#lord beckett

[t-annuki]

pirates of the shitpost 2

[lordbucketofthecaribbean]

Oop been a while

And this is for @depressedvillainobsession

[imaginepirates]

Beck and Call

The reader is an employee of Beckett's, working as an entertainer to gather information at social events. While getting a little too close to clientele for Beckett's taste, you're pulled off to an unoccupied room so he can remind you exactly who's in charge. Of course, things get frisky from there.

Please note that the reader is fem. Also know that the fic features a heated makeout session and strip-tease, but no full nsfw content.

@emdrabbles @tesserphantom @viper-official @hellspawn-brownies @groovy-lady @ghoulishbehaviour

~3300 words

~~~~~~~

What first caught your eye was the rather loud waistcoat. Even from across the room, the amount of embroidery looked egregious. It was somewhat made up for by the tasteful choices in color, which managed not to clash with each other on the bright fabric. If the Lowell family were known for anything, it was their flamboyance. And annoyingly good hair, you thought to yourself, touching your own lightly to ensure the pins were staying in place. 

The wearer of said offending waistcoat was the youngest of the Lowell boys, quite eager to prove himself to high society. He was a handsome sort, with a sharp jaw and a ready smile, all blonde curls and shining eyes. Open to speaking about anything, too, which was exactly why you were there. 

The boy’s father had just come into a position in the House of Lords, and would be yet another influencing factor on trade. Your job was to make him talk, to see how open his father might be to working with your own employer, a certain Cutler Beckett. Beckett was always looking for political sway, so you were always dragged to social events to eavesdrop. Spying was too harsh a word, he told you, though you knew he’d let you call it whatever you liked as long as the job got done. 

Thankfully, all socials needed entertainers, and entertaining made you just interesting enough to speak to. You could, of course, pose as some highborn lady, but for the Lowell boy, nothing less than the most dazzling performer would do.

You struck a captivating figure, even you had to admit. Beckett had near outdone himself—he wasn’t one to be afraid of dressing you immodestly, but your dangerously low neckline was nothing short of scandalous. Your dress, a dark turquoise mantua the color of stormy seas, was accented by embellishments of white and gold. Tiny satin roses sat along a creme stomacher, and lace spilled out from the elbows of your sleeves and along your collar. False ringlets hung at the sides of your face, giving the illusion you had more hair than a head could hold. Your jewelry, too, had its own extravagance. A pearl necklace lay at your throat in three lengths, and your earrings featured one dangling pearl apiece. 

Truth be told, you felt a little like a trussed up doll, but you supposed that was all you were for the evening anyway. 

You took your place amongst the musicians, keeping an eye on the boy as you went. You made sure to pass by close enough that he had no choice but to notice you, and you blushed prettily as his gaze trailed after you. Eye contact. If you’d learned anything, meeting a man’s eye for a brief moment was more daring, more alluring, than any dress you could ever wear. 

Working for Beckett required a wide range of abilities from you—singing, dancing, pianoforte, social skills—and you were always expected to put them to use. There were the other necessities, sometimes, like good aim, which you preferred to leave to Mercer, but you learned all the same. Tonight, thankfully, all that was required of you was your voice

So you sang. Backed by a small ensemble, you provided the music for partygoers to dance to, raking your eyes over the crowd all the while, taking in the social scene. You stood at the perfect spot for observing who talked to who, and which groups avoided each other, and if anyone’s dress was out of season, and whether or not the Lowell boy accepted drinks from waiters. 

Oh, and Beckett’s piercing gaze. 

Nobody else noticed—nobody else could—as Beckett watched you from the corner of his eye. His stare raked across you, making gooseflesh rise on your arms and a shiver run down the back of your neck. He watched, of course, to make sure you were doing your job, and that his eyes weren’t the only pair drawn to you. But you had been under his employment a long time, and you knew his many looks, and the darkness in this particular look was one he reserved for precious few people. In fact, you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him direct this look to anyone but yourself, which gave you a little too much satisfaction. 

This look was one of desire, and you’d be damned if you didn’t capitalize on it. Beckett wasn’t the only one who could toy with people. 

The performance over, you mingled with the crowd, graciously accepting compliments and putting on a dazzling smile. It didn’t take long for the boy to be drawn over; his eyes carding over you with clear interest, and you knew it wasn’t just your voice drawing his attention. 

“That was positively breathtaking.” He had a pretty smile, you conceded to yourself, but was full of foppish energy you’d have to brace yourself against. 

“Thank you.” You pretended to be flattered. 

“You’re breathtaking, as well. Wherever did you get that dress?”

The problem, you found, was that he was really and truly interested. All his excitement was genuine, and as much as you hated to use it against him, it was your job. “The silk is from China,” you lied. China sounded much more interesting than Bristol, and he wouldn’t know the difference. 

Soon, he was talking about his father, and you listened to every word. When the topic of spices and textiles arose, you slipped Beckett’s name into the mix, mentioning him as the gifter of your dress. To the Lowell boy, it was nothing more than an offhand comment, but you knew Beckett’s name was in his brain now, and as sure as he was to mention you to his father, he would be mentioning Beckett as well. 

It was when you let him inspect the pearls at your throat that you noticed Beckett’s glare from across the room, hot and fixated on the spot where the boy’s fingers made contact with your skin. You had the sudden feeling you’d done something wrong. Oh, the show you were making of yourself wasn’t truly vital, no, but surely Beckett couldn’t be upset about it. 

Surely he couldn’t be jealous.

Mercer appeared by your shoulder in short order, seemingly out of nowhere. “I’m afraid the songbird is needed elsewhere,” he drawled. “I’m sure she’ll be back in not too long.”

“Oh, of course.” The boy smiled, bidding you farewell. “For you, I can wait.” 

You rather hoped he didn’t.

You let Mercer drag you away from the crowd, though his iron grip on your arm wasn’t wholly necessary. You had no doubt who the order had come from—you were at the man’s beck and call. A thrill ran through you; you couldn’t help but feel a little excited. After all, you’d succeeded in making the famously well-restrained Cutler Beckett snap under the weight of jealousy. But you were apprehensive, too. There was no telling just how he would react, and though you weren’t afraid, necessarily, you were aware he could cause you discomfort without doing harm. 

Mercer pulled you into a library, oak shelves making a maze of the room. At the back, Beckett sat in a comfortable looking chair, rising unhurriedly to greet you. He gave you a casual once-over before turning away to inspect a row of exotic artifacts, affecting disinterest.

“You’ve taken quite the shining to the Lowell boy.” 

“Well,” you started, taking on the same air, “shining is the word to describe me tonight. You’ve made sure of that.”

He turned back to you then, regarding you darkly. He wouldn’t fall for any of your charm; at least, he’d be aware of your acting. You couldn’t fool him. 

But you didn’t need to. Despite trying to make it look otherwise, he’d already given away his attraction to you, and it only felt right to give him what he made you give others. You couldn’t get shy on him now—that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted your acting, even if he knew that’s what it was. You were a performer, and he liked a show.

“Your…enthusiasm…in tonight’s assignment was unparalleled. I’ve never seen you take such an interest in any of our potential clients before.” Beckett looked up at you through dark lashes. “Though,” he paused, brows knitting together ever so slightly, “I do wonder why that boy in particular caught your attention.”

You fingered one of the small roses adorning your dress, trying very hard to seem like you weren’t thinking critically about your answer. “Oh,” you sighed, letting your chest rise and fall a little more than natural, “you know how it is. He’s young and pretty and has so many stories and so much energy. One can’t help but get pulled into his halo of excitement.”

Beckett snorted. “Please. You’re too smart to find any substance in that sort of personality.”

“It’s not his personality I need to find substance in.”

Beckett’s eyes flashed with an intensity you’d never seen, dangerous. You were in deep waters now, you realized, and there was no backing out. 

“Of course,” you continued, “we would need an empty room and locking doors. I’m sure you could procure something of the sort, given our current atmosphere.” You waved a hand, vaguely gesturing at the library. Then, you stilled, looking back at Beckett with your brows raised as if a thought had only just now occurred to you. “You weren’t hoping for something similar, dragging me in here, were you?”

Lighting quick, Beckett had one of your wrists in his hand, pulling you closer, his breath ghosting across the shell of your ear. “I know what you’re doing. I wouldn’t test me, if I were you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and the nerves in your wrist crackled with some electric impulse triggered by Beckett’s touch. It took everything in you not to gasp. You hadn’t expected his hold to be so tight, but he kept you in a vice grip, and you knew then and there you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to. 

You steeled your nerves. This was a game, and you had to make your next move, risky as it felt. 

“Or what?” You whispered low in his ear. Your free hand made its way to the joint between his shoulder and chest as if to steady yourself on him, a teasing touch. He breathed deeply against it, and the light press of your fingertips became the flat of your palm.

“Or I’ll show you just what can be done in an empty library.”

He pulled away abruptly, a tidal wave of relief cascading over you. The onslaught wasn’t over, of course, but he was giving you a respite, and though you weren’t admitting defeat quite yet, you’d take it. 

Beckett sat back in the chair, relaxing, a smirk resting on his face. “Go on then. Show me how you would seduce this boy.”

You nearly balked at the suggestion. Whatever you’d been expecting, it wasn’t this—this forwardness, so casually put, not a trace of hesitancy to be seen. You only wondered for a brief moment whether he was serious; the confidence in his deepening smirk told you all you needed to know. 

You straightened. Beckett wasn’t going to back down, and his words weren’t a suggestion. They were an order. That thought alone made you weak at the knees.

Always start slow. This was a seduction, and a seduction called for a certain amount of teasing. Anticipation was the true key; keep your voyeur waiting until they simply couldn’t wait any longer, until they became too enthralled to turn away. You began with the pins at the back of your dress, letting the pleats and folds in the back fall with each steel fastening removed. Heavy fabric settled on the floor, the back of the dress now more of a train. 

Beckett was still perfectly composed, but the effect of your efforts was clear. His eyes followed your every movement keenly. You took advantage of it, having nowhere to set the pins but the small desk beside him. You bent down, allowing him a good look at your décolletage, and you were gratified to see him draw in a breath. 

Next to go was the stomacher, also pinned in place. Here, the true divestment began. Once the stomacher was off, the front of your stays would be on full display. You’d known Beckett a long time, and he’d seen you in plenty of compromising positions, but never like this. 

Eye contact, you reminded yourself. More alluring than any dress. More alluring than any undress. 

Beckett settled back in his chair as the stomacher came undone, staring openly at the space it previously occupied. You wondered how often he’d had the chance to see women’s undergarments so personally, but waved that though away, bringing your hands up to the ruffled sides of your bodice and slowly, ever so slowly, peeled it off your shoulders and let it drop to the ground. 

Beckett readjusted in his seat. You could hear his breathing, now, and his lips sat slightly parted, as if he could taste you on the air. Your arms, now bare, felt the chill of the library acutely. If you shivered, it wasn’t from the cool alone—Beckett’s eyes raked over you with undisguised lust, making it hard for you to keep from blushing. You were all petticoats, well beyond the definition of improper. 

You untied your silk skirt, a matching turquoise to the bodice, never taking your eyes off Beckett’s own, even as his wandered. You had to slip it off over your head, but you managed it smoothly. That too you dropped on the floor, letting it slide right out of your fingers. 

Beckett’s eyes met yours again, though you could tell he was getting impatient. You loosed the panniers from your sides where they hung to give your skirt its volume, dangling them from your fingers. You walked towards him, setting the small hoops down atop the pins you’d put next to him. Precious little covered you; your modesty was saved by your chemise, though you didn’t expect it to last. 

For a long moment, you and Beckett stared at each other. You were close enough to touch, but he refrained from reaching out, clearly interested in what you would do next. 

“May I use the chair?” You didn’t wait for a response, raising one foot to the seat just next to Beckett’s thigh. Your stockings had to go, and you began untying the garter fastened just above your knee, your chemise now hiked up to reveal a sliver of skin. One of Beckett’s hands moved, seemingly involuntary, and you smiled, shaking your head. 

“Look, don’t touch.”

Beckett’s eyes snapped up to yours. It was your turn to give orders, and you weren’t about to play fair. You unlaced your garter, dropping it in Beckett’s lap. Then, inch by inch, you rolled down your stocking, only divesting yourself of it when you were sure Beckett felt tortured by it. He exhaled, resting his head against the back of the seat. But he smiled—a genuine smile—and you knew you were doing the right thing. 

“Dear god,” he breathed, still watching as you undid your other stocking. “You’re lucky I’m a patient man. Otherwise I’d already have you bent over a desk somewhere.”

The way he’d grabbed you earlier, you didn’t doubt it. “And have everything over with so quickly?” you teased. “That’s no fun.”

“You have a point. Though, if you keep me waiting much longer, I might not be able to help myself.” His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and you blushed a little in spite of yourself. 

The moment your other stocking hit the floor, Beckett was out of his seat, spinning you around to press you against the wall. You gasped but didn’t resist, relishing a little in the way his hands explored you, running down your sides and pulling you closer by the hips. His lips brushed your neck, and you tilted your head to give him better access. 

The first kiss seared your skin. You found purchase in the back of his waistcoat, digging your fingers into the fabric to steady yourself. He continued his administrations down to your shoulder, where his teeth drew your attention to the soft bite he left above your collarbone. You couldn’t help the quiet moan that escaped you. If he wasn’t careful, you’d have marks littering your skin come morning, and they’d be on display for everyone to see. You considered that this very thing might be his intent, but his lips at the tops of your breasts distracted you entirely. 

You felt his smirk more than saw it, and you knew he was taking great satisfaction in all the little noises you kept making. His touch became hampered by your stays, but he hardly seemed bothered. 

“Be good for me and turn around, yes?” He murmured.

You complied immediately, shocked by how quickly he made work of the lacings. You couldn’t help but wonder whether he ever meant to kiss you properly. A hint of disappointment wormed its way into your brain; you liked what Beckett was doing to you, that couldn’t be denied, but you didn’t want it to be all he did. You didn’t want to be a fling. If you were being honest with yourself, you longed for him to care about you, and you longed for him to show it.

You turned back to him appraising you, eyes raking over your form. The only thing covering you was your chemise, though you felt naked under his gaze. 

“Kiss me.” You disguised your plea with as much confidence as you could muster. For a moment, you feared he wouldn’t understand, or that he would reject you outright, but all worry was wiped away as his lips crushed against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs with its intensity. 

You were both panting when you parted, though Beckett looked like he could kiss you until he suffocated. The idea both thrilled and concerned you. You reached out, cupping his face in your hands, watching the surprise on his face turn to mild desperation as he leaned into your touch. You pulled him in again for a gentler, more tender kiss, and he sighed against your lips. 

You’d never seen such softness in him before, and you were almost afraid of breaking him. His pupils, blown wide, remained fixed on you in a sort of daze, and to your great astonishment, a blush had crept up his cheeks. 

He hadn’t anticipated this, either, you thought. This tenderness is more intimate to him than any power-play could ever be. You could explore him like this forever, you realized. Gentleness was something foreign to him, but he lost himself in it, needed it terribly. 

Before you could get any further, a knock at the door had you pulling away from each other, gasping for breath and trying to shake off the little world you’d gotten so lost in. 

Mercer slipped in, paying you and your state of undress no mind. He didn’t seem surprised in the slightest to see you both unkempt. “Lord Lowell has an interest in speaking with you, Sir. It seems the youngest Lowell boy has been talking with his father about you.”

“Ah.” Beckett recovered his composure with impressive speed. “I’m glad to hear our little bird sung so sweetly as to sway him.” He looked at you teasingly. Mercer stepped out, affording you some privacy and Beckett a moment to get himself back together. “An unfortunate interruption. Though I do hope you won’t mind resuming later?” You were pleased to see a glint of hope in his eye—he wasn’t as unaffected as he liked to pretend.

“Oh,” you leaned in, whispering in his ear, “I’m counting on it. I’m still not sure you’ve shown me quite everything one can do in an empty library.”

I've never put dividers in my fics before, so please tell me if you liked them!

[eleinemk]

Re-watching potc and dead man's chest and at worlds end really have some pretty hand shots

[moonchild-in-blue]

What is a movie's best one-liner delivery, and why is Lord Beckett's -

"The immaterial has become immaterial"

- from POTC At World's End?

[forthegoodofthecompany]

[thechaosghost]

Felting lord Beckett, also don’t worry, I’ll attach his head when I’m finished with the body!

[muneh1966]

Am I bored on the bus and reblogging everything I like on here? Yes. Yes I am. Deal with it.

[profeyandere]

𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐁. ─── ☾ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏

Masterlist || Pirates of the Caribbean Masterlist || Wattpad

Word Count: 3k

Pairing: Cutler Beckett x Fem!Reader

Warning: None :D

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

A young Cutler Beckett was, as he did every day after the summer holidays had begun after the last semester of learning at school, in the small park that was closest to the port and that was furthest from his house, trying to seek the tranquillity that he had not been allowed to have since the moment in which the last month of the school year had begun, being forced to move away from the pleasures that reading and other various arts of literature brought him; the young boy, although he had been marked as someone weak and sick from a very young age due to his appearance and his terrible immune system, had always been fascinated by the written arts, mainly by his older sister who had bothered to seek his well-being in at all times and had managed to transmit all the wisdom he possessed through books, hence his love for them.

Now that the summer holidays had arrived, and knowing that he would have to see his father more than he liked to imagine, he was forced to find someplace that would allow him to be calm in the mornings, at least until meal time, to later lock himself in his room to continue with his different studies in which his brothers would not interfere due to their lack of intellect. Cutler was the most intelligent of the three youngest men in the family and had found a way to keep his two brothers away while he was in the comfort of his home, in this case investigating a specific topic that did not interest them at all.

Beckett found in a large old tree the perfect place to hide from the world, staying in the shade and feeling sheltered by the fresh breeze that came from the sea, which could perfectly be seen from the point where he settled. He found himself gently brushing aside the small dry leaves that fell laughingly on his head or between the pages of his book, but on this particular day, it seemed that the tree must be willing to disturb him because a large number of leaves had begun to pile up on his sides and about himself, coming to feel so overwhelmed that he forced himself to stop reading to change position several times, believing that in this way that little martyrdom would end.

« This can't be possible », the boy thought to himself, looking momentarily towards the top of the tree, unable to distinguish anything that could be causing that constant movement in him.

The passing thought that it could be a wild animal made him calm down, maybe a cat or a squirrel could have lodged between the branches, and their constant movement caused the leaves to fall, in addition to the fact that the gentle wind could be of more help to cause the constant fall of the same, but when he narrowed his eyes slightly to be able to focus more on the great shadow that was above him, he felt a great chill in his whole body when he saw two enormous eyes look at him; Beckett couldn't tell exactly what kind of animal he was, but when he spotted those huge pearls that belonged to you he felt quite unsettled and annoyed.

« What intention would anyone have in observing me if it is not to annoy me? »

That question filled him with some fear as he thought that he was in danger and, with a quick and light movement of his legs and arms, he managed to stand up, facing the tree so that he could carefully observe the crown in which he had installed himself without having been noticed by him, looking for the shape of your body among the leafy and greenish leaves that covered the skeleton of the plant.

"Okay, you have five seconds to report to me before I call the authorities who, by the way, are a few meters from here," he warned seriously, hearing a soft giggle that came from you. Angrier, he snapped back. "I advise you to take this seriously because, whoever it is, I don't care if I denounce this lack of consideration and respect."

For your part, although it amused you to see how he had reacted as soon as he had noticed your presence, you couldn't help but think that the sooner you explained your reasons, the sooner you would feel as calm as you had during the time you had been together passed unnoticed so, intertwining your ankles around the branch you were lying on, you allowed yourself to fall face down to come face to face with him. Surprised by the closeness, he took a couple of steps back to put some distance between the two.

"Hello," you greeted me with emotion, dragging your fingers through your scalp to let your hair fall due to the action of gravity, "consider me pointing out that I had found that novel fascinating and, due to your paranoia, you have not allowed me to continue it."

Beckett was completely silent as soon as you appeared because, although he could easily distinguish that you were a woman, the type of clothes you were wearing, in addition to the manners with which you had presented yourself with him, seemed too strange to him; everything about you seemed curious, fascinating and abhorrent at the same time.

You were an all-in-one.

"Sorry?" He questioned, he had once come to his senses and had been able to react to your words. "Read my novel?"

"Of course," you said quickly, gently nodding your head. "I love to read, but my father doesn't allow me to bring too many books with me, and it's only when we land that I can read anything other than regulations and all that nonsense."

"I suggest that if you want to read a book, you go to the library which is four streets from our position," Beckett pointed out, turning his head to look at an elderly couple who were immersing themselves in the crowd in the nearby plaza. "It would be a pleasure to accompany you, but I'm sure you'll be able to find it on your own. I would only be a burden to you."

"Of course, of course," you replied sarcastically, rolling your eyes. "But I'm interested in that book, so if you'd be so kind, could you sit down and pick up where you left off, or am I going to have to take the book away from you so I can continue on my own?"

"In case you haven't understood me correctly, I'm telling you directly that I have no interest in you being my company this Saturday morning," he spoke again, this time with a more distant tone as he held the book between them more tightly in his hands.

"Oh, I see," you murmured. "What about them?"

The question confused Beckett and, although you took advantage of the moment he turned to steal the book from him in a moment of confusion, he felt indignant at the impolite way you had shown your interest in the novel he was reading. He wouldn't have shared the book with you, after all, it wasn't entirely his, and you were just a stranger, but as soon as he saw you take it in your mouth and return to stand on the branch, he internally regretted not having agreed to sit back on the ground and endure your sudden movements on the branch.

"Give it back," he ordered seriously, extending his arm to the branch, meeting with silence in response.

"Let me finish the chapter, and I'll answer you," you murmured, already immersed in the reading while you placed the branches in such a way that I couldn't see you.

"No," he quickly denied, moving closer to the trunk and tilting her head toward several gaps in the branches to try to find you. "The book does not belong to me, so I demand that you come down from that tree and return it to me right now."

The seriousness with which he had spoken to you had almost made you laugh because, even though you were on one of the branches closest to the ground, it amused you to see the way he spoke to the air as if he were truly speaking directly to you, hoping to be able to exercise some power over you so that you would obey him and, although you were about to return the book to him out of grief at seeing him so alarmed, it almost seemed like a better idea to make him suffer while you entertained yourself with his strange angry faces. You had made sure that his brow was furrowed exaggeratedly and, although he spoke calmly and his body showed the attacking posture he was taking in the argument, his slightly wrinkled nose took away all the serious side he was trying to show you, giving him an air very similar to an angry rabbit or a raging hamster.

"I intend to keep this book until the end of the chapter," you repeated, slowly moving a small branch that covered your face so you could make eye contact with him. "Also, keep doing that cute face you do, I find it very attractive."

The teasing you had done to him had annoyed him and, although you remained several seconds looking at each other in search of some answer from the other, Beckett was confused to see how your eyes widened with fear and suddenly disappeared from his field of vision when moving again the small branches that had covered you, but when he heard a series of very characteristic voices that always made his hair stand on end, he understood your reaction. The three boys who approached him with mischievous smiles were his classmates who, although he had been able to avoid them for a while, he had not expected to find them in a place so far from the crowd that they were always stuck.

You, on the other hand, had hidden even better in the treetop as you watched the scene begin to unfold between the stranger and the trio who seemed so interested in him.

At first, you were not worried about the meeting between the young people and, although it was true that you were not able to hear a word of what they said since you had settled on the branch to resume reading, you had been able to observe that the four of them began to talk calmly, even if the face of the brown-haired boy you had met showed more tension as soon as he had seen them arrive. You gently tilted your head to the side, curious and confused, for you couldn't understand how a group of people who knew each other could be in tension while around each other.

You made sure of the look that the boy you had met showed and, although it was true that you were not aware of anything about him, you were able to feel the slight panic and anger he felt due to the position he presented. His hands were made into fists, with completely white knuckles, while his eyes were slowly exchanging between the three who were looking for some kind of help or courage to face him and you, before the penetrating and malicious gaze of the three thugs, you couldn't help but act.

Your body reacted on its own because, as soon as you realized it, you were already with your feet on the ground, having placed yourself between the trio of thugs in front of you, and the stranger who had ended up behind your back. Even if you hadn't seen it, the brown-haired man was pleasantly surprised to see you appear suddenly and disinterestedly.

"And this one?" One of the kids asked, letting his arm rest on the shoulder of the one in the middle, dropping his weight to try and intimidate you. "Look at those clothes, didn't they teach you that you should wear a skirt?"

"And you surely used a puddle of mud as a mirror before leaving home, but nobody tells you anything," you countered, smiling broadly to the point where your teeth could be seen perfectly and your playful tongue appeared between them as a warning. derision.

Your scowl angered the trio of boys who, ready to make the first move at the start of a fight, seemed to come to an abrupt halt when they took in the small black ink mark on your right wrist that you were unashamedly displaying and the small object you took out of the pocket of your pants with which you began to play and move without hesitation. Beckett, who could only see your back and the faces of his thugs, was confused to see how his faces turned a sickly whitish hue as if they had seen a ghost pass in front of his eyes.

"Okay, guys," you said, leaning forward, holding out the hand that held the small knife you'd drawn. "What were you going to do? Don't you want to come a little closer to talk about why you bothered my friend?"

"Your friend?" One of them questioned, causing them to look quickly at each other. "Is Beckett your friend?"

"Of course, we're close," you lied. "Are you going to answer me now or do I have to call my comrades?"

At that question, the trio began to shake their heads quickly before taking a few steps back, mainly out of fear and distrust, before starting to run in the opposite direction to which they were heading so they could warn the closer guards close to your position.

With a victorious smile, you turned to face Beckett, receiving a strong headbutt from him who, wanting to thank you for your act of bravery, had come too close to you without expecting you to turn to look at him, causing both of you to separate a few seconds steps before you, seeing how he rubbed his forehead, began to laugh; with the tension already eliminated around you, you had managed to release yours in that way, confusing him.

"What are you laughing at?” he questioned in confusion, frowning.

"Easy, tiger," you tried to calm him down. "We are very clumsy and, hey, have you seen his face?"

Your laugh, although he could have found it irritating, was now beginning to come across as a good sign where amusement was the main feeling there.

"Yes," he affirmed, nodding his head slightly before looking you completely up and down, finding what had scared the trio so much. "I hope you are aware that the lifestyle you have is not going to be favourable to you."

You shrugged and smiled.

"My mother died when I was born, my father took care of me and he is a pirate, what can I do? Asked. "I will never be a young lady and, to starve, I prefer to stay with my father until I get a ship of my own and he can sail completely alone."

"That's impossible," he said. "You need at least two people and, being alone, I doubt very much that you will get far."

"Then come with me, be my second in command," you proposed. "You can see the world, get all the treasures you want and be free."

"The offer is tempting, but there is a drawback," he murmured, pointing his finger at the two men who seemed to be looking for you. "If it was something allowed under England law I wouldn't mind, but I'm fine for now, thanks."

"You're very boring, you know?" You said before handing him the book you had taken from him. "But my proposal will still stand and I am sure that one day you will join me to form the best pirate crew in history."

Your words, although you had not meant them to sound so loud, betrayed you and, because of nerves and enthusiasm, you caused the guards who had been looking for the pirate they had heard so much about to become alert and quickly turn in your direction.

"If they don't hang up on you first," he murmured, taking the book carefully before placing it under his arm.

"Let's knock on wood so that doesn't happen," you whispered, moving away from him. "See you around."

With that quick goodbye, Beckett watched you run with great speed and agility towards the town square, where they would surely lose your trail and, although he wanted to deny it, he had been quite intrigued with you and was not about to lose this offer that seemed so tempting to him, even if over the years he ended up loathing any kind of pirate activity that came his way.

Now, several years after that first chance meeting, Cutler Beckett had managed to get an honorary title that accredited him as a lord, as one of the most powerful men in England and in the service of the East India Company, doing work that, quite morally questionable, they had made him grow as a man and a person, but not without forgetting the reasons that led him to be the man he was now. Piracy, being at its height, had been a practice that he had detested since his young adulthood, from the moment he was taken prisoner by a French pirate and from which he had managed to escape by a small miracle with a happy face and a great smile. agility.

He hated pirates with all his soul, he had promised himself to hate them until the day they died, but it was seeing you sail to the port of the island where he was that made those negative thoughts vanish and others deeper and more love emerged.

"I hope you know that you don't have to appear abruptly before me to surprise me, I know you're there."

Beckett's words made you gasp and, as if you were as young as you were then, you appeared face down in front of his face, still with the big smile that characterized you so much.

"It makes me angry to know that you already know my tricks, that's not how this works."

You saw how the British didn't hesitate to smile back at you.

You could never put aside that forbidden friendship that society, the laws and your respective jobs had marked you for life.

[prosperalpanuss]

Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End, 2007.

[oneinajuniverse]

⭑ Pirates of the Caribbean Masterlist

↳ My Pirates of the Caribbean works

Captain Jack Sparrow / Click Here

Will Turner / Click Here

Commodore Norrington / Click Here

Lord Beckett / Click Here

Leave a req here for more characters ⭒

[t-annuki]

Pick yours

[lordbucketofthecaribbean]

Jus sum jus sum doodles

[imaginepirates]

Beckett’s Daughter HCs

Oh boy. Beckett is a little conflicted about having children. On the one hand, a legitimate child makes for an heir, and if he wishes to carry on his bloodline and pass down his work and station, he needs a child. An illegitimate child (which at the point where we meet him, is much more likely) could be seen as a setback or annoyance. He cannot, however, just leave the child to whatever fate life has in store. He will always hate his own father for failing to care for him, and will not, under any circumstances, abandon his own children.

In any case, you end up living with him. This is a bit of a disaster, because he has no idea how to raise or care for children. There would have to be a nanny. Beckett is busy with work anyway, and simply wouldn’t have the time to care for a child himself, assuming the mother was out of the picture. If not, I feel like Beckett would probably have a strained relationship with his wife, given that he probably married for societal expectation’s sake. This would put a certain tension in the household for your childhood years. 

As a daughter, Beckett expects that you are able in all the womanly arts; your family has an image to uphold, and you must be excellent at what society expects from you. 

Beckett also expects that you’re wickedly smart. He would make sure that you read veraciously, educating you in classic Greek literature and language. You would likely speak multiple languages, and be far ahead of your peers in mathematics. Beckett is the type to see math as a practical skill, rolling his eyes at the idea that it’s too “masculine” for you. 

Speaking of “masculine” pursuits, Beckett would ensure that you can kill a man at least ten different ways in any given situation. Like hell if someone thinks they are going to hurt his daughter. Beckett is a whole new level of overprotective, but trusts you to take care of yourself. He would have Mercer give you some lessons in the art of “removing the unpleasant”, as he might call it.

No seriously: there is not a more protective father. Beckett may be more subtle in some situations, maintaining neutrality, only to send Mercer after anyone who hurts or embarrasses you. In other situations, like when things get physical, Beckett has no problem stepping between you and somebody else, eerily calm, daring them to continue. You drink tea while reading the news the next morning, shocked to hear that a certain offender was brutally murdered by highwaymen.

Having Mercer as a bodyguard is...an experience. Good luck finding a romantic interest. Mercer’s face is enough to keep anyone at bay. Despite how unsettling he is, you know you can trust him. You used to practice walking by standing on his feet and having him walk you around. You’ve known the man your whole life.

You and your father are the pettiest duo of all time. You’ll do anything to inconvenience people who annoy you. Beckett’s terrible wealth helps in this regard: you can’t find the lace you were looking for because it has all been sold? Pity. A shipment of goods was rerouted to a neighboring port city and you can’t get that tea you love? Shame. 

Don’t even get me started on the things you do when you’re annoyed with each other. Subtly moving furniture a little to the left to annoy that spark of OCD in your father, and him managing to hide all your combs around the house. Expect lukewarm tea, burnt toast, and a draft in the reading room you can’t quite seem to find the source to. Mercer secretly takes bets as to who will budge first and call a truce. 

You judge people together over tea, sitting on embroidered couches and recounting exactly how people have annoyed you and how you plan to inconvenience them later. 

You also diss people to their faces, but in a way that they cannot quite follow quickly enough as you and your father shoot each other knowing glances. 

You’re a scary couple. Would not mess. There is something absolutely terrifying about Beckett, beyond the normal. He can keep his composure under any circumstances, and gets very quiet when he intends on doing harm. It’s that very silence that unnerves people; it’s like when you’re waiting for something awful to happen during a horror movie. All you can do in his silence is wait until he has you killed, because he surely will. If anything were to happen to you, he would absolutely snap; it would be the only time you’d witness his resorting to violence himself. 

You yourself are very protective of your father. There are many people who still frown on him, thinking of him as too low-born and undeserving of his rank and title. People don’t particularly like “new money”, as it were. He also has quite a few enemies for other reasons, of course, and you wouldn’t hesitate to help handle them if necessary. You’re trained in self-defense--and offence--so you could step between Beckett and a threat if needed.

He’s of the belief that womanhood is useful. Maids, cooks, and even high-bord ladies can be perfect when it comes to obtaining information. Nobody suspects that a woman’s “innocent” questions have anything hidden behind them. A woman couldn’t ply you for knowledge, after all. Beckett certainly puts your feminine image to use; nobody would suspect you of a thing. He would never make you do something truly awful, of course. That’s what he has Mercer for. 

You obviously pull schemes together. You’re your father’s right hand woman, as it were, and he wouldn’t trade you for the world. You’re closer to him than anyone else, and know his mind better, too. The fact that you can smile and laugh with him despite knowing more about him than he’s ever let another person know makes you the most precious part of his life. He always wants you there when he makes plans, and loves to see what things you come up with as well. He likes to watch you grow to be like him. 

Beckett will absolutely pick apart each and every one of your suitors. He’s perfectly civil to them while they’re around--too civil, perhaps. That being said, he can, and will, point out flaws in each person directly to their face. They wouldn’t dare act offended, of course, as he keeps things within the reigns of propriety, but he finds lots to complain about once they’ve left. In truth, he secretly can’t stand the idea of your leaving. Given the way his own father discarded him, he has serious abandonment issues, and is terrified of being alone. 

The two of you of course have your own inside jokes and witticisms that you’ve been using with each other for years. You’re the only person to make him smile--really smile--and it throws people off every time they catch a glimpse. You mean everything to him, and he really does want the best for you. He loves you terribly, and even if he’s not always the best at showing it, he hopes you know, deep down, that he adores you. 

[whumpyblogthing]

Deserted

PART FOUR - LORD BECKETT

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

CW: More references to sexual slavery/noncon. Beckett being a garbage human being.

Author's Note: Thank you ALL for hanging in there with me on this. It's turned out to be more parts than I thought, since I'm making them a bit smaller. I know it hasn't been super whumpy yet, but I PROMISE that is coming. Very soon. Perhaps even later today, but tomorrow for sure! I was going to include the next part with this one, but... well. This one is already a little longer, and I want to keep certain content separated in it's own part to be skipped if desired. So. Stick with me, we're getting to the whump soon! And thank you again!!

***

Charles Beckett is not pleased.

He should be, damn it. With a victory as easy as the one they’d had, not losing a single man and taking hardly any time at all, he should be throwing a party for his officers in the main hall of the keep, not interrogating the Bastard’s leftover household staff.

The little Lordling. Beckett’s late wife’s cousin, who’d somehow weaseled his way into control over the estate that should have been her’s, and therefore Beckett’s, now. And it wouldn’t have mattered so much if the foolish little shit weren’t so inept. Theodore had been running the estate into the ground from the moment he took ownership. The mismanagement was so painfully bad that, when Beckett had appealed to the King for his permission to reclaim the estate, his request had been almost instantaneously granted.

Beckett has control of the estate, for now, but without Theodore present to officially sign over the land and give up his future rights to any claim, Beckett’s hold is tenuous.

Damn the coward for running.

And of course, his servants are just as useless as he is. Beckett is certain that if any of those left behind had any notion of where their Lord had gone, they’d give him up in an instant. It’s clear that Theodore had garnered very little favor amongst those he’d left behind.

Beckett is preparing to face the inevitable and send out parties to begin searching for signs of Theodore’s passage in the surrounding areas when he’s told that there may have been a breakthrough. That something important had been found. He feels a spark of hope at the words and follows the soldier eagerly into the keep.

The last thing he expects to find waiting for him is a damned bed slave, though really, he’s not surprised. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find a whole fucking harem, considering the gossip he’s heard about Theodore. The boy on the bed seems utterly useless, a complete idiot, but if anyone were to know Theodore’s secrets it would be the one he spent his nights with.

Beckett returns to the hall and finds that he is thinking of the boy despite himself, grudgingly realizing that one thing he can’t fault Theodore for is his taste.

The boy is lovely, there’s no denying that. Sable hair long enough to grab hold of, pale skin that had seemed perfect for leaving marks, pretty lips, his body finely formed and slight, perfect for…

Beckett huffs, shaking his head and dispelling any further thoughts of that sort. He’s never kept a pleasure slave before, but he understands the appeal, especially now that he’s a widower… But. He has far more important matters to attend to. The only consideration he should be giving the slave is for the information he can provide.

Tristan returns to the hall alone, apparently trusting his man upstairs to deliver the boy without any undue delays…Beckett’s not sure he would have been as trusting, but time will tell.

Somewhat to his surprise the soldier and the boy appear only a few moments later. The boy is clothed simply, and barefoot, and starts to tremble when Beckett approaches. Silly thing.

“Sit, boy. You look like you’re about to fall over. Tristan! Bring the boy some wine, it’ll settle his nerves.”

Beckett doesn’t miss the way Tristan frowns, but he obeys immediately. He’s a good boy, knows his place. Tristan is smart, competent, a fantastic leader of his men. His only flaw is that he has four older brothers. But, he knows his place, knows his best chance at advancing himself is by gaining a place of prominence in some powerful noble’s household. He listens well, carries out orders proficiently and efficiently. A good boy, if a bit soft at times. But he’s young, yet. He’ll learn.

Tristan smiles at the boy when he gives him the wine and gives him a little nod of encouragement. Beckett rolls his eyes. Soft. Or besotted, which is understandable enough. But a bed slave doesn’t need any wooing.

The boy takes a few hesitant sips, then holds the cup in his lap, staring down into it as if the dark liquid holds the secrets of the universe.

“Good. Now, tell me, boy. Where did Theodore run off to?” Beckett demands, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at him, watching for any sign of understanding or attempts at deception.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry,” the boy answers softly, shaking his head.

Beckett scoffs. “Surely he must have said something to you? Talked about a- an ally? A hiding place? Somewhere he meant for you to join him?”

The boy glances up at that, a look of hurt passing over his face before he drops his gaze once more. “He didn’t. He didn’t say anything. I didn’t even know he’d left, until. This.”

Beckett purses his lips, eyes narrowing as he considers the boy’s words. He’s not sure he believes him.

“Look, Emery,” Tristan says, stepping forward to crouch down in front of the chair where the boy is seated. “This must be frightening. I’m sure you want to- to do right, by your. Uh. By Lord Reynald. But I assure you, we mean him no harm. Or you!”

Beckett watches silently, willing to give Tristan’s more gentle approach a chance. It may be all the boy needs is a more tender hand. Though he doubts he received any such treatment from Theodore.

The boy—Emery, Tristan had said?—shakes his head once more.

“I don’t,” he bites out, the first sign of any sort of emotion he’d shown besides fear. “I never want to see him again. He’s-” The boy snaps his mouth shut, eyes going wide as he glances between Tristan and Beckett, clearly having said more than he’d meant.

“Okay, that’s- that’s all right,” Tristan assures him. “You don’t have to. He’s not in charge here, any more. But that’s why we need to find him, to make sure it stays that way.”

Emery looks up at Tristan, meeting his eyes directly. “I swear, sir. I swear, I don’t know.” He glances up at Beckett, then. “I’m sorry, my lord. I- I don’t know. He never said anything about leaving. Ever. He always, just. He was so proud. He’d boast to anyone he could about how he was Lord of this place and would be always. He never spoke of leaving it.”

Beckett scoffs. Of course the fool would make such arrogant claims.

Damn. Damn! Another dead end. Useless fucking boy. And what was Beckett supposed to do with him, now? It’s not as if he can just throw him out into the streets. He starts to pace, back and forth. Tristan is saying something else, too quiet for Beckett to hear. The boy nods, eyes downcast once more.

His lashes stand out prettily against pale cheeks. Long, thick for a boy. The poor little thing wouldn’t last a day out in the world. Beckett isn’t sure he trusts him enough to let him leave, anyway. Words are cheap, the words of a whore even more so.

“Make sure he stays under guard, chain him up again if you must. I want him kept close,” he orders Tristan.

“My lord?” Tristan says, brows drawing together in confusion. None of the other servants had been detained, but none of them had shared Theodore’s bed. Presumably, at least.

“I’ve better things to do than worry about some bed slave running off to send out a warning,” Beckett explains with a wave of his hand.

“I wouldn’t-” the boy begins to say, and Beckett rounds on him, grabbing him by the chin.

“Enough. Not another word from you unless it's a damned location or direction or something useful. Now get him out of here,” he orders.

***

Beckett doesn’t give the boy another thought the rest of the day. Well. Much thought.

He sends out the search parties and resigns himself to wait; there’s plenty of work to be done in the meantime. Storerooms to check, papers to go through. He walks the grounds, inspects the outbuildings. It’s busy work, but necessary, and it passes the time.

Of course, none of it will matter if the bastard is off somewhere gathering a company of men to come take the estate back.

At last, as dusk is settling over the estate, a lone rider gallops into the courtyard, practically leaping from his horse and jogging over to where Beckett is using the last of the light to check over the empty stables.

“My lord! Lord Beckett! We found the trail!” the man cries out.

A round of cheers goes up from the men in the yard who hear the news, and Beckett can’t help but smile triumphantly. At last, something to celebrate.

“Which way?” he demands.

“East, my lord. The rest of the party followed and sent me back with the news.”

“Well done, lad. Here, put your horse up. He deserves a treat. As do you! Get some rest! You’re to lead us out early tomorrow,” Beckett orders, clapping the rider on the back.

Tristan comes bounding down the stairs, then, expression hopeful. “Success?”

“Yes, at last. He went east. I want you after him as soon as the sun starts to rise tomorrow, understood? With as many men as you need, but traveling fast.”

“Yes my lord. We’ll have him yet!” Tristan exclaims with a boyish grin before scurrying off to where their men had set up their encampment.

In all the excitement, Beckett forgets about the boy. He sups with the men, and though he’s not ready to celebrate a full victory yet, he does partake in a few glasses of wine as well, which leave him in high spirits and only a little drunk.

He’s determined to sleep in the keep, though, in what were once Theodore’s chambers, and are now rightfully his.

It’s not until he’s preparing for bed and catches sight of the chain still dangling from the bedpost that he’s reminded of the bed slave. Emery.

A pretty name for a pretty boy.

Beckett stands at the foot of the bed, looking down at the chain, the cuff.

He is lord here, now. The papers are a formality. He has the King’s blessing for god’s sake. The Reynald estate and all that it entails belongs to him. Including the boy.

He can’t deny he’s…curious. The keeping of pleasure slaves is a common enough practice, especially boys. No one wants a bastard running around, causing trouble. But he’s never really seen the appeal, until now.

The boy is pretty, but also.

He’s Theodore’s.

Beckett is man enough to admit to his own shortcomings, and the desire to seek recompense, even in something as petty as bedding his rival’s slave, is a strong one.

Theodore might not even care. He’d left the boy behind, after all. But still.

Beckett has one last claim to stake on Theodore’s former belongings.

---

Part Four, Continued

Tag List (let me know if I missed you or if you'd like to be added!)

@lonewhumper @darkthingshappen, @befuddled-calico-whump, @gay-af-satan, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @serickswrites, @thecyrulik, @flowersarefreetherapy, @t0rture-me, @nicolepascaline, @no-terms-and-conditions-apply, @aseasonwithclara

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