. You’re also unaccompanied.”

“Which will be quickly remedied, I’m sure. Lady Margaret is never too far away,” he grabs ahold of your wrist, and jerks you closer to him. He’d never had soft hands. They were calloused from the many years of work he’s already put in, “James.”

“Tell me that you’ll meet me at the docks tonight. You know what will happen after a year if you haven’t given him a child. Please, Milady. Don’t make me beg.”

“I won’t make you beg, but I will ask you to say it,” begging isn’t your idea of love. His sweet words of reassurance that you are worth love is something you crave.

“I love you. And as God as my witness, I will take you from here, and you will have your freedom, and my protection,” you gulp, slowly closing your eyes to stop the burn, and give him a nod. Peering up into his crystal blue eyes you feel safe. It’s been such a long time since you’ve felt adored. Deciding to make love with James had been stupid, rushed, and irresponsible. And yet, you regret nothing. You wanted the first time you laid with a man to mean something, and to be your choice.

“And I will make an honest woman out of you as soon as we are on the ship. I have someone who will marry us. He won’t be able to take my wife away from me,” he brags before his thumb playfully traces lines on the identifiable constellation that your moles make. He never asks about it, but he loves to touch the oddly colored pattern.

“He would make an example of you,” you return the gesture, and rub along his scared skin. It’s an image that haunts you, and one he has never divulged more information on. Your finger slides from the healed skin, and traces the pattern of his merchant’s mark. A mark sealing him to never be part of any other union. Stuck forever as a merchant, and man of the sea.

“Let him try,” his voice is so tender as he pulls you, pressing his precious lips against yours in a chaste kiss. “Midnight,” he whispers in your ear, and pulls away too quickly before he’s running back to the docks, and his ship. For once, he didn’t lie.

Your fiance pulls you close into his side. His lips turn up into a slimy smile as he glances at the guests. Other women in invisible shackles, and men licking their lips like you’re the five course meal. “Margaret tells me about the boy you were kissing this afternoon,” you gulp, but put on a smile, and press your hand over his chest, “Give me a name, and I won’t let these men see you when you take your first cock.”

It has been his plan all along. You look up at him, eyes shuffling around his own to get a read on him. He’s serious. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll take every cock at this fucking table while I watch.”

“And what if one of them gets me pregnant, and not you.”

“The bastard in your belly would still bear my name. Now tell me who you were kissing, you filthy slut,” his words cut deeply. Sure, you weren’t walking into marriage intact, but you laid with a man that you love. You search your brain for any name, knowing that some man was going to bear the punishment that is meant for James. And if you’re lucky, once you get out of here no harm will befall someone.

“It was,” you blink away the tears growing in your eyes, glancing around the room at this disgusting concoction of men, “It was — I don’t know their name. It was the,” fuck. “I think he was the farrier apprentice,” Pierce cocks his brow at you. You just mostly heard that the apprentice was a drunk who didn’t take no as an answer when it came to women. He would be worthy of a punishment.

He leans in closer, “You better be glad Margaret saw you. I’m sure that gutter rat would have taken what belongs to me if given the chance,” he straightens himself up. “It’s what they all do for a chance to sit at this table,” all but admitting in the trade of women to further a man’s standing.

You’ve got to get out of here. Midnight can’t come fast enough.

Checking around a building, you make sure nobody is in sight before you run. Running so fast that tears sting your eyes. You have one chance to get out of here, and you’re taking it whether you live or die. There’s some things worse than death, and whatever hell Pierce has in store for you is worse.

You don’t glance back as you run towards your freedom, and the love of your life. You don’t care about what waits behind you because all that matters is out at sea. You can forgo all the proper dresses, and corsets. Forget about never going hungry. Because the sea means nobody owns you. Nobody can have you.

“Where are you going?”

“No!” You scream as a filthy hand buries your head in a sack. “James!”

“Quiet, you mongrel,” his sweat sticky arms wrap around you, and he hauls you over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t be out at night. She’s too clean to be a whore. For now,” his voice. This isn’t an upstanding citizen of society. This isn’t Pierce’s men. Shit. Some things are worse than death. And you just might have gotten caught by a different devil.

“Tell the Captain, I’ve brought him a prize.”

“Raise the sails, and hoist the colors!”

“Aye!” A round of shouting arises, and you feel every ounce of hope drain out of you. There’s only one ship that changes out their sails. Hydra. While the pirates of Hydra are notorious for their cruelty, they also had the ability to trade in illegal goods, with the same men that proclaimed the goods were illegal to begin with. Bastards. Every last one of them.

Picking at your skirts, you refuse to look at everyone in here with you. From your account it seemed no more than ten women. And yet you’re the one caged. One looks to you, and tilts her head in an almost feline manner. “Who the hell is that?”

“Someone that the hawk brought in here. Says we must feed her, and not let any of the men touch her,” another grouses. You don’t want to know their names. You don’t want to know why they’re here, unchained, un-caged, and just as sweaty looking as the man that tossed you in here. They’re part of it.

“They left that necklace on her. Might be worth something. Give it to me,” she sticks her hand in the cage. You pull the necklace down until the fine chain breaks, and launch it right at her face unceremoniously. “Oh, he’ll like you, you little bitch. Married?”

You glare at her, wrapping both arms around your chest. “She’s not. So a fresh sweet cunny for him,” the women titter, oohing and ahhing over Pierce’s necklace. “The Lord of Banqueesh is your betrothed? Honey, you went from one lion’s den to another.”

“Where am I?”

“You don’t know?” The main one speaking to you asks. Again her head tilts, and it annoys you. Beds in various shapes of unclean line the walls of this tomb. The stench is no normal smell. It’s sex and bodily fluids. “Come now, you know exactly whose ship you're in. He’s what nightmares are made of.”

“Tell your captain, I demand to be taken back to,” you stop. She is right, Pierce is no better than where you reside.

“What were you doing out after dark? You mean that husband of yours wasn’t pimping you out to his friends for sport,” she knows too much about Pierce. It’s true he had a reputation, but most people assumed he was such an amazing man on the island. That he is just and fair to the people. They believe in a charming smile, and a handsome face. But you see his true self.

“We’re no different, you and I. I however married the bastard,” you narrow your eyes looking at her. “And I had my womb ripped out of my body for not producing him an heir. Thrown into the streets to bleed out and have wild dogs rip me apart. Then I found my solace from a hawk.”

“So you’re just as cruel as him?” she smiles, licking her lips.

“I became them. I’ll never let a man own me again, so I become just as cruel as them.”

“Should have killed him first,” her face is always in a cruel smirk. Looking damn near animalistic, like at any moment she will strike.

“Become useful, and they no longer want to use you.”

“What about them?” You jut your chin up to the women in the room. “Whores?”

“Yes,” is her simple reply, and you look down in your lap. “They know their place, and even a whore has a place on a ship. But what to do with you? You’re not in an acceptable dress to be having dinner with the captain.”

“I won’t sleep with him.”

“You’ll do whatever it is he wants you to. You’ll learn real quick he doesn’t respond to the word no well,” she reaches into a wardrobe, and throws a new dress into your cage. “Get dressed. And if you refuse, I’ll make sure you have an audience while you’re made to get dressed. Ladies,” she gives a nod to the women who all scatter out of the room, and she turns her back to you. “Let me guess, your father was an up and coming man, and he desired power and fortune above his daughter?”

“Something like that,” you aren’t even sure what happened. How you wound up here. You remember being in the stables with the stable boy, and… “I don’t tend to make excuses for men. I wasn’t born in the city, didn’t grow up in the city, but I did become a lady for slaughter in the city,” she hums. She knows a bit too much of your situation without knowing. And understanding that once, she was you.

“Are you going to come willingly?” She turns around abruptly, and you’re still lacing up the front of your dress. “Or shall I shackle you, and make you take a trail of shame,” this dress is much more exposing. Your breasts bulge out the top, and there’s no ladylike way to cover them up. “You can be a well behaved girl, huh? Come on. He’ll be ready for his dinner shortly. Head down.”

You do as the woman says. Matching her step to wherever she leads you to meet with the Captain. Trading one lion’s den for another, in her words. For now. She pulls out a chair for you. You sit, and wait. It isn’t fine dining, but somewhat clean. The woman stands too close to you, understandable.

“How long must I wait?”

“Until you don’t have to wait any longer,” incorrigible. Sighing, you look around the dining area. “You will be eating alone. And there’s but one exit. Once the captain arrives I will be outside the door.”

The door creaks behind you, and you sit up straighter. Calming your breath. The woman gives a nod to the captain, and as promised, leaves. You stare up at your captor, just as sweaty and grimy as the rest. He makes no movement, but he stares just as hard as you are. Icy blue eyes try to put you just as low as he thinks you are.

He takes the few steps over to a water basin, and you stare horrified at the grim and blood washed from your hands. You’re doubtful that you were the only thing taken from the island. He stares eerily as the blood sloughs away, refusing to stop until his hands are mostly clean. He has some manners.

“Was there an attack?”

He turns back to look at you, offering a hungry smile. But his hunger isn’t something you can stave off with food. His hunger is something more primal.

His tongue licks over his teeth like he’s going to devour you. “Why am I here?” he just shakes his head, wagging his finger ‘no’ at you. Flicking his finger upwards, you stand.

“You’re quite the woman, Miss…?” The captain’s eyes wander slowly on your body.

You’ve lied enough already, might as well continue, “Isabella,” the man scoffs, and starts stalking around you. Sizing you up. Thinking about what he’s going to do to you. “I am engaged.”

“Lord Pierce won’t be looking for you. He was too busy fucking some whore tonight. You were disposed of a bit early for his liking, I’m sure. But he’ll find a replacement in time,” the longer he waits the less likely his balls will be to secure his legacy. Good. “It’s probably worked out the best for you.”

“Aren’t you just as cruel as Lord Pierce? Are you not a thief?” He shrugs with a smile. “Are you not a pirate?”

“So you’ve heard about me,” his smile stretches out too severely across his cheeks as he bows. “At your service.”

“Not you. Hydra.”

“And who do you think controls them? Who is the captain of this ship?”

“An arrogant asshole?” Steve shakes his finger at you laughing before sitting down. He removes the cloche, and rips off a leg off the giant fowl.

“I like you. Eat,” he doesn’t look like the pirates you have heard about. There’s a handsomeness in his hard angled features. “Eat!”

“I’m not hungry,” your chin tilts up, and you look away from him. He strikes. Grabbing at your arm and slamming it to the table. Screaming, you look at him with tears in your eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

The captain tilts his head curiously, assessing your face before his vision oozes down your body. He lingers on the slopes of your breasts. Too quickly he strikes, pulling your arm closer to him, and his eyes zero in to the last part that James touched. “It’s a birthmark.”

His eyes coast up your arm, and lingers on your tits again. He licks his lips hungrily before his Cheshire grin makes you uncomfortable. He watches your face as his free hand rubs over the cluster of moles, and he laughs when you cringe at the feeling. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like you touching me,” there is nothing satisfactory about the rough hard fingertips of him. You smell the acrid stench of death all over him. You don’t know who or what he pillaged, but it’s obvious you were not the only thing stolen tonight.

“Touching you, or touching it? The so-called birthmark I mean,” he sits back down, but keeps holding your arm with one hand, while the other traces lines between the moles. “It’s curious.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s an odd color,” you shrug. It didn’t mean anything. “It’s in the shape of Ursa Minor,” you shrug again. Clearing his throat, he releases your arm, and gestures to the meat in the middle of the table. “Eat.”

This time you don’t argue, and reach in front of you. “It’s a long journey where we’re going.”

“And that is?”

“The land where we dock,” these assholes. “Have you enjoyed your sleeping quarters?” You snort, and continue to chew your food. He gazes at you for too long before taking another bite, talking to you while chewing, “Very well, I’ll have you join my sleeping quarters.”

“No,” the captain lifts an eyebrow, “No, thank you.”

“You’re a hard woman to please, Miss Isabella,” there’s something in the sound of his voice. He doesn’t believe the fake name that you gave him.

“When you said that Pierce was fucking a whore, how did you know?” He only smiles at you while he takes another bite. “How did you know I was engaged to him?”

“Your necklace,” that’s a satisfactory answer. “Plus, we were coming to collect you.”

“Me?” He nods, reaching to a serving bowl, and dishes some potatoes on your plate, and then to his. “Why were you collecting me?”

“Was asked to.”

“By?”

“Does it matter?” It matters a great deal. Is this the ship that is taking you to Bucky? Or is this some other nefarious deal?

“And are you meant to take me to the person that asked?” That stupid smile again, but no answer. “You’re infuriating.”

“What if I said I was sent to sully your good name? How would that make you feel?”

“My name has already been sullen,” his smile immediately leaves his face, and his chewing becomes slower. An unsettling feeling crawls up your back as you take him in, “Well, if you’re talking about ruining me through my cunt that is. You see, the first time I had sex it was beautiful, and we made love under the moonlight on the beach. Every time after that was in allies and on ships that didn’t belong to us, fucking like rabbits. If it makes you feel better he never spilled in me. Except for the first time. He couldn’t handle the feeling of my tight cunt.”

Your head slings to side as a sharp sting from his hand paints itself on your face, “Now you see, you just fucking pissed me off you — you…”

“I believe whore is the word you’re looking for. I was no whore to anyone but him,” you scoot your chair back abruptly as he takes another swing at you. “Does it bother you to know that I’m not pure?”

“I’ve fucked many a women in my lifetime, and how many cocks she’s had inside her doesn’t piss me off. What pisses me off is your filthy little mouth. Eat your goddamn food, and quit talking like you’re no better than a common street rat,” his eyes move to his plate, and it gives you enough confidence to scoot back.

“I’m no street rat.”

“Yeah, you’re just a late blooming lady that moved into the city just in time for your etiquette teachings, and how to become a wife,” that is not information you divulged. “Street rats are forgotten. Amongst stable boys, ladies in waiting, and everyone you people deem below you. Sometimes the problem is that you think too highly for yourself, not realizing that the ones below you are the ones doing the hard labor you choose not to. Meanwhile, you curse them and blame them for your wrongdoings and they suffer, while you become savory to the people that believe you’re the epitome of grace and purity.”

You are not your father. And you say nothing. Eating in silence, while he stews over his food. “It wasn’t Pierce. He wouldn’t fuck you in the docks. He’d make people watch you as he claimed you for the first time. Who was it?”

You don’t have to have a conversation with the brute. You just need to survive. “On the beach, I bet that cunny got filled with sand. Piss poor place to take a woman’s maidenhead. By the fucking docks. You move into the city to be a lady and you become a whore for a fisherman?” Your brow must have twitched because that slippery smile lifts his mouth again.

“Tell me, why were you not in your bedroom tonight? It wouldn’t have anything to do with the merchant ship that we plundered, would it?” Your interest is piqued, you listen closer. “It does?” He’s only guessing, but clearly your face is betraying you, “Well, they were left with nothing when we finished. Not even a captain.”

“He wasn’t on the ship,” he was meant to meet you at the docks. He was there, not on his ship.

The captain’s sneer turns completely demonic, “You’ve been fucking James Barnes? You dirty little slut,” fear and anger flashes in your eyes, “My apologies. Barnes’ dirty little slut. How does it feel to know that you were no better than an easy fuck in the shadows.”

“Pierce would have had both our heads if he knew! We had to hide because it was him that I wanted!”

“So — you admit it? You’re admitting that Barnes is who you truly love? Or is it only his cock?” You blow out an exasperated breath, glaring at him. “Oh, you spoiled little urchin. You are no Isabella. You think I’m too dumb not to know who you are? Little bitch, lying to me.”

“Who asked you to retrieve me?”

“Natasha! Take the former milkmaid’s daughter down below!” Another piece of information that he was not privy to. Nobody knew your mother was merely a milkmaid.

“Who asked you?!” You screech as the woman from before grabs you up. “Captain! Did you kill him? Did you harm a hair on his body?” He snaps his fingers, and Natasha rolls her eyes. She walks over to a wardrobe and tosses horror onto the table.

“You fucking monster! That — that’s not James,” your voice dissipates when he flips the arm over, and you see his brand on his wrist. The very same image that flies on this ship. A skull with octopus tentacles. One you had just touched earlier today, “Why?”

“Did you see? It’s his left arm. He’ll never be able to wear a wedding band. That’s if he can swim with one fucking arm. Aren’t you glad that I saved him from the fate of Pierce? Your fiance was onto your unfaithful ways. The fisher people talk. Never fuck in the open, you stupid dumb bitch.”

“Was it necessary to remove his whole arm? If it was only his ring finger you were worried about, why not remove that?” What sick and twisted game was he playing? Why did he care if James was to marry?

“My hand must have slipped,” his voice is so cold. He has no regrets for doing what he did. The monster cut his fucking arm off so he wouldn’t be able to wear a wedding ring, and left him for dead in the ocean.

Your lip trembles as you stare at his arm. It’s not just the branding on his wrist, it’s the tattoos of his trade, winding and circling up his arm. James is as good as dead. “Why him?”

“Did you ever stop to wonder how he got that bloody mark on him, hmm? He was pledged to serve my crew for ten years, and then he fled,” the captain eyes you up and down, smiling at your misery. Not just the gruesome display of his arm on the table, but the knowing that he wouldn’t be able to survive that. The realization that the blood he washed only moments earlier could have been James', “And he did this all for some pussy. Take her below deck, and bring me Jezzy to fuck. I need to let off some steam. Nothing like a hard pounding fuck, huh, my little siren.”

“I’m not yours.”

“Keep your mouth shut or it’s your cunt I’m using tonight. Natasha!” You scream at him. There’s no words, just feral wails of rage as you're pulled away. “Don’t worry, one day I will make you scream in all kinds of ways. You didn’t know cruelty until you met me, Siren,” and with that the door is slammed shut, and you are dragged to your cage. To sit with the knowledge that you’re to blame for his mutilation, ending in his death.

Steve cracks his neck, listening to your pathetic sobs for James. Whether you knew it or not, you were already his. He’s always been patient. For you.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @rnurse-kole @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy

Stand up straight. Shoulders back. Pinch your cheeks. Tighten your corset. Be demure and coy. Smile when a man speaks to you, and only respond if he directly asks you a question. Eyes cast downward, unless it’s you he’s speaking to. You need to be the picture perfect essence of what a woman is. Curves and the ability to further a man’s legacy.

A perfect example of high society standards, while being on your knees, and taking what he gives you behind closed doors. Become the animal that he desires you to be. And the next morning you present your pretty put together smile, and pretend that life is perfect.

What a life.

There’s a reason why mothers pray and beg for sons. They know exactly the life that their daughters are going to live. And then after having a daughter, they pray and beg that they are matched with a good man that won’t abuse his power over his wife. That won’t create secrets of just how vile and cruel men can be.

Your mother should have worried. Especially since her death, it was up to your father to be the matchmaker. Too often greed outweighs the daughter’s need for love. And your family aren't long standing members of high society and wealth. It didn’t seem long ago that you lived outside of the city walls. And then your father was angry, cursing you, and telling your older brother it was time to move to city and to fucking grow up.

And now you stare out the window at the roaring sea, wondering how in the world you ended up engaged to a disgusting pompous windbag of an old man. Of course, it was to further your father’s own standing and agenda. Give the young woman that would assure to carry some pig with saggy balls the ability to carry his children. For that’s what all women dream of. Laying underneath a wealthy man, while he pumps you full of his useless seed that won’t yield a child because of he is the one inept.

You’re not stupid to what is going on. You had a nanny, a chaperone, and even a lady in waiting, that was not so ladylike. She acquired more money and secrets by sleeping with the elite. No pregnancy had befallen on her, even though they weren’t careful.

You would meet your death because of this man. He’d already had wives die of mysterious illnesses, and you would certainly be next. All because he couldn’t arise to the occasion. You sigh as you watch a sailor walk onto a ship. His magnificent arms bulging through his wet shirt. That is the type of man you desire. One that could take you away from the city and on a journey. They’d allow you to see the world, while you steal kisses throughout the day until ultimately falling into each other’s arms. Melting in the others embrace, until he melts into you.

That was the promise you were once made. That he would take you away from the life that was thrust upon you. He’d become a captain and make you proud. But he had to achieve some success before stealing you away.

And now it was too late. Now you watch him load his ship. A royal merchant. And a liar. His eyes squint in the sun as he scans the area he’s in before he looks directly at you, and into your soul. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you know he’s trying to make up another lie before seeking you out. Alas it no longer matters. If he removed you from the city, he would be sought and killed on display as punishment. Lord Pierce isn’t someone to mess with.

He would cut out your own tongue if it suited him. Liar. You spit down at him before turning on your heels. Your death sentence has already been signed by the devil himself. There is no God in this way of life. It’s a world where women are property. They are not respected, and they are not treated fairly. They are merely a vessel, and anyone that wants to preach to you about the love of man hasn't felt the cruel hand of pain as it smacks across your face for not agreeing with Lord Pierce quickly enough.

Every strike across your cheek still stings, but not nearly as much as your pride and your former dreams that burned at the stake the moment that your father signed your life over from his own hands to your future husband’s. Your brother is long gone, and joined the royal army, and no longer can help. You’re not even sure if he’s as cruel as the men that you have had dinner with.

You are forced to ignore the snide remarks about your ample bosom, or the nectar between your thighs that would accumulate with an heir for your Lordship. The snickers that ensued after the cruel remarks about all the fun he’s going to have filling you up. He. There is no you in this equation. You are just a hole for him to fuck. A hole to fill with a child so society won’t look down on him and deem him any less than a man.

Pathetic.

You round a corner, and come face to face with him. His blue eyes shine in the sunlight, but you spin on your heels, “Wait!” His kind eyes and supple lips always make you weak.

“I could meet my death before my wedding if I’m caught speaking to the likes of you.”

“There’s no one around,” he pleads, pulling at your arm, and when you jerk away he releases you. “Has he hurt you?”

“Physical pain only hurts for a short while. Heartbreak can last a lifetime. I see you’ve made something of yourself,” he nods, smiling. It’s a smile that doesn’t touch his beautiful eyes. You can take the urchin out of the streets, but a part of him still remains there. His new ship has become quite the commodity in the docks. His return always yields great praise from the elite, “How is business going?”

“I don’t care about business. I care about you.”

“Empty words. I should run, my fiance will be expecting me to stand still and look pretty on his arm tonight. It’s a lovely game when his friends tell me about all the ways that I can take my husband. It’s almost as if they’re going to be viewing him taking my maidenhead,” you smirk at him. That’s the one thing that he can’t take from you.

His hand immediately goes to the necklace he never removes. Your gift to him. “I’m glad to see you still have that,” you nod in the direction of his jewelry.

“It was never the gold that I wanted. It is always you.”

“I suppose you being the first man to split me open was the ultimate gift then,” he scoffs at you, dropping his hands directly at his sides. “If you please, Captain Barnes. I have an engagement to fulfill. Unless you’re making a fool's errand to kidnap me before I walk to my death tomorrow.”

“Meet me at the docks,” you cock an eyebrow up at him. “My ship is scheduled to leave this afternoon. But I have a smaller boat in the dock. They’ll grant us safe passage, and I can’t be accused of taking you,” you step away from him, and glance in every direction. “We chose this meeting place due to the lack of activity around here. Nobody is here. You’re also unaccompanied.”

“Which will be quickly remedied, I’m sure. Lady Margaret is never too far away,” he grabs ahold of your wrist, and jerks you closer to him. He’d never had soft hands. They were calloused from the many years of work he’s already put in, “James.”

“Tell me that you’ll meet me at the docks tonight. You know what will happen after a year if you haven’t given him a child. Please, Milady. Don’t make me beg.”

“I won’t make you beg, but I will ask you to say it,” begging isn’t your idea of love. His sweet words of reassurance that you are worth love is something you crave.

“I love you. And as God as my witness, I will take you from here, and you will have your freedom, and my protection,” you gulp, slowly closing your eyes to stop the burn, and give him a nod. Peering up into his crystal blue eyes you feel safe. It’s been such a long time since you’ve felt adored. Deciding to make love with James had been stupid, rushed, and irresponsible. And yet, you regret nothing. You wanted the first time you laid with a man to mean something, and to be your choice.

“And I will make an honest woman out of you as soon as we are on the ship. I have someone who will marry us. He won’t be able to take my wife away from me,” he brags before his thumb playfully traces lines on the identifiable constellation that your moles make. He never asks about it, but he loves to touch the oddly colored pattern.

“He would make an example of you,” you return the gesture, and rub along his scared skin. It’s an image that haunts you, and one he has never divulged more information on. Your finger slides from the healed skin, and traces the pattern of his merchant’s mark. A mark sealing him to never be part of any other union. Stuck forever as a merchant, and man of the sea.

“Let him try,” his voice is so tender as he pulls you, pressing his precious lips against yours in a chaste kiss. “Midnight,” he whispers in your ear, and pulls away too quickly before he’s running back to the docks, and his ship. For once, he didn’t lie.

Your fiance pulls you close into his side. His lips turn up into a slimy smile as he glances at the guests. Other women in invisible shackles, and men licking their lips like you’re the five course meal. “Margaret tells me about the boy you were kissing this afternoon,” you gulp, but put on a smile, and press your hand over his chest, “Give me a name, and I won’t let these men see you when you take your first cock.”

It has been his plan all along. You look up at him, eyes shuffling around his own to get a read on him. He’s serious. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll take every cock at this fucking table while I watch.”

“And what if one of them gets me pregnant, and not you.”

“The bastard in your belly would still bear my name. Now tell me who you were kissing, you filthy slut,” his words cut deeply. Sure, you weren’t walking into marriage intact, but you laid with a man that you love. You search your brain for any name, knowing that some man was going to bear the punishment that is meant for James. And if you’re lucky, once you get out of here no harm will befall someone.

“It was,” you blink away the tears growing in your eyes, glancing around the room at this disgusting concoction of men, “It was — I don’t know their name. It was the,” fuck. “I think he was the farrier apprentice,” Pierce cocks his brow at you. You just mostly heard that the apprentice was a drunk who didn’t take no as an answer when it came to women. He would be worthy of a punishment.

He leans in closer, “You better be glad Margaret saw you. I’m sure that gutter rat would have taken what belongs to me if given the chance,” he straightens himself up. “It’s what they all do for a chance to sit at this table,” all but admitting in the trade of women to further a man’s standing.

You’ve got to get out of here. Midnight can’t come fast enough.

Checking around a building, you make sure nobody is in sight before you run. Running so fast that tears sting your eyes. You have one chance to get out of here, and you’re taking it whether you live or die. There’s some things worse than death, and whatever hell Pierce has in store for you is worse.

You don’t glance back as you run towards your freedom, and the love of your life. You don’t care about what waits behind you because all that matters is out at sea. You can forgo all the proper dresses, and corsets. Forget about never going hungry. Because the sea means nobody owns you. Nobody can have you.

“Where are you going?”

“No!” You scream as a filthy hand buries your head in a sack. “James!”

“Quiet, you mongrel,” his sweat sticky arms wrap around you, and he hauls you over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t be out at night. She’s too clean to be a whore. For now,” his voice. This isn’t an upstanding citizen of society. This isn’t Pierce’s men. Shit. Some things are worse than death. And you just might have gotten caught by a different devil.

“Tell the Captain, I’ve brought him a prize.”

“Raise the sails, and hoist the colors!”

“Aye!” A round of shouting arises, and you feel every ounce of hope drain out of you. There’s only one ship that changes out their sails. Hydra. While the pirates of Hydra are notorious for their cruelty, they also had the ability to trade in illegal goods, with the same men that proclaimed the goods were illegal to begin with. Bastards. Every last one of them.

Picking at your skirts, you refuse to look at everyone in here with you. From your account it seemed no more than ten women. And yet you’re the one caged. One looks to you, and tilts her head in an almost feline manner. “Who the hell is that?”

“Someone that the hawk brought in here. Says we must feed her, and not let any of the men touch her,” another grouses. You don’t want to know their names. You don’t want to know why they’re here, unchained, un-caged, and just as sweaty looking as the man that tossed you in here. They’re part of it.

“They left that necklace on her. Might be worth something. Give it to me,” she sticks her hand in the cage. You pull the necklace down until the fine chain breaks, and launch it right at her face unceremoniously. “Oh, he’ll like you, you little bitch. Married?”

You glare at her, wrapping both arms around your chest. “She’s not. So a fresh sweet cunny for him,” the women titter, oohing and ahhing over Pierce’s necklace. “The Lord of Banqueesh is your betrothed? Honey, you went from one lion’s den to another.”

“Where am I?”

“You don’t know?” The main one speaking to you asks. Again her head tilts, and it annoys you. Beds in various shapes of unclean line the walls of this tomb. The stench is no normal smell. It’s sex and bodily fluids. “Come now, you know exactly whose ship you're in. He’s what nightmares are made of.”

“Tell your captain, I demand to be taken back to,” you stop. She is right, Pierce is no better than where you reside.

“What were you doing out after dark? You mean that husband of yours wasn’t pimping you out to his friends for sport,” she knows too much about Pierce. It’s true he had a reputation, but most people assumed he was such an amazing man on the island. That he is just and fair to the people. They believe in a charming smile, and a handsome face. But you see his true self.

“We’re no different, you and I. I however married the bastard,” you narrow your eyes looking at her. “And I had my womb ripped out of my body for not producing him an heir. Thrown into the streets to bleed out and have wild dogs rip me apart. Then I found my solace from a hawk.”

“So you’re just as cruel as him?” she smiles, licking her lips.

“I became them. I’ll never let a man own me again, so I become just as cruel as them.”

“Should have killed him first,” her face is always in a cruel smirk. Looking damn near animalistic, like at any moment she will strike.

“Become useful, and they no longer want to use you.”

“What about them?” You jut your chin up to the women in the room. “Whores?”

“Yes,” is her simple reply, and you look down in your lap. “They know their place, and even a whore has a place on a ship. But what to do with you? You’re not in an acceptable dress to be having dinner with the captain.”

“I won’t sleep with him.”

“You’ll do whatever it is he wants you to. You’ll learn real quick he doesn’t respond to the word no well,” she reaches into a wardrobe, and throws a new dress into your cage. “Get dressed. And if you refuse, I’ll make sure you have an audience while you’re made to get dressed. Ladies,” she gives a nod to the women who all scatter out of the room, and she turns her back to you. “Let me guess, your father was an up and coming man, and he desired power and fortune above his daughter?”

“Something like that,” you aren’t even sure what happened. How you wound up here. You remember being in the stables with the stable boy, and… “I don’t tend to make excuses for men. I wasn’t born in the city, didn’t grow up in the city, but I did become a lady for slaughter in the city,” she hums. She knows a bit too much of your situation without knowing. And understanding that once, she was you.

“Are you going to come willingly?” She turns around abruptly, and you’re still lacing up the front of your dress. “Or shall I shackle you, and make you take a trail of shame,” this dress is much more exposing. Your breasts bulge out the top, and there’s no ladylike way to cover them up. “You can be a well behaved girl, huh? Come on. He’ll be ready for his dinner shortly. Head down.”

You do as the woman says. Matching her step to wherever she leads you to meet with the Captain. Trading one lion’s den for another, in her words. For now. She pulls out a chair for you. You sit, and wait. It isn’t fine dining, but somewhat clean. The woman stands too close to you, understandable.

“How long must I wait?”

“Until you don’t have to wait any longer,” incorrigible. Sighing, you look around the dining area. “You will be eating alone. And there’s but one exit. Once the captain arrives I will be outside the door.”

The door creaks behind you, and you sit up straighter. Calming your breath. The woman gives a nod to the captain, and as promised, leaves. You stare up at your captor, just as sweaty and grimy as the rest. He makes no movement, but he stares just as hard as you are. Icy blue eyes try to put you just as low as he thinks you are.

He takes the few steps over to a water basin, and you stare horrified at the grim and blood washed from your hands. You’re doubtful that you were the only thing taken from the island. He stares eerily as the blood sloughs away, refusing to stop until his hands are mostly clean. He has some manners.

“Was there an attack?”

He turns back to look at you, offering a hungry smile. But his hunger isn’t something you can stave off with food. His hunger is something more primal.

His tongue licks over his teeth like he’s going to devour you. “Why am I here?” he just shakes his head, wagging his finger ‘no’ at you. Flicking his finger upwards, you stand.

“You’re quite the woman, Miss…?” The captain’s eyes wander slowly on your body.

You’ve lied enough already, might as well continue, “Isabella,” the man scoffs, and starts stalking around you. Sizing you up. Thinking about what he’s going to do to you. “I am engaged.”

“Lord Pierce won’t be looking for you. He was too busy fucking some whore tonight. You were disposed of a bit early for his liking, I’m sure. But he’ll find a replacement in time,” the longer he waits the less likely his balls will be to secure his legacy. Good. “It’s probably worked out the best for you.”

“Aren’t you just as cruel as Lord Pierce? Are you not a thief?” He shrugs with a smile. “Are you not a pirate?”

“So you’ve heard about me,” his smile stretches out too severely across his cheeks as he bows. “At your service.”

“Not you. Hydra.”

“And who do you think controls them? Who is the captain of this ship?”

“An arrogant asshole?” Steve shakes his finger at you laughing before sitting down. He removes the cloche, and rips off a leg off the giant fowl.

“I like you. Eat,” he doesn’t look like the pirates you have heard about. There’s a handsomeness in his hard angled features. “Eat!”

“I’m not hungry,” your chin tilts up, and you look away from him. He strikes. Grabbing at your arm and slamming it to the table. Screaming, you look at him with tears in your eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

The captain tilts his head curiously, assessing your face before his vision oozes down your body. He lingers on the slopes of your breasts. Too quickly he strikes, pulling your arm closer to him, and his eyes zero in to the last part that James touched. “It’s a birthmark.”

His eyes coast up your arm, and lingers on your tits again. He licks his lips hungrily before his Cheshire grin makes you uncomfortable. He watches your face as his free hand rubs over the cluster of moles, and he laughs when you cringe at the feeling. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like you touching me,” there is nothing satisfactory about the rough hard fingertips of him. You smell the acrid stench of death all over him. You don’t know who or what he pillaged, but it’s obvious you were not the only thing stolen tonight.

“Touching you, or touching it? The so-called birthmark I mean,” he sits back down, but keeps holding your arm with one hand, while the other traces lines between the moles. “It’s curious.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s an odd color,” you shrug. It didn’t mean anything. “It’s in the shape of Ursa Minor,” you shrug again. Clearing his throat, he releases your arm, and gestures to the meat in the middle of the table. “Eat.”

This time you don’t argue, and reach in front of you. “It’s a long journey where we’re going.”

“And that is?”

“The land where we dock,” these assholes. “Have you enjoyed your sleeping quarters?” You snort, and continue to chew your food. He gazes at you for too long before taking another bite, talking to you while chewing, “Very well, I’ll have you join my sleeping quarters.”

“No,” the captain lifts an eyebrow, “No, thank you.”

“You’re a hard woman to please, Miss Isabella,” there’s something in the sound of his voice. He doesn’t believe the fake name that you gave him.

“When you said that Pierce was fucking a whore, how did you know?” He only smiles at you while he takes another bite. “How did you know I was engaged to him?”

“Your necklace,” that’s a satisfactory answer. “Plus, we were coming to collect you.”

“Me?” He nods, reaching to a serving bowl, and dishes some potatoes on your plate, and then to his. “Why were you collecting me?”

“Was asked to.”

“By?”

“Does it matter?” It matters a great deal. Is this the ship that is taking you to Bucky? Or is this some other nefarious deal?

“And are you meant to take me to the person that asked?” That stupid smile again, but no answer. “You’re infuriating.”

“What if I said I was sent to sully your good name? How would that make you feel?”

“My name has already been sullen,” his smile immediately leaves his face, and his chewing becomes slower. An unsettling feeling crawls up your back as you take him in, “Well, if you’re talking about ruining me through my cunt that is. You see, the first time I had sex it was beautiful, and we made love under the moonlight on the beach. Every time after that was in allies and on ships that didn’t belong to us, fucking like rabbits. If it makes you feel better he never spilled in me. Except for the first time. He couldn’t handle the feeling of my tight cunt.”

Your head slings to side as a sharp sting from his hand paints itself on your face, “Now you see, you just fucking pissed me off you — you…”

“I believe whore is the word you’re looking for. I was no whore to anyone but him,” you scoot your chair back abruptly as he takes another swing at you. “Does it bother you to know that I’m not pure?”

“I’ve fucked many a women in my lifetime, and how many cocks she’s had inside her doesn’t piss me off. What pisses me off is your filthy little mouth. Eat your goddamn food, and quit talking like you’re no better than a common street rat,” his eyes move to his plate, and it gives you enough confidence to scoot back.

“I’m no street rat.”

“Yeah, you’re just a late blooming lady that moved into the city just in time for your etiquette teachings, and how to become a wife,” that is not information you divulged. “Street rats are forgotten. Amongst stable boys, ladies in waiting, and everyone you people deem below you. Sometimes the problem is that you think too highly for yourself, not realizing that the ones below you are the ones doing the hard labor you choose not to. Meanwhile, you curse them and blame them for your wrongdoings and they suffer, while you become savory to the people that believe you’re the epitome of grace and purity.”

You are not your father. And you say nothing. Eating in silence, while he stews over his food. “It wasn’t Pierce. He wouldn’t fuck you in the docks. He’d make people watch you as he claimed you for the first time. Who was it?”

You don’t have to have a conversation with the brute. You just need to survive. “On the beach, I bet that cunny got filled with sand. Piss poor place to take a woman’s maidenhead. By the fucking docks. You move into the city to be a lady and you become a whore for a fisherman?” Your brow must have twitched because that slippery smile lifts his mouth again.

“Tell me, why were you not in your bedroom tonight? It wouldn’t have anything to do with the merchant ship that we plundered, would it?” Your interest is piqued, you listen closer. “It does?” He’s only guessing, but clearly your face is betraying you, “Well, they were left with nothing when we finished. Not even a captain.”

“He wasn’t on the ship,” he was meant to meet you at the docks. He was there, not on his ship.

The captain’s sneer turns completely demonic, “You’ve been fucking James Barnes? You dirty little slut,” fear and anger flashes in your eyes, “My apologies. Barnes’ dirty little slut. How does it feel to know that you were no better than an easy fuck in the shadows.”

“Pierce would have had both our heads if he knew! We had to hide because it was him that I wanted!”

“So — you admit it? You’re admitting that Barnes is who you truly love? Or is it only his cock?” You blow out an exasperated breath, glaring at him. “Oh, you spoiled little urchin. You are no Isabella. You think I’m too dumb not to know who you are? Little bitch, lying to me.”

“Who asked you to retrieve me?”

“Natasha! Take the former milkmaid’s daughter down below!” Another piece of information that he was not privy to. Nobody knew your mother was merely a milkmaid.

“Who asked you?!” You screech as the woman from before grabs you up. “Captain! Did you kill him? Did you harm a hair on his body?” He snaps his fingers, and Natasha rolls her eyes. She walks over to a wardrobe and tosses horror onto the table.

“You fucking monster! That — that’s not James,” your voice dissipates when he flips the arm over, and you see his brand on his wrist. The very same image that flies on this ship. A skull with octopus tentacles. One you had just touched earlier today, “Why?”

“Did you see? It’s his left arm. He’ll never be able to wear a wedding band. That’s if he can swim with one fucking arm. Aren’t you glad that I saved him from the fate of Pierce? Your fiance was onto your unfaithful ways. The fisher people talk. Never fuck in the open, you stupid dumb bitch.”

“Was it necessary to remove his whole arm? If it was only his ring finger you were worried about, why not remove that?” What sick and twisted game was he playing? Why did he care if James was to marry?

“My hand must have slipped,” his voice is so cold. He has no regrets for doing what he did. The monster cut his fucking arm off so he wouldn’t be able to wear a wedding ring, and left him for dead in the ocean.

Your lip trembles as you stare at his arm. It’s not just the branding on his wrist, it’s the tattoos of his trade, winding and circling up his arm. James is as good as dead. “Why him?”

“Did you ever stop to wonder how he got that bloody mark on him, hmm? He was pledged to serve my crew for ten years, and then he fled,” the captain eyes you up and down, smiling at your misery. Not just the gruesome display of his arm on the table, but the knowing that he wouldn’t be able to survive that. The realization that the blood he washed only moments earlier could have been James', “And he did this all for some pussy. Take her below deck, and bring me Jezzy to fuck. I need to let off some steam. Nothing like a hard pounding fuck, huh, my little siren.”

“I’m not yours.”

“Keep your mouth shut or it’s your cunt I’m using tonight. Natasha!” You scream at him. There’s no words, just feral wails of rage as you're pulled away. “Don’t worry, one day I will make you scream in all kinds of ways. You didn’t know cruelty until you met me, Siren,” and with that the door is slammed shut, and you are dragged to your cage. To sit with the knowledge that you’re to blame for his mutilation, ending in his death.

Steve cracks his neck, listening to your pathetic sobs for James. Whether you knew it or not, you were already his. He’s always been patient. For you.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @rnurse-kole @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy

Stand up straight. Shoulders back. Pinch your cheeks. Tighten your corset. Be demure and coy. Smile when a man speaks to you, and only respond if he directly asks you a question. Eyes cast downward, unless it’s you he’s speaking to. You need to be the picture perfect essence of what a woman is. Curves and the ability to further a man’s legacy.

A perfect example of high society standards, while being on your knees, and taking what he gives you behind closed doors. Become the animal that he desires you to be. And the next morning you present your pretty put together smile, and pretend that life is perfect.

What a life.

There’s a reason why mothers pray and beg for sons. They know exactly the life that their daughters are going to live. And then after having a daughter, they pray and beg that they are matched with a good man that won’t abuse his power over his wife. That won’t create secrets of just how vile and cruel men can be.

Your mother should have worried. Especially since her death, it was up to your father to be the matchmaker. Too often greed outweighs the daughter’s need for love. And your family aren't long standing members of high society and wealth. It didn’t seem long ago that you lived outside of the city walls. And then your father was angry, cursing you, and telling your older brother it was time to move to city and to fucking grow up.

And now you stare out the window at the roaring sea, wondering how in the world you ended up engaged to a disgusting pompous windbag of an old man. Of course, it was to further your father’s own standing and agenda. Give the young woman that would assure to carry some pig with saggy balls the ability to carry his children. For that’s what all women dream of. Laying underneath a wealthy man, while he pumps you full of his useless seed that won’t yield a child because of he is the one inept.

You’re not stupid to what is going on. You had a nanny, a chaperone, and even a lady in waiting, that was not so ladylike. She acquired more money and secrets by sleeping with the elite. No pregnancy had befallen on her, even though they weren’t careful.

You would meet your death because of this man. He’d already had wives die of mysterious illnesses, and you would certainly be next. All because he couldn’t arise to the occasion. You sigh as you watch a sailor walk onto a ship. His magnificent arms bulging through his wet shirt. That is the type of man you desire. One that could take you away from the city and on a journey. They’d allow you to see the world, while you steal kisses throughout the day until ultimately falling into each other’s arms. Melting in the others embrace, until he melts into you.

That was the promise you were once made. That he would take you away from the life that was thrust upon you. He’d become a captain and make you proud. But he had to achieve some success before stealing you away.

And now it was too late. Now you watch him load his ship. A royal merchant. And a liar. His eyes squint in the sun as he scans the area he’s in before he looks directly at you, and into your soul. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you know he’s trying to make up another lie before seeking you out. Alas it no longer matters. If he removed you from the city, he would be sought and killed on display as punishment. Lord Pierce isn’t someone to mess with.

He would cut out your own tongue if it suited him. Liar. You spit down at him before turning on your heels. Your death sentence has already been signed by the devil himself. There is no God in this way of life. It’s a world where women are property. They are not respected, and they are not treated fairly. They are merely a vessel, and anyone that wants to preach to you about the love of man hasn't felt the cruel hand of pain as it smacks across your face for not agreeing with Lord Pierce quickly enough.

Every strike across your cheek still stings, but not nearly as much as your pride and your former dreams that burned at the stake the moment that your father signed your life over from his own hands to your future husband’s. Your brother is long gone, and joined the royal army, and no longer can help. You’re not even sure if he’s as cruel as the men that you have had dinner with.

You are forced to ignore the snide remarks about your ample bosom, or the nectar between your thighs that would accumulate with an heir for your Lordship. The snickers that ensued after the cruel remarks about all the fun he’s going to have filling you up. He. There is no you in this equation. You are just a hole for him to fuck. A hole to fill with a child so society won’t look down on him and deem him any less than a man.

Pathetic.

You round a corner, and come face to face with him. His blue eyes shine in the sunlight, but you spin on your heels, “Wait!” His kind eyes and supple lips always make you weak.

“I could meet my death before my wedding if I’m caught speaking to the likes of you.”

“There’s no one around,” he pleads, pulling at your arm, and when you jerk away he releases you. “Has he hurt you?”

“Physical pain only hurts for a short while. Heartbreak can last a lifetime. I see you’ve made something of yourself,” he nods, smiling. It’s a smile that doesn’t touch his beautiful eyes. You can take the urchin out of the streets, but a part of him still remains there. His new ship has become quite the commodity in the docks. His return always yields great praise from the elite, “How is business going?”

“I don’t care about business. I care about you.”

“Empty words. I should run, my fiance will be expecting me to stand still and look pretty on his arm tonight. It’s a lovely game when his friends tell me about all the ways that I can take my husband. It’s almost as if they’re going to be viewing him taking my maidenhead,” you smirk at him. That’s the one thing that he can’t take from you.

His hand immediately goes to the necklace he never removes. Your gift to him. “I’m glad to see you still have that,” you nod in the direction of his jewelry.

“It was never the gold that I wanted. It is always you.”

“I suppose you being the first man to split me open was the ultimate gift then,” he scoffs at you, dropping his hands directly at his sides. “If you please, Captain Barnes. I have an engagement to fulfill. Unless you’re making a fool's errand to kidnap me before I walk to my death tomorrow.”

“Meet me at the docks,” you cock an eyebrow up at him. “My ship is scheduled to leave this afternoon. But I have a smaller boat in the dock. They’ll grant us safe passage, and I can’t be accused of taking you,” you step away from him, and glance in every direction. “We chose this meeting place due to the lack of activity around here. Nobody is here. You’re also unaccompanied.”

“Which will be quickly remedied, I’m sure. Lady Margaret is never too far away,” he grabs ahold of your wrist, and jerks you closer to him. He’d never had soft hands. They were calloused from the many years of work he’s already put in, “James.”

“Tell me that you’ll meet me at the docks tonight. You know what will happen after a year if you haven’t given him a child. Please, Milady. Don’t make me beg.”

“I won’t make you beg, but I will ask you to say it,” begging isn’t your idea of love. His sweet words of reassurance that you are worth love is something you crave.

“I love you. And as God as my witness, I will take you from here, and you will have your freedom, and my protection,” you gulp, slowly closing your eyes to stop the burn, and give him a nod. Peering up into his crystal blue eyes you feel safe. It’s been such a long time since you’ve felt adored. Deciding to make love with James had been stupid, rushed, and irresponsible. And yet, you regret nothing. You wanted the first time you laid with a man to mean something, and to be your choice.

“And I will make an honest woman out of you as soon as we are on the ship. I have someone who will marry us. He won’t be able to take my wife away from me,” he brags before his thumb playfully traces lines on the identifiable constellation that your moles make. He never asks about it, but he loves to touch the oddly colored pattern.

“He would make an example of you,” you return the gesture, and rub along his scared skin. It’s an image that haunts you, and one he has never divulged more information on. Your finger slides from the healed skin, and traces the pattern of his merchant’s mark. A mark sealing him to never be part of any other union. Stuck forever as a merchant, and man of the sea.

“Let him try,” his voice is so tender as he pulls you, pressing his precious lips against yours in a chaste kiss. “Midnight,” he whispers in your ear, and pulls away too quickly before he’s running back to the docks, and his ship. For once, he didn’t lie.

Your fiance pulls you close into his side. His lips turn up into a slimy smile as he glances at the guests. Other women in invisible shackles, and men licking their lips like you’re the five course meal. “Margaret tells me about the boy you were kissing this afternoon,” you gulp, but put on a smile, and press your hand over his chest, “Give me a name, and I won’t let these men see you when you take your first cock.”

It has been his plan all along. You look up at him, eyes shuffling around his own to get a read on him. He’s serious. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll take every cock at this fucking table while I watch.”

“And what if one of them gets me pregnant, and not you.”

“The bastard in your belly would still bear my name. Now tell me who you were kissing, you filthy slut,” his words cut deeply. Sure, you weren’t walking into marriage intact, but you laid with a man that you love. You search your brain for any name, knowing that some man was going to bear the punishment that is meant for James. And if you’re lucky, once you get out of here no harm will befall someone.

“It was,” you blink away the tears growing in your eyes, glancing around the room at this disgusting concoction of men, “It was — I don’t know their name. It was the,” fuck. “I think he was the farrier apprentice,” Pierce cocks his brow at you. You just mostly heard that the apprentice was a drunk who didn’t take no as an answer when it came to women. He would be worthy of a punishment.

He leans in closer, “You better be glad Margaret saw you. I’m sure that gutter rat would have taken what belongs to me if given the chance,” he straightens himself up. “It’s what they all do for a chance to sit at this table,” all but admitting in the trade of women to further a man’s standing.

You’ve got to get out of here. Midnight can’t come fast enough.

Checking around a building, you make sure nobody is in sight before you run. Running so fast that tears sting your eyes. You have one chance to get out of here, and you’re taking it whether you live or die. There’s some things worse than death, and whatever hell Pierce has in store for you is worse.

You don’t glance back as you run towards your freedom, and the love of your life. You don’t care about what waits behind you because all that matters is out at sea. You can forgo all the proper dresses, and corsets. Forget about never going hungry. Because the sea means nobody owns you. Nobody can have you.

“Where are you going?”

“No!” You scream as a filthy hand buries your head in a sack. “James!”

“Quiet, you mongrel,” his sweat sticky arms wrap around you, and he hauls you over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t be out at night. She’s too clean to be a whore. For now,” his voice. This isn’t an upstanding citizen of society. This isn’t Pierce’s men. Shit. Some things are worse than death. And you just might have gotten caught by a different devil.

“Tell the Captain, I’ve brought him a prize.”

“Raise the sails, and hoist the colors!”

“Aye!” A round of shouting arises, and you feel every ounce of hope drain out of you. There’s only one ship that changes out their sails. Hydra. While the pirates of Hydra are notorious for their cruelty, they also had the ability to trade in illegal goods, with the same men that proclaimed the goods were illegal to begin with. Bastards. Every last one of them.

Picking at your skirts, you refuse to look at everyone in here with you. From your account it seemed no more than ten women. And yet you’re the one caged. One looks to you, and tilts her head in an almost feline manner. “Who the hell is that?”

“Someone that the hawk brought in here. Says we must feed her, and not let any of the men touch her,” another grouses. You don’t want to know their names. You don’t want to know why they’re here, unchained, un-caged, and just as sweaty looking as the man that tossed you in here. They’re part of it.

“They left that necklace on her. Might be worth something. Give it to me,” she sticks her hand in the cage. You pull the necklace down until the fine chain breaks, and launch it right at her face unceremoniously. “Oh, he’ll like you, you little bitch. Married?”

You glare at her, wrapping both arms around your chest. “She’s not. So a fresh sweet cunny for him,” the women titter, oohing and ahhing over Pierce’s necklace. “The Lord of Banqueesh is your betrothed? Honey, you went from one lion’s den to another.”

“Where am I?”

“You don’t know?” The main one speaking to you asks. Again her head tilts, and it annoys you. Beds in various shapes of unclean line the walls of this tomb. The stench is no normal smell. It’s sex and bodily fluids. “Come now, you know exactly whose ship you're in. He’s what nightmares are made of.”

“Tell your captain, I demand to be taken back to,” you stop. She is right, Pierce is no better than where you reside.

“What were you doing out after dark? You mean that husband of yours wasn’t pimping you out to his friends for sport,” she knows too much about Pierce. It’s true he had a reputation, but most people assumed he was such an amazing man on the island. That he is just and fair to the people. They believe in a charming smile, and a handsome face. But you see his true self.

“We’re no different, you and I. I however married the bastard,” you narrow your eyes looking at her. “And I had my womb ripped out of my body for not producing him an heir. Thrown into the streets to bleed out and have wild dogs rip me apart. Then I found my solace from a hawk.”

“So you’re just as cruel as him?” she smiles, licking her lips.

“I became them. I’ll never let a man own me again, so I become just as cruel as them.”

“Should have killed him first,” her face is always in a cruel smirk. Looking damn near animalistic, like at any moment she will strike.

“Become useful, and they no longer want to use you.”

“What about them?” You jut your chin up to the women in the room. “Whores?”

“Yes,” is her simple reply, and you look down in your lap. “They know their place, and even a whore has a place on a ship. But what to do with you? You’re not in an acceptable dress to be having dinner with the captain.”

“I won’t sleep with him.”

“You’ll do whatever it is he wants you to. You’ll learn real quick he doesn’t respond to the word no well,” she reaches into a wardrobe, and throws a new dress into your cage. “Get dressed. And if you refuse, I’ll make sure you have an audience while you’re made to get dressed. Ladies,” she gives a nod to the women who all scatter out of the room, and she turns her back to you. “Let me guess, your father was an up and coming man, and he desired power and fortune above his daughter?”

“Something like that,” you aren’t even sure what happened. How you wound up here. You remember being in the stables with the stable boy, and… “I don’t tend to make excuses for men. I wasn’t born in the city, didn’t grow up in the city, but I did become a lady for slaughter in the city,” she hums. She knows a bit too much of your situation without knowing. And understanding that once, she was you.

“Are you going to come willingly?” She turns around abruptly, and you’re still lacing up the front of your dress. “Or shall I shackle you, and make you take a trail of shame,” this dress is much more exposing. Your breasts bulge out the top, and there’s no ladylike way to cover them up. “You can be a well behaved girl, huh? Come on. He’ll be ready for his dinner shortly. Head down.”

You do as the woman says. Matching her step to wherever she leads you to meet with the Captain. Trading one lion’s den for another, in her words. For now. She pulls out a chair for you. You sit, and wait. It isn’t fine dining, but somewhat clean. The woman stands too close to you, understandable.

“How long must I wait?”

“Until you don’t have to wait any longer,” incorrigible. Sighing, you look around the dining area. “You will be eating alone. And there’s but one exit. Once the captain arrives I will be outside the door.”

The door creaks behind you, and you sit up straighter. Calming your breath. The woman gives a nod to the captain, and as promised, leaves. You stare up at your captor, just as sweaty and grimy as the rest. He makes no movement, but he stares just as hard as you are. Icy blue eyes try to put you just as low as he thinks you are.

He takes the few steps over to a water basin, and you stare horrified at the grim and blood washed from your hands. You’re doubtful that you were the only thing taken from the island. He stares eerily as the blood sloughs away, refusing to stop until his hands are mostly clean. He has some manners.

“Was there an attack?”

He turns back to look at you, offering a hungry smile. But his hunger isn’t something you can stave off with food. His hunger is something more primal.

His tongue licks over his teeth like he’s going to devour you. “Why am I here?” he just shakes his head, wagging his finger ‘no’ at you. Flicking his finger upwards, you stand.

“You’re quite the woman, Miss…?” The captain’s eyes wander slowly on your body.

You’ve lied enough already, might as well continue, “Isabella,” the man scoffs, and starts stalking around you. Sizing you up. Thinking about what he’s going to do to you. “I am engaged.”

“Lord Pierce won’t be looking for you. He was too busy fucking some whore tonight. You were disposed of a bit early for his liking, I’m sure. But he’ll find a replacement in time,” the longer he waits the less likely his balls will be to secure his legacy. Good. “It’s probably worked out the best for you.”

“Aren’t you just as cruel as Lord Pierce? Are you not a thief?” He shrugs with a smile. “Are you not a pirate?”

“So you’ve heard about me,” his smile stretches out too severely across his cheeks as he bows. “At your service.”

“Not you. Hydra.”

“And who do you think controls them? Who is the captain of this ship?”

“An arrogant asshole?” Steve shakes his finger at you laughing before sitting down. He removes the cloche, and rips off a leg off the giant fowl.

“I like you. Eat,” he doesn’t look like the pirates you have heard about. There’s a handsomeness in his hard angled features. “Eat!”

“I’m not hungry,” your chin tilts up, and you look away from him. He strikes. Grabbing at your arm and slamming it to the table. Screaming, you look at him with tears in your eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

The captain tilts his head curiously, assessing your face before his vision oozes down your body. He lingers on the slopes of your breasts. Too quickly he strikes, pulling your arm closer to him, and his eyes zero in to the last part that James touched. “It’s a birthmark.”

His eyes coast up your arm, and lingers on your tits again. He licks his lips hungrily before his Cheshire grin makes you uncomfortable. He watches your face as his free hand rubs over the cluster of moles, and he laughs when you cringe at the feeling. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like you touching me,” there is nothing satisfactory about the rough hard fingertips of him. You smell the acrid stench of death all over him. You don’t know who or what he pillaged, but it’s obvious you were not the only thing stolen tonight.

“Touching you, or touching it? The so-called birthmark I mean,” he sits back down, but keeps holding your arm with one hand, while the other traces lines between the moles. “It’s curious.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s an odd color,” you shrug. It didn’t mean anything. “It’s in the shape of Ursa Minor,” you shrug again. Clearing his throat, he releases your arm, and gestures to the meat in the middle of the table. “Eat.”

This time you don’t argue, and reach in front of you. “It’s a long journey where we’re going.”

“And that is?”

“The land where we dock,” these assholes. “Have you enjoyed your sleeping quarters?” You snort, and continue to chew your food. He gazes at you for too long before taking another bite, talking to you while chewing, “Very well, I’ll have you join my sleeping quarters.”

“No,” the captain lifts an eyebrow, “No, thank you.”

“You’re a hard woman to please, Miss Isabella,” there’s something in the sound of his voice. He doesn’t believe the fake name that you gave him.

“When you said that Pierce was fucking a whore, how did you know?” He only smiles at you while he takes another bite. “How did you know I was engaged to him?”

“Your necklace,” that’s a satisfactory answer. “Plus, we were coming to collect you.”

“Me?” He nods, reaching to a serving bowl, and dishes some potatoes on your plate, and then to his. “Why were you collecting me?”

“Was asked to.”

“By?”

“Does it matter?” It matters a great deal. Is this the ship that is taking you to Bucky? Or is this some other nefarious deal?

“And are you meant to take me to the person that asked?” That stupid smile again, but no answer. “You’re infuriating.”

“What if I said I was sent to sully your good name? How would that make you feel?”

“My name has already been sullen,” his smile immediately leaves his face, and his chewing becomes slower. An unsettling feeling crawls up your back as you take him in, “Well, if you’re talking about ruining me through my cunt that is. You see, the first time I had sex it was beautiful, and we made love under the moonlight on the beach. Every time after that was in allies and on ships that didn’t belong to us, fucking like rabbits. If it makes you feel better he never spilled in me. Except for the first time. He couldn’t handle the feeling of my tight cunt.”

Your head slings to side as a sharp sting from his hand paints itself on your face, “Now you see, you just fucking pissed me off you — you…”

“I believe whore is the word you’re looking for. I was no whore to anyone but him,” you scoot your chair back abruptly as he takes another swing at you. “Does it bother you to know that I’m not pure?”

“I’ve fucked many a women in my lifetime, and how many cocks she’s had inside her doesn’t piss me off. What pisses me off is your filthy little mouth. Eat your goddamn food, and quit talking like you’re no better than a common street rat,” his eyes move to his plate, and it gives you enough confidence to scoot back.

“I’m no street rat.”

“Yeah, you’re just a late blooming lady that moved into the city just in time for your etiquette teachings, and how to become a wife,” that is not information you divulged. “Street rats are forgotten. Amongst stable boys, ladies in waiting, and everyone you people deem below you. Sometimes the problem is that you think too highly for yourself, not realizing that the ones below you are the ones doing the hard labor you choose not to. Meanwhile, you curse them and blame them for your wrongdoings and they suffer, while you become savory to the people that believe you’re the epitome of grace and purity.”

You are not your father. And you say nothing. Eating in silence, while he stews over his food. “It wasn’t Pierce. He wouldn’t fuck you in the docks. He’d make people watch you as he claimed you for the first time. Who was it?”

You don’t have to have a conversation with the brute. You just need to survive. “On the beach, I bet that cunny got filled with sand. Piss poor place to take a woman’s maidenhead. By the fucking docks. You move into the city to be a lady and you become a whore for a fisherman?” Your brow must have twitched because that slippery smile lifts his mouth again.

“Tell me, why were you not in your bedroom tonight? It wouldn’t have anything to do with the merchant ship that we plundered, would it?” Your interest is piqued, you listen closer. “It does?” He’s only guessing, but clearly your face is betraying you, “Well, they were left with nothing when we finished. Not even a captain.”

“He wasn’t on the ship,” he was meant to meet you at the docks. He was there, not on his ship.

The captain’s sneer turns completely demonic, “You’ve been fucking James Barnes? You dirty little slut,” fear and anger flashes in your eyes, “My apologies. Barnes’ dirty little slut. How does it feel to know that you were no better than an easy fuck in the shadows.”

“Pierce would have had both our heads if he knew! We had to hide because it was him that I wanted!”

“So — you admit it? You’re admitting that Barnes is who you truly love? Or is it only his cock?” You blow out an exasperated breath, glaring at him. “Oh, you spoiled little urchin. You are no Isabella. You think I’m too dumb not to know who you are? Little bitch, lying to me.”

“Who asked you to retrieve me?”

“Natasha! Take the former milkmaid’s daughter down below!” Another piece of information that he was not privy to. Nobody knew your mother was merely a milkmaid.

“Who asked you?!” You screech as the woman from before grabs you up. “Captain! Did you kill him? Did you harm a hair on his body?” He snaps his fingers, and Natasha rolls her eyes. She walks over to a wardrobe and tosses horror onto the table.

“You fucking monster! That — that’s not James,” your voice dissipates when he flips the arm over, and you see his brand on his wrist. The very same image that flies on this ship. A skull with octopus tentacles. One you had just touched earlier today, “Why?”

“Did you see? It’s his left arm. He’ll never be able to wear a wedding band. That’s if he can swim with one fucking arm. Aren’t you glad that I saved him from the fate of Pierce? Your fiance was onto your unfaithful ways. The fisher people talk. Never fuck in the open, you stupid dumb bitch.”

“Was it necessary to remove his whole arm? If it was only his ring finger you were worried about, why not remove that?” What sick and twisted game was he playing? Why did he care if James was to marry?

“My hand must have slipped,” his voice is so cold. He has no regrets for doing what he did. The monster cut his fucking arm off so he wouldn’t be able to wear a wedding ring, and left him for dead in the ocean.

Your lip trembles as you stare at his arm. It’s not just the branding on his wrist, it’s the tattoos of his trade, winding and circling up his arm. James is as good as dead. “Why him?”

“Did you ever stop to wonder how he got that bloody mark on him, hmm? He was pledged to serve my crew for ten years, and then he fled,” the captain eyes you up and down, smiling at your misery. Not just the gruesome display of his arm on the table, but the knowing that he wouldn’t be able to survive that. The realization that the blood he washed only moments earlier could have been James', “And he did this all for some pussy. Take her below deck, and bring me Jezzy to fuck. I need to let off some steam. Nothing like a hard pounding fuck, huh, my little siren.”

“I’m not yours.”

“Keep your mouth shut or it’s your cunt I’m using tonight. Natasha!” You scream at him. There’s no words, just feral wails of rage as you're pulled away. “Don’t worry, one day I will make you scream in all kinds of ways. You didn’t know cruelty until you met me, Siren,” and with that the door is slammed shut, and you are dragged to your cage. To sit with the knowledge that you’re to blame for his mutilation, ending in his death.

Steve cracks his neck, listening to your pathetic sobs for James. Whether you knew it or not, you were already his. He’s always been patient. For you.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @rnurse-kole @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy