Who lives to tell the tale? [PIRATE AU] |Gabriel Reyes x Reader|

Prologue

There are stories that circled around Port Gibraltar. A story that tells a mysterious tale about the menacing and merciless Captain of the Blackwatch falling from grace then strayed down this path. Once highly respected of his ranking and stood right beside his new comrade, now Commodore, John 'Jack' Morrison. Famously known as, the Golden Boy of the Golden era. No one remembers the man beside the charming Commodore Morrison he only meant much before said man joined the Navy. Many speculated of the man's fall from grace's reason is the passing over of the Commodore position; this led to the breeding of jealousy. A few weeks went by and one of the Ports got destroyed terribly leaving debris and rubble and the cries of women and children begging for help. The man fled and swam to a ship with crew members pulling him on board and captain the current ship, the fearful Blackwatch. Commodore Morrison halted his troops and stared at the man sailing away and from then on, the wreckage of the port pointed towards the Captain of the ship, it is still unknown who caused it and why.

You continued writing in your brown leather journal a gift to you on your sixteenth birthday. Currently, you are turning 18, perfect age to be betrothed. You thought bitterly about that, you bite your bottom lip and dusted the feather part of the quill across your chin. The door creaks open which startled you from your writing, you peered over your shoulder to see who it is at the entrance. As it turns out, it is your father. Hastily, you packed both the ink bottle and the journal into your drawers. Your hand dusted on your dress, feign ignorance, and greets, "Hello father," you rest your sleeved arms on the wooden desk. Your father evidently notices the suspicious behaviour but he swept it under the rug and smiles at you with hands intertwine with each other.

"Hello my dear, I see you're returning to writing again," He points his gloved finger to the drawers. You nervously laugh at your blatant mistake and duck your head low. You pulled the handle and took out the brown leather journal, surprisingly in pristine condition and you examined it with great care. A stray hair fell on your face; you brush it behind your ear and a vivid memory of your mother lying on her deathbed with weak hands giving you the present. Her half-lidded eyes and mustered up courage smile insisting you to take it, encouraging you to, always write to your heart's content. You graciously accepted it with tears welling up in your eyes, before you already knew it she has passed on.

"Your mother's greatest love has always been writing..." Your father adds on sadly. The two servants greeted your father from behind and bows to both him and you, your father steps aside and watch the two set the white coloured box with a pink ribbon tied around it on your bed. You intriguingly wondered what is inside the box, you side-eyed it shortly then returning your gaze to your father. Your father then walks towards your bed and gestures you to come over. You sat down right across from him. Attentively watching your father unwrap the ribbon. He lifts the cover open to reveal a cream coloured dress with floral designs. The gold lining struck out to your most as it glistened under the sunlight, you gasp softly at its magnificence and intricate design.

"This is beautiful..." You marvelled in disbelief. It was too grand and too much for everyday wear, you held it up and carefully inspected it in closer detail. Your father chuckles at your awe-inspired expression. He clears his throat to grasp your attention; you set it down gently back into the box.

"As a father and a nobleman," He says prolonging his intentions, "It is important I have to keep up with the trends for my beloved daughter and uphold her image." You nodded as you wait further.

"I want you to wear this for tonight's engagement part-"You groaned loudly and stood up from your bed. Angrily crossing your arms and huffing out a heavy sigh. You faced out to the balcony; there was no need for an engagement party to begin with. A simple arrangement of marriage between you and the man who is 10 years older than you are. The man who is arranging with you in this marriage fate is Commodore Morrison. Oh, how you detest saying his name at the mention of it, it reminds you of his futile efforts to pursue your love. Regardless, you could never see him as an eligible bachelor nor a husband beyond that sweet yet charismatic façade he puts on to save his 'image. You sense there was much more than that. You sigh once more, endless reminders of the trap laid out the moment of your birth that you will have another title. Commodore's wife. You shudder and hands brushing your sleeves as you peer over your shoulder.