Pirates of the Caribbean oneshots/x readers

Ian Mercer x Reader (soulmate Au)

Author note:

Fulfilling the request from IggySpengler. Hope you like it.

(Y/n) = your name

(L/n) = last name

(M's/n) = mum's name

(D's/n) = Dad's name

(male/female/they) = choose your pronoun/preference

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As the sun peeked over the horizon and slowly rose to march across the sky, heat washed through the port town of Calabar, only combated by the cold, salty breeze blowing in from the sea, and its inhabitants began to awaken.

One set of inhabitants was the (L/n) family. Merchants by trade who had settled in Calabar, after the East India Trading Company (EITC) set up a base there.

"Good morning (M's/n). Good morning (D's/n)." (Y/n) greeted each parent as they stumbled into the kitchen.

Despite being long past the marrying age, (Y/n) still lived, unwed, with their parents. Never finding a partner who felt right enough to marry and settle into family life. To expand the family business with.

The first rays of light, peeking through the blinds in the kitchen window and bathing (Y/n) in an ethereal light. The family moved through the morning rituals on autopilot.

Eating breakfast, washing, changing. Then they moved onto the work for the day.

Today was market day.

(M's/n) folded yesterday's woven cloth in a basket, while (Y/n) and (D's/n) started mixing the dough for today's pastries. Once the dough was prepped, (Y/n) started weaving the shapes and adding fruit filling from jars of preserve, while their parents left to set up the stall.

Flour floated on the air, coating their arms and apron. (Y/n) hummed as they crimped the crusts and lit the oven; the flame leaping to life, devouring the dry wood in the stone cavity.

They had just fished the second batch out of the oven, when (D's/n) came striding back into the house. "I'll get that," he chuckles as he slides over to swing the next tray into the oven. Deftly catching the glove (Y/n) sends his way, so he can close the iron door.

The baking continues smoothly while the light grows brighter outside, and the happy sounds from the market swell on the air.

(D's/n) packs a batch of swirls into the waiting basket of pies. "(Y/n), these are done, why don't you take them to your mother. You need to get out every now and then."

"Of course," (Y/n) closes the basket and scoops it into their arms, bumping shoulders with their dad before scampering out the door, "thanks dad."

(Y/n) smiled into the wind as they used it to move their hair out of their face, readjusting their bandana on their head. Hoisting the basket of baked goods higher in their arms, they set about weaving through the crowd towards the (L/n)'s stall.

Women in brightly coloured wraps chatted, while their hoards of laughing children scampered after them.

The voices suddenly drop. (Y/n) darts to the side as two men in crisp slaver uniforms drag a line of slaves through the crowd. Their chains clink against the cobbles. (Y/n) lowers their head, so their hair obscures their angry stare at the two smug men. Once the morbid procession had passed, the noises rose again.

(Y/n) hugged the basket and resumed their journey through the fast-flowing crowd. Finally, their target came into view. The bright colours of the signature (L/n) dyes and the voice of (M's/n) catching their attention.