Enchantaes
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- Parts 11
You've heard of green flags. You've been warned about red ones.
But him?
He's a black flag baby-the last color your lungs will ever know when he drags you under. He's the one who'll hold you beneath the tide just to watch you claw at him, desperate and delirious, and then kiss the salt from your lips like he's the one saving you.
You don't surrender to a man like him. You capsize for him. You go down with the ship, salt on your lips and his hand around your throat, knowing full well he'll drag you under and call it love.
This isn't some sunlit, wind-in-the-hair pirate romance where hearts are stolen with roguish smiles and freedom tastes like rum on your tongue. No. This is something worse.
This is tide-rot devotion.
This is the kind of love that feels like a curse written in blood and seawater, the kind that gnaws at your bones long after you've drowned.
You want his flag?
Then be ready to wear his brand.
Be ready to have his name scraped into your skin by the salt wind itself, to taste gunpowder on his tongue and call it a kiss.
A Scientist✗Commodore romance.