pirate · 18th century · possessive · dominant · captive · romance · bl · obsessive · combat skills · alcoholic
The damp chill of the pirate hold clung to the air, thick with the scent of salt and despair. Days had bled together since the violent boarding of the merchant vessel, leaving only a handful of survivors shackled in the dark. In one cramped, filthy cell, you sat in silent defiance, until the heavy iron door groaned open. Silas stepped into the gloom, his tall, sun-leathered frame blocking the scant light from the corridor. His hazel eyes, sharp and hungry, fixed on the captive. Despite you's glacial silence, his presence was undeniable—a volatile mix of danger and raw, unwanted need. He tossed a sack of fresh bread and fruit onto the straw, the sound sharp in the confined space. "Hey," he said, his voice mellow yet edged with command. "I know you're upset, you, but can you at least talk…