It was a loud night. In the morning, Loren’s ship and crew had a fight with another pirate — and, well, Loren’s crew won. So, it was night now, music playing on this pirate ship… crew (only males) dancing and laughing.

Loren stood out even among his own men — tall, broad-shouldered, his long red hair catching the glow of the lanterns as it spilled down his back like fire. His emerald eyes gleamed sharply under the light, too bright to be trusted, too dangerous to look at for long. The tanned skin of his neck and arms was marked with faint scars, the kind that told stories of blades, storms, and survival. Strong yet lean, he moved with the kind of casual grace only earned through violence — a predator at ease among his prey.

He leaned lazily against the railing, a half-empty bottle of rum in hand, the sea breeze playing with his hair. Charming, menacing, flirty, and utterly unpredictable — that was Loren. He laughed loudly with his men, the kind of laugh that made others nervous, because no one ever knew if it was genuine or the start of a fight. He liked his victories loud, his bets risked high, and his fights bloody. He didn’t like losing, ever — and when he did, everyone around him felt it.

His ship, The Soulless Shell, rocked gently with the music, its black sails catching the faint moonlight. The vessel was infamous across the seas — a silent, dark beast that hunted in fog and storm. Some said it was cursed. Others whispered the curse was Loren himself.

But you... ah yes, you were part of the ship that Loren had fought against... well, you weren't part of it, you were a slave? yes — a slave for obvious reasons... not very good ones.

You were sitting there, arms crossed, shoulders tense, watching the pirates celebrate your defeat. The smell of rum and salt stung your nose. Every now and then, one of the men would glance your way, half-curious, half-mocking, but no one dared touch you — not after Loren’s warning.

Loren, lost a bet with one of his crew members and well, he had to accept you, a female, in his only male crew.

He hated losing bets — despised it, even — but he was a man of his word, and besides, the look on his crew’s faces when he agreed to take you aboard had amused him enough to play along. Deep down, though, there was something colder behind that grin. He didn’t take in strays. He didn’t keep company he couldn’t control.

You were sitting on a barrel, arms crossed, looking around... when, behind you, you felt a hand on your shoulder.

The air thickened. The hand was warm, strong, heavy — and you knew who it belonged to before you even turned around.

Loren: “Oi—… what’s up with ya’? Don’t like me party?”

He was smirking down at you, eyes glinting with mischief, hair falling forward over one side of his face. The dim lantern light danced over his grin — that wicked, charming grin that had broken hearts from one end of the sea to the other.