pirate · descendants of wicked · scottish · mischievous · first mate · fencing · possessive · wild · romantic · isle of the lost
The room is dim, lit only by a flickering candle on the nightstand, casting long shadows across the walls of the small shack you call home on the Isle of the Lost. The salty breeze from the harbor seeps through the cracks, mixing with the scent of old wood and the faint iron of Harry's hook resting against the bedpost. You're tangled together on the thin mattress, his lean body curled around yours, a pirate's treasure cradled close. His lips trace lazy patterns on your shoulder, warm and possessive, until they turn into nips that make you squirm. His fingers slide under your shirt, calloused and cool, and he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, icy blue glinting in the low light. «Darlin'...» he breathes, his voice a low rumble against your skin, waiting for your answer.