(Peter's POV)
I carried her in my arms, but my mind wasn't ready to lay her down.
She looked up at me, her voice soft as sea foam.
"My lord… your hands must be aching, carrying me like this. Please, put me down."
I shook my head.
She blushed, cheeks pink as coral and gently insisted again.
"Truly… I'm too heavy. Let me stand."
I met her gaze and murmured,
"What if you vanish the moment I let go? That's why… I want to hold you as tight as I can."
Her brow twitched in surprise.
"Vanish? What do you mean?"
I looked away, my throat tightening.
"Nothing. Don't worry. Just… let me carry you for a while. I'll give you a little tour of the ship."
Her lips curled into a shy smile.
"But my clothes are drenched… and barely clinging. Shouldn't I dry off first?"
I grinned, teasing.
"My body heat might make you more wet than dry."
Her eyes widened, and I chuckled, then added—
"Alright, alright. I'll take you to the crow's nest. It's high up, private, and the wind will dry your clothes quickly."
She hesitated, voice low.
"But… until then, what will I wear? I can't stay like this."
I slowed, our steps soft against the deck.
"The crow's nest is big enough for just the two of us. If it makes you feel any better, I'm half-naked too, aren't I?"
I flashed her a crooked smile.
"Trust me, your clothes will dry in no time. Besides… it's thin, silky fabric—meant to cling, meant to tease. Very convenient, really…"
My eyes flicked down, then back up to her flushed face.
"…for covering such a soft, plump body."
She gasped, and for a moment, I thought she might slap me.
But instead… she smiled.
Her body trembled slightly in my arms—whether from the cold or the intensity between us, I couldn't tell. Her wet clothes clung to her soft curves, and her skin shimmered faintly in the moonlight, like the ocean had kissed every inch of her.
I started up the rope ladder slowly, careful not to jostle her too much. The ropes stiffened under my touch, recognizing my need. Almost like vines coming alive, they steadied as I climbed, carrying both our weights without protest. My muscles strained but never trembled. Her breath tickled my collarbone, her trust making me feel more powerful than any god. She didn't speak, only curled closer, her skin damp and her trust heavy in my arms.
Every step I took, her scent followed—salt and sea-flowers and something darker. Something that whispered things I couldn't quite hear, but couldn't ignore.
When we reached the top, I pushed open the crow's nest hatch. It wasn't much—just an open platform wrapped in rope netting—but the view was endless, the stars close enough to steal.
I set her down gently. She sat with her knees folded to the side, arms wrapped around herself as the wind kissed her soaked top, clinging tighter with every breeze.
"My clothes," she whispered, voice barely a sound. "They're too wet. It's uncomfortable…"
I raised a brow. "So, undress. You're not shy, are you?"
She looked at me—wide-eyed, bashful—but there was a flicker beneath it. A smirk trying not to rise.
"If I undress," she said slowly, "what will you do?"
I grinned. "Depends. On how long you plan to stay naked."
She gave a soft laugh. "You're bold."
"I'm only honest," I replied. "Besides, it's not like I can look away. You're too…" I stopped myself, heat rising in my throat.
Too dangerous.
Too perfect.
Too much.
She rose slowly, water dripping from her soaked top. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she reached for the knot at her back and loosened it.
The fabric slipped—just slightly.
And I swear, the world tilted.
"Turn around," she whispered.
I didn't.
"My lord," she said again, quieter, sweeter. "Please…"
Something in her voice… the way it curled around me—it wasn't a request. It was a leash.
Still, I turned, if only to keep my sanity.
Behind me, I heard fabric drop to the wooden floorboards.
I used my shadowed palm to lift her damp clothes and hung them beneath the black flag. Now, along with the Jolly Roger, her sleek, silken garments danced in the wind—glinting like moonlight on blades.
(Hook's POV)
The deck was supposed to be empty.
I'd ordered the crew to their bunks, given them the night to sleep off their idiocy. And yet—there they were. Half of them leaning on barrels, the other half pretending to mop the same damn plank over and over, eyes glued upward.
To the crow's nest.
I followed their gaze and groaned.
Above, barely visible in the moonlight, Peter's silhouette moved close to the girl's. Too close. Her wet hair shimmered as it caught the wind, her laugh drifting down like perfume. And the boy—bare-chested, star-eyed fool—hovered like a moth around flame.
I growled.
"Oi! Get your eyes off the damn rigging and go to your bloody bunks!"
A few jumped. None moved.
"That's an order!" I barked, louder.
Still, not a single soul budged. One of them mumbled something about "moonlit miracles" and "curves forged by gods."
That was it.
I spun on my heel, stormed back to my cabin, and slammed the door.
"They've all gone mad," I muttered to myself, pacing like a wolf in a cage."Cursed. Every last one of them. As if they've never seen a girl before. Their brains have dropped straight down into their balls."
I poured myself a drink, downed it in one go.
"Next one who calls her a goddess is scrubbing barnacles off the keel with his tongue.
(Peter's POV)
I knew they'd catch eyes from below.
No man on this ship would sleep easy tonight, not with those swaying above and myself.
I smirked at her, brushing a thumb against her cheek."You and your clothes are going to haunt their dreams, you know that?
Then silence.
Long. Heavy. Unnatural.
Until—