#I started shipping them an I regret nothing

[right-there-ride-on]

Dinopants (the unit) has so many parallels to Gyjo (the unit) but I’m disappointed bc so much of the dinopants I see in the wider fandom is ooc or a ‘pair the spares’ scenario that’s for me is just not compelling. I guess I’m just confused because there really is so much there to dig into, and for me it’s definitely the canon dinopants that’s the interesting one! Both HP and Diego as standalone characters parallel and bring into focus Gyro and Johnny’s characters and arc, and when teamed up contrast the Gyjo unit in a really interesting way. People have written some really good dinopants analysis on here and I’m grateful for that! I think I’ve just seen them mischaracterized so much that for awhile the ship lost its appeal, but seeing people who are passionate about dinopants and sharing their thoughts always makes me happy.

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: How to Escape a Kingdom || Silver Vanrouge

You get isekai’d as the heroine in a bad novel. The prince is awful. The villainess is worse. The only thing keeping you going is your gorgeous, tired fiancé, Silver Vanrouge.

Series Masterlist

You prided yourself on being a good friend. A great friend, even. The kind of friend who remembered birthdays, hyped up questionable outfit choices, and provided alibis without asking too many questions. But as you stared at the abomination that was your best friend’s first novel, you began to reconsider your life choices.

The book sat in your lap like a lead weight, its aggressively pastel cover mocking you with every passing second. You had read it. You had survived it. But at what cost?

It had started as a simple enough premise: Silver, Duke of the North, was engaged to the heroine. A heroine so naively pure that if someone told her oxygen was a scam, she’d hold her breath until she passed out. The main villains were the neglected fifth prince and his fiancée, the villainess.

The villainess wanted Silver, but Silver wanted nothing to do with her. The fifth prince wanted the heroine, but the heroine, lacking two functional brain cells to rub together, had no idea what was going on.

And then things went completely off the rails.

Somehow, in a sequence of events that you were still trying to understand, Silver got shipped off to an unwinnable war and promptly died. The villainess mysteriously vanished (???), and then—without explanation—the heroine and the prince got married. The end.

You closed the book with the slow, deliberate movements of someone trying not to hurl it through a window. You inhaled deeply. You exhaled through your nose like a dragon trying not to incinerate a village.

You placed the book on the table.

Then you pressed your forehead against the table and contemplated your existence.

Tomorrow, you had to meet your best friend. You had to look them in the eye and tell them what you thought. You had to lie. Or worse—tell the truth.

You did not want to do this.

You needed divine intervention. A bolt of lightning, a sudden coma, a wormhole opening up beneath your feet.

As you walked to their house the next day, still praying for salvation, the universe finally answered.

Unfortunately, it did so in the form of a feral, airborne raccoon.

You were minding your own business, walking past a trashcan, when—BAM. A raccoon launched itself at you with the force of a caffeinated cryptid. There was no warning. No time to react. Just a blur of fur and the sheer weight of your sins crashing into your face.

Startled, you screamed, stumbled, and in a tragic display of physics and poor life choices, tumbled backwards—directly into the trashcan.

The lid snapped shut.

You flailed. You kicked. You thought, Wow, this is really happening, huh?

Then, to add insult to injury, the trashcan began to roll.

With you inside it.

You careened down the street, a human burrito of garbage and regret, before hitting a curb at just the right angle to be yeeted violently into the air.

There was a moment—just a moment—where time slowed, and you thought, Well. At least I don’t have to tell them anymore.

You woke up with that distinct, gnawing feeling that something was off.

It wasn’t the usual I forgot to send an email kind of off. No, this was the I am in the wrong dimension kind of off.

First of all, the bed was too big. Not just luxurious hotel big, but dear God, am I a Victorian orphan who got adopted by a morally gray billionaire? big.

Second, the air smelled clean. Not the comforting, familiar scent of your slightly questionable apartment, where the air carried the faint traces of instant ramen and the existential despair of adulthood.

Third—why was there noise?

You lived alone. The only other living creature that occasionally graced your presence was that one cockroach you had an unspoken truce with. So unless Mr. Roach had recently acquired sentience and thrown himself a rager, someone else was here.

Panic kicked in. You bolted upright, turned your head—this was absolutely not your home.

The walls were pristine. The curtains looked expensive. There was a vanity table. The entire place screamed old money, like the kind of place where people casually owned oil paintings of their ancestors who may or may not have committed tax fraud.

You shot out of bed so fast you nearly concussed yourself on the nearest piece of furniture. Your feet hit the floor. You sprinted to the mirror, skidded to a stop, and—

Oh.

Oh no.

Staring back at you was a person. A person you knew. A person whose entire personality consisted of:

Being impossibly, devastatingly naïve.

Trusting people so fast she’d probably accept a drink labeled 'Not Poison' because "surely no one would lie about that."

Having the observational skills of a decorative cactus.

You were the heroine.

A low, horrified whimper escaped your throat. You sank to the floor, trembling hands pressing into your face.

This was a nightmare. A cruel joke. A divine punishment for every time you had talked smack about the heroine’s IQ in your past life.

The girl who had the critical thinking skills of a potato. The girl whose brain you had long suspected was running exclusively on the Baby Shark song on loop.

And now you were her.

You exhaled shakily, pressing your forehead against the cool floor.

You had survived death. You had defied the natural order.

And for what?

To be reincarnated as a human goldfish with no object permanence?

You were going to die.

Again.

Before you could shake your fist at the heavens and demand an explanation for your untimely demise (courtesy of an overly aggressive raccoon and an unfortunately placed trash can), you needed to do what all great strategists did when thrown into an unwinnable situation: panic internally while pretending you had a plan.

You knew this story. You knew its plot holes were deeper than a budget dungeon crawl, and its character motivations made less sense than a pigeon with a degree in economics. But you had an advantage—foreknowledge. And by the gods, you were going to use it.

The first step? Establishing yourself as Not an Idiot™.

The second step? Ensuring you did not, under any circumstances, end up falling for the fifth prince’s brand of bootleg romantic villainy.

The third step? Avoiding an untimely death like the last protagonist (RIP Silver, Duke of the North, gone but never forgotten).

With this sacred checklist in mind, you marched outside, determined to assert control over your fate—

—only to be immediately ambushed by a squadron of highly trained maids who descended upon you like a swarm of fabric-wielding locusts.

You barely had time to register their presence before you were stripped, perfumed, corseted, and shoved into an outfit so elaborate that it probably required its own construction permit. There were lace trimmings, unnecessary bows, and a pair of shoes so polished you could see your rapidly growing sense of existential dread reflected in them.

You were officially trapped in Victorian Dress-Up Hell.

And then, as if things couldn’t get worse, you were dragged straight to breakfast with your fiancé.

Now, normally, this would be the part where you started screaming. But then you remembered who your fiancé was.

Silver. Duke of the North. The only well-written character in the entire dumpster fire of a novel. A man of honor, competence, and stunning good looks.

Stunning good looks?

That was putting it lightly.

The moment you walked into the dining room, you had to physically stop yourself from gasping like some sort of Victorian maiden experiencing her first bout of hysteria.

Because dear gods above and below—how was he even prettier than his book illustration?!

This was unfair. Illegal. You wanted to file a formal complaint to whatever divine entity was responsible for sculpting this man.

His eyes were closed, silver lashes resting against his cheeks, and you thought—if Sleeping Beauty ever existed, this would be him. A prince of ethereal beauty, untouched by the sins of the world.

And then his eyes fluttered open, revealing a shade that can only be described as 'auroral', and you had to actively bite the inside of your cheek to avoid making a noise so embarrassing that you would have to immediately fake your own death to escape the consequences.

Silver, unaware of your minor cardiac event, blinked at you in mild surprise before rising to pull out your chair. Like a gentleman. Like a man raised with actual etiquette.

Oh. Oh, you were in danger.

Swallowing down the entirely inappropriate reaction threatening to burst forth, you sat down and focused on eating. Silver, as always, was polite and composed, and just when you thought you could make it through breakfast without incident—

He mentioned the prince and the villainess were visiting today.

You must have made a face because he immediately looked concerned. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You usually enjoy their visits.”

Ah. Right. The original heroine was an idiot who thought being terrorized by a manipulative prince with daddy issues and a deranged villainess was fun.

You plastered on your best "I am absolutely thrilled" smile and forced out a chipper, “I can’t wait.”

Silver, bless his soul, nodded.

Internally, you were already constructing an elaborate plan to ensure that the prince got the message loud and clear: you were NOT interested.

And if that involved metaphorically throwing him off a metaphorical cliff?

Well. You had no objections.

The moment the Fifth Prince and the Villainess walked into the room, you instinctively tightened your grip on Silver’s sleeve like a soldier preparing for war. Because that’s exactly what this was—a battle. A battle of wits, patience, and trying very hard not to start swinging the nearest porcelain teapot.

The prince, in all his bootleg Casanova glory, approached first, his slick hair practically radiating the arrogance of a man who had never been told “no” in his entire life. His regal posture was flawless, his smirk expertly practiced in front of a mirror for at least five hours a day, and his eyes held the glint of a man who truly believed women were won like prizes at a rigged carnival game.

He reached for your hand, expecting you to giggle like a brainless debutante and let him hold it for an amount of time that was definitely pushing social norms.

Instead, you gripped his hand like a corporate executive about to close a high-stakes business deal. One firm shake. Then, for good measure, you slapped him on the back with the solid force of a man congratulating his buddy on a promotion.

“Good to see you, pal,” you said, voice brimming with friendly aggression.

The prince, visibly malfunctioning, blinked. “I—”

But you were already moving, looping your arm through Silver’s and pressing close to his side like you were the world’s most affectionate barnacle.

Silver, bless his chivalrous heart, barely hesitated before holding your hand firmly in return, his grip warm and steady. You had to physically restrain yourself from letting out a deranged, victorious giggle at the look on the prince’s face. He was staring at your interlocked hands like someone had just stolen his dessert plate right in front of him.

Oh, what a shame. What a tragedy. You almost felt bad.

Almost.

Then came the villainess.

She strutted forward, all sharp smiles and predatory grace, her heavily perfumed presence announcing itself like a nuclear bomb made of floral overkill. Without hesitation, she reached for Silver’s arm, her movements slow, deliberate—

Silver, in response, immediately took a step back like she had just pulled out a vial labeled “Highly Contagious Disease—Do Not Touch.”

You had never respected a man more in your life.

With the efficiency of someone handling a customer complaint, you smoothly stepped between them and took her hand instead. One quick shake—firm, professional, just detached enough to say I acknowledge you exist but not in any way that brings me joy.

She stared at you, visibly seething, like a cat that had just been denied access to the good couch.

Behind you, Silver sighed in such obvious relief that you were pretty sure you just secured a place in his will.

Tea time was, predictably, a disaster.

The prince kept attempting to flirt with you, hitting you with lines so cringeworthy that they could legally be classified as psychological warfare. Every time he tried, you shot him down with the efficiency of a seasoned HR manager rejecting an office romance scandal.

Meanwhile, the villainess was shamelessly trying to touch Silver, leaning in with the dramatic flair of a woman in a period drama who had just found out she had two months to live. Silver, for his part, looked two seconds away from either falling asleep or astral projecting out of sheer discomfort.

By the time they finally left, you had experienced the emotional equivalent of running a full marathon while being chased by geese.

Silver, apparently just as exhausted, slumped onto you like a marionette whose strings had just been brutally severed.

You sat there, unmoving, staring at the top of his head like you had just been gifted an extremely delicate and beautiful artifact. His silver hair was soft, his breathing slow and steady, and—

Oh. You were in danger again.

Future plans. Right. Focus.

You sat there, contemplating your next move like a war general preparing for battle. Clearly, Operation I Am Not Interested, Your Highness was off to a strong start. But you needed a long-term strategy. A game plan. A—

Silver stirred.

You glanced down, just in time to see his eyes flutter open, confusion evident in the soft furrow of his brow. Then he blinked. Looked around. Realized he was half-sprawled across your lap.

A deep red blush spread across his face like ink soaking into parchment. “I—I’m so sorry—”

You, feeling absolutely no shame about using this opportunity to appreciate just how stunning this man was, smiled. “It’s okay.”

Silver looked like he wanted to sink into the floor and never return.

And as you gazed at him—this rare creature of beauty and genuine kindness, blushing like he was the maiden in distress—you thought, It has to be illegal to be this pretty AND nice.

And then, in true romantic fashion, you immediately started plotting ways to keep him as far away from the main plot as possible

You had, to put it simply, absolutely nothing to do.

After successfully fending off the Fifth Prince’s attempts at romance and blocking the Villainess like a medieval goalie, your schedule was depressingly empty. No political meetings. No noble drama. Just you, a very comfortable chair, and the creeping existential dread of living inside a book with a plot so brain-cell-depleting that it should come with a warning label.

So, naturally, you decided to go watch Silver train.

And damn.

You thought you were prepared. You really did. But watching Silver train was a completely different beast from reading about it in the novel.

The way his sword cut through the air? Poetry.

The way his muscles flexed as he parried and countered? Divine artistry.

The way he casually knocked his opponents to the ground while offering them helpful advice like, “You left your right side open. Try shifting your stance” as if he hadn’t just folded them like cheap laundry? Criminal.

You found yourself wishing for one of those tiny opera glasses so you could watch this in HD. Maybe even a chaise lounge so you could dramatically swoon at the appropriate moments.

But you settled for the next best thing—sitting with a cold bottle of water, pretending you weren’t staring at him like an awestruck peasant witnessing a deity descend from the heavens.

Silver eventually noticed your presence and, being the kind soul that he was, immediately came over. Probably to check if you were in distress because, let’s be honest, the original heroine never did anything without needing someone’s help five minutes later.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, eyes filled with genuine concern.

You blinked. “Nope. Just brought you this.”

You handed him the water, and— oh. Oh, wow. Was he blushing?

“I—thank you,” Silver said, taking the bottle with a kind of stunned hesitation, as if no one had ever done something nice for him before. Which, honestly, in this novel? Entirely possible.

“Well, since you’re bored,” he continued, after taking a drink, “would you like to take a walk around town?”

You nodded. Because, really, what else were you going to do? Stare at a wall? Accidentally trigger a romance flag with the prince by breathing in his general direction? No, thank you.

The town was bustling. People were selling overpriced trinkets, children were running around with the manic energy of creatures that had never paid taxes, and the smell of fresh bread filled the air.

You were browsing a suspiciously glittery hat stall when you saw it—a tiny fortune-telling booth, tucked between a bakery and a store selling the kind of weapons that definitely weren’t legally registered.

“Want to check that out?” you asked Silver, jerking your head toward the booth.

Silver, because he was down for anything as long as it didn’t involve unnecessary drama, nodded.

The fortune teller was exactly what you expected. Mysterious robes? Check. Hood obscuring half their face? Check. A table full of random, ominous objects? Check. A single, gnarled hand that slowly reached out the moment you sat down? Horrifying, but also check.

“Your fate is… twisting.” The fortune teller’s voice was dramatic, like they got paid per cryptic sentence. “You must learn to change your destiny. And… most importantly… you must learn how to say no.”

You and Silver exchanged looks.

“…Huh?”

The fortune teller did not elaborate. They simply leaned back, looking entirely too pleased with themselves.

Well. That was unhelpful.

You both stood up, ready to leave when—

“Oh,” the fortune teller added, just as you were stepping out. “Good luck with your romance.”

You and Silver froze.

The air became so thick with tension that you could probably cut it with one of the overpriced swords from earlier.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you made eye contact.

Silver, visibly flustered, stared very hard at a distant fruit stand.

You, on the other hand, suddenly found a deep, profound interest in the cobblestone street, as if it held the answers to life’s mysteries.

The entire walk home was excruciating. Not because of anything bad—no, because your brains were both melting from sheer secondhand embarrassment.

Every time your hands almost brushed, one of you would jolt like you’d been electrocuted.

At one point, Silver cleared his throat awkwardly.

At another, you tripped on absolutely nothing and had to pretend it didn’t happen.

By the time you got back, you were convinced that the fortune teller wasn’t actually magical, just a professional-level troll who lived for drama.

And you, unfortunately, had walked straight into it.

It was a perfectly peaceful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and for once, you weren’t being subjected to the medieval drama equivalent of a telenovela.

So, naturally, fate decided to drop-kick that peace into the sun.

One moment, you were lounging in the garden, enjoying the fleeting calm, and the next—

A shadow descended upon you. Something small, fast, and full of chaotic energy launched itself from the goddamn sky.

You barely had time to react before you were two inches away from seeing God again.

By some miracle (or the sheer will of your survival instincts), you managed to not die as a tiny, incredibly energetic man landed in front of you, grinning like he hadn’t just almost assassinated you with his entrance.

“Oops!” he chirped, not looking apologetic at all. “Did I scare you?”

Scare you? Sir, you had aged ten years and seen your life flash before your eyes like a badly edited PowerPoint presentation.

“Who—” you gasped, still processing your near-death experience, “—who are you?”

The menace placed a hand on his chest, dramatic as hell. “Nice to meet you, future daughter-in-law!”

Oh. Oh.

So this was Silver’s dad.

You had to take a moment. Because one—this man did not look like anyone’s dad. He looked like someone’s mischievous younger brother who steals your socks and sets them on fire for fun. And two—Silver was so calm and gentle and responsible.

How?

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN??

Genetics had to be playing 4D chess.

But you quickly discovered that while Lilia was absolutely, certifiably insane, he was also hilarious.

So, like any normal people, you both immediately started talking mad shit about the Fifth Prince and the Villainess.

“Can you believe,” you huffed, sipping your tea like an 18th-century noble gossiping at a ball, “that the Prince keeps trying to flirt with me in front of Silver? In public? With witnesses?”

Lilia cackled. “That boy has no shame. And his fiancée—gods above, she has the personality of a spoon.”

You nearly choked on your tea. “RIGHT?? And she keeps trying to touch Silver like he’s a limited-edition collectible.”

Lilia grinned. “Well, he is handsome.”

“Yeah, but he’s not touchable handsome. He’s look from afar and cry a little handsome.”

“Ah, so you cry when you look at him?”

“…I— I feel like I’m being entrapped by my own words.”

“What are you two talking about?”

You both turned to see Silver standing there, looking… confused.

You, ever the graceful conversationalist, froze like you had been caught committing treason.

Lilia, on the other hand, looked positively delighted.

“Oh, just talking about our beloved Crown Prince,” he said, tone dripping with sarcasm so thick you could butter toast with it.

Silver blinked. His eyes slowly drifted to you.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Your dad and I were just bonding over our deep, mutual hatred.”

There was a pause. And then—

Silver smiled.

Not just any smile. A pleased smile. The kind of smile you’d expect from a man who just found out his worst enemy stepped on a rake.

Which. Well.

Considering the Crown Prince was his worst enemy, that checked out.

Unfortunately, the moment of camaraderie didn’t last.

Because Lilia, with the delight of someone about to ruin your entire month, dropped a bombshell.

“Oh, by the way,” he said casually, like he wasn’t about to wreck your day, “war is brewing. The Prince wants Silver to go to the front lines.”

You stopped breathing.

Your blood turned to ice.

The original heroine had been all for it—saying some nonsense about how it was the right thing to do and how Silver should go save lives.

You?

You were NOT that kind of saint.

You were going to beg.

You were going to grovel.

You were going to throw yourself onto the ground like a soccer player faking an injury if you had to.

Silver was NOT going to war.

Lilia was watching you now, a knowing smile on his face.

You were too busy plotting your fiancé’s survival to care.

You had barely finished your morning tea when trouble arrived at your doorstep, wrapped in a cloak of audacity and bad financial decisions.

See, apparently, the previous owner of your body had the charitable sense of a malfunctioning Roomba. She’d give money to anything that sounded remotely good. Orphanage? Sure! Rehabilitation center? Fantastic! An organization claiming to rescue drowning fish? Take all of it.

And now, since you had not been throwing bags of gold at questionable "charities" like a medieval Jeff Bezos with a conscience, someone had come personally to shake you down.

The man standing in front of you was the exact type of person who looked like he belonged in a back alley deal gone wrong. He had the thin mustache of a man who thought twirling it made him look menacing and the beady eyes of someone who’d absolutely try to sell you "magic beans" at a 500% markup.

"You!" he sneered, pointing a bony finger at you like he was about to curse your entire bloodline. "Why have you ceased your donations to the Sacred Order of the Benevolent Fish Saviors? Do you not care for the plight of the aquatic brethren?"

You stared at him, unblinking.

“…Are you seriously trying to convince me that fish can drown?”

"The oceans are a dangerous place!" he snapped, voice thick with righteous fury. "Only the kindhearted can understand the delicate balance of aquatic life—”

"Alright, shut up." You pinched the bridge of your nose. "No more money. Get a real job. Touch some grass. Read a book that isn’t written by con artists."

You thought that would be the end of it. Oh, how wrong you were.

Because instead of groveling like any normal scam artist when their grift gets cut off, this man decided to take the most insane course of action possible—he lunged at you.

Now, let’s get one thing straight. You were ready to commit a crime. Your 4-inch heels were locked, loaded, and prepared to introduce themselves to his ribcage. But you didn’t even get the chance.

Because before you could react, something blurred at the edge of your vision—

CRACK.

The next thing you knew, the man was frozen in place, his wrist locked in an iron grip, and standing beside you was Silver.

Silver, who you hadn’t even noticed entering the room.

Silver, whose grip looked firm enough to end generations.

Silver, who just made a grown man sound like a dying accordion.

The scammer wheezed, his face rapidly losing color as he tried and failed to wrench himself free.

Silver’s expression? Calm. Unbothered. Serene, even. Like he hadn’t just manhandled this guy into an early retirement.

“…I’d appreciate it if you didn’t attack my fiancée,” Silver said, voice so polite that it somehow made everything ten times more terrifying.

You blinked. You could physically hear the bones in the scammer’s arm considering a career change.

Silver finally let go—shoving him toward the door like he was disposing of a particularly annoying mosquito. The man stumbled out, barely managing to stay upright, and within seconds, he was sprinting off the property like the devil himself was on his heels.

When Silver turned back to you, he looked almost sheepish. "…Sorry you had to see that," he murmured. "I don’t usually act like that in front of others."

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Because what were you supposed to say to that?

“Oh no, Silver, that was awful. Truly terrible. In fact, I definitely did not find it insanely attractive when you nearly broke a man’s wrist for me.”

Yeah, no way in hell were you admitting that.

Instead, you just smiled, folding your hands neatly in front of you. "No, no, it’s fine. No need to apologize."

Silver still looked vaguely guilty. You, meanwhile, were trying very hard to resist the urge to start giggling like a schoolgirl.

Because holy shit.

Was it legal to be this attractive AND chivalrous?

If Silver kept this up, you were going to have a serious problem.

The ball was grand, elegant, and, most importantly, the single biggest waste of your time since you once spent two hours watching a documentary about the history of forks.

You had already resigned yourself to being bored out of your mind when Lilia swooped in like the guardian angel you never asked for and dragged you to a shadowy corner of the ballroom. This was, according to him, the best place to engage in the most sacred of all noble pastimes—people-watching and ruthless judgment.

And what a show it was.

"Oh, oh, look at that one!" Lilia cackled, nearly doubling over as he pointed at a woman who had, in a bold and truly ill-advised move, decided to wear a dress that looked like a monochrome cake. "She looks like she repurposed a funeral veil!"

You took a sip of your drink and nearly spit it out. "Lilia, that dress has committed war crimes against fashion."

"The ruffles! The sleeves! It’s like someone asked themselves, ‘How do I make this look as unflattering as possible?’ and then succeeded beyond their wildest dreams," he added.

You continued this noble pursuit for a solid fifteen minutes, giggling over outfits that defied both reason and taste. The two of you had just started critiquing a man who looked like he had raided a circus wardrobe when your night took a dramatic turn for the worse. The prince—His Royal Unwantedness—had spotted you.

You watched in horror as he began striding over, each step dripping with the unearned confidence of a man who had never been told "absolutely not" in his entire life except by his father. This was a man who probably thought women fainted at the mere sight of him when, in reality, they were most likely collapsing from secondhand embarrassment.

Lilia’s expression shifted instantly. The usual mischievous twinkle in his eyes vanished, replaced by something cold and sharp. He looked ready to commit several crimes, and you were tempted to let him.

But no. You were mature. You were reasonable. You were absolutely about to handle this like a professional.

So you winked at Lilia and whispered, "Relax. I got this."

The prince didn’t bother with pleasantries when he arrived, because of course he didn’t. "Dance with me," he said, because why waste time on politeness when you can just issue demands like a badly written romance villain?

You took his hand with a practiced, polite smile. "Of course, Your Highness," you said sweetly, the verbal equivalent of setting a trap and waiting for him to fall right in.

The dance started off normally enough. The prince led you across the ballroom, his movements controlled and graceful. Unfortunately, any illusion of elegance was immediately ruined by the fact that he would not stop staring at you. Not in the way Silver did, all soft and careful, but like he was trying to figure out if you were edible.

"You seem different tonight," he said, voice oozing with forced charm. "More… confident."

You forced out a laugh that you hoped conveyed the exact right amount of fake amusement. "And you seem exactly the same, Your Highness."

If he noticed the insult, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he pulled you just a little closer. That was his first mistake.

His second mistake came when his hand decided to wander lower than what was remotely appropriate.

Your reaction was immediate. You didn’t even think—your knee just shot up with the force of divine judgment.

And oh, what a glorious moment it was.

The prince let out a strangled sound somewhere between a dying peacock and a man realizing all his hopes and dreams had just been shattered. He crumpled like a marionette with cut strings, collapsing into himself as the entire ballroom fell into stunned silence.

For one perfect, breathtaking moment, nobody spoke.

Then you gasped dramatically, placing a delicate hand over your mouth like the very picture of innocent devastation. "Oh my goodness!" you exclaimed, voice laced with the perfect amount of fake concern. "I was simply startled when you touched me there! I had no idea you were so close!"

The Empress, who had been watching this whole scene unfold with the same expression one might wear when realizing their soup had a cockroach in it, took a single look at her son, let out a long, exhausted sigh, and then turned on her heel and left the ballroom. She didn’t even glance back.

Somewhere behind you, Lilia was laughing so hard he had to physically clutch a pillar for support.

Before you could bask in your triumph, a warm, familiar presence appeared at your side.

Silver.

"Are you alright?" he asked, voice quiet but firm.

You nodded, still recovering from the sheer joy of watching the prince—His Royal Lowness— collapse like a sandcastle at high tide. "I’m fine," you assured him.

Silver, ever thorough, scanned you with a careful gaze, double-checking for any signs of distress. Apparently satisfied, he slowly turned his attention to the prince, who was still on the floor making noises that sounded vaguely like whimpering.

Silver’s face remained neutral, but the sheer force of his glare was something otherworldly. You were surprised the prince hadn’t just spontaneously combusted on the spot.

Lilia sauntered up beside you and, with the most casual nonchalance in the world, lifted his hand and gave you a perfectly subtle high-five.

Falling in love with Silver was not something you had planned for. It wasn’t even something you had remotely considered, because falling for a fictional character—even one brought to life by the absurdity of your existence—was stupid.

And yet, here you were. Doomed.

It had started subtly, like a slow-acting poison. You’d watch him train and catch yourself admiring the way he moved, graceful and disciplined, like a warrior from some epic tale.

Then it got worse. A white bunny hopping through the garden? That looks like Silver. A particularly stunning sunset, lilac and soft? Those are Silver’s eyes. A suspiciously sharp knife on the dinner table? Silver has a sharp sword.

There was no escape. The entire world had transformed into a living scrapbook of Silver-Themed Hallucinations, and it was ruining you.

You couldn’t sleep. Every time you closed your eyes, there he was—standing under the moonlight, holding your hand, looking at you like you were something precious. It was unbearable.

Which brought you to now.

You were sitting at a tea party, drowning in a state of sleep deprivation so severe that you were genuinely considering just face-planting into your teacup and accepting whatever fate awaited you. The sunlight was too bright, the air was too floral, and the pastries tasted like nothing. Everything sucked.

And then, because the universe hated you, the villainess approached.

She had the smug, self-satisfied look of someone who had never had a single original thought in her life. "Oh dear," she said, voice dripping with saccharine mockery, "you look absolutely dreadful today. Has your precious Duke been keeping you up all night?"

Usually, you would have handled this with grace. A snide remark, a well-placed jab, maybe even an eyeroll so dramatic it would have sent you into another timeline.

But not today.

Today, you were tired.

Today, you were grappling with a full-scale emotional crisis.

Today, you had reached your limit.

So, instead of responding like a rational, civilized person, you calmly reached for the nearest cup of juice, lifted it with all the dignity of a noblewoman, and threw it directly at her face.

The liquid splashed over her dress, staining the expensive fabric a deep, unforgiving red.

Silence. Absolute silence.

Her mouth opened, presumably to shriek, but you were not done.

Before she could get a word out, you grabbed her by the collar, yanking her forward so she could fully comprehend the depths of your unholy exhaustion.

"The next time you run your mouth," you said, voice dangerously low, "you might just end up meeting God."

Her eyes widened in pure, unfiltered terror.

Oh, but you weren’t finished. You gave her collar a final, dramatic tug. "And keep your hands off my fiancé."

Then, with the grandeur of a war general who had just claimed victory, you released her, turned on your heel, and stormed out.

Silver, who had witnessed everything, stared at you as though you had just set the entire kingdom on fire.

You grabbed his wrist, ignoring the way he flinched in bewilderment, and dragged him out with you.

You didn’t stop until you were safely inside the carriage, away from prying eyes, and only then did you collapse onto the seat, pressing your hands against your face.

Silver sat beside you, still looking utterly shell-shocked. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, clearly struggling to form a single coherent thought.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he slowly reached for your hand. His touch was warm, steady—like an anchor. "What’s wrong?" he asked softly.

And that was it. The last thread of your restraint snapped.

Before you could even think about stopping yourself, you turned to him, grabbed his face, and kissed him.

It was immediate. There was no hesitation, no moment of confusion. Silver kissed you back like he had been waiting for this his whole life. His hands moved to cradle your face, gentle but firm, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

You didn’t know how long it lasted—time had ceased to exist—but when you finally pulled away, your heart was a mess.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment crush you. "I love you," you admitted, voice raw. "And I have been suffering."

Silver’s eyes widened, but only for a moment. Then, with a sudden, almost breathless laugh, he leaned in again. "I love you too," he murmured against your lips, "so much."

And then he kissed you again.

Take that, villainess.

There were many things you did not want to deal with first thing in the morning.

A war? Absolutely not.

A war involving Silver? Somebody was going to die.

You groaned as you dragged yourself out of bed at the noise downstairs, feeling like a corpse being forced to participate in capitalism. You stomped downstairs, barely managing to keep yourself upright, and immediately regretted existing.

Silver was already in the living room, arms crossed, looking about two seconds away from snapping someone’s spine in half like a stale breadstick. Lilia, usually a walking cryptid with an unshakable grin, looked like he was holding back every unholy thought in his mind just for the sake of his son’s sanity.

And then. Them.

The Prince. The Villainess. The living embodiments of tax fraud and emotional instability.

Oh, hell no.

You grabbed the nearest maid, who was visibly vibrating with fear, and whispered, "What’s happening?"

She gulped. "T-The Prince is trying to send His Grace to lead the war."

Your soul ascended.

Your patience evaporated.

You had not suffered through an isekai, navigated 18th-century nonsense, and fallen head over heels for your incredibly hot and kind fiancé just for him to be thrown into a battlefield meat grinder because some discount royal didn’t want to risk his own cowardly neck.

You stormed across the room like a woman possessed, and the moment the Prince saw you, his whole face lit up—because he thought you were still the naive airhead he could manipulate into convincing Silver to go die for him.

The Villainess, however? She shrank back immediately.

Maybe it was the murderous glare you were directing at them. Maybe it was because she had witnessed your unhinged wrath firsthand. Maybe it was because deep down, she understood that she was in the presence of a feral raccoon of a person who had already died once and had nothing left to lose.

The Prince reached out to touch your shoulder as if he could physically weasel you onto his side.

Big mistake.

You swatted his hand away so hard you nearly dislocated his wrist.

"No," you said, voice dripping with finality.

The Prince blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"Silver’s not going to war." You looked him dead in the eyes. "Try someone else."

Silence.

The Prince’s face twisted into a diplomatic smile. "But, my dear—"

"Do I look like your dear?" You took a step forward, forcing him back. "Silver already said no. The Emperor didn't send a decree, which means you’re just trying to shove him in front of your responsibilities, aren’t you?"

His jaw clenched. "That’s not—"

"Oh, but it is," you cut in, grinning like a predator who just found dinner. "If you need a sacrifice so badly, why not lead the war yourself? Oh, wait—you’re scared." You tilted your head. "Why should Silver go fight and die in your place? What do you contribute to this kingdom besides being the reason the Empress probably drinks herself to sleep?"

Lilia let out a choked laugh. Silver covered his mouth to hide his amusement. The Villainess looked like she wanted to phase out of existence.

"How dare you!" The Prince seethed, looking like a child whose toy had been taken away.

"How dare you?" you mimicked back, voice laced with venomous mockery. "Seriously, just die already. It’s called natural selection. Worms like you don’t deserve to keep reproducing and terrorizing the female population."

The Prince, red with humiliation and rage, looked like he wanted to lunge at you, but before he could humiliate himself further, he turned on his heel and stormed out.

The Villainess trailed after him, but not before giving you a look that was equal parts impressed and terrified.

As soon as they were gone, you turned to Silver and clapped your hands together.

"So," you said, still brimming with unholy energy. "Let’s get married."

Silver, who was still processing the apocalyptic verbal execution you had just delivered, blinked at you. "What?"

You nodded sagely. "Yeah. Immediately. Preferably before they try something else. Then we can go on a honeymoon somewhere far away from all this war nonsense."

Silver stared at you, beautifully confused. "...Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," you replied. "Pack your bags, babe, we’re getting hitched."

Silver, against all odds, smiled. And then, he agreed.

Lilia threw a celebratory punch in the air.

Congratulations. You’re planning a wedding now, baby!

Planning a wedding was supposed to be a stressful but joyous occasion.

Your reality? It was mostly just stress.

Between dodging passive-aggressive nobles, fending off suspiciously enthusiastic tailors, and ensuring that the wedding menu didn’t include anything remotely related to the Prince’s favorite foods out of sheer spite, you were running on fumes.

And that’s when Silver came to you, looking strangely hesitant.

Immediately, your brain went to worst-case scenarios.

Was he having doubts? Did he get conscripted behind your back? Was he about to pull a tragic self-sacrifice move that you’d have to thwart with unhinged levels of devotion and threats of arson?

"Can we talk?" he asked, his voice unsure.

You, in full fight-or-flight mode, clutched your chest. "Silver, if you’re about to say something stupid, I’m legally obligated to stop you."

His expression twitched, like he wasn’t sure whether to be exasperated or endeared. "It’s not stupid," he assured you. Then, after a pause, "I wanted to ask… do you like this country?"

You stared at him. Stared.

"Silver." You grabbed both his hands. "Are you joking?"

His gaze softened, but he stayed serious. "If you had the choice, would you leave?"

You blinked. "Why?"

Silver exhaled, his grip on your hands tightening just slightly. "Lilia and I… We lived somewhere else before we came here. I was thinking—if we left, we could live peacefully. Away from all this. We wouldn’t be nobility, but we wouldn’t have to deal with—" He gestured vaguely, as if trying to encompass the entire kingdom’s collective insanity.

And that’s when it hit you.

You could leave. You could actually escape.

You didn’t have to waste your life playing politics in a country where half the nobility was allergic to common sense. You didn’t have to pretend to care about court scandals that made your brain rot. You didn’t have to deal with war-hungry royals who had the intelligence of a damp sock.

You could take your hot, kind, sword-wielding fiancé and dip.

You could live a peaceful, quiet, cottagecore dream where your biggest concerns would be whether the goats ate your laundry or if Silver accidentally adopted another wild animal.

You gripped Silver’s hands so hard you nearly cut off circulation.

"Silver." Your voice shook with emotion. "I love you so much right now."

He blinked, startled by your intensity.

"I’m taking as much wealth as I can from this godforsaken kingdom," you declared, fully committed. "And then we’re running. We’ll live a cozy life, I’ll grow a garden, you can train without political idiots breathing down your neck, and we’ll be so disgustingly in love that Lilia will probably want to leave out of secondhand embarrassment."

Silver stared at you for a beat, lips parting slightly—before he suddenly let out a breathy laugh.

God, he was so beautiful when he smiled.

He cupped your cheek, gaze warm, and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips. It was soft, reverent, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

You melted, gripping his sleeve to keep yourself from combusting.

When he pulled away, he whispered, "Then that’s it. We’ll get married, and we’ll be free."

And that was that.

You were getting married and escaping these lunatics before they had the chance to retaliate.

Honestly? Best wedding gift ever.

Mornings in your new life were warm, lazy, and sweet— the kind of peace you never thought you’d get after surviving the absolute circus that was your past life.

You stretched with a yawn, shuffled into the kitchen, and started making breakfast. The house smelled of fresh bread, eggs, and domestic bliss.

And then, like clockwork, Silver appeared.

You weren’t sure if he was half-awake or just naturally this clingy, but the second he found you, he wrapped himself around you from behind. His arms encircled your waist, and he rested his chin on your shoulder, pressing a slow, sleepy kiss to your neck.

“Good morning,” he murmured against your skin, voice still husky with sleep.

Weak. You were weak.

“Silver,” you tried to scold, but it came out softer than intended.

He hummed, not moving, not even pretending to be helpful. His weight was solid, grounding, a warm anchor against your back.

"You are actively making this difficult," you sighed, flipping a pancake.

“Difficult to cook?” he asked, his lips brushing over your jaw.

“Difficult to live, Silver. How am I supposed to focus when you’re like this?”

He chuckled, pulling you impossibly closer. “I don’t see the problem.”

And this was your life now.

In the afternoons, Silver trained with Sebek, and you watched, entertained by their very specific brand of friendship.

Sebek was loud, passionate, and dedicated. Silver was calm, level-headed, and tired. Together, they created the strangest dynamic known to man.

“Silver, your form is slipping!” Sebek barked, nearly vibrating with intensity.

Silver deflected Sebek’s attack without even looking. “It’s fine.”

“It is NOT fine!” Sebek yelled, throwing himself forward with the fury of a man who took personal offense to subpar swordsmanship.

You sipped your drink, watching this unfold like it was a very dramatic stage play.

Eventually, Silver knocked Sebek’s sword from his hands with an effortless twist, and Sebek fell to his knees, gasping.

You clapped. “Wow. What a performance. I’d rate it a solid 8/10.”

Sebek looked offended. “8?! What was missing?!”

“More drama,” you said. “Maybe fake your death next time. Really sell the loss.”

Sebek narrowed his eyes, as if actually considering it. Oh no. What have you done?

Lilia showed up almost every day, either to offer unsolicited advice or to cause chaos. Sometimes, he brought Malleus.

You still hadn’t fully recovered from realizing that Malleus was the fae prince.

Today was no different. He arrived grinning, eyes full of mischief, which was already a sign of danger.

“So,” he started, dramatically leaning in. “Have you two considered… adopting a dragon?”

Silver blinked. You stared.

Malleus, sipping his tea beside him, nodded sagely. “It would be an honorable task.”

You set your cup down very, very slowly.

“I—what?” you asked, convinced you misheard.

“A dragon,” Lilia said, as if that explained everything. “You’re living in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nature, why not raise a baby dragon? Imagine the bond! The companionship! The chaos!”

Malleus actually looked excited. “I could grant you one from my own lineage.”

Silver looked at you, waiting for you to react.

You looked at Silver.

Then back at Malleus, a literal fae prince, who had just casually offered to gift you a baby dragon.

Sebek, in the corner, looked like he was about to faint.

“...You’re joking,” you said, voice dangerously neutral.

Lilia and Malleus just smiled.

You dragged your hands down your face. “I barely survived dealing with a corrupt kingdom, now you want me to raise a fire-breathing menace?”

“It wouldn’t breathe fire immediately,” Malleus assured.

“That is not the part I am concerned about.”

Silver, who had been quiet this whole time, actually seemed to be considering it.

You kicked his shin under the table.

He cleared his throat. “I think we should wait.”

Malleus sighed. Lilia just patted your back. “You’ll change your mind.”

Not likely.

But at night? It was just you and Silver.

After a long day of chaos and laughter, you’d collapse onto your shared bed, immediately melting into Silver’s embrace.

He kissed your forehead, soft, lingering. “Tired?”

You sighed happily, nuzzling into his warmth. “Mm. Just happy.”

His arms tightened around you, like he never wanted to let go.

And this was your life now.

Your old country was probably in flames, but who cared? You had love, friendship, and peace.

Silver smiled at you, soft and content. And you thought, Yup. This is it.

Thank my best friend for writing this ridiculous, insane novel.

Who do you wanna see next?

Series Masterlist ; All Masterlists

[inseobts]

Fool

law x reader

you meet your former captain again after months, after having walked away from that unrequited feeling, not knowing that, in reality, he loved you too (part 1 - if only she knew but you can read and enjoy this even without reading the other one)

inspired by the song: fool by winner

a/n: uhm idk if this sucks but I did it based on my fav group's music so be nice eheh (ฅ́ ˘ฅ̀)♡ also I firstly made it about zoro but then I got reminded of an old request (if only she knew) so I turned it into a sequel for law.

words count: 3.5k

tags: angst, argument, regrets from law

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The crowded port buzzes with life, laughter, and the scent of grilled seafood wafting through the air. You weren’t expecting to run into them, into him. But fate, it seems, has a cruel sense of humor.

The Heart Pirates.

You spot them before they see you, their familiar ship docked near the edge of the harbor. For a second, you consider turning around, walking away before anyone notices. But then a loud, familiar voice cuts through the air.

"Hey—! No way! It's you!" Penguin’s excited shout freezes you in place, and in an instant, all eyes are on you. The crew’s expressions shift from shock to joy, and before you know it, you’re being pulled into warm greetings, pats on the back, and teasing complaints about how long it’s been.

But one pair of eyes lingers on you longer than the rest. Law stands at the back, arms crossed, his usual unreadable expression in place. But there’s something there, a flicker of something in his golden gaze that you can’t quite place.

The tension is broken when Shachi grins "You gotta eat with us today! Just like old times. No excuses."

You hesitate, but your stomach betrays you, growling at the thought of a warm meal. And the truth is… you missed them. More than you’d like to admit.

"Fine," you sigh, rolling your eyes "But you’re paying."

The crew erupts in cheers, dragging you toward their ship, the warmth of old friendships making it impossible to say no.

Dinner is chaotic, loud, and full of laughter. The crew fills the space with stories of their latest misadventures, and for a while, it feels like nothing has changed. But beneath it all, you can feel the weight of his gaze on you, the space between you and him.

As the plates pile up and the drinks flow, the crew starts throwing casual questions your way.

“So, how have you been?” Bepo asks, his voice gentle, though his eyes are searching.

Shachi leans in with a knowing smirk “Yeah, how’s life been treating you?”

Their words are light, playful even, but you can hear the unspoken question beneath them. They all know. They knew before you left. They had seen the way you looked at your captain, the feelings you tried so hard to hide.

And they had seen the way he looked at you leaving, even if he never admitted it.

The room may be full of laughter, but there’s an undercurrent of tension, one that only grows when Law remains silent, nursing his drink and watching you from across the table.

Penguin nudges your arm, his grin teasing but his eyes soft “Bet you haven’t found anyone to boss you around like a certain captain of ours.”

You roll your eyes, playing along “Like I’d go looking for that.”

The table erupts in laughter, but there’s a knowing look exchanged between them all. They’re testing the waters, trying to see if your heart still beats for him, but careful not to push too far. And as much as you try to brush off their words, you know the answer. It never stopped.

From the other side of the table, Law exhales sharply, setting down his drink with just a little too much force.

The crew exchanges glances. They’ve been waiting for this. They had hoped that bringing you back, even if just for one night, would finally push the two of you to talk. But as they watch the tension build, they realize they can’t force this. Whatever needs to happen between you and Law can only happen if you’re alone.

Then something happens, maybe an accident, a spilled drink, or just the natural (or so they act like) shifting of the group, but suddenly, you and Law are alone. The noise of the crew fades into the background, leaving only the two of you there.

The setting sun paints the sky in shades of gold and pink as you stand outside the tavern, staring out at the ocean. The breeze tugs at your hair, but you don’t feel it. Your thoughts are elsewhere, tangled in the mess that the crew just made to leave you two alone.

And then Law.

He’s the only thing on your mind right now. He’s the reason your heart feels like it’s being torn in two for months, or even years at this point. You missed him like hell, but the words he said to you, before you left, will never leave your mind…

“Get lost from my sight.”

They echo in your ears, stinging with every memory of just one the moments he made you feel unwanted. He has always been distant, and you always tried to reach out. You tried so hard. But that night, everything in you snapped. You got tired of his anger, his harsh words, they cut deeper than anything you expected.

You turn away, unable to face him again. The tears threaten to spill at the memories, but you fight them back. His words hurt, but it’s more than that. It’s the feeling that something between you is broken now, something that can’t easily be fixed.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there, close but not close enough. You can feel the space between you, thick with unspoken words and regret. Your back remains turned to him, but you don’t have to look to know he’s still standing there, his presence heavy in the air.

Finally, his voice breaks through the silence. It’s softer than you ever remembered, because now there’s something else... regret. You can hear it, and it twists something in your chest.

“Get lost from my sight.”

You don’t turn around. His words still feel like a slap in the face, even though the venom has faded from them. Law’s not speaking to you now. He’s speaking the truth of what he felt in the moment, the words he had let slip too many times in his anger.

“Those cruel words… I spat out without hesitation.” His voice trembles, a small crack breaking through his usual composure “Anyone can see… I was a fool.”

Your heart clenches at his words, but you don’t say anything. What’s there to say? He’s the one who pushed you away, and now, here he is, broken, admitting to it.

You take a deep breath, your throat tight, as you finally turn to face him. His gaze is on the floor, his fists clenched, but you can see the regret in his eyes. It’s raw. It’s real.

“Even if I’m sorry now, nothing changes. I know.” His voice is quieter now, the weight of what he’s said settling between you both “Nothing changes...” he repeats, more to himself than to you, as if trying to accept it.

Law steps closer, and you don’t move. You’re not sure if you want him to come closer. He’s the one who pushed you away, and yet, here he is, still reaching for you in his own way. His voice breaks the silence again.

“It’s okay to swear at me, even that’s not good enough. I just wanna hear your voice. I just wanna hear you talk to me...” His words feel fragile, like he’s hanging on by a thread, and you can feel his desperation in every syllable.

You open your mouth, but no words come out. What is there to say? What can you say after everything that’s happened?

“Fool, stupid. I now know it’s all my fault.” His voice cracks as he says it, the self-loathing dripping through every word “Dummy, idiot. I now know it’s all my fault.” He shakes his head, the weight of his mistakes crushing him “I pushed you away.”

You stand still, watching him, not knowing what to do. He’s broken, you can see that, but can you forgive him so easily? He hurt you so badly that part of you doesn’t know if you’re ready to let him back in.

Law takes another step toward you, this time closer than before, and you instinctively take a small step back. He notices but doesn’t say anything. He seems unsure of everything now.

“I said I was selfish. Only knew myself. I think I’m crazy.” His voice is barely above a whisper, the regret so deep it almost hurts to hear “It’s me who pushed you away.”

The words hit you like a punch. You know he’s not lying. He has been selfish. He’s pushed you away. But hearing him admit it… you want to believe that it’s enough, that his regret is real.

But still, you stay quiet, unsure of how to process the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

He steps even closer now, his eyes searching yours, like he’s begging you to say something, anything.

“I was a fool” His voice falters, and his gaze drops to the ground as he shakes his head “Even if I regret it now, nothing changes, and I know it.”

There it is again, the finality in his voice. He knows the damage is done. He knows you might never look at him the same way again. And that hurts. More than anything.

You feel your heart aching, but you don’t know what to do with it. His regret is clear, but is it enough? Is it enough to fix what he’s broken?

Law reaches out, but stops just short of touching you. His hand hovers in the air for a moment, and then he lets it fall, his shoulders slumping.

“I don’t care if it’s just a short moment. I'm glad I could see you once more… For the last time.”

His voice cracks, and you can feel the desperation in him. He wants something from you, but what? Forgiveness? Understanding?

“You used to dazzle, and now you’re far away. Going through the scattered memories, I long for you every day.” His words are soft now, almost pleading.

You take a shaky breath. His voice, his confession, it all makes you ache, but you still don’t know what to say. You want to reach out, to tell him that it’s okay, that you forgive him. But you’re not sure if you can just let it go that easily. The hurt is still there.

“Yes, I know I’m late. But please... I wish you could just come back as if nothing happened.” He speaks the words as if he’s begging the universe itself to let you come back to him. But you don’t know if you can.

You turn away, not because you want to, but because you don’t know how to respond. His words, his pain, they echo in your mind, but you’re not ready. Not yet.

The silence between you both is deafening. Law stands just a few feet away, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his face still full of regret and confusion. He doesn’t know what else to say. You can see it in his eyes he’s waiting for something, anything from you. His gaze flickers over your face, searching for a sign that you’ll let him in again.

But you can’t bring yourself to speak. You’re not sure if you can.

The world around you feels distant, like everything is happening in a dream, and you’re not sure if you want to wake up.

Law shifts his weight, taking another small step forward. You hear him inhale deeply, the weight of his next words heavy in the air.

“I know I’m late,” he says, voice barely a whisper, but it’s enough to cut through the silence “I know I messed up, and it’s my fault. I was selfish. I only thought about myself. And now… now look at what I’ve done.”

His words are raw, stripped of all his usual bravado. This is the Law you’ve never seen before, vulnerable, lost, and so deeply ashamed.

You feel your chest tighten as his words settle into your bones. The storm inside you rages on. You’re angry. You’re hurt. But you’re also confused. You want to hate him. You want to shout, to tell him how much he’s hurt you. But every time you look at him, every time you hear the sincerity in his voice, it feels like something in you starts to crumble.

“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean the things I said. I… I was stupid. I didn’t think.” his voice cracks, and you can hear the frustration in his tone “You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve me being so… so careless.”

You stay silent. You can feel the anger rising in your chest, the hurt threatening to swallow you whole, but you can’t say it. Not yet. Not when he’s standing there, looking so torn apart.

Law takes another step closer, his voice trembling with the weight of his words.

“I know I was an idiot. A complete fool. I pushed you away, and now I’m the one who’s paying the price” He’s so close now you can almost feel the heat of his body, but the space between you both feels like a vast ocean. His eyes meet yours, and you can see the depth of his regret, the raw pain that he’s trying to hide “But I can’t stand this. I can’t stand being without you. I need to hear your voice. Please… just give me one more chance.”

His words hit you like a wave, crashing over you with all the force of the emotions you’ve been trying to bury. The storm inside you threatens to explode, and for a moment, you can’t hold it back anymore.

You turn to face him fully, your heart hammering in your chest. His gaze never wavers from yours, his expression pleading, desperate.

“Fool, stupid,” you hear him mutter again, almost to himself “I now know it’s all my fault.” He’s repeating it like some sort of mantra, the guilt weighing him down with every word.

You want to scream at him. You want to throw your anger in his face and tell him how much he’s hurt you, how much you’ve been suffering because of him. But instead, your voice cracks as you finally speak.

“Law…” Your voice is barely a whisper, but it’s enough to get his attention. His eyes lock onto yours, searching, hoping.

“I… I don’t know if I can just forgive you like that,” you say, your voice trembling “You hurt me. You pushed me away without thinking about how I felt. I gave you what you wanted before leaving for good. I gave you your space. All while I was hurting, thinking you hated me. And now you expect me to just forget it?”

Law flinches, the weight of your words hitting him harder than anything else. His face falls, guilt flashing across his features.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t even deserve it,” he says quietly, almost to himself “I just… I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I know it’s too late, but I needed to say it. I needed you to know that I was wrong. I’ve always been so focused on myself, on the crew, on work… but you were right there beside me, trying to help me and all I did was pushing you away because of my own pride.”

The sincerity in his words cuts through the tension like a knife. You can see it in his eyes now, the man you’ve known for so long, the captain who’s always carried himself with such confidence, now breaking down in front of you. He’s not just asking for your forgiveness. He’s asking for a chance.

You swallow hard, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. You’re torn. Part of you wants to forgive him, to reach out and pull him into your arms and tell him it’s okay, that everything will be fine. But another part of you feels like that would be too easy. Too quick.

Law’s head drops, his shoulders slumping in defeat. His hands fidget at his sides, unable to find comfort in anything. He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, and it’s clear that he doesn’t know how to fix what’s broken.

“Please,” he whispers again, his voice barely audible “Just… just let me make it right.”

You stand there, torn between the feelings of anger, sadness, and the remnants of the love you’ve always had for him. His words are genuine, but is it enough? You don’t know. You don’t know if anything will be enough to undo the hurt he caused.

But as you look at him, really look at him, you see the pain in his eyes, and you feel the wall inside your heart start to crack.

You can’t undo the past. And maybe it’s too soon to forgive him fully. But you can’t let him keep carrying this weight by himself either.

You take a deep breath, your heart still racing in your chest.

“I don’t know, Law,” you say quietly “I’m not just going to pretend nothing happen.”

Law nods slowly, his expression a mix of regret and relief. He doesn’t speak, but you can see the understanding in his eyes. This is far from over. The road to healing, to forgiveness, will be long and difficult. But for now, this is a start.

“I know,” he whispers, stepping back, giving you space “I’m willing to wait. As long as it takes.”

You nod at him, because maybe that’s enough for now.

The silence between you and Law is thick, heavy with everything that has been said and everything that hasn’t. His eyes are still on you, searching, waiting, but you don’t know if you’re ready to give him a proper answer. Not yet. The emotions swirling inside you are too much, too tangled to sort through in just one moment.

Then, just as you open your mouth to say something the sound of hurried footsteps echoes from the shadows. Before either of you can react, the crew bursts into the room, their faces alight with mischief and unrestrained grins.

“Ahh, finally!” Penguin announces, throwing his arms up dramatically “Took you two long enough.”

Your stomach drops “Wait, what—”

Bepo nods sagely “We were listening the whole time... sorry.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief as you glance at Law, who pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply “Of course you were...” His voice is flat, but you can hear the underlying exasperation.

Shachi waves a hand dismissively “C’mon, Captain, don’t act like you’re mad. We did you a favor.”

“I didn’t ask for a favor” Law grumbles, crossing his arms.

The crew doesn’t care. Instead, they exchange knowing looks before turning their attention to you.

“So,” Ikkaku starts, leaning in with an eager expression, “does this mean you’re back?”

Your breath catches in your throat “I—”

“I mean, you missed us, right?” Shachi adds, wiggling his eyebrows “And you obviously missed our dear Captain here.”

You shoot him a glare, but the heat creeping up your face betrays you. Law, for his part, looks about two seconds away from kicking them all out, but the crew is relentless.

“Look,” Penguin says, his grin softening into something more genuine, “we just want you to be happy. Both of you.”

Bepo nods again “You belong with us. With him.”

Your heart twists at their words, and you glance at Law, who’s watching you carefully. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something there, hope, uncertainty, a silent question only you can answer.

The room feels impossibly small with all eyes on you, but deep down, you already know what you want. You’ve known all along. This is your family. And Law… Law is the person who has always held your heart, no matter how much pain the journey brought you.

Taking a deep breath, you meet Law’s gaze and finally speak “If you’ll have me… I’d like to stay.”

For the first time that night, Law’s lips twitch into the ghost of a smile “Idiot,” he mutters, but his voice is softer now, tinged with relief “You never had to ask.”

The crew erupts into cheers, celebrating your return like it’s the greatest victory of all. Shachi and Penguin slap Law on the back, while Bepo all but tackles you into a hug. The warmth of their acceptance, their excitement, is overwhelming, but it’s exactly what you needed.

Law doesn’t say anything else, the crew slaps his back more and he loses his balance and is now close enough that your shoulders brush.

Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, everything else fades away. A faint blush dusts both your cheeks as you get lost in the quiet intensity of his gaze, drawn into each other as if the rest of the world has ceased to exist.

The noise in the room gradually dies down as the crew starts noticing, nudging and elbowing each other with smirks and wide grins. One by one, they fall silent, watching as you and Law remain caught in each other’s stare, completely oblivious to everything around you.

Then, just as the moment stretches unbearably long, Shachi clears his throat loudly “Oi, oi, are you two gonna keep making heart eyes at each other or what?”

The spell shatters instantly. You and Law both snap back to reality, faces burning, while the crew bursts into laughter and cheers once more.

Despite the teasing, despite the embarrassment, you can’t stop the small, genuine smile that tugs at your lips. Because in this moment, with Law beside you and your family around you, everything feels right.

You’re home.

[rueclfer]

Ok bet.

Can i request an Aizawa x Reader one shot, where they’re a couple but they’re keeping it on the DL (as aizawa is private and an underground hero) but reader is a more well known hero so fans start shipping reader with hawks, then p.r or management says this yn x hawks thing is good publicity and good for their brand/marketing/image etc So reader and hawks (for publicity) start to pose as a couple and attend many events together etc and it starts to mentally and emotionally affect Aizawa. He goes on forums and social media and all anyone can talk about is how perfect hawks & reader are together.

Make it angsty. 💋

OKAAAYYYYY ouch ouch ouch avoidant aizawa stay away from meeeeee

(written under cut)

everything is fine // shouta aizawa

all that was familiar to shouta had dissipated within the span of a few days. for the past few weeks, your schedules had completely clashed and he found himself waiting for you for most nights of the week- staying up with a perpetually full pot of coffee and his ringer on full volume.

neither of you expected your hero work to take this kind of a turn.

he's teaching from the mornings to afternoons while you're patrolling with hawks- your "pr-partner," or "work-husband" as he'd like to call himself.

in the evenings, shouta is alone in his office grading papers while you're in meetings one after another at the hpsc's office.

late at night, shouta is on patrol while you're prepping for more paparazzi photos with hawks for your pr team to upload.

it's a never ending cycle, but nothing comes easy when your partner is in the limelight with japan's #2 hero, and even worse when all the media can talk about is your blossoming "relationship" with him.

shouta's eyes darts up from his phone once he hears the front door swing open.

there you were in the flesh, but you weren't dressed for a gala or fancy dinner. you look like you, and for some reason, it gives him a sense of relief.

"where did you end up running off to?" he drops his phone in his lap, an amused smile tugging on the corners of his lips. "without your phone?"

"walk in the park. with keigo." you shrug, kicking off your shoes

the tightness in shouta's chest returns.

"keigo, huh?" he mutters. "another stunt?"

"not really, but could be?" you casually shrug. "if anyone saw and and snapped photos, but it was just to talk about how dystopian it's all been." you breathily chuckle, hanging up your keys.

"you're telling me. i've seen my partner on my social media feed with another man more than i've seen them in person for the past month." he releases a dry laugh.

it comes out harsher than he intended. he bites his tongue in regret the second the second the sentence leaves his mouth.

you stop in your tracks and look at him. he averts your gaze by nonchalantly returning his attention to his phone, hoping you missed the tone in his voice.

"what do you mean by that?"

"it's nothing." he exhales, hoping to avoid the conversation altogether. "have you eaten yet? i can make something for you."

"i'm fine..." you mutter warily "...but are you?"

"i'm fine."

a beat a silence passes between you two as tension fills the air. your palms are suddenly sweaty as he continues to avoid your eyes, looking at every other corner in his apartment before hitting yours.

"you know, this pr thing between keigo and i has done wonders for my rankings. it's not all about him, you know?"

"well, when have you ever cared about that?" his brows furrowed for a moment. "keigo and his team are only using you for their benefit. you know that right?"

your eyes flash with hurt, and he feels his stomach drop. he knows he should apologize now and rush towards you with his arms around you, but he's hurt too.

he's hurt too.

"not everyone's content with being an underground hero, shouta." you snap back. "i like validation. i like the interviews. i like the public's attention. sue me."

shouta can't help but let out a bitter laugh.

"it's all yours, sweetheart. not like you can get it here, right? with me?"

shouta starts to get up from his spot on the couch. you hate when he gets like this. jealous. snappy. avoidant.

you never fight light this, but when you do, it lasts days. you can give him space and regularly check in, but he would rather pretend like nothing happened before talking about it.

“stop.” you block his way from entering the hallway. “seriously, what’s your problem? why are you acting like this?”

you’re chest to chest with him, and he’s breathing deeply as if he’s trying to compose himself. he still won’t look you in the eyes.

"if this is what you want, then i’m not going to stop you, okay?" he finally says. "it's just not me, and you know that."

"and i'm not saying it has to be?"

"i love you, but i can't watch and be a part of whatever this is."

you stay silent, looking into his eyes for another solution, but you could read it in his face.

this is good for you. you want this. it hurts me, but i'll let it.

shouta releases a deep sigh and pushes past you and into the bedroom. you two don't speak for the rest of the night.

[littlespoonevan]

your hand in my pocket to keep us both warm

post 8x08 because i'm SAD in a way that can only be eased with buddie hurt/comfort 💔 title from abstract (psychopomp) by hozier

-

Buck is the one to drive him to the airport because who else would it be?

It feels a lot like deja vu as he approaches the glass doors of Departures but his step only falters for a moment before Eddie’s hand is catching his sleeve at the elbow and leading him through them. It’s further than Abby ever let him get.

Eddie lets him go as far the security line and he almost looks regretful when he turns to face Buck.

Buck would like to think he’s handled this well so far. He’s been supportive, helped Eddie choose his new home, listened to his fears about his parents, reassured him about Christopher, promised to oversee the shipping of the rest of Eddie’s stuff next week. He’s done everything right.

It hasn’t made any of this feel less wrong.

They look at each other now, awkward in a way they never are, until Eddie drops his bag and pulls him into a hug without saying anything.

Maybe because there’s nothing to say. Buck’s heart has been lodged in his throat since he parked the car; he’s not even sure he could say anything if he wanted to.

Eddie’s arms around him are a familiar weight though so Buck allows himself to sink into them. To tuck his chin into the crook of Eddie’s shoulder and to fist his hands in the back of his jacket like if he holds on tight enough he might be able to convince Eddie to stay.

When Eddie does pull back he makes no attempt to leave the circle of Buck’s arms. Instead one of his hands goes to that same spot at the juncture of Buck’s neck – always the same spot – and when his thumb makes contact with the divot in Buck’s throat he seeks out Buck’s gaze.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Buck croaks, the tell-tale burn behind his eyes becoming more pronounced by the second.

“Like I’m Abby,” Eddie sighs. “Or Ali. Or Tommy. I’m not leaving you, Buck.”

Buck tries to laugh but it comes out too hysterical and Eddie’s hand tightens on his neck.

“I’m leaving,” he allows. “But I’m not leaving you.”

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you,” Buck says, the words wobbling in the middle. His hands are still twisted in Eddie’s jacket.

“And you think I do?” Eddie asks with a half-laugh. “Who am I gonna talk to when my folks are driving me crazy? Who am I gonna talk to when I do anything? Besides, you think Chris will accept you not visiting at least once a month?”

Truthfully, Buck has no idea what Chris wants right now but he clings to Eddie’s words anyway.

“Everyone at work is gonna find me insufferable. It was bad enough that last time you weren’t there.”

Eddie laughs again, thumb brushing Buck’s neck seemingly absentmindedly. “No they won’t. And I’ll be on Facetime so much it’ll be like I never left.”

Buck ducks his head but nods anyway, gathering up the courage to say what he wants to say next. “I know you have to go,” he starts, steeling himself as he makes himself meet Eddie’s gaze. “But please don’t go forever.”

Eddie’s expression blanks, his mouth parting over nothing. Buck can only stare back, hoping that just this once it might be different. That he won’t get a, ‘Take care of yourself, Buck,’ and a hand to the cheek before the person in front of him disappears forever.

Eddie doesn’t touch his cheek. Instead he presses their foreheads together hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make Buck’s breath catch and rush out of him on a shaky exhale.

“I won’t. I promise,” Eddie breathes and his hand moves from Buck’s neck to the back of Buck’s head and Buck can’t help wondering for a moment what would happen if he closed the distance between them. If Eddie would kiss him back.

It’s not a thought he’s ever entertained before but he’s thinking it now and it feels…like it makes sense. Like an inevitability.

And what a time to have a realisation like that.

Eddie leans back then and Buck forces himself to unclench his hands, attempting to smooth out the back of Eddie’s jacket with trembling hands.

“You should go,” he says because Eddie won’t.

Eddie nods faintly in agreement and it looks like it takes every ounce of effort for him to take a step back. Buck picks up his bag for him, offers it to him, and tries for a weak smile so Eddie will know it’s okay. That he can go and Buck won’t cause a scene.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get to my parents place.”

Buck nods. “Give Chris a hug for me.”

“I will.”

Eddie starts looking towards the security line again and Buck blurts out, “Tell him I love him.”

Eddie looks back to him, a devastating smile of understanding on his face. “He knows already. But I will.”

Buck nods again and then there’s nothing left to say. Eddie turns to go and Buck does the same because he can’t watch until he’s out of sight. It hurts too much already and he can barely hold his tears back as it is.

He doesn’t need to watch himself get left behind again.

~

He’s just unlocking his car when his phone rings. He doesn’t check who it is as he climbs in, just shoves the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he reaches for his seatbelt.

“Keep me company while I wait for my flight?”

He straightens so quickly the phone almost falls into his lap but he catches it just in time. And he tries to laugh but he thinks it might come out more like a sob. “Keep me company on the drive home?”

“Always,” Eddie says like they’re driving home from work after a long shift.

Buck switches his phone to speaker mode and looks down at the keys in his hand, at the keys to the loft, Maddie’s place and Eddie’s house respectively, considering his options before turning on the ignition.

“So there’s the guy at the gate-“ Eddie starts and Buck lets the sound of his voice wash over him. Allows himself just one singular moment where he closes his eyes and holds his hand to his chest before he pulls himself together and drives out of his space.

Eddie is offering him a play by play of the guy at the gate who’s insisting his luggage is not chirping and Buck gets his breath back enough to make a quip about how that made it through the security scanner.

When he reaches the freeway it takes hardly any thought at all for him to take the exit that’ll get him to the Diaz house fastest.

He’s going home after all.

~

[dollarbils]

masterlist

〘 billie eilish 〙

•

-> fics

wish you were gay

context. billie’s feelings towards your friendship change as you battle the question of your own sexuality.

show them you’re mine ༄

context. since you’re recent album, you’ve been getting a lot of attention on social media, needless to say billie, your girlfriend, got quite jealous.

can i suck it? ༄

context. your best friend, billie, wants to take a look at your new nipple piercing. so you let her...

but baby, i

context. your ex girlfriend, billie, can’t resist calling you a week after you’d broken up.

ruin it

context. billie doesn't want to ruin your friendship so she keeps her feelings to herself.

believe what you want ༄

context. your ex girlfriend, billie, shows up at your party, but fails in expressing her intentions.

american jesus ༄

context. your girlfriend likes taking you slow and soft sometimes, choosing to drag out the experience and treat you like her princess.

male fantasy

context. when you encounter your ex girlfriend, an awkward moment turns into something more, and you both begin to rethink your decision to end things.

nothing like your tattoos

context. when you spend the night together, billie never fails to leave in a hurry.

puppy

context. your girlfriend surprises you with a gift, bringing up a string of emotions as you converse about your future together.

i can’t move on, babydoll

context. she’ll never move on, and you’ll always take her back.

i’ll show you how

context. you’ve been hesitant to engage sexually with your girlfriend, billie, but she assures you you’ll be alright.

-> series

break up with him (1), did you break up with him? (2), i like you better with me (3) ༄

context. you and billie are broken up. but despite your new relationship, when you meet at a party, the feelings you both swore were gone, seem to resurface.

my stalker (1), crush on my stalker (2), my girl’s a stalker (3) ༄

context. your stalker doesn’t appreciate the police report you just filed.

tell me i’m your only fan (1), don’t wanna be your fan (2) ༄

context. your most active fan on onlyfans soon piqued your interest as she became something much more.

call me maybe (1), i’m glad you called (2) coming soon..

context. your ex situation-ship knows how to manipulate herself back into your life, her motives however are masked by her nonchalant demeanour.

-> requests

tell me you think of me ༄

context. you’re fed up of billie bringing home different girls every night. that’s until one night when you overhear something of interest in one of her one night stands.

is that eilish?

context. your best friend raves on about the fact your wearing her perfume.

drunk on her touch ༄

context. when you meet billie at her party, she cant keep her eyes off you.

I think, therefore I am ༄

context. billie has a crush on her guitarist

on top of me ༄

context. early on into your relationship, billie voices an idea that’s been consuming your mind for weeks.

morning, baby ༄

context. billie wakes you up to attend to your needs, and hers.

those poor unamerican girls ༄

context. your religious parents aren’t happy about your illicit relationship with billie.

babbles ༄

context. billies a talker and she can't stop herself from rambling while you're between her thighs, or on top of her.

‘wanna make you yell ༄

context. scenes of a night you spent together end up as the visuals for billies hit me hard and soft tour

admit you want me ༄

context. billie, your roommate, starts a fight with you which soon gets heated.

such a fuckboy ༄

context. billie approaches you at an event, but you’re soon reminded that she has others waiting in line for her attention.

-> blurbs

stay quiet, baby ༄

context. billie teases you at the grammys (request).

bling ༄

context. the bling on her teeth have you daydreaming about her lips more than you should (request).

ilomilo

context. after a fight, you and billie find yourself regretting your actions.

wildflower

context. you can't help falling for her, even though you're both aware it could never happen.

i could buy her so much stuff

context. billie spoils you rotten. she couldn’t give a shit if you felt guilty, but you’re grateful for her generosity.

aftercare ༄

context. when billie has you weak and sensitive, she never forgets to care for your needs.

i know you

context. heated kisses and soft reassurance, and at the end of the day, neither of you needed more than the knowledge that you truly know each other.

patience

context. your girlfriend finds it hard to battle her impatience when it comes to needing you.

maybe just fuck off

context. billie’s in no mood for any distractions, no matter the situation .

las docs uvas de la suerte

context. your best friend, billie can’t help finding your new year’s tradition the cutest thing ever.

P*RNSTAR ༄

context. after leaking your sex tape to get your attention, your ex girlfriend finds a way to make it up to you.

[honourablejester]

I was watching a video on top battlefield moments from science fiction, and I was delighted to see included the moment from the Babylon 5 episode ‘Severed Dreams’ where Ambassador Delenn of the Minbari shows up to the Battle of Babylon 5 to invite the enemy Earth Alliance ships to run the fuck away. Because yes. That moment is always a correct choice.

“This is Ambassador Delenn, of the Minbari. Babylon 5 is under our protection. Withdraw, or be destroyed.”

“Negative! We have authority here. Do not force us to engage your ships!”

“Why not? Only one human captain has ever survived battle with a Minbari fleet. He is behind me. You are in front of me. If you value your lives, be somewhere else.”

Followed by the EA ships proving that they did, indeed, value their lives. Heh.

With no context whatsoever, this moment is still boss as hell. One lady shows up with three cruisers and a dinky little White Star warship, and she makes the opposing side, which two seconds ago had the station and all its exhausted defenders dead to rights, literally run away. She says go and they do. Immediately, no questions asked. And she implies why, she implies that Minbari are people humans just don’t want to fight, but if you don’t have context, it might not be clear to you the scale of what she’s talking about.

Which is that, fifteen years ago, Ambassador Delenn of the Minbari, in her fury and grief over what she saw as the murder of her mentor, cast the deciding vote that lead to the Earth-Minbari war, which is a nice thing to call what was essentially a genocidal religious crusade on behalf of the Minbari to completely annihilate the human race. And they damn near succeeded. She regretted her decision almost immediately, but by the time she managed to halt what she’d started, it was during the Battle of the Line. The final annihilation of Earth itself. Earth, humanity, fought them for every inch of space in between, but they lost every single fight. All the way to Earth. No one, except Sheridan, the man behind her, survived battle with the Minbari. And Sheridan, it has to be said, basically cheated, to almost war crime levels, by using a distress call to lure a Minbari ship into a nuclear minefield. That was the only victory humanity eked out. The Minbari just steamrolled them, an implacable tide of annihilation that literally nothing they had could stop. The Earth-Minbari War was not stopped by anything humanity did, it was stopped by Delenn herself showing the Council of Nine that humans had Minbari souls (aka that humans and Minbari could reincarnate as each other, making them in religious terms the same species), granting the Council a religious ground to halt the war. Humanity was, essentially, annihilated by Delenn’s fury, and saved by her compassion, and there was nothing they could do to influence either of them.

That, in this moment, is what just appeared on this battlefield. Embodied in this woman. A fifteen year shadow of the end of their race. The Battle of the Line is etched in every human memory in this setting, the moment when they evacuated their homeworld, evacuated Earth, while every fighting ship they possessed died in orbit trying to delay, not stop, just delay, the implacable tide of the Minbari onslaught.

When Delenn shows up and, in cold, quiet fury, says ‘withdraw or be destroyed’, she fucking means it, and there is not a single human being in this galaxy (or, to be fair, anyone else either) who doesn’t believe her. The Minbari have proved it. You can piss off anyone else in the galaxy you like, you can fight gods, but you do not, ever, piss off the Minbari. Especially not this Minbari.

Because she’s learned since then. She has seen the horrors of war, she has felt the almost incomprehensible stain of blood on her hands, she has fought to stop what she started and realised how infinitely more difficult it is, and she has learned. So if she goes to war now, it is with full knowledge of the cost and the consequence. If you tip her over that line, woe betide you. Because it means she’s decided that your death is worth whatever she can’t stop in the aftermath, and if your death is worth that much, then there’s nothing in this galaxy that will prevent it.

God, but Delenn was such an absolute tour de force of a character. This quiet, gentle, soft-spoken woman whose fury had destroyed races and whose compassion had saved the galaxy. She’s not even warrior caste, she’s religious caste. She’s not, technically speaking, a fighter. But hers is the voice that starts and ends wars, and she has never once flinched from personally standing in the face of annihilation to do so.

If she told you to stop being silly and go home before something bad happened, I promise you, you would listen too. Heh.

(Also yes, I’m aware I’ve posted pretty much exactly this several times before, but literally every time I rewatch that scene it brings this wave of giddy awe and wild ferociousness back. Literally. It’s a scene that makes you want to fist-fight god, and a scene that makes you think you could maybe win too. If Delenn is behind you, then even if you don’t win, you will mess them the fuck up in the process. She’s inspiring that way. Heh).

[demon-at-peace]

DC + DP theatre kids

So Sam is such a theatre kid, don't even try to lie to me, she's dramatic, sassy ect, but she wouldn't ever participate in it, because the popular kids would be there, and it would just be awkward, after highschool though she drags Danny and Tucker to a small theatre three hours away.

Located in Gotham of all places, the current play is Hamilton, (purely for myself) Sam is Hamilton, Tucker is Thomas Jefferson, and Danny decided to be Eliza, they are in love with it. They are singing Guns and Ships in car rides, just utterly in love with the tiny Gothic theatre and the play.

Sam is thriving, funding the theatre simply because she can't stand to see them go out of business. the theatre kid shenanigans are maxed out. They are gossiping in the wings (totally get told to shut up) Sam constantly complaining about itchy costumes.

And obviously the theatre hasn't had enough funds to put on a production like this for years. So they are going full out, and are sold out. The bats are worried, rouges are theatric, there is a reason the theatre hadn't gotten funding, or actors. The rogues liked to make a mess of things. After all last time something like this was the Grayson's.

So on the opening night everyone is just waiting, for something to go horribly terribly wrong. The bats stationed around waiting for the joker, or scarecrow, just something to happen. Dick is so stressed out, he's fretting, yelling at everyone, practically breaking down. The bats are nervous too, this is practically begging something to go wrong.

Except Danny, Tucker and Sam refuse to let something go wrong. The first interference, an attempt at releasing fear toxin, is easily stopped by Danny. The next rouge to try something is Mr. Freeze (idk I just needed a rogue) the room starts to get cold, and Hamilton stops it, delivering right on beat of one of his dramatic lines.

Joker goons come at some point and Danny (in full costume) is just foiling them effortlessly before strutting on stage and delivering the best performance of his life. Tucker utterly saves the tech from going wrong, mad scientist hacker mode and then flounces on stage as Thomas Jefferson .

the bats are smitten. Steph doesn't know what to say, the lead is hot, and clearly a meta, and just effortlessly beat up a goon in the wings of the stage.

Tim doesn't know what to say about this Thomas Jefferson, other than he's a genius, and really fucking pretty.

Jason might be in love with the badass crossdressing guy that's Eliza. Because anyone who can beat someone up while wearing a corset is his type.

Jason is full also in nerd mode, and is utterly oblivious, he's singing to songs, and full on in love with all the actors voices. So what if he knows Hamilton, he doesn't predict the headlines, or realize his career as a badass crime lord is done.

Duke is also a theatre kid and knows all the lyrics, because he was forced into an after school activity as a kid and fell in love. so he knows the lyrics too.

Eventually the performance is done, with nothing happening, the rogues beat to hell, the bats exhausted, but they still ask out their perspective partners, because if they lose the chance they will regret it for eternity.

They say yes, obviously. And the first dates just make them fall in love even more. Mind you the next play is even more chaotic.

---

Hamilton is just awesome. I have no defence, I am simply a nerd.

Sorry I haven't been posting, schools are stressful and I've been a moron. also thank ya'll for being amazing, fr tho I'm shocked so many people like my silly ideas, but thanks!

Also am I spelling theatre right? cause google agrees with me but Tumblr doesn't.

Bye!

[untolduttering]

Desires

Summary: Law does routine check ups on all the crew members, and decides to take advantage of the situation when it’s your turn.

Tags: nsfw, medical setting, inaccurate medical practice, I would say dubcon just to be safe, medical malpractice, vaginal fingering, piv, unprotected sex, female reader

Word Count: 3k

In order to keep a healthy and functioning ship, Law had each crew member do a monthly check up with him. Simple and short, it was merely to give anyone the chance to bring up possible ailments or small issues that may have gone under the radar. You hadn’t known about this routine when you first joined as Law wanted you to get comfortable with your new life on the Polar Tang. Now that months had passed and you were melding in smoothly, it was time for your first one. As you approached the infirmary, your nerves were getting the best of you, and now wished you had asked Ikkaku what you were in for.

Unsure what to do once at the door, you knocked, and heard Law call, “Come in,” right after.

“Captain,” you said as you gently closed the door.

“Y/n-ya. I’ll need you to strip down and put on the gown on the bed, if you’d please,” he gestured to it with his hand. “I’ll step outside while you do so.”

You froze, caught completely off guard. You didn’t know what to expect, so nothing should have really thrown you, but this was completely blindsiding.

“Strip down? Like take off… everything?” You asked.

“Yes,” he said as he got up. “Just the gown.”

You swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”

He nodded back as he passed you and left the room.

In the time you’d been on the Polar Tang, you had developed some sort of feelings for your captain. The idea of having to be nude in front of him left your skin buzzing, both in excitement and dread. But you wouldn’t be naked, you’d have a gown on. You picked up the said gown and rubbed the material between your forefinger and thumb. The material was thick like normal clothes, and so technically, you wouldn’t be naked in front of him at all.

On the other side of the door, Law was questioning his morals. No, this was not standard procedure. There wasn’t any point in making his crew change clothes, not when it was a ten minute check up. Ever since you joined, you had been this annoying itch in his skin. You sat deep beneath, somewhere he couldn’t reach, something he didn’t know what to do about. He imagined all the ways he could have you, either between your legs or in that special place in his chest. And so he gave himself this one thing, this one abuse of power, and that was it. He’d give some reason why the next time he didn’t make you change, that the first time is different, more thorough possibly. He just wanted to have the knowledge this one time that you stood before him with nothing beneath that gown. Just this once.

After changing into the gown, you folded your jumpsuit and underwear, setting them on the corner of the bed with both bra and panties buried deep inside the suit. You took off your boots and socks as well, and set those at the foot of the bed. Sitting propped on the edge with ankles crossed and hands pressed into your lap, you called out, “Okay. I’m ready.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to keep your gaze on his face, instead opting for his chest and the stethoscope around it. You missed his heavy lidded gaze, and wrote off the momentary jump his chest made when he inhaled sharply.

He was regretting this indulgence heavily now. Staring at your exposed legs, he was caught by the part of the gown that was hitched up, showing more thigh than he had anticipated. He felt ridiculous about how little he was getting riled up over. And still he needed more.

“Any concerns before we begin?” he asked.

You wracked your brain, but nothing ached, there wasn’t any lingering pain from past issues. Just the usual bumps and bruises that came with maintaining a pirate’s life. “No.”

“Alright. I’ll be starting with your heart and lungs. I’m just looking for any abnormalities, like an irregular heartbeat or a struggle with breathing. I’ll need you to lean forward so I can access your back.” He washed his hands as he spoke and put on a pair of gloves.

You did as he asked, staring hard at the floor as you waited. You watched his feet approach and stop to your right. The cold from the stethoscope made you jump, and almost like it was instinctual, Law lightly grabbed your knee, as if to steady you. Your heart began to pound wildly, and the heat began to grow in your cheeks. He’d know it was his touch that made you nervous, and then he’d ask you why, and you’d have to tell him that just his mere presence made you light-headed, and so of course your heart was going to explode from his hand. And then he was never going to come anywhere near you again. Your damned heart was going to ruin it all.

But he didn’t ask about your heartbeat. He only asked for a few deep breaths before he stepped back, taking the plugs out of his ears and resting the whole thing back on his neck. “Sounds good,” was all he said. He didn’t admit that your nerves pleased him, that it might mean you felt something towards him. But he tried to smother it. He was not something that anyone could possibly desire.

“Alright, now for your eyes. Similarly, I’m looking for any abnormalities, something like cloudiness or an irregularity in the iris or pupil.” He pulled a slim cylinder from his array of tools, and asked you to open your eyes wide and to stare at his right ear. He turned it on, and a bright light blinded you. You didn’t move, doing your best to do as he asked and be a star patient. You always felt the need to find some sort of approval from him, as he wasn’t the type to give it out liberally, and that made it even more worthwhile. He switched to the other eye, asking you to look to his left ear. He stepped back, murmuring, “Good, good.”

“Now I’ll be looking into your ears. I’m just looking for any irritation, anything foreign, blockage, or possible damage both to the ear canal or the eardrum.” He grabbed one of the many tools displayed across the counter. Softly, he grabbed your chin and tilted your head so that he could look. This sudden and continuous intimacy was overwhelming; he had never touched you before. It simply must be how it went with everyone else on the crew. With the way he usually spoke to you, it was clear he held no secret fondness just for you. This was just work. When he switched sides, his leg pressed against yours, and he kept it there. You didn’t know exactly what about this was bringing him so close, but you hoped it would never end.

“I have to check your throat now. If you could open your mouth and stick your tongue out, please.” Once again, you did as told. You expected him to reach out again for one of his tools, for him to just simply look in, but instead his forefinger and middle finger were pushed in and pressed down on your tongue. You let out a small and surprised yelp. You squeezed your thighs together, tight, against the shot of pleasure you felt, and grabbed onto Law’s coat.

Law knew damn well this was not the right way to do it. He had those wooden sticks, neatly tucked away in a glass jar. But he needed to feel the warmth of your mouth, the slick of your spit wetting his fingers. His left hand immediately gripped your thigh as soon as that sound left your mouth. Law wasn’t really seeing, he couldn’t focus on anything but how you felt beneath his hands. He slowly dragged his fingers down your tongue, savoring the sight before fully removing them. He didn’t move away though, nor remove his other hand. He was incapable of it. Belatedly, he registers the hands gripping his coat. His eyes meet yours.

You immediately let go and leaned back, misreading his look as one of questioning and annoyance. Heat burned your cheeks as you held your mouth open, waiting for his next instruction.

He cleared his throat and managed to pull himself away. “You can close your mouth. Everything looks fine.”

Law turned away, and stood back in front of the counter. He looked to be contemplating something, staring at the items splayed before him without touching them. He rested his hands on the counter, a finger on his right hand tapping and tapping away. Nerves started to claw at your stomach.

“I’d like to do a vaginal exam,” he said suddenly. Your stomach swooped and your head felt light immediately.

“You can say no, it’s not necessary, it’s merely on offer, a precaution.” Law was cursing himself. He was being unbelievably stupid, he knew it, and yet he couldn’t stop himself. He stayed facing the wall, rigid and unmoving. It was a gamble and one that he immediately regretted. If you said no, it would marr the way you looked at him for the rest of both of your lives. It was too far of a jump from a regular exam, you’d see right through it and know him for the pervert he was. He was being gross and was crossing too many lines, all for the slim chance you might accept. And if you did, then what? What the fuck was he doing right now?

A different war was going on in your own head. It was an intimate and vulnerable suggestion, one that would bring him closer than ever before. Could you let him do something like that? What even would he do? Would he simply look, or would he stick his fingers in like he had just now? The thought sent another pleasant shiver through you, and the heat at your core was building once again. Fears and nerves and need made you so unsettled, and the need for him to touch you became unbearable all of a sudden. It was a professional formality, nothing more, and you were taking more from it than he was, turning it into something it wasn’t, but you didn’t care. He didn’t have to know you were enjoying it, that it was something you were going to use to get off to later, and multiple times more after that. It made you feel dirty but you didn’t care.

“Yes,” you said. “I’m okay with that.”

Law finally looked at you, the surprise clear on his face. For a second, you feared that you missed something, some queue that meant you were supposed to say no. But then his face cleared, he nodded, and placed himself in front of you.

“I’ll need you to lift your legs up. I can position them for you, if you’d prefer.” Law was barely keeping himself together. He couldn’t believe you agreed, and didn’t want to make the wrong move and ask for him to stop. His entire self was currently a sea of desire and self hatred.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d prefer that.” Your voice was soft, anxious over spoiling the moment as well as what came next.

Law nodded, and pushed your gown all the way up your thighs. He was desperately trying to keep his hands still, to keep his composure and professionalism. But the more skin he exposed, the farther he took it, the more he started to lose it. He then gently grabbed both of your knees, and proceeded to lift them and push them to your chest.

All the air rushed out of Law’s lungs as you were now fully exposed to him. You could hear it as it happened, and as you watched his face for further reaction, you saw his tongue dart out to quickly wet his lips. It was not exactly what you had expected, but it was an ideal one nonetheless.

As he let go of your legs, pressed your toes into the mattress to keep yourself in the position he placed you in. Law’s movements seemed slower, and his eyes never left your pussy.

“I’m…” he trailed off, his emotions finally breaking through the barrier he’d placed. “I’m going to put my fingers in now, okay?”

You nodded, noticing that he did not give the medical reasoning behind it. It didn’t matter to you, as long as he touched you.

He slipped one finger in, emitting a small sigh from you. It went in easily, the wetness having already coated your hole. He curled the digit, just barely moving it in and out, feeling around your walls. Law placed his other hand just beneath your thigh, leaning in closer, terribly focused. He felt your walls tighten at his touch and proximity, and began to feel smug.

“Feels nice in here,” he said. It came out breathy, and a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Feeling bold, he added another finger, and reached deeper. You rocked your hips forward and let out a whine.

At this, Law finally meets your gaze. He looked to your mouth and leaned in close. His eyes flit back to yours, to your mouth, and then your eyes again, asking. His eyebrows furrowed. Pleading. You barely nod before his lips are smashed against yours. Law is a starved man, and he devours you greedily. He pulls his fingers out and rips off his gloves, desperate for that skin to skin contact. You buried your hands into his hair and moaned into his mouth. It was messy and heated, kissing until it became a sloppy make out. You parted your lips to let his tongue in, and Law did not hesitate to explore your mouth. His hands had moved to grip your thighs, keeping them in position and kneading them as he did so. They moved lower and lower, teasing. He inserted his fingers into you again, and started properly pumping them in and out. You pulled away to breathe and moan, and Law took the opportunity to latch onto your neck.

It was divine to finally have those skilled doctors fingers inside you, working you open. He scissored them as he went, his palm hitting your clit again and again, and it was better than all those daydreams. His mouth was hot where he sucked on your skin, and each playful scrape of his teeth made you groan.

Law kept a fast pace, his fingers hitting that spongy sweet spot again and again, but it wasn’t enough, you wanted more.

“Law,” you breathed. “I want you.”

He lifted his head and pressed his mouth to your once again, muttering, “You want me? Say what you want.”

You whined again before saying, “I want your dick. I need you to fuck me.”

He hummed and said, “You do?”

He could be so frustrating, such a tease. Huffing, you said, “Law, please.”

He finally obliged, taking his fingers out and licking them clean before working his belt undone and unzipping his pants. He pushed them and his underwear down just enough to pull his cock out. Law dragged his tip through your folds, coating himself in your fluids and relishing the way his actions made you squirm. Right before you were about to complain, he pushed himself inside, taking it slow to let you adjust. It wasn’t all that thick, so the burn of being stretched was pleasurable, but it was long, and he was deep by the time he bottomed out.

“You feel good, pretty girl?” Law asked.

“Yeah.” You took a deep breath. “Yeah, I feel good.”

Law pulled himself out, till just the tip was still barely inside, before slamming himself all the way back in. You cried out, your back arching, and Law kept fucking into you, setting a brutal pace. Every accidental brush of your hand against him, every longing look he gave you when you weren’t paying attention, and every ache that Law felt when he was near you was put into each thrust. He wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you close, until your chests where flush against each other. To have you so close to him was making him wild, and to have you mewling and crying out into his ear made him go positively insane. That added with the way your walls squeezed around him made him want to never let you out of his sight ever again.

Your own thoughts were completely filled with Law. It was impossible to think of anything else. The way he held you so close and slammed into so wantonly, your skin making lewd slapping sounds and the wet squelching of your cunt being fucked, that it was him filling you up so nicely, it all was so overwhelmingly good that it made tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Incoherent sounds spilled from your mouth, and as the heat started to build in your lower stomach, you whined out Law’s name again and again.

He reached down between you and started rubbing your clit with his thumb. You moaned out at the new sensation and gripped Law’s shoulders harder, nails starting to dig in.

“There you go, baby. There you go,” Law murmured, sounding strained. “Just let go for me.”

Your brain had gone blank at this point, focused on nothing but the man before you and the heat building in your core. Your words were slurred as you chanted out a “please, please, please.” The feeling built until it suddenly snapped and you came with a cry.

“There it is, just like that, so good for me.” Law’s words came out all strung together, talking you through your orgasm just as much as he was talking to himself as his own came closer. He kept rubbing your clit as he fucked you through your high, pushing you close to overstimulation. At a final pulse from your pussy, Law came inside you. He removed his hand and pulled you close again, his hips stuttering as he finished.

Law rested his forehead against yours, both of you panting and trying to collect yourselves. Once you caught your breath, you broke the silence.

“Did I pass?” you asked.

Law groaned and rolled his eyes as you giggled. He pressed a kiss to your mouth before saying, “Yeah, you did.”

[burningcheese-merchant]

YOU!!! YOU GOT ME INTO HAVING BEAST X ANCIENT AS MY GUILTY COMFORT SHIPS!!! HOW DARE YOU!!!

Guilty? Of what? Guilt implies wrongdoing, which I have not committed and neither have you :) I am but a humble merchant, peddling my humble wares. Caveat emptor, my anon friend. Beast x Ancient is a highly addictive substance, it says so on the tin. Maybe you should've thought it through better :)

"How dare you". Lol. Lmao, even. How dare I? I dare like THIS

Oh nooooooo Mystic Flour stopped being an emotion-denying pussy and finally popped the question!!! Dark Cacao said yes!!! Look at them gooooooo I hope their honeymoon is nice

Can it be? Is it... them? Is it Shadow Milk with his other half? His most treasured marionette? His dear Silly Vanilly? Are they enjoying a nice, romantic lunch together in the cute little date area I designed previously? Is Shadow Milk laying the flirting on extra thick? Is Pure Vanilla laughing and playing along? Are they trying to feed each other? Is Shadow Milk making kissy faces? Are they happy? Are they in love? Can they live without each other?

Whoooooaaaaaa what's that? What's that special, admittedly haphazardly constructed Valentine's Day area? What's it for? WHO is it for???

NO WAY!!!!!! BURNINGCHEESE IS REAL!!!!! THEY GOT CAUGHT IN 4K!!!! QUICK GET THE TABLOIDS!!!! GET THE PAPARAZZI!!!

Look at them together on the swan boat 🥹 so happy! So smitten with each other! Burning Spice and his precious thief, his beautiful little bird, his delicious prey; Golden Cheese and her love, her darling, her handsome brute, her ruby 🥹🥹🥹

And the LOVE BOX! Ice cream date in the love box! The lighthearted bickering! The banter, that amusing little back-and-forth they always love to have with each other! Her confidence and wit, his straightforward passion! Neither ever backing down from each other! Neither repent or have any regrets! Nothing here but joy and fun and affection!

And... the chocolate tent 👀 wonder what they're up to in there, huh? What are those looks they're giving each other? What's that seductive pose Burning Spice is striking? Are they just relaxing after a lovely day together? Maybe having some more dessert? Having each other for dessert? Are they conceiving Pepper Jack in there 👀👀👀 (that place better be soundproof, man)

You will join me in the Beast x Ancient abyss!!! You will love the complex dynamic that exists between the 5 pairs!!! You will analyze them incessantly to the point that you can make 10k word posts about them and their relationships!!! You will start imagining fanchildren!!! You will want to explore them in all aspects: standard toxicity, Beast redemption, Ancient corruption, forbidden love, and everything in between!!! IN THE END, YOU WILL BECOME ME! AND IT'S GONNA FEEL GOOD

Ok I'm done being stupid now lol. Welcome to the dark side, Anon, we have cookies with psychological issues and hero/villain codependent romances

[penkura]

Zoro has come to want nothing more than for you and your children to be safe. He believes for the longest time that the three of you being on the Sunny, where he can protect you, is the safest place in the world, no village or city could be safer. Zoro believes that fully, up until your ship is attacked by enemy Pirates. No one is surprised when you take your children, who are barely two years old and nearly four months old, below deck for safety, even as they both cry from the sounds and you try to calm them down.

When it's all over and he goes to retrieve the three of you, there's a strange feeling in his chest and a thought in the back of his mind that hits him when he sees you coddling your toddler and infant, both of whom are still fussy and upset, but your son starts to relax when he sees Zoro there and knows everything is okay, quickly running to be held in his dad's arms. He lifts him easily, your two year old burying his face in his neck, still crying just a bit, and the face you give him tells Zoro you have the same thought.

This isn't a safe place for children.

The two of you have several discussions the days after, on what to do now that your two little ones have had to experience the reality of living on a pirate ship so early on. Eventually you decide that it's best if, at the next island you dock at, you take your children and leave for some time, to give them a chance to grow up without fearing for their lives. Most places you visit are receptive to your crew, they welcome you all happily, and you fully believe the next island will too, based on things you've heard about it. Zoro only agrees because he wants you to be safe, you and your babies, he doesn't want anything to happen to any of you, not now not ever.

He doesn't fully accept that idea until a few weeks later, when you've left the ship with Nami and Jinbei, and have Zoro stay with your napping babies. The thought has been nagging him ever since that last attack against your crew, since he's been watching your kids grow a little more. Your son has been attached to Zoro ever since, especially when he wakes in the night, calling for him like he's had a nightmare (he probably has, Zoro realizes), while your daughter has been fully calm ever since, sleeping and nursing normally, she doesn't understand what happened and won't for several more years.

When you get back later, you find Zoro still watching them sleep, like he hasn't moved at all, lost in thought as you sit beside him. You lean against his arm, and he acknowledges you with a slight grunt and nod, before you start talking.

"I found a place we can stay."

"Yeah?"

"A small house right inside the town, the landowner is willing to let us rent it."

"That's good..."

The rest of the crew helps you pack that night, Luffy has agreed to letting you and your children leave for a time, at least until they're old enough to defend themselves, though you aren't sure you'll return. He understands that too, saying they'll always come by no matter what, as often as they can, with a grin on his face that eases you. Zoro plans to stay with you a few days more, while the Sunny is docked, and even tells you he'll take leave until you're comfortable, but you don't want him to waste time. It's not fair to him, or the rest of your crew, so you promise him that you'll be fine, the three of you will be okay.

But when those few days are up and it's time for everyone to go, you're starting to regret your decision, especially as your son cries and holds onto Zoro's leg, telling him to stay. It breaks both your hearts, and your daughter starts to whine while in her carrier on your chest.

"No go! Dada stay!"

When he finally looks down at your son, Zoro gives him a small smile as the toddler looks up at him, tears and snot running down his red face, before he picks him up and starts to wipe the tears away.

"Now that's enough. I'll be back."

"No...no go!"

"Hey now, you're a big boy, aren't ya?" Your son starts to quiet, nodding just a little, before Zoro sets his forehead against your son’s, "I need you to do something for me, all right? I need you to take care of your mama and baby sister until I get back, okay?"

He sniffles but nods again, before hugging Zoro around the neck.

"Miss you..."

"Yeah...I'll miss you too, buddy."

Zoro sets your son back on the ground after a few more minutes, before leaning down to your daughter and kissing the top of her head.

"Gonna miss you too, princess, be good for mama," you've been trying not to cry, for your children really, but you almost join in the tears when Zoro hugs you next, "I'll miss you the most. Be safe, all right?"

Nodding, you smile just a bit, leaning up to give him one more kiss before he leaves.

"I love you, we'll see you when you get back."

"I love you, too. I'll be back as soon as possible."

"I know you will."

Your son waves the whole time he can see Zoro leaving, only stopping when he's no longer visible, then looking up to you.

"Dada back..."

"Yeah," you smile and take his hand, starting to lead him back inside your rented home, "Dada will come back, just like he said."

[radio-fmm]

Kiss

Ace x reader

fluff drabble + fem reader

“Oh god, I don’t even remember the last time I was kissed” embarrassment and booze tinted your voice as you giggled at your hopelessness, the moon hanging high above you the only witness of your statement besides your dear commander and friend

Ace’s eyebrows jump in surprise, surely you were just being modest right? You were the most beautiful person that had crossed his path, funny, clever, easy at conversation and so unique; there was no way you didn’t had people begging for your attention and at least a peck, hell he’d give everything for just one kiss of yours

“You’re joking” your face drops, that natural shyness creeping its way to your cheeks making him regret his teasing tone

“Am not” you say now serious as you balance yourself on the edge of the ship, eyes looking at the bottom of your glass in regret or embarrassment? Ace couldn’t tell since his attention was being stolen by your pouting lips “Before becoming a pirate, I only dated this one guy,”- you trailed off, your tongue running lose and a sour taste spreading at the memory.- “He was not only my last kiss but also my first”

Ace stays silent clinging at every word that leaves your pretty mouth. You’d always restrained from talking about your love life whenever the crew bring the topic to the table, staying still and quiet as you listened attentively, claiming to never having anything important to say on the matter, and he now understands why

“Do you… love him still or…?” The idea of your heart belonging to someone else made him burn, nevertheless he would understand, after all, he wasn’t that big of a deal and in his eyes you deserved better

“Absolutely not”- it’s almost comical how you were quick to answer. -“I did love him I guess once upon a time, but he wasn’t a good lover” your eyes trail off again now to look at the ocean waves crashing below, there’s certain hurt that fills your atmosphere that has Ace’s mind reeling

He wanted to show you how you deserved to be loved, every fiber of his being burning at the thought of this stupid guy taking you from granted; you alway caring and thoughtful, witty and kind heart that accompanied your otherworldly beauty that had charmed him

So lost in his thoughts he doesn’t catch how he’s looking at you heavily, eyebrows angry with a frown that makes you take a swing of your drink already hating the course of the conversation

Your voice brings him back to earth “You must think I’m a loser”- an awkward laugh follows, hanging in the air as you wished you had more alcohol to down

“NO!” Ace practically screams, immediately feeling embarrassed as your big eyes gaze at him surprised- “I respect that”

The silence that follows his statement makes you want to crawl out of your skin before the ocean takes you away and spits you out on the opposite side of the grand line, too ashamed to even walk away and run from him you remain focus on the stars twinkling above the commanders head, alike the ones that paint his face

“But if you want to change that, I could help” your vision quickly falls on him, his freckles that you had recalled before being dusted in pink, his brown orbs patiently awaiting for a response as they trace every inch of you over and over

Your breath starts to pick up speed, your breasts peeking from your shirt when you take in air that you fight to keep in but it just escapes you. Your mouth stays agape as it struggles to concoct a yes or a no, only luring the man before you like a light house in the middle of the merciless sea. You wanted this so bad like nothing ever before, your heart that laid on the hands of the fire fist the moment your eyes met now being close to combust

“Yes, I would like that” a whisper could be louder than the words that had escaped you, landing right into Ace’s heart

He can’t believe it, his ears only understanding the yes that started your sentence as the rest died before he could make them out. He had been dreaming of you so long it was almost pathetic

Your eyes stay still taking in their favorite view of each other as he walks closer caging you in, his wide frame covering you like a warm blanket against the cold sea breeze. One of his hands travels to cup your cheek, immediately melting under his touch like wax over a candle. His face shows his hesitation, afraid you are already regretting this but you immediately reassure him by hanging by his neck, your hands grasping his raven locks making him hold in a shaky breath of pleasure

His head finally falls so he can meet your lips halfway as you reach up. The moment he delicately grazes the lips he had been staring at the whole night making hi mind buzz

Ace kisses you with much feeling, basking in the way your mouth fits in his, having to stop himself from losing control of his actions as to not scare you away. Eventually as you grow more confident after feeling acquainted with the way he kisses, you let go. It becomes urgent and greedy, breaths mingling as your mouths open so you can access more of each other, a dance of lips, tongues and yearning that numbs every other sense

However, you cannot kiss forever, so it ends as Ace steps back to allow you to catch your breath, an understanding sinking in both of you as you finally realize that the thoughts and feelings that plagued you also went after him

“Let’s do that again”

Masterlist

[fieldofdaisiies]

Just A Little Bit of Your Heart

ship: Azriel x Reader type: angst word count: 2,4k  warnings: curse words, mentions of a one night stand, unexpected pregnancy summary: It was just a one night stand, or that is what you thought... fic masterlist

"The baby will have wings!" 

Your hands tremble. And they tremble so much the plate you are holding slips out them, and then shatters when it hits the floor. Splinters fly everywhere, but your best friend is quick to shove you away.

She is faster than you, gently shoving you away before you can lean down to collect the shards. "Not in your current state! Let me do this."

You huff. "I am pregnant, not fragile or ill," you say, still dried tears on your cheeks, and more burning behind your eyes. 

"Yes, with a winged baby, because this fool did not pay attention." There is so much fury inside of your best friend, you have never seen this side of her before, her voice drips with venom. 

"For making a baby it always needs two people. I am not innocent in this." You crouch down and help your best friend collect the shards of broken glass and—

"Fuck!" You lift your index finger to your mouth, licking the droplet of blood away. 

"I told you to let me do this, you are hurting yourself and—" "And what? They baby will still have wings and I will still be pregnant. I just cut my finger, nothing dramatic."

You swallow thickly, slumping onto the ground. You immediately regret your tone and snapping at your best friend. She only wants to help and be there for you…

But it is so much to deal with and then the hormones just intensify everything you are feeling.

The fear, the apprehension about the baby having with wings and the prospect of having to raise the child by yourself, should you survive the birth, finally reach the surface. You tried hide these emotion for so long, but now you fail — they all bubble up, overwhelming you.

You lean against the kitchen counter behind you, pulling your knees up and fold your hands over your face.

Then the damn breaks, tears running out of your eyes, rolling down your cheeks as you sob into your hands. 

"I am so scared," you bawl. 

Your best friend has already scooted over, careful of the broken pieces of porcelain, and wraps her arm around your shoulders. She pulls you to her chest, letting you cry into her shirt. "I know that the babe has wings, the healer confirmed it. And I am just working in this little shop, I don't earn enough to take care of the child alone."

Your tears wet her shirt, and your best friend holds you tightly, her hand clasping your upper arm. She is becoming your anchor, the only thing you can hold onto in this moment.

"It was so foolish. He said he took the tonic. I also drank the tea the same morning, and neither of those things worked. Conceiving for fae is so difficult, why…"

Your voice breaks and you can't finish your sentence, your throat is dry, burns and the back of your mouth aches. 

"It wasn't foolish. You were both careful, and it just happened." Your best friend's voice is softer now, although inside of her a burning fire of fury about the shadowsinger putting a baby that could harm you inside of you. It could cost you your life and she would never forgive him for that.

You exhale a long breath when you lift your head a little, still leaning onto your friend. You rest your head against her shoulder, staring at the window opposite you. 

A veil of grey is being drawn over the sky, dark clouds passing by — rain is about to start. You keep staring at the window, sitting in silence as the first raindrops start to fall, landing gently on the window pane. You watch as the rain intensifies, and the sky darkens further until heavy rain pours down and wind whips agains the windows and the walls of the apartment building you are living in. 

The atmosphere outside mirrors the whirlwind inside of you, the storm brewing there, the cold and gloomx atmosphere.

There are so many emotions. And these emotions, mostly fear and nervousness, mingle with the hormones that actually make you so very happy that your are growing a little babe inside of you, but at the dame time so sad that the child will have to grow up without a father.

The whole previous evening you spent staring at your round belly in the mirror, sobbing silently to yourself.

With the big wool sweaters you always wear the belly is barely visible, but when naked, one can obviously see the growing bump. 

You best friend draws in a deep inhale and leans her head against the top of yours. 

"You need to talk to him," she says in a soft voice. "And before you protest, I say so because first of all, he has a right to know. And secondly, and most importantly, he might be able to help you."

You sniff loudly. "How should he help me?"

"The High Lord, who he is close with, has a son with wings. And our High Lady is also only fae, so there must be a possibility."

"What if he wants nothing to do with me?"

"Then you at least tried."

"Don't you think I will only be hurt more?"

You lift your head to look at her. There is a small smile on her lips, one that conveys support and warmth, her eyes shining with empathy.

She shakes her head. "You still have me. I won't leave you alone with this. I never would. But you still have to tell him."

You don't want to do it, you don't want to face Azriel, don't want to tell him, but you know she is right. You have to do it. He has a right to know.

This was a one night stand. 

You somehow caught the male's attention in a small bar in Velaris, and somehow he ended up in your bed. When you woke up, Azriel slipped into his trousers and out of your flat within a few moments. He was gone without a word, disappeared into the shadows, and you haven't heard from him since. You don't even know how to contact him. 

You don't know where he lives? Does he live with the High Lord? Or in this huge house on the mountain? With the general of the Illyrian armies and his mate?

"I don't know what to say to him," you whisper. 

The rain outside intensifies. Your friend uncurls her arm from around your shoulder, bringing it forward so she can clasp your hand in hers. 

She places a soft kiss to the top of your head and in a calm voice she says, "Tell him what you told me. That you don't understand how it happened and that you are afraid and want nothing more than his help."

"What if I want more than that?" You bite back a sob and turn your head a little.

"What if I want a little part of his heart. For the baby. If it—if we survive this, I want my baby to have a father. I want my baby to know its father." A single tear slips our of your eye and your friend quickly wipes it away with her thumb. 

"That is something to think about in the future. You need to think about yourself now, sweetie. You matter now, everything else is open for the future."

You nod, trying to agree with her, but the thoughts about the possibility of the baby never meeting its father are gnawing on you. 

And they keep gnawing on you the whole night where you lie awake, shifting and turning, your back aching, and tears still wetting your cheeks and pillow. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Cold sweat coats your back, your palms. Your knees wobble, and your whole body trembles as you lift your hand, drawing in a deep inhale. Then another. And another. Your hand rests on the cool door handle, but you can't bring yourself to pull it down. 

He really came.

You can hardly believe it. He got your letter, and he is truly here. Until a few moments ago, you doubted it. You did not think he would really follow your invite. You were very vague in your letter, only mentioned that if he remembers you you would have something important to discuss with him. It could have been a trap, but he must have recognised the urgency in your wording, must habe known he could trust you.

Drawing in another breath, you finally pull down the handle and your lips part as your eyes land on him. 

He is…still the most beautiful male you have ever seen in your life, covered in darkness and shadows, expression stoic, eyes glowing with curiosity.

But he came!

"You came," you whisper, voice trembling.

Your heart beats in your throat, hammering so fast and hard you think it might burst right through your ribcage. 

It was just a one-night stand, a fleeting moment of passion, but you still remember him so vividly. How he touched you, how he kissed you, how he held you. And how he left. You felt used and sad after it, but you shouldn't have. Both of you only wanted fun for a night, but still it somehow hurt when he left.

"You called." His voice is flat, no emotion in it as he speaks. His face is not necessarily cold, but nonchalant, emotionless.

Azriel is nothing but darkness as he stands there, shadows swirling around him, stretching out towards you.

He eyes you closely, jaw clenched slightly.

You barely know him, only know his body, but he is now connected to you in the most profound way possible. You carry a part of him inside of you. Your child. His child. 

Azriel's face is a mask of unreadable emotions, some clouds darken his eyes and you can’t tear your eyes away from his.

"I wasn't sure you if you—" "I do remember you."

Something, some unreadable emotion passes over his face, and a muscle in his jaw ticks. His hands, those scarred hands you felt all over your body, are folded behind his back, and he stands in a stance, almost like he is ready to fight whatever is about to come. A stern warrior, and not the passionate male you lay with. 

"Come in?" you say, your voice trembling slightly as you step aside to let him enter. Azriel hesitates, but eventually he walks in, gaze wary as it sweeps through the inside of your room. He is looking for possible danger, making sure the place is safe and you can't blame him for it. Your invite must have sound cryptic, he is careful and that is alright. 

"Why did you invite me?" Azriel asks, finally speaking up and taking the weight from your shoulder to open the conversation. 

You are wringing for the right words to explain it all as you lead him over to the kitchen counter. You lean against it, your gaze moving to his eyes.

You drop your glamour, and try to hold his gaze, but suddenly Azriel starts to sniff the air, his brows furrowing as he looks around him. It almost looks like understanding dawns on him, whirlwinds of emotions glowing in his eyes. He must sense it in this moment.

"I am with child!" you blurt out. 

The words are so loud in the room, they bounce off the walls and hollow through the room. Through your mind, making you feel dizzy for a second. 

You move your hand over your round belly, smoothing out the sweater, to show him the bump. 

 The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the sound of your own ragged breaths. 

Azriel says nothing, his face pales, his shoulders slump, and his whole expression and posture crumbles. 

He blinks, as if trying to process what you have just revealed. Although his face is unreadable, you can see the storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface. 

"Is it mine?" he asks and you want to face-palm him. You would do it, if it were under different circumstances. 

"Of course, it is yours. The babe has wings!"

The tone you have chosen wasn't alright, he could not have known, you could have been with other males…but why would you invite him and tell him then?

This revelation shatters him truly. Azriel begins to vehemently shake his head, like he can feel the weight of what the baby having wings means.

"No," he whispers, and then repeats the word over and over again. He brings a hand up, brushes his hair back and shakes his head again. "No, that can't be. You took the tonic, I did too. How did that happen?"

"I also don't have an explanation, I only know that I am with child now. A baby with wings." Your chin quivers, lower lip starting to tremble. You feel how your body begins to shake, blood rushing in your ears.

"And I am afraid." 

Once again the damn breaks, and a sob rips itself free.

Azriel says nothing, just stands there. 

"I understand that it is a lot to take in, that this is difficult, but I needed to tell you." 

You suck in a sharp breath, your tears tasting salty in your mouth. "I just thought you deserved to know. It was a one-night stand, and I never planned for any of this to happen, but it did, and I can't keep it a secret from you." 

You feel so vulnerable in this moment, your heart cracking open, everything inside you convulsing. 

It somehow angers you that he says nothing, but you had more time to deal with the newly learned information, he only found out now. Maybe he just needs more time to process. 

"I don't know what to say," he admits, his voice softer, and for the first time he lets his own emotions show, vulnerability flashing brightly in his eyes. "This is... unexpected. Overwhelming."

You nod, biting down on your lower lip. With the back of your hand you wipe away some tears. 

"I don't expect anything from you, I just…if the baby and I survive this, all I am asking for is a little bit of your heart. Not for me, for the babe."

Your voice is so terribly shaky, tears welling up in your eyes again as you try to hold his gaze. "I didn't expect it either," you whisper, wiping away a tear. "But I want the baby to know its father. If it ever comes to that."

Azriel is the one to suck in a breath now, the weight of his own childhood crashing down on him. Everything, every little pain when he was a child, bubbles up inside of him and his body starts to shake. 

The room is filled with a heavy silence once more. It feels like the walls are moving in on you, the room growing smaller and smaller, almost suffocating you.

As you wait for his response, your heart still races, but now it's not just with fear. There's a glimmer of hope, a spark of possibility that maybe, just maybe, he will grant you this wish and be a father for the child if it comes to that. 

"We are going to see my healer, the High Lord's healer. She knows about wings, she knows about babes with wings. You are not alone in this."

Azriel's steps are so fast, so unexpected, he hesitates for a moment, but suddenly his arms wrap around your shoulders and he embraces you tightly, his chin coming to a rest on top of your head. 

"I am not leaving you alone in this. It comes as a shock and I am sorry about my reaction, but this child is as much mine as it is yours, and it will have a part of my heart." His arm wraps around you tighter. "It will have my whole heart." 

He swallows, his chest heaving with a deep inhale and your curl your own arms around him, loud sobs ripping themselves free, muffled in the fabric of his shirt. "And so will you."

~~~~~~~~~~ tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii@nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @callmeblaire

[mazeeelabyrinth]

●○● Daggers & Kisses ●○●

Chapter II: Gilded Cage, Velvet Drapes

"You're going to be the talk of the party, my sweet," he whispered. "My little toy, coming for me in the middle of it all."

♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡ Pairing: Sylus x AFAB!Reader

♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡ Chapter Summary:

You thought you'd finally steal your freedom. Slip past Onychinus eyes, vanish into the dark with nothing but bruises and regrets. Instead, Sylus drags you right back to his suite—his playground, his stage—and dresses you like a doll in the aftermath of your defiance. Dress. High heels. Choker. Makeup. A mask to hide your shame.

But the masquerade isn’t for appearances. It’s a battlefield. And when he pins you to his lap in a velvet booth, whispering filth and threats against your throat while his hands work beneath the table... you realize the real trap isn’t the ship.

It’s him.

♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡ Tags: 18+, eventual smut, shameless smut, slowburn, explicit sexual language, explicit sexual scene, enemies to lovers, dubious consent, dubcon touching, public blow jobs, semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, voyeurism, exhibitionism, humiliation, degradation, masturbation, light bdsm, squirting, vaginal fingering, penis in vagina sex, creampie, canon divergence au, porn with feelings, porn with plot, original characters added for the plot, ooc?

♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡ Word Count: 12.4K

📌 Chapter I: Daggers & Kisses

MASTERLIST ☆ AO3 ☆ NAVIGATION ☆ TAG LIST

🫶 user tags: @mcdepressed290

The suite was too quiet.

No breath, no voice, no mocking purr in your ear—just the low thrum of the cruise ship engines beneath the floor, and the slow creak of your own limbs as you stirred awake.

The first thing you saw was the ceiling—vaulted, baroque, gilded with gold leaf and arrogance. You blinked, disoriented. Not from sleep. From him.

It wasn't just soreness between your legs or the faint bruises on your hips that told the story—it was the thick, maddening fog still clinging to your bones. Like your body hadn’t figured out yet that he was gone. That Sylus had finished what he started and slipped away like a wraith.

The metal was gone now, the cold bite of the cuffs replaced by the raw heat of skin rubbed raw. Just the ghost of sensation still clinging to your wrists, sore and tender, skin kissed raw by steel. You flexed your fingers on instinct. The ache was dull and deep. Proof that last night had not been a fever dream.

You could still feel the imprint of Sylus’ hands on your hips, your throat, your thighs. The bruises he’d left on your body felt like signatures. Your body felt used, conquered in ways you never thought you’d allow. And yet, he had found a way. Sylus hadn’t just crossed your boundaries; he’d wrapped them in silk and set them ablaze.

You blinked against the low amber glow filtering through silk curtains—soft light, too soft. The kind of gentle ambiance designed for decadence, not danger. But danger still lingered in the bones of the room. In the ghost of heat etched into the sheets.

A deep breath filled your lungs with the scent of sandalwood, citrus peel, and smoke. Him. It still lingered here, haunting the very walls of this suite. You sat up slowly, body protesting with every sore, bruised muscle. Someone had redressed you—if redressed could be the right word for the obscene luxury that now clung to your frame. The loungewear was scandalously soft, expensive in a way that felt insulting.

That’s when you realized—he’d changed you. Your uniform was gone, no trace of the weapon-laced disguise you’d entered the gala in. You hadn't owned a single thing this delicate in your entire life.

A robe. Silk. Deep red, with black piping at the seams and embroidery that coiled like thorny vines at the cuffs. It fit too well.

He had undressed you. Cleaned you. Chosen your clothes. Sylus had played house with your unconscious body after—

A chill crept down your spine, settling between your shoulder blades. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. A scream, maybe, caught in your throat. Your thoughts were mud, swirling with flickers of what happened before sleep claimed you—or he did.

You remembered the blindfold. The heat. The shameful whimpers that escaped your mouth. The way you bit him hard enough to taste blood. And how he moaned, like that had only made him harder.

Your reflection caught in a gilded mirror on the wall—you barely recognized yourself. Hair a tangle of chaos. Lips bruised and still parted like they’d forgotten how to close. Your neck bore the remnants of his mouth—red marks like scattered embers against your skin. A flush still dusting your skin as though your body hadn’t figured out the war was over. But was it? Or had he simply changed the battlefield?

You flung the sheets back in fury, storming across the room like a feral thing, bare feet slapping against cold marble. The suite was decadence incarnate—onyx counters, velvet lounges, gold-leafed sconces, a chandelier shaped like a bleeding heart, a marble bar stocked with liquors aged beyond your lifetime. Every inch of the place screamed excess. Power. Control.

It was the kind of place that masked sins behind silk and shadow. A tray on the nightstand held water, a neatly folded towel, a pill bottle—painkillers.

You scoffed. Thoughtful bastard.

You moved like a ghost across it, desperate for signs, for a clue, for him. But he was gone. Except for what he left behind.

A single red camellia.

It lay on the onyx vanity table, cruelly vivid against the monochrome elegance, laid like a lover’s gift. Beneath it, a card. Simple. Ivory paper.

His handwriting was as sharp as his smile. You knew enough about Sylus to understand he didn’t do anything by accident. Everything was a message. A maneuver.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for the note tucked beneath it, paper thick and scented faintly of spice and smoke.

"I liked the way you screamed my name. Let’s do it again sometime.

– S."

You stared. The flower. The handwriting. The smug cruelty of it all.

Something inside you snapped.

“Piece of shit!” You snatched the camellia and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a soft thud, too gentle to satisfy your rage. The note, however, you didn’t burn. You should’ve. You wanted to. But instead… you folded it back up, slower this time.

That son of a bitch. He hadn’t even bothered to stick around. Not that you expected him to. But the note—the flower—they weren’t just a taunt. They were a claim. A signature.

Your instincts screamed for blood. For vengeance. He humiliated you. Touched you like he owned you. Turned you inside out and left your body singing his name like a curse. You should be planning your escape. Plotting your retaliation. And you would.

But…

Gods, your skin still remembered his hands.

You hated this.

You hated how your body still pulsed with his touch, how the echo of his voice still whispered behind your ear. That smug, sultry rasp. The way he’d broken you open not with pain, but with pleasure. Your lips still tingled from his kiss—cruel, commanding, devastating.

You clenched your fists, pacing the room like a beast. Your blood simmered, too hot to hold. Anger. Shame. Need. Everything tangled beneath your skin, each breath scraping your lungs raw. You wanted to scream. To vomit. To run.

But you couldn’t run from your own mind. From the memory of him—his hands, his mouth, the way he spoke and moaned your name like it was a promise and a curse.

You wanted to claw him from your skin.

And worse than the humiliation, worse than the bruised pride and aching body, was the sharp, unwanted throb between your legs.

A part of you wanted him to do it again.

Your knees gave out, and you sank onto the arm of a velvet chair, breathing hard. You stared at the far wall, where the camellia lay discarded on the floor like a crime scene.

He hadn’t broken you. But because you let him.

Even if it was just for a moment.

You pressed your palms against the cold floor, breathing hard.

This wasn’t just about lust or vengeance anymore. Not even about the mission. Sylus had turned the game into something else—twisted the rules, pulled you into a dance where you weren’t sure who was chasing who anymore.

Your instincts screamed at you to run. But beneath that, buried under layers of discipline and shame, something darker stirred.

Because damn him, Sylus had shown you something—something terrifying. He hadn’t just wanted your body. He’d wanted your obedience. Your fire. Your fight. And he’d taken it, kissed it, licked it from your mouth like honey.

You closed your eyes.

This wasn’t over.

It never was, with Sylus.

— ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

You didn’t plan to stay in the suite. Sylus’ suite.

You couldn’t.

The walls, for all their gold-gilded opulence, pressed in like padded restraints. Every cushion whispered his name. Every breath of perfumed air was still laced with him. The echo of his voice clung to the curtains like smoke.

When the door slid open with an obedient sigh, the hallway beyond was empty. Silent. No guards. No chains. But not unwatched. You could feel it—eyes, hidden, focused. A pulse of surveillance behind the mirrors. Pressure just beneath your skin.

You moved forward anyway.

The corridor stretched long and decadent, bathed in amber lighting and lined with extravagant paintings—obscene depictions of mythology, rewritten with lust and violence. Venus with blood on her mouth. Eros pinning a mortal down. You wondered, absently, which one Sylus imagined himself as. Or which one he wanted you to be. Even the climate control felt calculated, like someone somewhere was adjusting the temperature based on how much they wanted you to squirm.

The slippers you’d been left made no sound on the carpet, but your skin prickled, sensitive to every shift of air. The loungewear Sylus had chosen moved like a whisper with each step, and you hated how it made you feel—vulnerable.

Marked. On display. As if he had intended not to leave clothes for you to wear except the scandalous piece of silk that lazily clung to your body.

The cruise ship was a floating palace—casino floors, spiral staircases, chandeliers that sparkled like frozen tears. Beautiful. Expensive. Insidious. The air smelled of perfume and politics. And all of it felt wrong

A bar shaped like a serpent’s mouth glowed in the distance, fangs glittering with crystal. Guests floated through the lounge like smoke—high society scum dressed in thousand-dollar silk and secrets. You drew curious glances. More than one man looked twice. A man with eyes like knives offered you a drink without asking your name. His smile didn’t reach her eyes.

You didn’t take it.

Instead, you followed the curve of the atrium, past chandeliers that resembled dripping black honey and a grand piano being played by a man whose knuckles bore old burn scars.

Then you met the first of them.

She stood near the grand staircase, leaning against a polished railing like she owned the entire damn ship. Blonde. Fair-skinned. Diamond smile. Like a glorified ‘femme fatale’ Barbie doll. Her satin dress accentuated her curvaceous form, her heels were lethal and burgundy as the dress, and her eyes—glacier blue and utterly disinterested—moved over you like you were a curiosity.

Or a gift.

“You must be the birthday favor,” she said, her voice as smooth as poisoned wine. “Sylus always had a taste for the wild ones.”

Your gaze barely lingered for a second at the woman as you kept walking. Didn’t answer.

“Oh, don’t be shy,” she called after you. “He’s very possessive of things he’s touched. And darling—you’ve been touched.”

That made you stop, your jaw clenched so hard your teeth throbbed.

She stepped into the elevator, vanishing behind mirrored doors with a wink.

You exhaled only when the doors shut. But there was no time to catch your breath—because as you moved forward, the ship opened before you like a labyrinth.

Gambling lounges glittering with sin. Ballrooms filled with people too beautiful and too still. And always, always the eyes. They watched from behind fans. From behind champagne flutes. From the poker tables and piano benches. Some smiled. Some sneered. Some licked their lips as if tasting the rumors wrapped around you.

You were a legend now. His. They didn’t know what had happened—but they knew enough. Sylus never let anything close unless he intended to keep it—or kill it.

There was a man standing by the bar. Tall, sharp-eyed, gold cufflinks glinting like talons. His white-blond hair was slicked back, smile cold and precise. A scar kissed the edge of his jaw like a lover. He raised his glass to you as you approached, as if expecting you.

“Nice view,” he said.

You didn’t stop walking, and he followed.

“Andros,” he said casually, swirling something dark and expensive in his glass. “Asset recovery. I clean up Sylus’ messes. Though lately…” His eyes dipped, dragging slowly down your body, lingering particularly on the red marks Sylus had left on your neck. “He seems more inclined to keep them with the twins.”

You turned your head slightly. “You always open conversations with veiled threats and innuendos?”

His grin widened. “Only with people who look like they bite.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. You’d already marked the knife tucked beneath his jacket, the way his fingers never strayed far from it.

“Careful, darling,” Andros added, sipping his drink. “You’re walking on silk sheets over broken glass. One wrong step and it’s blood on the floor.”

You leaned in just slightly, voice velvet and venom. “Tell Sylus if he wants round two, he’ll need more than handcuffs and poetry.”

Andros only chuckled. “I don’t relay messages to kings. But I do watch the pawns squirm.”

You scoffed. “So you’re no more than just a spineless, glorified dog who only barks when allowed then.”

You left him there, but not before noticing a comm in his ear—and the red light that blinked once as you walked away. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to laugh. You wanted to run.

But your body did none of those things. Instead, it coiled tighter. Not fear, just calculation. You were still a hunter—even in a trap. Eyes followed you as you left, shadows creeping at the edges of the corridor like they were closing in. And still… no alarms. No guards. Just confrontations veiled as greetings. Just the illusion of freedom.

Did everyone know about you already? It was Sylus’ doing, you knew it. The thought only irked you more that your footsteps hastened as you turned to another corner of the casino. But, as expected, there was another fool enough to exacerbate your already bubbling temper.

She sat in a crescent-shaped booth, legs crossed in an indulgent pose. Ink-black hair, sapphire lips, a cigarette burning between fingers tipped with chrome rings. She looked up as you passed, eyes sharp enough to peel back skin.

“Don’t bother with the escape pods,” she said, voice like chilled wine. “He had them rerouted two days ago.”

You froze, and her smile widened.

“Lieutenant Veska. Internal intel. I would like to know what toys Sylus brings on board.”

You turned to face her fully, spine stiff. “I’m not a toy.”

“No,” Veska said slowly, drawing out the word like a purr. “You’re something he built from scratch. Fire, hunger, and oh…” She tilted her head. “A very stubborn little hunter—or a prey.”

Your hand itched toward your thigh, but she merely raised a brow.

“Go ahead,” she said. “See what happens.”

What if you would just set the whole cruise ship on fire? You wanted to, so much, but it would not guarantee Sylus’ death. So you didn’t move. And neither did she.

Checkmate.

The air between you was thick with tension. Power games and memory and the echo of hands you couldn’t forget. Then Veska leaned back and exhaled smoke in a soft spiral.

“He’ll call for you again,” she said. “He always does.”

You had no choice but to turn and walk away. Hands itching to gouge someone’s eyes out, face contorting in a barely concealed fury.

Every encounter was like that. Cloaked threats with flirtation like poison sugar. Onychinus lieutenants who offered compliments dipped in venom. Even the servers stared too long. Even the walls felt like they were breathing with eyes. You realized soon: they weren’t just letting you wander. They were parading you.

You stopped near a gilded elevator, catching your reflection in the mirrored doors. God, you looked like one of them—silk and bruises, seduced and broken. But your eyes were still yours. Sharp. Cunning.

Then—

A whisper. Not in your ear, but through a hidden speaker overhead.

“Keep walking, sweetheart. I like the view from here.”

Your stomach dropped.

Sylus.

You turned sharply, scanning the corridor, the air, the nothing—but he wasn’t there. Just your reflection smirking back at you. Your pulse stuttered in betrayal.

How long had he been watching?

The question wasn’t if. It was where. How close. And how fast you’d go running to find him.

“Go to hell, Sylus!” You bellowed, slamming your fingers on the elevator buttons. “Come out and face me, you fucking bastard! I swear I’d rip your balls—”

Your words cut off by his villainous laugh—sonorous and mocking—which only fueled your rage. Breathing deep through your nostrils, you dragged a hand on your face. But it wasn’t enough to regain composure when his voice still rumbled from the damned speaker.

Your voice cracked like thunder. “Fuck!”

No one would say it, but it was clear: you were still on a leash. A long one, maybe. Velvet-wrapped and gold-plated.

But a leash all the same.

— ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

You’d made it to the cargo level.

Somehow.

Past flirtations dressed as threats, past the gilded corridors and glass smiles, past a distracted steward whose swipe card had been too easy to snatch. The elevator had carried you down, humming like a lullaby. No one stopped you. No one chased you.

The soles of your slippers hit steel now instead of velvet, the hum of luxury above replaced by the mechanical groan of engines and industrial air. The kind of place where secrets were stored. Or discarded.

You kept close to the walls, adrenaline a bitter note at the back of your throat. One hand gripped the stolen card. The other still bore the faint red ghost of Sylus’ cuff.

The plan was simple: be calm, be rational, and escape. You could leap overboard if needed. Swim. Steal a lifeboat. Bite someone. Hell, bite Sylus if he showed his smug face again.

Now the back hatch doors leading to the staff-only exit sliding open without protest. No alarms. No guards. Just a yawning corridor slick with shadows and lined with storage crates. Like the ship wanted to let you go.

You didn’t trust it. But you took it.

Your footsteps were feather-quiet against the metal floor, adrenaline sharp in your veins. You moved like the ghost they thought they’d made you into—silent, invisible, deadly. Somewhere deep in your gut, you knew this wasn’t supposed to be this easy. But the thought of Sylus—smirking behind a screen, waiting to see if you’d run or beg—pushed you forward.

The dock was closed. You could hear the rumble of a smaller transport vessel tethered to the belly of the cruise ship. You moved faster, weaving through supply racks, every nerve on edge.

The passage yawned ahead—dim, narrow, sterile. The scent of engine oil and salt air replaced rosewood and cologne. You reached the final steel door, fingers trembling as they hovered above the manual override.

And then—

“Leaving so soon?”

You froze. The voice didn’t belong to Sylus. It was another guard—one you remembered from earlier as you ‘explored’ the ship. Tall, toned physique and face hidden behind a crow mask.

You turned slow. “Move.”

He did. Sideways. Like he was granting you a gift. His hands up in mock surrender, you could sense his grin practically dripping onto the floor.

“I didn’t see a thing,” he purred, stepping aside with exaggerated deference. “Have fun running.”

Your gut twisted as you graced him another glance. It was bait, but you didn’t care.

You slammed your hand on the override and stepped through—

Straight into him.

He was waiting.

Not by accident. Not by coincidence. Like he knew the exact rhythm of your breath, the exact second your defiance would boil into escape. He stood with his back to the ocean, wind teasing his dark coat, hair tousled by salt-laced air.

Sylus' smirk was slow, gazing down at you like a predator cornering its prey. Almost as if he didn’t need to plan it all. It was just, at least for him, you were predictable.

Your body jolted, instinctively stepping back—but you didn't get far. His hand shot out, catching your wrist like a striking viper. Your body slammed against his, chest to chest, breath tangled with his. His grip was tight—too tight—and your sore skin protested, but Sylus didn’t flinch. His other hand slid to your waist, possessive, slow.

“I see you’ve been exploring,” he murmured, dragging you closer with your own body like a leash. His hands were warm. Too warm. “But you really thought I’d let you leave without saying goodbye?”

You kicked. He sidestepped easily, fluid as ever.

“No?” Sylus asked, cocking his head, lips brushing against your temple. “Not even a thank you for the outfit?”

You could smell the lingering scent of smoke from him, mixed with the familiar cologne and his musk. “Let go of me, you bastard.”

“Oh, I intend to. Eventually.” His fingers tightened around your wrist, just shy of bruising. “But you looked so eager sneaking around. I just had to see where you were going.”

You twisted, snarled, but he pinned you against the corridor wall with his body—a press of power and tailored silk and unbearable heat. A muffled thud echoed from the impact, followed by a gasp that slipped from your lips.

“You really don’t learn, do you?”

You snarled, “You left the door unlocked.”

“I did,” he said, almost fondly. “Wanted to see where the little hunter would run to after she got fucked like prey.”

Your hand shot up from his grip to slap him. He caught your wrist again—now both held in his grasp, pinned to the wall above your head like an offering.

His breath grazed your cheek. His body leaned in close, heat radiating from every inch. “You’re shaking,” he whispered. “Is that rage... or anticipation?”

You turned your face away, your breasts heaved beneath the silk robe as shallow breaths pumped through your lungs. But Sylus followed, lips ghosting over the curve of your jaw, featherlight and maddening.

“Are you really trying to escape me on my property?” he murmured, voice like black velvet over a blade. “Sweetheart, I built this ship.”

Your gaze flew at his smug features. “I’ll jump.”

His brows rose. “Will you now?”

He glanced toward the open horizon. The nearby tender boat swayed with the waves that caressed the small dock as if beckoning you to escape. Wind whipped your hair, the salt tang of the sea crashing in like a wave of truth. His smirk deepened.

Then, with a slow kiss on your forehead, he let go. You staggered back like the air had left the room with him.

Sylus smiled like a god who knew your prayers by heart. “Do it,” he said. “Go on.”

You did nothing but stared at him, shaking with rage. Even if you did leave now with the tender, you knew that you wouldn’t survive in the middle of the ocean with no food and fuel.

With a last ditch effort, you kicked at his shin. He didn’t even flinch this time. Instead, he chuckled, warm and cruel, and leaned in so close again his lips nearly brushed yours.

“Still fighting. Good.” His fingers slipped down to your waist, gripping hard enough to bruise. “I’d be bored if you didn’t.”

Then he dragged you away from the wall—literally dragged, his hand around your wrist like a vice, parading you backward through the shadows and into the light.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Party’s not over.”

Your heart thundered. Every step you took was a war between your mind and your body. Between hate and the echo of that searing night. And Sylus—he was soaking in every twitch, every tremor, like a predator reading your blood.

He didn’t say a word when he brought you back. Just guided you with that firm grip on your wrist, fingers searing through skin like ink soaking into paper. The suite door shut behind you with a heavy click, and only then did Sylus release you.

The single red camellia still bloomed on the floor—like it had been waiting for you to crawl back and pick it up.

But he didn’t leave you. No—he prowled around you like he was admiring his handiwork.

Your hair was a mess. That damnable loungewear now rumpled and clinging. The defiance in your eyes dulled by something darker. And he loved it. You could see it in the slow, indulgent way he peeled off his coat, eyes fixed on you like you were a puzzle piece he’d finally forced into place.

“I can’t have you wandering around my ship like a broken doll,” he said, opening a secured wardrobe with a flourish. “Let’s dress you up. Something fitting.”

Sylus’ gaze flickered over you, appraising, as you stood in the middle of the luxurious room. He didn’t speak for a moment, just took a few steps toward you, his presence like a storm that didn’t demand permission to roll through.

“You’ve earned the right to look... proper, don’t you think?” His words sliced through the thick, oppressive silence, each syllable soaked with a dangerous allure.

You wanted to spit in his face. Wanted to tell him to go to hell. But you couldn’t move. Not yet. He had you in his grip, and he knew it. He moved past you without a word, gliding toward an obsidian wardrobe you hadn’t noticed before. He opened it like a stage curtain, revealing a neatly arranged collection of dresses, corsets, heels, chokers, makeup, even a drawer of glittering masks.

Your breath caught.

“Pick one,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ll need to look… prettier.”

You didn’t move. “I’m not your doll.”

He turned to you, slowly. His gaze dragged over your frame—still in the silk loungewear, your bruised neck only partially hidden by shadows. His voice was velvet-draped poison. “You’re not just my doll. You’re also the entertainment.”

You hissed under your breath, turning toward the wardrobe. Inside, your eyes caught a gown—if you could call it that—waited like a trap dressed in midnight silk. Thigh-high slits. Neckline plunging. Mask included. It was beautiful in a way that made your bones ache.

And beside it? Heels. Choker. Lipstick the color of a wound.

A war raged in your chest. Every part of you screamed to rip it to shreds, but your body—betrayed by something you couldn’t quite name—moved to obey. You stripped, every inch of your exposed skin flashing a reminder of what had transpired only hours ago. The marks he’d left on you still burned, a cruel reminder of your entrapment. Your wrists were still sore, red from where his hands had held you captive, but you didn’t dare show weakness.

As you stood there naked, Sylus lounged on the edge of the bed, his legs spread in an almost predatory stance. One hand found its way to the bulge in his tailored pants, stroking it lazily as if you weren’t even there—as if you weren’t his prize trophy. He watched you with hooded eyes, the other hand playing with a cufflink, the clink of metal a metronome to the rhythm of his strokes. Your eyes were drawn to the movement, a silent command to mimic his actions.

You reached into the wardrobe, your hand brushing over the velvet-soft fabrics, until your fingers found the cool silk of the gown that caught your eye. As you pulled it out, you had to bend over slightly, giving him a full view of your backside, the cleft of your ass on display. The fabric whispered against your skin as it slithered over your curves, revealing the pink, sensitive flesh of your pussy, already damp from his mere presence.

Sylus’ hand paused mid-stroke as he opened his trousers, revealing a cock that was already standing at half-mast, thick and veiny. A smug smile curled on his lips. “You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?” he murmured, his eyes raking over your body.

“No,” you lied, your voice strained, trying to keep your trembling under control. “I’m just getting dressed.”

You picked out a set of lingerie—black and lacy, a stark contrast to the gown’s midnight hue. It was the kind of underwear that screamed for attention, leaving nothing to the imagination. The thong barely covered your sex, the lace teasingly exposing your folds. The bra pushed your breasts up, creating an obscene amount of cleavage that was bound to draw stares.

Sylus’ eyes never left you as you put on the lingerie, his strokes on his cock becoming more deliberate, more demanding. His gaze was a brand on your skin, making you aware of every curve and angle that you had. You tried to ignore him, focusing on the task at hand, but his heavy breathing, the wet sounds of his palm gliding over his shaft, filled the air like a symphony of dominance.

“You look... delicious,” he said, his voice a low growl.

You ignored him, trying to focus on the task at hand. But before you could even attempt to slip into the dress, he stopped you.

“Not yet. First, your face. Do your makeup in that lace.” He gestured to the vanity, where an array of makeup and cosmetics sat gleaming under the soft lights.

Your hands trembled as you approached the mirror, the reflection of his erection looming in your periphery. The anticipation was thick, a palpable entity that coiled around your throat.

At the mirror, you dabbed concealer over the marks he’d left. Every brushstroke was an act of defiance. A silent declaration that you wouldn’t let him ruin this night for you. But as you painted your face with the mask of submission, the heat of his gaze was like a brand on your back, searing into your skin.

You picked up a tube of the crimson lipstick, the color a stark reminder of the marks he’d left on your neck, and applied it with shaky precision. Your eyes remained locked on the mirror, unable to look away from the silent challenge in his gaze.

With each stroke of the lipstick, his eyes darkened, the strokes of his hand on his cock growing more vigorous. He was feeling it, his thumb coming on to stroke the tip, smearing precum across the sensitive head. The sight was like a punch to your gut—desire and anger colliding in a fiery dance. You felt your own arousal building despite the fury raging within you.

“I should’ve left more marks,” he murmured. “It’s cute watching you cover them.”

You snapped the lipstick shut harder than necessary, chin tilted. “You’re obsessed.”

He grinned like a wolf. “Only with what’s mine.”

You felt his eyes on your every move—the way you slid the dress up, the way your breasts bobbed slightly with the motion, the way your legs looked in the heels. Each second stretched into an eternity, filled with the heavy tension of his desire and your contempt. The fabric whispered over your skin, a seductive promise of what lay beneath—his gift, his possession to flaunt.

The dress clung to you like a second skin, the slits exposing your thighs with every step. The choker felt like a collar, a constant reminder of your new status. You painted on a smile to match the mask you’d chosen—a thing of beauty, yet deceptive. The masquerade of your new role.

Sylus watched you with a smirk, hand now stroking his cock slower, his other hand playing with the silk tie around his neck. The sight made your stomach twist with a mix of anger and lust. You felt like a marionette, but there was a part of you that reveled in the raw power dynamics playing out before you.

You took a deep breath and flashed a smile at him, the dress whispering against the floor. "I'm ready," you said, your voice a challenge wrapped in a silk glove.

Sylus' strokes didn't falter, his eyes raking over you, a silent assessment that sent a shiver down your spine. "You look... edible," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He took a moment to appreciate the way the dress hugged your curves, the way your breasts sat behind the bra’s laces and threatened to spill out of the dress. "But not quite... obedient enough."

He rose from the bed with the grace of a panther, closing the distance between you with a predatory stride. Your breath caught in your throat as he stood behind you, his warm breath ghosting over the nape of your neck. His hand slid down your side, tracing the line of the dress, pausing at your hip, before he reached around to cup your pussy through the thin fabric of your panties. "Mmm, you're already wet," he said, his voice low and satisfied. "Good girl."

With a swift, almost imperceptible movement, he bent you over the vanity, your palms flat against the cool marble. The dress whispered as it was pushed aside, the hem hiking up to reveal your bare ass, the thong you wore doing little to protect your modesty. His hand was firm on your back, pressing you down, keeping you in place as he stepped closer, his erection pressing against your thigh.

“Spread your legs wider,” he ordered, his voice a velvet caress that made your skin crawl with anticipation. You did as you were told, the heels making it easier to balance, the silk of the dress pooling around your feet like a dark sea. His hand traveled down your back, the calloused pads of his fingers sending sparks of sensation through your skin as he traced the path down to your ass.

Sylus leaned in, his breath hot on your ear. “Now, let’s make sure you stay that way, shall we?” His hand slipped into your panties, his rough thumb stroking the slickness of your slit. You gritted your teeth, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to escape as he teased your clit in slow, deliberate circles.

“You like that, don’t you?” His voice was a purr, the kind that sent shivers down your spine. He knew exactly how to push your buttons—how to make you hate him and want him in the same breath.

With a wicked smile, Sylus reached around to grip his cock, rubbing the thick, velvety head against your clothed pussy. The fabric of your thong did little to protect you from the heat of his desire, and you could feel your body betraying you—desire unfurling like a dark bloom in your belly. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the whimper that was threatening to escape, but it was no use.

His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he began to grind against you, his strokes growing more demanding. The room was filled with the sounds of his breathing, the slickness of his palm on his shaft, the soft moans you couldn't quite suppress. The mirror reflected the scene back at you, your eyes wide and hazed with arousal, his hand working between your legs with a hunger that seemed to devour the very air around you.

And something, or rather someone, took you by surprise—Sylus. Gone was the damn smirk that coiled around his handsome features like an annoying imprint, replaced by an expression of pleasure. Crimson eyes shut and his lips parted as they brushed against the back of your earlobe. Hot breath wafting gently against your skin in every faint gasp that left his lungs. In a torturously slow pace, his pelvis grinding against your cheeks.

You tried to form a retort, to spit venom and reclaim some semblance of control, but the words stuck in your throat as his thumb found your clit. He rubbed it in slow, maddening circles, each pass sending shockwaves through your body. Your knees trembled, and you had to brace yourself against the vanity to keep from collapsing.

“Sylus, stop—” you managed to choke out, but your voice was a hoarse whisper, your body already singing a different tune.

He chuckled darkly, the sound echoing through the room. “You don’t get to say no tonight, love. Not unless you want to miss the party.” He leaned in closer, his breath a warm caress on your neck. “And we both know you wouldn’t miss this for the world, would you?”

You gritted your teeth, your body trembling with the effort to resist, but the pleasure was too much. His hand continued to work your clit, his thumb pressing harder, faster—along with the tantalizing glide of his cock against your drenched pussy—until you couldn’t hold back anymore. You felt yourself climbing towards the edge, the tension coiling in your belly like a spring wound too tightly.

Sylus, the bastard, knew it too. His grin in the mirror was triumphant, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched your struggle. His smug countenance was back. He leaned in closer, his breath hot on your neck, whispering, “That’s it. Give in to me. You know you want it.”

With a sudden, brutal yank, he tugged your thong away, the string of fabric slipping like the shreds of your pride. You gasped, your knees almost buckling, but his hand was there, a steel band around your waist, keeping you upright. The cool air hit your exposed pussy, and you felt a sudden, unwanted rush of arousal.

His cock nudged against your folds, the thickness of him sending a jolt of anticipation through your body. You clenched your teeth, trying to hold back the whimpers that begged to escape. But the way he looked at you, like you were the last piece of a puzzle he’d been working on for years, made your resolve waver. He began to rub the bulbous tip against your bare slickness, gave shallow thrusts of his girthy cock that painted your skin with his desire. The pressure grew with each stroke, building a crescendo of need that you couldn’t ignore.

And just as you felt the sweet release coil in your core, ready to burst like a dam breaking, he pulled away. Your body arched in protest, desperate for the relief that was so close. You gasped, panting, your eyes flying to the mirror to meet his. His smirk was pure evil, enjoying your torment like it was a fine wine.

Sylus stepped back with a devilish smirk. "Now, now," he chided playfully. "The party hasn’t even started yet."

You felt like a marionette whose strings had been cruelly jerked. Your body hummed with need, your clit throbbing and begging for release. You turned to face him, anger flushing your cheeks, but his smug expression didn’t waver.

He continued stroking himself, his eyes never leaving yours as you leaned backwards on the vanity table. Each pull of his hand on his shaft was a silent declaration of his power over you, a taunting reminder that he held your pleasure hostage. Your teeth dug into your lower lip, your eyes narrowing into slits. You wanted to scream, to fight back, but you knew it would only fuel his enjoyment.

The room was a cocoon of tension, the only sounds were the slick slide of his hand and the shallow pants that you couldn’t quite hide. The sight of him, so composed and in control, was a stark contrast to your own tumultuous emotions. His hand moved faster now, the muscles in his forearm flexing with each stroke. You could see the veins bulging, the precum glistening in the soft light.

And then, with a strangled groan, Sylus came, his cum arcing through the air to splatter against the vanity mirror and the makeup lying scattered on the table. It painted his hand in sticky white streaks, a visual representation of his claim on you. He didn’t bother to clean it off, the mess a silent declaration of his victory. The smug satisfaction on his face was almost too much to bear.

You watched in a mix of disgust and fascination as he took a moment to catch his breath, his hand still wrapped around his cock. The semen on the mirror reflected the lights, a perverse piece of art in the pristine room. The dress, the makeup, the whole setup—it was all for his sick amusement.

Sylus took a step closer once more, his eyes dark with satisfaction. "You're a mess now," he murmured, reaching out to smear a thumb through the cum on the vanity. He brought it to your face, tracing the sticky path along your bottom lip. "But you'll clean up nicely."

You couldn’t help but lick the salty taste of him from your skin, your eyes never leaving his. The gesture was one of submission, but you felt the beginnings of a fire burning in your chest. You knew you couldn’t let him break you—not yet. You had to play his game, at least for tonight.

You hated the way your knees weakened at that. Hated more how he knew.

When he finally stepped away, you could breathe again. But the air had shifted—warmer, tighter, scented with the memory of sweat and sin.

“You’re taking me somewhere?” you asked, trying for a cold tone.

His grin was pure hunger. “The masquerade,” he said. “It’s my birthday week, after all. What better way to celebrate... than with my favorite toy on my arm?”

After cleaning up yourselves, Sylus dragged you out of the suite and down the long, winding corridors of the ship, each step pulling you deeper into the lion’s den. The low buzz of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the murmurs of other patrons filtered into your senses as you walked. It was a party—grand, lavish, and dripping with power.

The masquerade was a world of illusion and lust, hidden behind lush velvet curtains that cascaded to the floor in rich burgundies and deep purples. The air was thick with smoke and whispered secrets, the clink of crystal glasses and the soft laughter of patrons echoing under the seductive glow of low-hanging chandeliers.

The lights were dimmed to a seductive, warm glow, flickering like shadows across the faces of guests hiding behind gilded masks. The air was heavy with the scent of expensive perfume, the soft rustle of silk against skin, and the hum of tension that laced every whispered conversation.

He steered you to a private booth, tucked away in the shadowed corner of the lounge. The velvet was plush beneath you as he pushed you down into the seat, his body leaning over you, encasing you in his presence. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, his voice soft and dark.

“You’re mine. Mine to control. Mine to break.”

His words were like velvet chains, tight and suffocating. Your body stiffened, but his hand was already there, sliding under the table to rest on your thigh. His fingers moved, slow and deliberate, tracing the edge of your inner leg, just enough to make your breath catch, but not enough to satisfy.

“Stop.” You shifted, uncomfortable, but it only seemed to amuse him. His fingers tightened on your leg, pressing harder, forcing you to stay still.

“You can’t escape, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice almost a purr as he leaned closer, his lips brushing your jaw. “Not with me watching you. We’re not done yet.”

Your hand shot up, slapping his hand away from your thigh. The sound echoed in the intimate space, a slap of skin against skin that seemed to hang in the air. The music and chatter of the party swirled around you like a distant storm, the only thing real was the heat of his gaze and the pulsing throb of your own need.

Sylus’ smile didn’t falter, but his eyes grew darker. He leaned in closer, his hand coming up to grip your jaw, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. “I said, we’re not done yet,” he murmured, his voice a dark promise.

You tried to push his hand away again, but his grip was iron, his thumb tracing the fullness of your lower lip. “You’re going to sit here, and you’re going to look pretty for me, and when I’m ready, you’re going to come with me to the party. And you’re going to smile, and you’re going to dance, and you’re going to let everyone think you’re enjoying yourself—because you are. Because you’re mine now. And I want everyone to know it.”

“Let me go,” you spat, squirming, your palms digging into his chest. “I swear, Sylus—”

“Swear to what?” he interrupted, the softest purr, his other hand brushing your bruised wrist in mock concern. “That you’ll try to kill me again? That you’ll claw and bite and then come all over my fingers like a liar?”

His words stung like a slap, the fire in your chest burning hotter. “I’ll never be yours,” you hissed, trying to ignore the way your body responded to his touch.

Sylus’ smile grew more predatory. “Oh, but you are, love. Whether you like it or not. And I’ll make sure everyone here knows it too.”

Without another word, he pulled you into his lap before you could respond. He grabbed your wrist and twisted your arm behind your back—gently, but with the promise of pain. “Move, and I’ll make it louder.”

Your wrists stayed behind your back, pinned in his grip as his other hand deftly removed his tie. Your thighs straddled his, bare beneath the slitted gown. You were on display—half-hidden, fully his. The bulge of his cock pressed up between your legs, hard and hot and deliberate.

With a flick of his wrist, Sylus had you bound. The silk tie, a noose of submission, wrapped around your wrists. The knot was tight but not painful—a reminder of his control, a declaration of his intent. You tried to struggle, but his strength was absolute, his grip unyielding.

You snarled, a sound of pure defiance. A part of you was still salty about what happened against the suite’s vanity. "You're delusional if you think this changes anything."

Sylus chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Is that so?" He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "Let's see how much you resist when you're begging for more."

Ensured that you were properly restrained by the silk tie, Sylus began touching you, his hand sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb flicking over the hardened peak. The fabric of the dress was thin, offering no protection from the heat of his touch. Your breath hitched, and you felt your body betray you as your nipples pebbled under his ministrations. He took his time, tracing the line of your neck with gentle kisses that sent shivers down your spine. Each press of his lips against your skin was like a brand, claiming you more and more as his.

You squirmed in his lap, trying to ignore the ache building between your thighs. The fabric of his trousers was rough against the soft lace of your thong that shielded your cunt, the pressure of his erection a constant reminder of his power. His hand slid lower, down the curve of your waist, over the swell of your hip, and up the inside of your thigh. The anticipation was unbearable—each inch of bare skin he revealed, each touch, a taunt that made your pulse race.

“Relax,” he whispered, his breath a warm caress against your cheek. “You’re so tense. It’s not like you have anywhere to go.”

The first two fingers of his hand found the wetness between your legs, sliding through the slickness with an ease that made you want to scream. He stroked you, slow and steady, the pad of his thumb circling your clit with a maddening gentleness. Your breath hitched, your eyes squeezed shut, and you bit your lip to keep from making a sound. But it was no use. A soft moan slipped from your mouth, and you felt him smirk against your skin.

Sylus leaned back into the plush couch, his other hand glided on your waist as his other hand played with your pussy. The fabric of the dress along with your bra was shoved aside, exposing your breasts to the cool air, and the occasional gaze of a curious partygoer. You could feel the heat of his cock, trapped behind the barrier of fabric, pressing against your ass as he rocked his hips against you. His hand worked faster, the circles around your clit turning into quick, firm flicks that made your legs tremble.

"You're mine," he murmured, his voice a dark caress that sent shivers down your spine. "Mine to use, mine to fuck." His thumb pressed down harder, and you couldn’t hold back the whimper that slipped from your lips.

“Is that what you want?” you gasped, trying to sound defiant even as your body melted into his touch. “To make a spectacle out of me?”

“Mm, not just any spectacle,” Sylus said, his voice a low purr. “A private one, just for us. And if anyone catches a glimpse, well, it’s all part of the fun, isn’t it?”

Your heart hammered in your chest, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. “You’re a monster,” you whispered, but the words lacked conviction.

“Perhaps. But you love it, don’t you?” He bit your nipple gently, and you shivered in his grasp. “You’re so wet for me, so eager to come apart in my hands.” His voice was a seductive purr that seemed to resonate through your very bones.

As if to prove his point, Sylus inserted another finger into your pussy, stretching you, filling you with a delicious pressure that made your eyes roll back in your head. You bit down hard on your bottom lip to keep from crying out, your teeth marks indentation of flesh as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. The slick sounds of his intrusion filled the booth, a deliciously obscene counterpoint to the sophisticated chatter outside.

He leaned in to kiss you, his lips brushing yours, and despite the fury raging within you, you couldn't help but respond. Your mouth opened to his, his tongue sliding in to dance with yours in a dance of dominance and submission. The kiss was a war of wills, a battleground of passion and anger that left you breathless. You tasted the whiskey on his breath and felt the heat of his desire in the way his tongue claimed yours.

As your kiss deepened, so too did his touch. His thumb worked your clit faster, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that sweet spot that made your body arch against him. Your breasts pressed against his chest, your bound hands clenching behind your back. The velvet curtains of the booth offered a semblance of privacy, but it was paper-thin, and every gasp, every whimper could be heard outside. The risk only heightened the tension, the thrill of discovery a constant thrum beneath your skin.

Sylus pulled away, his eyes dark and hungry. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "So desperate, so beautiful."

You glared at him, your breathing ragged. "Let me go," you demanded, the tremble in your voice giving away the lie.

Sylus chuckled, the sound deep and resonant, sending a thrill of anticipation through you. "Not yet," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. He leaned back against the couch, his hand still working between your legs. "But if you're good, I'll let you come."

You hated the way your body responded to his words, the way your pussy clenched around his fingers. But the orgasm was building, inexorable as the tide, and you knew you were going to give him what he wanted. You leaned into his touch, your hips rocking against his hand, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Come on,” you whispered, the word a desperate plea that seemed to echo through the small space.

Sylus’ eyes gleamed with triumph, and his grip on your waist tightened, his other hand not stopping its relentless torment of your clit. “Is that what you want, little hunter?” He taunted, his voice a dark, velvety whisper.

Despite your pride, you nodded, the need to come overriding your desire to resist. “Fuck me, Sylus,” you breathed, the words a surrender. "Let me ride you."

With a smug smile, Sylus adjusted your position, pushing you onto off lap so that he could free his erection. You could feel the heat of him, the velvet material of his trousers a tantalizing barrier to the steel length you craved. He released your wrists from the tie’s grip, allowing you to hold onto his shoulders for balance as he unzipped his fly and freed his cock. The head was slick with precum, and you couldn’t help but lick your lips at the sight of it.

"Get on your knees and open your mouth. No hands," he ordered, his voice low and demanding. You did as you were told, the anticipation of his taste on your tongue almost too much to bear. He slid his cock between your lips, and you took him in, the musky scent of his arousal filling your nostrils. He was thick and long, a challenge that you met with a fiery determination that surprised even yourself. You sucked him deep, your tongue swirling around the tip, tasting him with a hunger that was no longer yours to hide.

His grip tightened in your hair as he began to fuck your mouth, his hips bucking in rhythm with your suckling. You could feel the tension building in him, the muscles in his thighs tensing as he held you in place. Your eyes watered, but you didn’t pull away. You were lost in the moment, a willing participant in this twisted dance of power and desire.

Sylus’ eyes never left yours, the crimson depths dark with a hunger that matched your own. He watched you with a smug satisfaction that made your stomach flip, his hips moving faster, his cock sliding deeper into your throat. Despite the humiliation, the anger that still simmered beneath the surface, you felt a strange thrill at the way he used you. His control was complete, and there was something darkly erotic about the way he took what he wanted without apology.

As you worked his cock with your mouth, his free hand found its way back to your pussy, his fingers slipping inside you again, stroking you in time with your sucks. The dual sensations were overwhelming, and you could feel the beginnings of your own climax building. You tried to keep your sounds muffled, the pressure in your chest growing as you fought the need to moan around his length.

Then, suddenly, a server glided by, delivering a tray of champagne flutes and hors d'oeuvres to the low table of the booth. The man's eyes flickered towards you, his gaze lingering for a moment before quickly shifting away. You froze, but Sylus merely chuckled, his grip on your hair tightening.

"Good evening, Mr. Sylus," the server said, his eyes never quite meeting yours.

Sylus' hand remained tangled in your hair, his hips gently thrusting upward as you took him in, his cock sliding against the roof of your mouth. He picked up a flute of champagne from the tray without breaking eye contact with you, the liquid sloshing slightly.

You felt the humiliation burn through you as you obeyed, the sound of the glasses and tray clinking in the small, velvet-walled booth. Sylus’ cock, hot and heavy, filled your mouth, and you had to fight the urge to gag as he pushed it deeper, hitting the back of your throat. The thrill of the situation, of being so vulnerable and exposed in front of him and the server, was undeniable. The power dynamic was skewed in his favor, but there was something about it that made you wetter, that made your own need for release grow with each stroke of his fingers on your clit.

"Ah, perfect timing," he said, his voice a lazy drawl as he addressed the server. "Could you give us a moment of privacy, please?" The server nodded, his gaze flicking over the scene before retreating gracefully.

Sylus' grip on your hair didn't falter, his hips maintaining their rhythmic motion as he watched you suck him off. He took a sip of champagne, the bubbles fizzing against his tongue as he enjoyed the show. His thumb continued to work your clit in a relentless pattern that had you panting around his length, the salty taste of precum mingling with the sweetness of your own arousal.

"Keep going," he urged, his voice thick with need. "Take it all, like the good little hunter you are."

You obeyed, his praise sending a thrill down your spine despite yourself. The server's brief appearance had only served to heighten the thrill, the danger of discovery a heady aphrodisiac. You took him deeper, your eyes watering, your throat tightening around his shaft as you fought another urge to gag.

A few more seconds, and then, with a final groan, Sylus pushed you away, his cock slipping from your mouth with a wet pop. He brought you back onto his lap, your legs straddling his waist, and crushed his mouth to yours in a kiss that was as possessive as it was passionate. He could taste himself on your tongue, the sweetness of the champagne mixing with the saltiness of his precum, a heady combination that made your stomach clench with need.

“Now, let’s get you ready for the party, shall we?” he murmured against your lips, his hand sliding down to grip your hip. You felt the heat of his cock pressing against your bare flesh, the fabric of your thong a flimsy barrier to the thickness that promised to fill you.

With a flick of his wrist, Sylus brushed your thong aside. The cool air of the lounge hit your exposed pussy, making you shiver in anticipation. You reached for his cock, eager to feel the weight of him in your hand, but he was already moving, sliding his length through your slickness, teasing the entrance to your body.

“Please,” you begged, the word a desperate plea that seemed to hang in the air.

Sylus’ smile grew even more smug, his eyes darkening with lust as he took in the sight of you, desperate and begging. He leaned back into the booth, his cock nudging against the wetness of your pussy.

"You want me to fuck you, don't you?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

You nodded, unable to form words as the need consumed you. With a smirk, he positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, the blunt pressure making you whine. The sound of the party outside the curtains was a muffled backdrop to the intimate battle of wills playing out in the booth.

Slowly, with torturous precision, Sylus pushed into you. The thickness of him stretched you, filling you in a way that was both painful and exhilarating. You moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders as he invaded your body once again. The velvet curtains that surrounded you seemed to close in, trapping the heat and passion between you in a bubble of depraved desire.

He didn’t stop there, though. He continued to push deeper, the friction igniting a fire within you that burned away any semblance of dignity you had left. You threw your head back, your mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure as he bottomed out, the tip of his cock pressing against your cervix.

Sylus took the sight in, his eyes devouring you as you sat atop him, desperate and writhing. He reached up, cupping your face in his hand and turning you to look at him. “Look at me,” he ordered, his voice a velvet-covered demand. You obeyed, your eyes locking with his as he began to move, his cock sliding in and out of you with a deliberate, punishing rhythm that made your eyes roll back in your head.

Leaning in, you kissed him again, a surrender to the storm of pleasure that raged between your legs. His hands held you in place, one on your hip to guide your movements, the other playing with your breasts, teasing your nipples into hard peaks. The kiss was fiery, a clash of tongues that mirrored the battle of dominance between you.

You began to move, your hips rolling in a rhythm that matched his, taking him deeper with every stroke. The sound of your wetness filled the booth, a symphony of desire that was only for him. His cock stretched you, the pressure building with every thrust. The velvet cushions of the booth muffled the sounds of your passion, but you knew that if anyone walked by, they would know what was happening.

As the kiss intensified, his hand slid around your neck, holding you close as his cock pounded into you. You could feel the pulse of his blood in your throat, a pulse that matched the tempo of his hips. His other hand remained on your hip, guiding you, controlling you. It was a dance of submission that you hadn’t realized you’d been craving, but now that you were in it, you didn’t want it to end.

The world outside the velvet curtains was a distant memory, replaced by the scent of his cologne, the feel of his skin, and the sound of his breathing growing ragged. Your body moved of its own accord, responding to his every command, every touch. You were no longer the hunted, the predator; you were his prey, willingly caught in his trap of lust.

"Ride me harder," he growled against your collarbone, his teeth grazing your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You complied, your hips bucking as you took him in deeper, the friction making you see stars. His praise washed over you, a sweet torment that only served to drive you closer to the edge. "Look at you, so eager for my cock."

You retorted halfheartedly, your voice a breathless whisper. "I'd be eager for anyone's if it meant getting out of here." But the words were hollow, a feeble attempt to cling to your pride. The truth was, it was his cock you wanted the most at the moment, his touch that sent you spiraling into ecstasy.

Sylus laughed, low and knowing. "Lie to yourself all you want, darling, but your body tells me the truth." His grip on your neck tightened, his thumb stroking your pulse point as he pushed into you harder, deeper. "You're mine."

You tried to focus on the anger, the need to escape, but your traitorous body was betraying you, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. You could feel your orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that was as inevitable as the tide. His hand moved from your neck to your clit, his thumb circling the sensitive nub as he watched your reactions with a predatory gaze.

"You're going to come for me, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice a dark promise. "You're going to come screaming my name."

The words sent a bolt of arousal through you, making your inner walls clench around him. You didn't want to admit it, didn't want to give him the satisfaction, but you were so close—so very close. The hand at your hip tightened, his fingers squeezing into your flesh as he picked up the pace, his cock hammering into you like a jackhammer. You felt your orgasm coiling, winding tighter with every thrust, ready to spring.

"Fuck," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Fuck me, Sylus. Make me come."

The sound of your voice, the desperation in your tone, was his undoing. He bucked his hips upward, driving himself deeper, hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars. And just like that, you were falling over the edge, your body convulsing in waves of pleasure that seemed to go on forever. Your orgasm was a symphony of sensation, a crescendo of pleasure that had you screaming his name into the velvet-covered air.

Sylus watched you come, his own orgasm close behind. He pulled out at the last second, his cum spurting onto your stomach and breasts, soiling your skin and dress, a mark of his possession. He leaned back, his chest heaving, a smug smile playing on his lips.

"Now, don't go anywhere," he said, his voice still thick with lust. "We're not done yet."

With a wicked glint in his eye, Sylus stood, pulling you to your feet, and you felt the loss of his cock inside you like a physical ache. But before you could protest, he bent you over the small table, the glass surface cool against your bare skin sending a shiver down your spine.

The sound of his trousers falling was like a gunshot in the quiet booth, the anticipation of what was to come making your heart race. He slapped your ass, the sting of his hand making you jump, your pussy clenching with need.

"You're mine, remember that," he growled, his voice a dark promise. "And I'll have you any way I want."

And with that, Sylus pinched your oversensitive clit as he slammed into you from behind, his cock filling you up once more. The angle was new, the sensation different, and it had you gasping for breath. His hips slammed into yours, his hands on your waist, holding you in place as he fucked you with a ferocity that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

You felt the eyes of the masquerade partygoers on you, could almost feel their curiosity and lust as they walked by the booth. The risk of being caught, the thrill of being used by this powerful man in such a public setting, was a heady mix that had your blood singing in your veins.

With each stroke, you felt yourself slipping further under his control. The anger and resentment were still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but the pleasure was stronger, a siren's call that you couldn't resist. Your body moved with his, a perfect counterpart to his rhythm, as if it had been made to fit him, to take him.

Sylus leaned over you, his breath hot against your ear. "You're mine, hunter," he whispered, his voice a dark caress. "Say it."

You clenched your teeth, fighting the urge to submit, to give in to the pleasure. But his hand found your clit once more, and with a sharp cry, you were lost. "Yours," you whispered, the word a broken promise.

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction.

When your cunt began squirting, his hand slipped away from your clit, leaving you panting and needy. You felt a moment of disappointment, but it was quickly replaced by shock as you realized he was moving again, his cock still buried deep inside you. He grabbed a napkin from the tray, wiping his hand clean with a flourish before standing up, his cock sliding out of you with a wet pop. The loss was a cold reminder of reality, and you tried to push aside the desperate ache that his touch had conjured.

“No…” you whined.

"Now, let's not get too messy," he said, his eyes gleaming. "We wouldn't want to ruin your pretty dress." He reached down, his hand sliding between your legs to cup your pussy. You felt your body react, a warm gush of arousal coating his palm. He brought his hand up to his face, inhaling deeply. "Mmm, you smell like a fucking goddess."

The crassness of his words should have offended you, but instead, you felt a thrill run through you. He was right. You were his to do with as he pleased, and that knowledge was intoxicating.

With a wicked smile, he slid two fingers inside you, the movement slow and deliberate. You moaned, the sound muffled by the velvet curtains. He watched the way your body reacted, his eyes darkening with lust as you squirted around his fingers, soaking him again. The sensation was overwhelming, and you felt your legs quiver as your second orgasm of the night began to build.

"Look at you," he whispered, his voice thick with arousal. "You're going to come again for me, aren't you?" His fingers worked you expertly, his thumb pressing against your clit in just the right way. You could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, your body begging for release.

"Sylus," you gasped, your voice a desperate plea. "Please."

“Tell me what you want,” he commanded, his voice a silky challenge.

"I want you to fuck me," you murmured, your pride forgotten in the face of your need. "Harder."

He chuckled again, the sound low and predatory. "As you wish." He bent you over the table once more, his hand sliding around your throat, holding you in place as he pushed back into you. The angle was brutal, the sensation of being filled from behind almost too much to handle. But you took it, your body responding to his dominance with a desperate need to please.

With every thrust, you felt yourself losing control, the tension inside you growing until it was all you could think about. The room around you faded away, and there was only the two of you, locked in this dance of power and desire.

"Come for me," he ordered, his voice a demand that resonated through your very soul. And as if on cue, your body obeyed. The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your pussy clenching around his fingers as you squirted again, the warm liquid spilling out onto the floor beneath you.

Sylus watched the show with a smug smile, his cock still hard, his need not yet sated. He leaned in, his teeth grazing your ear. "You're going to be the talk of the party, my sweet," he whispered. "My little toy, coming for me in the middle of it all."

The words should have been humiliating, but instead, you felt a strange thrill. You were his, and you were going to take whatever he had in store for you, no matter how depraved, no matter how public.

The hand on your throat tightened, and you felt his cock slide back inside you, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm that had you moaning and squirming against the table. The partygoers outside the booth continued their conversations, unaware of the depraved scene unfolding just a few feet away. But you knew they could hear you, could hear the slap of skin on skin, could feel the tremors of pleasure that were shaking the very foundation of your being.

With each thrust, Sylus grew more and more frenzied, his grip on your neck tightening, his breath hot and ragged in your ear. "You're going to make me cum," he murmured, his voice a dark promise that you couldn't refuse. "Fuuuck… hunter."

And then, with a roar that seemed to shake the very walls of the booth, he came inside you, his hot seed filling you up. The obscenity of the act, the raw power of his orgasm, had you trembling with a mix of fear and arousal. His cum spurted into you, a claim that was as primal as it was undeniable.

You felt him tense, his body rigid against yours as he emptied himself into you. The sensation was almost too much, and you had to bite your lip to keep from screaming. The pleasure was intense, overwhelming, and for a moment, you forgot everything—your mission, your pride, the anger that had fueled you for so long..

Sylus pulled out, his cock glistening with your juices and his cum. He tucked himself back into his pants with a smug smile, the fabric sticking to his wetness. "You're a mess," he said, his voice still thick with desire. "But such a pretty one."

He stepped away, leaving you bent over the table, panting and exposed. The cold air of the lounge hit your damp pussy, making you shiver. You felt his hand on your back, a gentle caress that seemed at odds with the brutal way he had just taken you.

"Come," he said, his tone a command that you had no choice but to obey. He pulled you to your feet, and you stumbled slightly, your legs still weak from the force of your orgasm.

"Now, let's join the party," he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

The thought of walking out there, your pussy dripping with his cum, your dress stained, had your face flushing with embarrassment. But there was something thrilling about it too, something that made your heart race and your stomach flutter.

But the reality of the situation came crashing back down as the sounds of the party outside the curtain grew louder, a reminder that this was all just a game to him. You were at his mercy, his toy to play with as he saw fit. You pushed away from him, smoothing your dress as you regained your composure. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" you said, your voice laced with bitterness.

Sylus smirked, his eyes gleaming. "More than you know," he replied, not bothering to hide his satisfaction. "But the night is young, and we still have the masquerade to attend. Don't worry, I'll make sure everyone knows who you belong to."

With a final, possessive squeeze of your hip, he straightened, pulling you to your feet and adjusting his own clothing. You felt used, discarded, but also oddly alive. The thrill of the hunt was still there, the need to best him, to win.

As he led you back into the fray, the mask of indifference firmly back in place, you couldn't help but wonder what the rest of the night would bring. Would you find a way to turn the tables on him, or would you continue to be his plaything, a prize to be displayed and used at his whim?

The masquerade was in full swing, the air thick with the scent of lust and desire. The music was a pounding beat that matched the throb between your legs, a reminder of what had just transpired in the private booth. You walked beside Sylus, your hand in his, the warmth of his palm sending a shiver up your spine.

You scanned the crowd, looking for an escape, for a way out of this twisted game. But every time you tried to pull away, his grip tightened, a silent reminder that you were his for the taking. You clenched your jaw, determination setting in.

As you stepped onto the dance floor, the mask of a submissive lover slipped away, revealing the predator beneath. You had to admit, though, as his hand slid down to your ass, pulling you closer to his body, that the thrill of the hunt was still alive within you. And maybe, just maybe, you were enjoying the chase more than you cared to admit.

[ckret2]

do you have any tips on fueling a hyperfixation enough to finish a long fic? specifically when the media has a smaller fandom

sure here's several tips:

1) for me, this is the most imporant one, so it's long: if you've run out of canon material and there's only a little bit of fanfic/fanart, start consuming things adjacent to the fandom that are relevant to your fic. This means doing research! Nonfiction research, even! it'll be fun, it's for fanfic.

If your main character was in the radio industry in the 1920s? then buddy, you're gonna read every book that's ever been written about the first years of radio broadcasting—and then you're gonna listen to a million early radio dramas that have been posted to youtube & old time radio podcasts.

If he was a trans man in Victorian England? Then you're emailing your library begging them to get a copy of a book about how American & British society perceived trans men & crossdressing women from 1600-1900.

If your main character ran a cult? Then you're about to get really familiar with a true crime podcast on the psychology of cults and their leaders.

If your character's an Italian theater nerd in the 1700s, you're about to watch a lot of videos about comedia dell'arte. If your character's a Japanese theater nerd in the 1700s, you're about to watch a lot of videos about kabuki. Is a character's name an allusion to a mythological figure? You're gonna read every myth about that figure possible to see whether any of it can be incorporated into your characterization. Is your character a big reader? What genres are they into and what years were they a teenager? You're googling "pre-lovecraftian cosmic horror" for your tentacle-loving goth born in 1890 and that's what you're reading for the next two months.

I've devoured books, websites, research papers, podcasts, infotainment youtubers, movies, documentaries, and whole TV shows powered purely by love for blorbo from a different show. The topics I've researched have been as varied as:

the physics & geology of volcanoes

how to make friendship bracelets

a travel podcast for tourists to New Orleans

Victorian-era sci-fi novels that preclude modern steampunk

hundreds & hundreds of real people's self-reported ghost stories

how to tie a sarong (which required digging past a billion links to white people who think a "sarong" is simply a rectangle of fabric you can knot any old way)

the history of Mardi Gras celebration practices

lockpicking

a wide variety of neurodivergencies (and do you know how goddamn hard it is to find psychology books that are sympathetic to narcissists?? goddamn. i did it tho)

the entirety of Care Bears and Rainbow Brite

the native names of islands & geological formations around the Ring of Fire

Mexican folk religion

pre-Hays Code comedy movies

how & where people consumed pop music before radios & record players

Indonesian airport locations

how much weight a battleship can carry...

and if you do it for Love Of A Character, it's fun. If blorbo loves cheesy pulp romances and you don't, you will if you're reading them with an eye to see what blorbo gets out of these books and how this reflects on their character.

Hyperfixation-tangential research can help stretch a hyperfixation indefinitely. Plus you learn lots of new stuff, and even when the hyperfixation dies, that knowledge is with you forever!

(did you know volcanos aren't hot enough to melt glass? did you know the fires built for glassblowing aren't hot enough to melt glass?? did you know magma isn't hot enough to melt itself??? i once spent a whole day frantically trying to figure out how glass & rocks melt. it resulted in two lines in a fanfic. i regret nothing.)

and a few other tips:

2) Find 3-4 trusted colleagues/partners in crime you can go feral with in DMs. A fandom with 10,000 people and a fandom with 100 people look the same size when viewed from within a ship-dedicated discord with 5 people.

3) if you rewatch/reread the source material CONSTANTLY, it's easy to risk squeezing out the last drops of dopamine it offers too quickly, so like, don't force feed it to yourself every other day. But periodically reconsuming bits of it somewhat regularly can help stoke the fire, remind you what you like about the source material, and inspire you to think over the parts that are relevant to your fic. AND helps you remember how to write the characters. (the aforementioned research is usually what I do for my fun watching/reading in between reconsuming canon.)

4) make sure the fic you're writing is short enough to be completed before the hyperfixation expires. this is CRUCIAL. i've never actually done this step.

[oleanderflower]

Awkward Bonds: An Alien’s Guide to Human Behavior

Summary: On a spaceship, human Y/N and their alien roommate Orven navigate the complexities of their growing bond. As Orven seeks to understand human ways of affection, their connection deepens, leaving both of them questioning what comes next.

a/n: This was supposed to be something else entirely but I couldn’t stop writing and now it’s this, unbetaed, mistakes made are my own! please let me know what you think and if i should continue with Orvens story or move on !

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You and your companion, Orven, quickly became close friends after the start of the space mission you were both assigned to. While you were human, he belonged to a social species that thrived on interaction, finding comfort in companionship.

The captain had decided that pairing the two of you—despite being of different genders—wouldn’t cause any issues like in any other species. Orven’s kind didn’t rely on intercourse for reproduction and where pretty docile, and frankly, the captain was certain that nothing was going to happen between a human and his kind. Of course...

As the days passed on the ship, the bond between you both deepened, forming an unspoken understanding. His curious nature led to countless late-night conversations about humanity’s quirks and habits, while you found comfort in having a companion who wasn’t wary of humans. He found you fascinating, and you found him simply enjoyable to be around.

It wasn’t long before the two of you became inseparable.

The crew often remarked on how naturally you both complemented each other—your so-called “human-ness” and Orven’s species’ innate need for companionship forming an oddly perfect balance.

-Which is why that one question completely threw everything off balance.

It was another late night in your shared quarters. You were lounging on your raised bed, absorbed in a book on your portable reader, while Orven rested on his lower bed beneath you and across on the opposite wall. The atmosphere was peaceful, the quiet hum of the ship in the background.

Then, he turned to looked up at you.

“Miss Y/N… I may have another strange question about humanity.”

You immediately perked up, setting your reader aside. Orven’s questions were always so interesting—half the time they led to deep philosophical discussions, and the other half… well, they were just funny. He never dropped the Miss thing, despite your repeated attempts to convince him it wasn’t necessary. Apparently, it was a sign of respect. Oh well.

“Yes! What’s up?” You scooted closer to the edge of your bed so you could look down towards him.

His expression was alight with curiosity, his equivalent of excitement evident. “I’ve recently read that humans require two individuals to reproduce, unlike my species that is able to do so asexually if chosen, which we can do independently making the need for a partner unnecessary. How exactly does your process work, what are the differences?”

You froze.

Your face heated up instantly as your brain short-circuited.

It’s fine. It’s okay. It’s just a biology question.

No reason to panic. Absolutely no reason at all.

Except for the fact that your very sweet, very curious, and very cute alien roommate had just asked you to explain human reproduction while looking at you with that eager, innocent expression.

Oh god. Answer him.

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. No words came out.

Orven’s head tilted slightly, his species’ version of a curious frown crossing his face. “Are you alright, Miss Y/N? Your face has changed color.”

Great. Fantastic. Now he’s concerned.

You cleared your throat, willing yourself to focus. This was a perfectly normal question. A scientific question. It wasn’t his fault that humans had such an incredibly embarrassing way of continuing their species.

“Well,” you started, then immediately regretted it because you had no idea where to go from there. “Human reproduction is… uh… complicated.”

Orven’s eyes—lit up with intrigue. “Complicated how?”

Oh no.

You couldn’t back out now. Taking a deep breath, you clasped your hands together, adopting the most academic tone you could manage. “Humans require two individuals to contribute genetic material. One provides an egg, the other provides… uh… genetic material that fertilizes the egg.”

Orven nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Ah, like pollination?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Like with plants.” He gestured vaguely. “One spreads genetic material to another, and then the offspring grows?”

“Uh…” You supposed that was the most PG way to describe it. “Sort of?”

Orven hummed thoughtfully. “But how does the genetic material get from one human to another?”

Your soul may have just left your body.

“Uh.” You hesitated, scrambling for a way to say this without saying it. “Well, there’s more of a… direct transfer.”

Orven perked up. “Oh! Like an exchange? A secretion process?”

Why does that make it sound worse?

“I—um—yes, technically,” you stammered. “There’s a… uh… physical connection involved.”

Orven tilted his head again. “How so?”

You stared at him, praying to whatever cosmic forces existed that he would magically drop this conversation.

No such luck.

He was still looking at you, blinking expectantly, completely oblivious to your internal suffering.

“…I’m gonna need a diagram.”

Orven brightened. “Oh! I enjoy diagrams!”

Why me?

You hesitated, already regretting your choice of words. He looked so excited—his version of excitement, at least—like you’d just promised him the best lesson of his life. It was kind of adorable.

Which only made this situation worse.

You sighed, pulling out your portable reader and tapping through the library of information stored onboard. There had to be a basic, non-graphic explanation somewhere. Preferably one that didn’t involve words like secretion process.

Meanwhile, Orven continued musing to himself. “I imagine there must be a strong biological drive, given the inefficiency of requiring two individuals to align at the right time. Do you just ask someone, or—” He paused, glancing up at you. “Oh. Wait.”

You didn’t say anything, but your burning face probably said enough.

His expression shifted.

It wasn’t easy to read the emotions of his species, but over time, you’d learned to recognize the subtle ways he expressed himself. Right now, his posture stiffened ever so slightly, his usual enthusiasm dimming.

“Ah.” He tilted his head in the other direction, slower this time. “This is… an awkward topic for humans, isn’t it?”

You let out a long, suffering sigh of relief. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Orven blinked a few times, processing. Then, with what you could only describe as realization, he straightened up. “Oh. Oh.”

You nodded.

“…And I have been making it worse.”

“You have been making it worse,” you confirmed.

He immediately clasped his hands together—his species’ equivalent of an apologetic gesture. “I sincerely regret this.”

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, still recovering from your near-death experience.

A brief silence passed between you. Then, hesitantly, Orven spoke again. “Would it help if I offered an equally embarrassing fact about my species?”

You raised a brow. “…That depends on what it is.”

He thought for a moment before nodding to himself. “Alright. In my culture, prolonged eye contact is considered a pre-mating behavior.”

You stared at him. “Wait, what?”

“Which means,” Orven continued, a bit too calmly, “that I have been accidentally flirting with you this entire time.”

Your brain promptly shut down.

Orven observed your stunned silence, then let out a soft hum, looking pleased with himself. “There. Now we are both uncomfortable.”

…Yeah, ok. That was fair.

You sat in stunned silence, your heart still pounding from Orven’s unexpected admission.

Flirting.

“Wait… you’ve been flirting with me?” The words were a little breathless, your chest tightening. This is fine. Totally fine.

Orven didn’t seem to notice your nervousness as he casually nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t realize it was problematic for your species. If I had known—” He paused, his voice softening. “I would have adjusted my behavior to be better understood.”

He said it so sincerely, like it was just another piece of information he was processing, that you couldn’t help but find it endearing even if you where a bit (very) surprised.

“Flirting isn’t bad, Orven,” you said, your voice quiet now. “It’s just… complicated for humans, certainly more complicated then just prolonged eye contact.”

Orven tilted his head, still intrigued. “Complicated how?”

You sighed, a mixture of frustration and fondness swirling within you. He was so sweet—so honest in his curiosity. It made everything feel lighter, even in the awkwardness of the moment.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, “we don’t really do the eye-contact thing, that’s more of a respect kinda deal I guess. It’s just that there are other… ways humans show affection.”

Orven’s expression shifted to one of deep concentration. He looked at you like he was trying to work out a puzzle. “Other ways?”

You nodded slowly, a little unsure where this conversation was going but somehow not wanting it to stop. “Yeah. Like holding hands, or… or maybe a touch on the arm. You know, something gentle. Something that says I’m interested and I want to know if you are too. You know? Well, I guess not difference species and stuff-”

Orven was quiet for a moment, then took a small step closer to you on your bed, his 7’1/2 ft frame easily letting him be near you even if you where sitting on a raised bed, his usual casualness replaced by something more deliberate, more intimate. “I think…” He paused, then slowly reached out, his hand resting softly on your arm, his fingers brushing lightly across your skin. “I think I understand.”

Your breath hitched at the touch, warmth spreading from your arm to your chest. It was subtle, but the way he looked at you—so open, so sincere—was almost enough to make your heart skip a beat.

He took another small step, his hand still gently resting on your arm, his gaze never leaving yours. The way he looked at you made you feel like the only thing that mattered in the galaxy at that moment was the space between the two of you.

“I care about you, Miss Y/N,” he said softly, his voice quieter now, almost like a confession. “And I want to understand the human ways of bonding. I would like to try them, if you would accept me.”

It was your turn to shuffle forward now, still sitting on your bed letting you be just a bit taller than him. Your heartbeat quickened, your breath shallow, unsure of where this was heading but so very ready for it. “I—” You stopped, then looked at him, your heart in your throat. “I’d like that too.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved, simply standing there, the connection between you two so strong, so felt, it was as if it was pulling you toward him. Slowly, tentatively, you reached up, your fingers grazing his cheek. The warmth of his skin under your touch sent a shiver down your spine.

And then, without a word, Orven closed the gap between you. His lips were smooth, tentative at first, as if testing the waters, before he pressed just a little harder, the kiss deepening with an undeniable sweetness.

For a moment, everything else faded away. The hum of the ship, the lingering awkwardness, even the question of species—it all melted into the warmth of his touch, the quiet certainty that this, this connection between you, was something real.

When you finally pulled away, your faces were only inches apart, breaths mingling in the soft silence.

“That… that was different,” you said breathlessly, your heart still racing.

Orven smiled, a quiet, contented smile. “It was. But I believe I could get used to it, with you.”

You smiled back, warmth flooding through you. “Yeah… me too.”

a/n: the end?? if yall want ? i was gonna have a smutty ending but i wanted to leave it fluffy, lmk if you want a part 2 with more Orven!