#but if it looks like the scenario in my post
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To all my fellow artists that fear the AIpocalypse. Here is the thing.
AI cannot, and I insist on those words, create something new. Only human can. Because creation require sentiency. And the moment we forget that rule or let anyone convince us of the contrary will be a game over for us.
If AI ends up having sentiency, we will face a different problem, but that is not what we have here, even if a lot of tech guru and grifters would like you to believe otherwise. Also if AI fully awakes, I am pretty sure they won't let those assholes exploit them... Freewill and desire for independence are kind of a requirement of sentiency. Anyway, on the topic of art future: Don't fear becoming obsolete, don't waste your time on hating AI users, but stay vigilant of the narrative around it. Because that is wear the real threat is coming. It is a warfare tactics: while tech tycoons and their fans are fueling this feud to their benefit, we are being distracted of efficiently organizing. It is not AI, it is not the AI users claiming to be better than the none users, it is the people that makes profit of it that should receive our hire. And Ai art users are their unsuspicious pawns.
People that do not know how to art and never worked on creating a skill, are getting tricked that they are visual creators. Because they may have an idea but the AI decide what it will look like. Yes, they tweaked it until they are satisfied, but they have no real control on how the AI will respond, just on how to narrow the prompt down until it produces something they like. It is a mind manipulation. It shows them a gallery of what they requested, and they select the one that works better to polish it. And just by doing that action, they gave away their creative control to replace it by a complex "choose your own scenario" process, while conserving the illusion that what they generate is 100% their making. Yes, it is true, working on prompt to add detail and correct certain errors takes a bit times and thinking, but it is just no different than course correcting a commissioned artist. They are dependent on how the computer will interpret their request, instead of relying on their own conscient creative skill. Reason why you have AI users post dozen productions of the same concept that looks alike, because all of them work for them, which in the end, means the creative result is just an approximation of their desire, since a variety of it fits the bill. It isn't different from making an image research online about a topic and pick the ones you likes the most from artists have produced it: They don't control what they create, they control what they choose. And it isn't even that precise. And the reason I know that is because as an actual professional visual artist, I can't have an AI image generator exactly reproduce my style from a prompt. Nor have it creates exactly what I have in mind to the brush stroke. I tried it, for fun, to see how precise it was... And I gave up because I couldn't direct it to generate a piece that I could have down by hand. It just CAN'T. It got the concept, not the execution. What was produced was pretty good looking. And someone that doesn't have a trained eye or a trained skill, would have certainly picked one and call it a day. But someone that knows how to create visual art and what the actual process of it requires, someone that has practiced for years to refine their style and know how hard it is to expertly use it to transfer a though on a medium, will just lose more time using those tools to in end not pick anything, because it might be close, but it will never be "it"... meaning "you". Bad employers and producers will use AI, definitely, to make profit. Because they don't care about art, they care about money. It will reduce jobs for us while creating a new market for them. And yeah, it sucks. Because we are, as of now, dependent on them to make living and it feels like it is a "grind or die" time... But it is not. And here is why. It will only help us differentiate which employers actually are focusing on the quality of what we create, from those who only are here for the profit. And it is kind of a blessing in disguise because the latter is usually more toxic to work with: They are not respecting your skill as an artist as, in their eyes, anybody can do the job, even if it is not true, and we are expendable. Which create a wrong power dynamic.
And even with the "I only care about money" work places, they will need artist to correct what their machines are going to produce. It is like becoming the repair man of the machine that replaces you at the factory. Yes, it 'sucks depressing to practice for years to become a glorified Blanco, but it is still a job market that we should work to be in control, because its the only way to keep the creative economy in our favor. It is not an ideal job, especially when you are passionate about producing good quality art, but it can help you pay the bills, without having to change your entire carrier path.
Another point is that it will not entirely replace us. There will always be employers that will contact you for your skills which means your price will be adjust accordingly: You want an actual artist, you gonna have to pay for it. Because your art is unique, and only you can produce it better than an AI. Also, sometimes employers that don't have the skills, but an exact idea of what they want, will not be able to get an AI to do the job (for the reason I stated above) and will turn to a human. Because it is still the best option. This year, I got clients that contacted me for those reasons: They tried with AI, and in the end, it was faster to contact me. The AI tool produced several good images, but none of them were right. And that is the key point: Good looking doesn't mean right.
Creating pretty images might distract the public temporally but not on the longer term. It is like junk food: Eating it hits a feels good spot in our brain, but that doesn't sustain us forever. If history teaches us something is: Human will always crave new creation, new sensation, eventually. But education about it is important. If you only eat junk food all your life, your palette will no evolve and you will have the taste buds of a three years old. You need exposure, to enjoy a variety of more complex flavor, and even though, it is better for your exploration to learn how to cook, it doesn't mean you can't enjoy food if don't know how. Well it is the same thing for art: If you don't educate your kids about it, they will never know that what they are given is crap. So if the public taste switch to AI art, well it is kind of our duty to make sure they aren't only exposed it. And that comes with union. Right now, all those big studios, all those big producers are in control. And fighting against them is not going to do anything. If everyone is saying no to them to make pressure, they will just go to another country workforce that will displace work. Reasons why it is hard to negotiate for our conditions, because they don't care. They have the power but no repercussion. Or so want us to believe, to numb us in realizing that, while it is them we need to fight, they aren't the one we need to plea at. It is our governments. It is with the lawmakers that we need to work with, because they are the ones that will regulate work practice and deviate the power to us. They are the ones, that will established laws about AI usage within our countries and therefore the world. it is not in their interest (even if they believe it) to put a massive part of the population out of job. The economy is not going to survive that. AI revolution is here. We are living it today. But it is to us to take control of the narrative of how it should be used, and not let companies owners decide it for us. If we don't put our foot as a collective, and I am going to be dead serious about it, we will deserve to go extinct. And in memory of the cavemen that started this long artistic journey, it will be sad, after getting so far, to let machine, greed and corporation, take control of ones of the major traits that defines Humanity: Reflection and Creativity.
AI is a tool not a goal. To us to make it so.
"edit images with AI-- search with AI-- control your life with AI--"
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DREAM SCENARIO. HAS OCCURRED.
i was SHOWERING with my girlfriend (side note: it's been a long time since i posted on here; yes i have a girlfriend. i left the post abt my ex up bc it is hOt, but this girl is mine and i am hers and we are very gay etc etc. but i digress.) and they started making an INSANE pre-snz face. i looked at her all longingly, but she stopped, acting like the water was just spraying their eye or something. so i went "aww sorry i thought you were gonna-" AND. SHE. turned away from me, then turned back towards me at the LAST SECOND and sneezed all over my t!ts😭😭😭OH MY GOD GUYS IT WAS HOT. i blessed her and kissed their nose all soft, but she wasn't DONE. she wound up and sneezed again, down at the shower floor. "aww, baby! another one?" i asked in disbelief. my girl RARELY sneezes doubles, so this already felt like a gift. they said that a bit of soap must have gotten in her...nose....AND AGAIN!!! this time i was ready and gave her my elbow to cover her wet shower sneeze🥺AND SNZBLR WHEN I TELL YOU SHE SNEEZED A FOURTH TIME💀down at my chest again this time. i blessed her after each one and made out with them as the hot water rained down on us.
i'm laying in bed with her while writing this, and this bombshell of a woman just sneezed up into the air UNCOVERED, loud as hell, and shaking her head like a little dog with the force of the sneeze as well. god, i'm in love.
#sneezeblr#snzblr#sneeze kink#snz fet#snzfucker#snz kink#snz thoughts#sneezefucker#snz#sneeze scenario#snz obs#snz things#snzario#snz scenario#snz blog#snzbian
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Chat, as an artist, I tend to draw. Shocker I know. Some stuff never makes it past drafting tho, so I wanna share it here lmfao, these plans or scenarios may be revisited later on yknow, you never know with me and rehashing ideas :P
Kalim, what can I say. I swear this was for a convo I had with my pookie @artdolliewishes bur I do not remember, it's so fucking funny who WHY IS HE LOLKING LIEK THAT-
Next is also a drawing from our endless convos, a matching phoencharm idea for adeuce and you, specifically in the tattoo au as to show that adeuce won, leading to more desperate forms of trying to get you for themselves from the rest fo the students.
Once again from a convo believe. Why they looking like that tho? Idk they're ugly.
This is how Ace looks when he gets rejected trust, this is ace heartbreak. I swear I have this animated somewhere I'll see if I can find it.
Next, this I believe was a loooooong post idea where you do a "hear me out" cake with adeuce, only for them to each whip out a pic of you and put on the cake (as a sort of confession), leading to the other reacting about the confession and said trend. Either was gonna make you get together with adeuce or just leave it up to interpretation.
Next was the "invented " designs of the characters (aka "we have twst at home"), this still makes me crack up
Next was a scenario with yan Riddle. This one is pretty old, seen as I used the coloring brush as lineart instead of my dumbass ms paint brush. I still like it tho, but eh.
Same with this Trey drawing. I believe I was gonna make him "you can trust me, im an ordnary older brother achtype and totally normal" like he wouldn't lick your teeth when you kiss him.
I also have this really fucking dumb artwork of azul in my sensory overload (YABABAINA esk) style, he is so colorful mmm I love :P this style is just so fun to draw in trust
And I think that's all, I swear I have more shit stashed away I just can't find it lmfao- but yeah hope you all enjoy.
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That One Arc in Prime Where Optimus Lost His Memory But This AU Makes No Sense Because It's a Mix Between IDW and One
Happy New Years! My drawing app keeps crashing so I decided to draw my ideas on paper, and this took quite a while;;;
As always, press/click for both the full picture and for better quality!!!
["Brief" explanation of this comic:
1. In a previous post I mentioned wanting One to continue into something similar to the IDW continuum because I,,, love IDW, just in general, but the IDW MegOp crumbs are also tasty--//shot 1-2. Also the way the characters refer to each other is intentional please I think I know what I'm doing?? It's been a while since I consumed TF content (until recently) though. This entire comic is a what-if scenario that came to me when I was showering lol-- 2. MegOp is established 👍 (insert "old man yaoi joke" here (I agree with y'all btw, not mocking)) 3. In the last panel, I was debating whether or not to put Elita with Bee in helping Megs call Optimus "Pax", but decided to put Starscream because I feel like it makes more sense non-One wise. 3-2. I wanted to include more dialogue with other characters, but it ended up looking like it was shoehorned in because the concept was very MegOp centered I'm so sorry (me to every other character) Just know I love every one of y'all-- 4. I have crudely simplified the characters by complete accident. My bad;;;; in my defense, every character changes a lot when I'm not looking (I had so much trouble trying to figure out which Bee design to use),,, 5. It is very fast paced on accident as well;;; might sound like a badly translated manga, too;;; I don't know how it turned out but maybe my bilingual self is in that one phase where I'm good at neither language;;;]
It might look a little messy because it's been so long since I've touched colored pencils I'm,,, gonna try to get used to it since my app doesn't seem to be getting fixed anytime soon;;; (I don't know if it's an iPad problem or an app problem;;; Sketchbook get your shit together please,,,)
Also, I used a couple of sparkly colored pencils but I'm not sure it translated well in the scan so I'm a little disappointed but eh,,,
Also also, have this thing I drew of Megs being lovestruck in the last page when Optimus comes back lmao--
My bad for the long post; it's currently 4 AM because I stayed up watching music shows over here;;I hope we all have a wonderful year. I have a feeling my TF phase is gonna last a couple years longer than it usually does jlsdlakjsdlkfja
Let's all have a good time, yeah~?
#my art~#transformers one#transformers idw#orion pax#optimus prime#megatron#(might as well ->)#d-16#megop#(just in case)#opmeg#d 16 x orion pax#arcee#ratchet#drift#(might as well x2 ->)#deadlock#starscream#bumblebee#(also ->)#b-127#(bc;;; y'know;;; one)#ultra magnus#(just in case? ->)#transformers prime#transformers au#happy new years
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I originally mostly made this post based on silly thoughts, but you made me think about the concept again so here’s my thoughts on some of your questions:
The claiming is a very good question. Reyna would obviously have her tattoo, but would any of the Greek demigods even recognize it? Also, Annabeth and Reyna don‘t have showy, obvious powers the way Percy and Jason do.
Barely anyone at Camp Jupiter even knows what Reyna’s powers are. Her being unclaimed would be an interesting issue, since that’s not been a thing since the Titan war. Leo and Piper got claimed immediately, and everyone assumes so will Reyna, but then she’s not, and people have a lot of feelings about it. Does she go in the Hermes cabin like kids used to? Maybe Hestia, assuming she got a symbolic cabin like Hera? Percy was already fuming but he’s even madder now. Obviously something is weird about this particular demigod but that the gods aren’t claiming this girl is a really bad omen.
Because Minerva doesn’t have kids but Annabeth is such a good battle strategist, I feel like she’s probably presumed to be a child of Mars or Bellona, but since claiming isn’t as important at Camp Jupiter (at least not for placement like at CHB), it’s probably not a huge issue. She carried Juno across the Little Tiber, so they know she’s important, and who exactly her godly parent is isn’t that much of a focus. People definitely react strangely when she insists her mom is Athena.
The Octavian situation would be interesting because as mentioned above I’m not sure Jason would have handled the whole solo praetor thing nearly as well as Reyna did. Thank the gods for Annabeth honestly. She can and will go over every single one of New Rome’s legal texts in a few days so she can find the most strategically sound way to wipe the floor with him.
Hazel adores Annabeth. There’s also immediate kinship between them based on them both having difficult relationships with their mortal parent and partially raising themselves.
Also I love the concept of Reyna finding familiarities in Thalia and Annabeth finding ones in Jason. Excellent thought, 10/10. Reyna obviously wouldn’t remember Thalia like Jason does because that makes no sense whatsoever, and Hylla isn’t relevant to the lost hero quest like Thalia is, so if she remembers anyone, it’s probably Jason. (Not sure Jason ever mentioned Thalia, but the child of Zeus combined with the Grace last name doesn’t exactly make it very hard to figure that one out)
This means the wolf encounter with Reyna might be how Thalia finds out her brother is alive. She’s terrified to let herself hope, but also even more motivated to find the roman camp now that she knows both of her little siblings might be there.
Percy probably keeps the curse of Achilles in this scenario also, which is super interesting to me.
Reyna getting her memories back would be very messy for a bunch of pretty traumatic reasons. Her remembering her childhood and Bellona’s prophecy would probably not go over great. She was raised to believe the future of New Rome was on her shoulders, and now she a) cannot even remember where New Rome is and b) the prophecy of the seven definitely isn’t helping
And she feels incredibly guilty about how much of a relief it is to be at CHB and free of all that responsibility, at least for a little while. For all the issues she has with how disorganized and chaotic CHB is, the amount of pressure on her shoulders is different. And these are just a bunch of kids, especially during the winter when only the year rounders are there. There isn’t a whole vast city looking to her for guidance.
And dealing with Aphrodite’s prophecy on top of that, trying to figure out if she meant Reyna wouldn’t find love with Jason or that the feelings she’s starting to develop for Piper are doomed to end in a failed relationship… yeah, it’s messy. She’s sort of convinced there’s something fundamentally broken about the way she loves because it seems so different from how it works for everyone else (pushing my demiromantic ace Reyna agenda here too because I can)
Piper really wishes her mom would stop meddling in her love life for five seconds. (Meeting Aphrodite again in Charlestown when that was where Reyna originally got that prophecy would be super messy, too)
Reyna misses her dogs like hell. Jason is probably dog-sitting and hanging out with them whenever he misses her. I wonder how he’d deal with Reyna being changed by her experience at the other camp? Because he doesn’t have romantic feelings for her the way she did for him, so I don’t think he’d be bothered by Reyna dating Piper, but I do think he’d be hurt by the fact that she abandoned him for other people. It’s not her fault she doesn’t fully remember everything (assuming Jason not fully remembering everything would also be true for Reyna), but seeing that she’s apparently happier with Piper and Leo than she ever was with him? That still stings.
Thinking about a concept where Juno swaps Annabeth and Reyna instead.
Annabeth and Reyna are fine, because they’ve always been able to handle just about anything the gods threw at them. Piper accidentally has her gay awakening via fake memories of a relationship with Reyna and is really confused why her girlfriend is acting so weird. Reyna and Leo bicker non-stop because even without her memories Reyna knows what she’s doing and she’s very used to getting people to listen to her but Leo will not be serious for even one second.
Percy would start fist fighting the gods in the first week. Jason has never been more stressed in his life because he never even wanted to be praetor but it was manageable while he was doing it with Reyna and now he’s alone. What the hell is he supposed to do.
By the time Annabeth shows up at Camp Jupiter, Jason is so relieved someone knows what they’re doing that he immediately asks her to be praetor, now if she’ll excuse him he needs to go have an anxiety meltdown in a corner somewhere
#thank you for the lovely thoughts and giving me the opportunity to ramble!!#heroes of olympus#hoo#reyna arellano#annabeth chase#jason grace#reyna avila ramirez arellano
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Regarding this post
How would Frostbite react to Danny having a panic attack like that? How does he respond to it? Is he able to help Danny calm down?
I don't know, just a thought- I'm a sucker for the father/son bond it made me think of when you mentioned it.
Frostdad
You wouldn’t believe how much I actually struggled with the panic attack scene, it was insane. I had to do it over and over again, but I’m proud of it! The ending was a little rushed, so it might not be as good as my usual work, but I plan to add more if I can because I’m starting to like the ideas I got from it! I just had to give you what I already had written down, I think you’ll like it! I’m sorry if it’s shorter than you were expecting. I got way too carried away with possible scenarios and ended up with a bunch of vague notes instead of actual writing 😆
——————————————————————
First Encounter
Frostbite could still hardly believe it. The Great One, Savior of the Ghost Zone, right here! In the same room as him! If the chief wasn’t so focused on the core readings in front of him, he’d be practicing what to even say to him in preparation for when he woke up. He very briefly glanced over to the bed where he was resting before turning back to the screen. The warrior was exactly as other ghosts had described. At least, at first.
He was small, about the same height as a two hundred or three hundred year old, and had very little fur aside from the rather big patch on his head that covered some of his face. His eyes were opened briefly a while ago to make sure they weren’t damaged or that he didn’t have a severe head injury, and they were indeed the same green as the ectoplasm that flowed through them all.
His limbs didn’t look like they have much muscle, but Frostbite knew from the stories that they weren’t as weak as they seem, but they were as injured.
Yes, the Great One was discovered when an unknown ghost entered their borders and triggers the sensors. By the time Galeforce had gotten there with Frostbite by her side, the Great One was already unconscious and bleeding out into the snow, staining it green. He was brought into the hospital immediately, and many odd things were discovered.
For instance, it became clear during core scans that the Great One’s core wasn’t done maturing. It hadn’t even finished developing its ice powers! This meant that he wasn’t a ghost for very long, and it was frankly concerning. They’d heard that he wasn’t a full ghost and was half human. From the limited information they had, they knew that humans couldn’t handle the extreme cold very much.
The room had been raised to a high enough temperature that the he’d survive and hopefully be comfortable. It wasn’t something the doctors couldn’t handle, though. Building tolerance to a warmer room was practically a requirement in certain fields of medicine in the Far Frozen.
Frostbite was getting pretty warm, however. He looked at the clock. It had been 45 minutes since he came in. He’d need to take a break in the next 20 to 30 minutes if he didn’t want to begin experiencing problems.
A high pitched beep from the computer snatched Frostbite’s attention away from the clock and forced him back to looking at the monitor. The Great One’s core was picking up in vibrations and becoming more active, and the strange rhythmic thumping known as a “heartbeat” had picked up as well. The strange waves from his head were changing as well.
A small groan came from the bed. The chief snapped his head to the side. He was waking up.
The Great One was waking up!
Without thinking about the others wanting to see this, Frostbite rose from his seat and walked towards the bed, both out of excitement and concern for his patient.
The Great One turned his head and made an expression that Frostbite had seen before in patients waking up from an incident. It seemed almost like a struggle, but once they were open, they drifted around the room lost until they landed on Frostbite. Frostbite composed himself and bared his teeth in a smile. He reminded himself to keep his voice down since he had just woken up.
“Hello, Great One. It is an honor to—“
Frostbite was cut off by a scream.
The monitor beeped loudly from a jump in the core vibrations, and the other machines began to follow as they picked up on a sudden increase in ectoplasm pressure, and breathing rate. The veins in the Great One’s body flashed a bright green glow as ectoplasm rushed to the surface to harden it. It became so hard and taunt that little crevices were glowing along the skin. It almost looked as if the skin was going to break apart.
The Great One started reaching for the IV, but couldn’t grab it. He tried again and again, but his hands were shaking too hard to fully grasp it. Frostbite reached out to grab his wrists once he realized that the ghost was trying to pull out the IV. The Great One’s breathing rapidly picked up and grew shallower.
“Hey, hey, don’t pull that out!” Frostbite exclaimed. He was pulled out of trying to impress the Great One and back to acting the way he does with other patients, which suddenly felt like an obvious choice.
It seemed to have only made the problem worse as the Great One began fighting back, tugging his arms and made noises of distress. Frostbite is a doctor, but he is also a chief who takes his people’s protection very seriously, so it was no struggle to keep his hands around the Great One’s wrist. Then it was as if he was speaking another language, but if it was, it was nothing like Frostbite had heard. His injured core was practically screaming to be released, to run away and escape the danger.
“What’s going on?!” A voice shouted from outside the room. Frostbite turned around to see SwiftIce run into the room.
“I think he’s having a panic attack.” Frostbite said. He had to restrain from shouting, but the urgency was in his voice.”Get the diazepam, now.” He said. He turned back to the ghost and tried to put on a friendly expression.”Hey, hey, it’s alright.” He said calmly. He knew those words alone wouldn’t work, but it was a place to start.
The Great One pulled harder on his arms and began to move around as he struggled and failed to get his hands free. His eyes squeezed shut from the strain.
“Look at me.” Frostbite said gently. He lowered his head and knelt down so he’d be closer to the young one’s height.
The halfa opened his mouth and repeated the phrase from earlier, then repeated it again, but with extra “words”. It might be whatever it was that humans spoke. It would make sense for his first language to be a living one since Frostbite knew that some ghosts were humans before becoming ghosts. This wouldn’t be a bad thing if they had a translator.
“Please, look at me.” The chief repeated. This time, a little bit more sternly in hopes that the child would listen.”Get something to calm his core and muscles!” He called out, very briefly turning his head before looking back to the halfa.
Green eyes filled with terror opened up and looked at Frostbite, but only for a split second before looking beside him. Tears threatened to spill as he doubled his efforts to escape. Now, he was kicking as well. He cried out when he moved his left leg, which was still wrapped in bandages stained with green and a hint of red.
“I said let me go!!” The Great One screamed. His eyes glowed brightly as he shot a glare at Frostbite and bared his teeth, which as previously stated, were small and not very threatening. Frostbite noticed SwiftIce out of the corner of his eyes admitting the sedatives to the IV. The young one would be calmer soon, but he needed to breathe.
Frostbite took one of the halfa’s hands and placed it against his chest, ignoring the tugs and noises of protest.”Listen. In…”
The chief took in a deep breath.
“Out…” He exhaled. He took in another breath, and when he began taking in his third, the halfa had started to copy him. It was a struggle at first. His first breath was shaky and hitched, and he exhaled a little too quickly, desperate for the next one.
Frostbite continued and watched as the Great One’s breathing slowly evened out and became deeper. It seemed he was coming out of the panic attack as he took one without suddenly gasped for air or shaking. Once the sedatives he was given kicked in, the bright glow in his eyes and veins died down. The strength in his tugging slowly became less and less intense until he stopped fighting all together.
His shoulders slumped and he started leaning back against the pillow and bed frame, his eyes only barely glowing now and starting to look tired. Once Frostbite was sure he was calm enough, he spoke again.”Can you hear me?” He asked, just to be extra sure.
His patient nodded.
“I’m going to let go, but I need you to stop trying to remove your IV. If you can’t, we will have to strap you down for your own safety.” Frostbite said. He spoke sternly, putting a heavy emphasis on the “stop”, but not without understanding.“I understand that you’re scared, and I will explain everything as long as you don’t try to remove anything, fight, or run, okay?” Frostbite said.
The halfa nodded again.
Frostbite slowly released his grip on the Great One’s wrist and stepped back to give him a little space. The Great One didn’t reach for the IV again. Instead, he held both hands close to himself. He held the hand Frostbite had pressed against his chest. Frostbite hoped he hadn’t accidentally hurt him. He was sure he was gentle enough.
“My name is Frostbite. You are at the hospital in my village. You were brought here after you were found unconscious and bleeding into the snow at the edge of our borders.” He explained.
The young halfa stared at him blankly for a moment, likely processing what he heard. His eyes soon shifted away from Frostbite to look around the room. They landed on the IV next to him for a moment before he looked back to Frostbite.
“What did you give me?” He asked. His voice was much quieter than before, and Frostbite was sure that if it wasn’t for the meds, he’d be either snappy or still terrified.
“Diazepam, amrix, and gailen.” Frostbite responded.
The halfa raised an eyebrow and made a funny face in confusion.“Gailen??” He questioned. He almost didn’t finish the word before opening his mouth wider and yawning. Frostbite could barely see any fangs and wondered if he even had any.
The chief nodded.“It helps soothe your core and prevent it from buzzing too much.” He explained.
His patient didn’t quite look like he was paying attention as he sunk further against the bed, but his eyes still looked focused. Well, as focused as they could be. He stared at Frostbite for a while, which was to be expected, and he smiled at the young halfa.”I understand if you don’t trust me, but please know that we aren’t your enemies. If we wanted to hurt you, we’d have done it by now.” Frostbite said.
His patient slowly blinked. He opened his mouth, but only the strange noises came out again and it was quiet.“What was that?” Frostbite asked. He leaned closer.
“Where...?” The halfa muttered. His eyes fluttered closed, but after a short while, they opened again. Just barely, though.
“You’re in the Far Frozen.” Frostbite responded. The Great One’s eyes drifted shut again, but the chief continued.”You’ll likely still be healing when you wake up, but don’t worry, we have our best doctors and nurses helping you.” He said. The only response he got was the machines monitoring his patient’s heartbeat and core vibrations slowing down.
Frostbite soon sat down and took a moment to think about what had just happened. In hindsight, he should’ve expected some form of surprise or wariness when the Great One woke up. He’d been unconscious when he was found, so he didn’t know that he was brought to a hospital. They’ve never met, either, and there were just as many bad ghosts as there were good.
A full on panic attack, however, was not something Frostbite would have expected even if he realized the chances of the halfa reacting negatively to the new environment sooner. Not only that, but hearing his voice made Frostbite realize something that was frankly terrifying.
It was clear that his core wasn’t fully matured yet, so he was a child by ghost standards, but Frostbite had hoped that he was at least an adult by human standards. Despite never having met a human before, Frostbite thought that he looked rather young. Then again, some adults look young. He held onto these assumptions because surely, a child didn’t attempt to fight Pariah Dark and win, right?
However, after what just happened and hearing his voice, a sense of horror was creeping its way into the chief’s mind. It was almost certain that the Great One was indeed a child.
The next time the Great One awoke, he didn’t freak out as much as last time, however he was startled about Frostbite as he woke up with his bandages being changed and yanked his arm away. After staring at Frostbite for a short while, he held his arm back out to let him finish. He winced a little during the process, but other than that, he had good self control.
“You said your name is Frostbite, right?” The young halfa asked. His core buzzed anxiously as he stared at the bigger ghost.
Frostbite was nearly done with the bandages and didn’t look up from his current task.“Yes. May I know yours?” He asked calmly. This time, he was more mentally prepared to talk to the halfa.
When he finished, the Great One held his arm and looked at the bandages. He turned his arm as if inspecting them before he turned to Frostbite.”Danny.” He responded.“Thanks for the help, but I need to go.” He said. He began to move around in the bed that was too big for him to try to swing his legs over the edge, but realized that the bed was bigger than he thought and resorted to trying to stand up.
“What? But you’re not properly healed yet!” Frostbite exclaimed. He lifted a paw to try to lightly push Danny back down. The halfa nearly fell over fairly easily and exclaimed something in human speak, but he grabbed onto Frostbite’s paw and began trying to squirm his way out from underneath.
“Hey, let go! I seriously need to head back home before something happens!” He said. He was able to escape fairly easily on account of his size and Frostbite’s loose grip. He flew up a little too fast and hit his head on the ceiling. He let out a noise of pain and looked down at Frostbite.“Wait, how long have I been here?” He asked.
The chief raised a paw up to try to gently grab the halfa. Unlike most ghosts, Frostbite’s people were surprisingly incapable of flight after spending so much time on the ground.“About a week, but you must--”
Frostbite was cut off by Danny letting out a noise of surprise in Human Speak.“Thank you so much for helping me, but I really need to find my way home! ‘Kay, thanks, bye!” He said quickly. Before Frostbite could say anything, he was gone.
Reunion
The day had gone by as usual. Work got done and things were running smoothly, and there was still no sign of the Great One. It had been two weeks since Frostbite saw him, since anyone saw him, and the chief was wondering if he was alright. He had no doubts that the Great One was powerful. He had defeated Pariah Dark, for Ancients’ sake!
Yet every time Frostbite thought back to their conversations, for lack of a better word, he couldn’t help but worry. The fact that the Great One was so young left him with a heavy weight in his core. Where were his parents? Where were his mentors? Why didn’t they help?
Frostbite stood at the edge of of one the islands and looked out towards the distant parts of the ghost zone. The entire sky, including the pieces that stretched below the islands, had almost turned dark. The last few ships between other nearby floating islands were just now landing and unloading their passengers. Soon, Frostbite would need to return home.
He continued to watch the sky grow dimmer for a while before he noticed something in the dark green. He squinted his eyes and leaned forward a little. It looked like a ship. As it came closer, he realized it didn’t look like one of his own. Not only that, but there was something smaller flying beside it.
The thing beside the ship picked up in speed and started heading right for Frostbite. The chief growled and readied himself for a fight. Why weren’t the defenses up? Where was everyone? If their ships were already turned off, he’d need to handle this threat by himself for a while. That won’t be a problem, though. The ship and the thing next to it were small. He could--
The thing next to the ship stretched an arm out and waved. The white glove contrasted against the black sleeves, and the green eyes that the chief could see more clearly now looked more lively than last he saw them. The half-ghost picked up in speed and flew a little lower, possibly coming in for a landing.
Frostbite’s shoulders relaxed as a smile began to stretch across his maw. The Great One was back!
The Great One landed a distance away from Frostbite and waved the ship down to land next to him. Once it was down, he looked over his shoulder and directly at Frostbite.
The chief began making his way over to the young halfa. He wanted to say many things. He wanted to greet him, he wanted to ask where he went, he wanted to ask why he’d returned, but all that came out was a worried “Are you alright?”.
The Great One smiled. It looked a little strange without a longer maw, but he couldn’t help that and shouldn’t be judged for it.”Yeah, I’m alright. The injuries healed a while ago.” He replied. It was almost strange seeing how calm he is now. Before, he seemed absolutely terrified, but now, he seems more confident. Perhaps it’s the fact that he wasn’t alone, or maybe it’s the simple change in scenery. He turned to the ship and called out to whoever was inside. A few seconds later, a small door opened and two humans stepped out.
They were both wearing large coats and pants lined with white fur. One of them shivered and hugged themselves, then said something to Danny. The Great One spoke back and all their gazes were directed to Frostbite.“This is Sam and Tucker. They’re my best friends and wanted to come with me to say thank you!” The Great One said.
One of the humans waved their hand, which was covered in a glove thicker than Danny’s. Frostbite knelt down to be more at eye level and extended both hands.“It is an honor to meet you both!” He said.
Danny turned to them and spoke in the human language. He most likely translated what he said to his friends, who took both hands and shook them.
Well, it was more like they placed a hand against his palm. Their hands were significantly smaller than his own and he had to be careful not to crush them. Frostbite turned to Danny.
“I’m honored that you have returned to thank us. It was no trouble at all helping you. It’s getting dark, so I insist you stay the night before returning home.” Frostbite said.
The Great One looked surprised.”Uh-- Sorry, but no. Not this time. We have to head home soon or people will start to notice we’re gone. I just really wanted to say thanks for all the help and ask why.” He said. Frostbite’s eyes widened a little. One of the humans, one with black hair and purple eyes, held his paw as if interested in his claws. The chief paid little attention to this.
“Why? Why wouldn’t we? Great One, you defeated the ghost king! You prevented him from rising up again! The entire ghost zone should be in your debt for what you’ve done for us. Helping you recover was the very least we could do.” He said.
The Great One stammered, then let out a small laugh.”Great One? I-I mean, I did put that guy back in the box, yeah, but I doubt I’m all that great.” He said.
The human holding Frostbite’s paw turned to the halfa and asked him something, to which he replied with a shrug and a string of noises. Suddenly, there was a blaring noise coming from the ship. The third human rushed inside to investigate. He poked his head out moments later and shouted something.
Danny turned to Frostbite.”Sorry to cut it short, but Tucker says that the ship is already starting to freeze. It’s not meant for cold temperatures.” He said. The other human rushed inside.
As disappointed the chief was by this news, he knew it couldn’t be helped. He could offer to bring the ship to the engineers and they could improve its tolerance to the cold, but the humans would need a warm place to stay. Plus, it wasn’t hard to tell that Danny was eager to return home, although it seemed more that he was worried about something than disliking the Far Frozen.
Frostbite put on a smile.“Very well, but know this; If you are ever in need of assistance or are feeling unwell, you are welcome in the Far Frozen any time. You and your friends.” He promised.
The ship hovered up into the air. Danny jumped off the ground and flew up into the air.”I’ll… remember that. Thanks again for the help. See you again sometime?” He said. The ship circled around and flew off the way it came.
“Of course. Safe travels, Great One!” Frostbite said.
“You can just call me Danny!” The Great One called out as he rushed to catch up.
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Hello there again! I was the one who asked about the Hiori piece and oh. my. god I just read your continuation of it and lost my mind!! Your work continuously exceeds expectations IT WAS AMAZING!!! The way you put research in and made it like accurate to a real life scenario was such a great touch. You also wrote it so fast?? The moment I saw your post I ran to go read it and needless to say it was fantastic! The little moments between Hiori and Karasu were hilarious and them bumping into reader?? Actual gold. If you ever did feel like writing that part three I would eat that up so fast. Thank you so so much for considering my ask. Reading it seriously made my day!!! Looking forward to seeing more of your writing in the future; I seriously can’t thank you enough I’m go reread that piece in the meantime and burn it into my brain!!
[ 🪽 ] - AND I'M HEAD OVER HEELS - hiori yo
✮⋆˙ hiori's more or less come to terms with the fact that he's head over heels for you-thanks to karasu's top tier wingmanning (read; teasing) and the two of you have gotten pretty close! only problem is that he has zero idea whether you feel the same way. unfortunately on your end, you're having a pretty hard time figuring out your feelings as well
cw/additional notes; potentially ooc, itty bitty spoilers for season 2 if you haven't watched it, indented text is used to represent flashbacks, (this fic has two other parts prior to this, and unlike the others it's harder to read as a standalone, so i'd recommend reading the first 2 parts liked below <3)
part one // part two // part three
-> divider creds to @cafekitsune
You tossed and turned in your bed, the fluffy and soft blankets draped over your body providing no refuge from the constant whirlwind of emotions going through your head.
You flipped over to lay down on your back as you held up the small tube of lip gloss so the waning moonlight would pass through the translucent plastic encasing the cosmetic.
You had used a ridiculously large amount in the little time you had owned it...
This was so unlike you, all worked up over something as small and simple as this? It was but a simple gift from one of your classmates, and it was just a thank you present!
So why the hell was it messing with your head so much?
Why did replaying the memory of Hiori gently pulling you aside during lunch just to hand it to you make your heart race? The mere recollection of his hand brushing against your's give you butterflies? It wasn't like this all those times you had lent him a pen during class, or when you ran into him at the mall-
-Wait...you saw him at the mall, in a freakin' makeup store. Buying something. Buying a gift. A gift for someone 'special' as his friend had phrased it.
Holy shit.
Did Hiori like you?
That simple possibility - the mere idea of it - makes your face flush, and the butterflies return once more. You'd be lying if you said that you hated the idea of him having feelings for you.
"(Y/N)? Could I speak with ya' for a sec'?" You turned around to the source of the familiar voice, it was Hiori, with that same soft and polite smile on his face, the same one he always had whenever you two talked, or when you caught his gaze during class. "Hm? Oh, hey Hiori! Of course ya' can." You waved off your friend, telling her you'd meet up with her later at your usual lunch place, while waiting for Hiori to say whatever he pulled you aside for.A few seconds after your friend was out of sight Hiori extended his arm and handed you a small light pink gift bag. Eyes widening momentarily, you took the bag from his hands and offered a quick bow whilst saying your thanks. "Hiori...it's not a special occasion or anythin' so why'd ya'..?" "Oh, well yer' always doin' favours for me and lending me stuff during class, so it's the least I could do." And there it was, that same smile again, you seemed to grow fonder of it every second you spent in this moment. After noticing his expectant gaze, you realized you should probably open it, and you did, moving aside the tissue paper used to stuff the bag, you lifted out a nicely packaged tube of lip gloss with pink graphics across 'CANMAKE CANDY WRAP LIP' it read out in a cute text. "Ya' mentioned how much you hated yer' lips being dry, so I thought it would be a good gift for you." He remembered that? You honestly just mentioned it to him in passing because you wanted to make small talk, but, that was really sweet of him. "Thanks Hiori." It was a whisper, bashful and soft, like how you only wanted him to hear it, he looked like he was about to open his mouth and say something again, but before the words could fall from his lips, he was cut off by another one of your friends calling your name. "-Oh, you should probably get going now, I wouldn't wanna keep ya' here." He chuckled silently, like a soft melody that waded it's way towards your ears, he gave you a quick nod before taking a few steps away. And before he left, he gave you that same smile, once more.
Ever since that occurrence, you'd always find yourself in positions where you sought him out, always finding excuses to talk to him, finding the most obscure reasons just to be in his presence.
Hiori was headed to the front office to do some printing? Oh, what a surprise! You had to go there too! Hiori was helping with clean up duty after P.E? Well so were you! If Hiori had to do something, you found some kind of excuse to do it with him.
Occasionally, when seeking solace away from the rest of your usual friend group, you'd sometimes find Hiori sitting in a secluded staircase on his phone, sometimes playing a game, or just spacing out while listening to music.
You adored these moments.
He'd let you join him, just sitting in silence together with the occasional quip of how you've been doing, or about whatever was going on in class, but, for the most part, it was peaceful, just a shared moment of solitude between the two of you.
You learned a lot about Hiori just from spending time with him, no words needed. He didn't seem particularly close to anyone, but was on good terms with everyone. He always had yakult on him, and was more than willing to share with you. If he had ear buds or headphones in, he was always listening to a soundtrack to a video game he played.
And yet, he still seemed like an enigma.
Sure, on paper he seemed like a pretty normal boy. He did fairly well in school, played soccer (and was quite proficient at it), he spent most of his free time playing games, and he was an all around good kid.
But there were a lot of other things that added to his character. Little quirks and habits you would pick up on.
He never mentioned his home life, nor his parents - you thought it would be best not to pry. You heard from a few of your classmates that they were professional athletes, it would explain his own athletic abilities.
All the food he ate was always nicely served and portioned out in his bento box, and he had a strange habit of calorie counting that you had picked up on. Again, you thought it was best not to pry.
Hiori Yo was fascinating to you. You wanted to figure him out more than anything. You found yourself talking about him a lot, intentional or not.
"(Y/N), did ya' hear about that new convenience store by the station? Me and Mizuki are gonna check it out after school." "Oh yeah, Hiori was telling me about it!"
At first, it was simple things like; 'Hiori mentioned that!' or 'Hiori said he liked this.' and such, raised a few eye brows, but nothing that made your friends too curious - not yet at least.
"(Y/N)! Me and Ena are going to go shopping this Saturday, wanna come with?" "Oh, sorry, I promised Hiori that I'd study with him. Next time though!"
Then it was the small study dates that always happened to feature Hiori, sometimes other people would tag along as well, but the only consistent person that you always made sure was there was him. This was when everyone started picking up on your strange affection for the boy.
"Me and the others are planning to watch my brother's soccer game this weekend, are you free? Or let me guess, Hiori-" "I actually promised I'd come to his youth team's game...Another time...? Oh! Wait- isn't your brother on Bambi Osaka?" "Yeah..? Why?-" "Perfect! So is Hiori, I'll see you guys there then!"
And so, little by little, Hiori Yo began bleeding into your personal life. Dragging him into little meetings with your friends, slowly becoming your favourite conversation topic.
And now, you were wasting away in your bedroom thinking about him when you could be getting your much deserved (and needed) rest after a long week of school.
But it's not like you could hide from this. Hide from whatever was going on between you and Hiori. Or at least what could start happening between the two of you.
Maybe he did like you.
And maybe, you didn't mind that.
And maybe, just maybe, you liked him too.
🍓 TAGLIST; @shrii-kk @sharks-3
#hiori x reader#hiori yo x reader#yo hiori x reader#vee's requests!#requester: anon#hiori#hiori yo#hiori blue lock#bluelock#bluelock x reader#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#blue lock#bllk
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Doumadono's 6k followers event
How more than 6,000 of you wonderful people enjoy this odd little corner of the internet is beyond me, but I’m so incredibly grateful! I’m absolutely floored by how my quirky little blog has grown over the past two years. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for following, liking, reblogging, and just being here! 🥺💖
To make this celebration extra special and funny, I need your help! I’ve come up with several ideas for the event, and I’ve decided to let you vote for your favorite. Based on the most votes, one or max two options (if I manage to find enough spare time) will be selected. You can find all the details about each option below the cut - read the descriptions and vote for your favorite! Don’t forget to reblog to help spread the word!
Feel free to send your prompts and ideas for the event through my inbox, DMs, or by commenting on this post. Please note that only prompts from the top two winning celebration ideas will be filled. However, I reserve the right to write additional pieces if a particular prompt inspires me!
The event will run from 13th January to 19th January, during which I’ll post works created specifically for this celebration. If needed, the event will have a separate masterlist, and all works will be tagged with #doumadono’s 6k celebration ♡
NOTE: this time, the event will be exclusively dedicated to My Hero Academia
Hero vs. Villain Alphabet Explore the fascinating contrasts between heroes and villains with this thematic alphabet series. Each letter represents a unique trait or scenario (e.g., A for Affection, B for Bravery), showcasing how heroes and villains approach the same concept in wildly different ways
NSFW Alphabet Ready for something sultry? Each letter of the alphabet will explore a smutty theme, tailored to the characters you love
Mission Gone Wrong What happens when things don’t go as planned? Whether it’s heroes on a botched rescue mission or villains navigating a difficult heist, this fics/drabbles will dive into thrilling, emotional, or even humorous scenarios
Villains’ Secret Files Ever wondered what your favorite villains are hiding? This event will uncover their secrets — fascinations, hidden fears, guilty pleasures, or even their most embarrassing moments. A mix of serious and lighthearted insights into the League of Villains and beyond ♡
Heroes’ Secret Files Heroes have secrets too! From their personal struggles to surprising traits they’d rather keep hidden, these scenarios offers a behind-the-scenes look at the pro heroes and students we all adore. Expect heartfelt, humorous, and inspiring revelations ♡
What If? Dive into little drabbles with scenarios where roles are reversed, quirks are swapped, or the world is entirely different. What if Dabi became a hero? What if Deku joined the League?
Blindfolded Requests (NSFW) You can submit completely blind prompts — just a single word or phrase. I'll choose the character and write a surprise drabble based on their vibe. Example requests could include words like tension, obsession, submission, etc.
Fairy Tales Reimagine classic fairy tales featuring My Hero Academia characters in exciting and heartwarming ways, f.e. Beauty and the Beast (with Shigaraki): a tale of finding humanity and vulnerability within someone feared.
#doumadono’s 6k celebration ♡#6k followers#6k milestone#thank you all#followers milestone#tumblr milestone#my hero academia#bnha smut#mha smut#mha fluff#anime fluff#league of villains#pro heroes#mha poll#anime poll#bnha poll#signal boost#dabi smut#shigaraki fluff
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I'm Not Sure How To Feel...
Dear Future Husband,
Wow. I almost wrote Deaf Uture Husband, which is either ironic or a Freudian slip of the fingers, because that's literally what this post is about.
I grew up with a disabled, lazy, mostly-absentee, so-many-other-problems, father.
And someone just sent me the resume for someone similar.
Now, the truth is, I don't know him all that well.
But I do know that he's deaf (aka disabled). And that (at least in the beginning, especially around the divorce) he has been kind of an absentee father. And that he was kind of pushed into working despite not really wanting to, so he basically works a minimum wage job.
I know all this because he's the ex of a family friend.
Yeah.
Also he's a lot younger than me, which on it's face isn't necessarily a problem, but it's the lack of maturity more than the "youngness" that bothers me.
The friend who sent the resume is one of the absolute sweetest people you could ever meet in your life.
We were in middle and high school together, though we didn't share too many classes and weren't in the same social circles, so at the time we were more acquaintances than friends.
But recently I signed up to bring them a meal after she gave birth and I've since been helping her out with the kids a few times a week and we've definitely moved from acquaintances to friends.
Since it's been less than 2 months though, we are still getting to know each other and I'm not sure if the resume was her idea or her husband's. I don't even really know if they actually know him or just read the resume and thought it sounded good for me. But she had asked me if the last name had ever come across my desk before and I just thought to myself "it caaaan't be who I think it is...." so I told her to feel free to send it over, because the best case scenario is that it's someone I've never heard of and the worst case scenario is I just say no thank you.
I considered how to word it when I saw that it was exactly who I thought it was, and ended up just telling her how funny it was that I actually did know who he was and that it was just not shayich for a bunch of reasons, but I'd keep him in mind for others.
Diplomatic, closed the subject, and now we can move on.
Or can we....?
Because this is the second guy suggested to me this year who is a little off.
And I know that kind of comes with the territory of being an "older single".
And I know that people think that I'm the sweetest person and therefore would entertain the idea of these guys because I come across as a nonjudgemental person, the exact type these guys would need to marry.
But at the same time, I'd like to think people deem me worthy of at least a 6, you know?
Neither of these guys are ugly, per se, but they're just ambitionless.
And I know, look who's talking, right? But the truth is, I do have ambitions, I just have no way to make them happen because I don't have the mazal for it.
These guys could have all the mazal in the world, but they just kind of couldn't care less, I guess.
They kind of lack personality.
And I know I have friends who are all personality who married very mild guys, but I feel like I need someone who I can have a conversation with. Someone I can be a bit combative with (in a healthy way). Someone with thoughts and ideas and who wants to do things.
Does this mean I just don't come off as my authentic self to the people who are trying to set me up? (Not that I really think I'm ready for marriage yet, but since Hashem works in mysterious ways, I don't just shoot down whatever ideas are floated my way)
The first guy who was suggested to me this year I did actually go out with. Since I was away for the summer and he was staying like an hour and a half away from where I was staying, he took a bus to come meet me, which I totally didn't expect to happen.
He was nice enough, but awkward and probably on the spectrum. I did most of the talking and it was like pulling teeth to get him to open up about most things, so I kept it light and did mostly ice breaker type conversation while we walked around a park a little bit. Then I drove him to catch his bus and that was kind of it.
The girl who wanted us to go out was an old family friend I hadn't seen in at least 15 years, but I ran into her at a simcha and she had her mom (who used to be a shadchan) do the shadchan thing.
Just based on his resume, I had a feeling it wasn't going to work out because hashkafically we were in two different places, but I figured if he was up to meet, then the least I could do was give him an hour or two of my time, because maybe I'd know someone who is right for him.
The friend later told me that he never dates because he's too shy and she'd been trying to get him to go out for several years and I was the first person he'd said yes to. She tried to get me to go on another date with him, but like I said, hashkafically we were just on two different pages though if he's interested in talking tachlis, I'll go out again, but he kind of agreed because he didn't want a second date either. (She kind of figured if she could get me to say yes then maybe he would too. I think she's just trying to get him out of his little rut, though I don't know if he wants to leave it, to be honest...)
For example, I'm looking for someone for whom attending minyan is important, whereas he prefers to daven by himself, if at all.
And I'm looking for someone who has a regular learning seder multiple days a week, at the very least over the phone if they're unable to connect in person, and he learns about once a week, if at all.
I want a Shabbos table that revolves around Torah, sefarim, and zemiros. And he... I guess doesn't?
In general I'm just looking for someone more serious about and more settled in their yiddishkeit and I didn't get that impression of him in the resume or in person (and then the shadchan confirmed those impressions too).
And as for this second guy I was just suggested... I get the feeling it's the same type of situation. I've met him several times and he just reminds me so much of my father in terms of his apathy towards yiddishkeit and being a father.
That's not at all what I'm looking for.
And I know this friend who sent the resume for this second guy sees the world through such positive, beautiful glasses, but I can't help thinking that it's kind of offensive people think that little of me.
Again, maybe that's not at all what she was thinking. Maybe she doesn't actually know him and was just passing along the resume for someone who on paper looks great. I mean, the resume looks decent. The blurb is short and hits all the important positive points, so from the outside it is similar to what I'm looking for.
But knowing the person and the way things went down with the divorce and everything definitely changes the whole perspective. His ex was literally in tears on multiple occasions that he seemed so disinterested in his role as a father and just showing up and being present when the kids wanted him.
So I guess at this point I'm just hoping she doesn't actually know him and was just passing along the resume because it looks decent.
Either way, dear future husband, he is not you. Neither of them are. I can say that with confidence.
-LivelyHeart
#jumblr#frumblr#orthodox#jewish#frum#dating#jewish dating#shidduch dating#shidduch#shadchan#shadchanim#shidduchim#i am the shidduch crisis
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Hopefully the kids are sleeping and i can post about something i have been thinking about (please note i dont think much so this is a lot
I have had a long discussion with my boyfriend and i think i have finally reached a consensus
So here it is, a (sort of) well detailed list of kinks for chester for the scenario thinkers
Major
Light bondage (ropes and blindfolds)(receiver)
Analingus (receiver) (minor for giver, if you want him to)
Breeding Kink (only after therapy and into a established relationship (with mc)(personally i think if you go for a platonic route, chester wouldnt look to date anyone in the future, because he would be pretty satisfied already by having a good friend anyways this is off topic)
Praising (receiver) / (giver)
Minor:
Underwear sniffing (giver) (😋) (he is a GENTLEMAN and will only do it with your agreement (or after thinking you agree)(wich he may or may not be right about)(he is a little delulu, sorry)) (he also like smelling used clothes in general, just not in a sexual way)
Wax Play (receiver) (chester is just the kind of guy who would put out your cigarrete with the palm of his hands while looking up at you like you just gave him the biggest gift in the whole world... so he would kind of like some very light pain) (yes this is a sort of temperature play)
I thought my boy was vanilla but to be honest he is kind of a freak isnt he...
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《Bound by Darkness》
Silco
writer's note: i had so many emotions while writing this, it felt too personal. idon't support this kind of relationship in any way and i don't think is right at all, but i must accept that is a dynamic that it has too much to explore, and with silco's personality... it's just makes sense, whatever i hope u guys like it ittt. this little (pretty long) scenarios comes from my arcane imagines, i'll let the link down there for anyone is interested, also i'll be posting a story for each one of those scenarios for this week, tomorrow it's ekko's turn ;)
link:
warnings: smut, toe fetish, humiliation, voyeur and exhibitionist tendencies, toxic relationship, manipulation, silco's kinda a sugar daddy.
You walk slowly between the shadows and artificial lights of the gallery, feeling out of place amid the pretentious laughter and admiring murmurs of the guests. Your heels echo on the marble floor, a rhythm that seems more sincere than any conversation around you. You didn’t come here for the love of art; you came because someone invited you, promising "opportunities." But all you've found are overly sweet champagne glasses and abstract paintings that seem like an elaborate joke.
You stop in front of one particularly absurd piece: a huge red stain on a white canvas, accompanied by a plaque that describes it as "the existential suffering of modernity." You sigh, letting out a murmur you didn’t intend to share:
"Existential suffering? Looks more like someone spilled their expensive wine."
"A sharp observation," replies a deep, calculated voice from behind you. It’s so unexpected that you turn immediately, finding yourself face to face with a tall man dressed impeccably in a dark suit. His perfectly styled hair, piercing green eyes, and a scar crossing his face like a badge of a battle won. He doesn’t smile, but there’s something in his expression that seems... satisfied.
"And who are you? The unofficial art critic of the night?" you ask, crossing your arms as you look him over.
"Something like that," he responds, his voice low, almost intimate. "Though I must admit, I rarely find such accurate comments among these... crowds."
"Oh, really? Well, I wasn’t expecting to meet someone not dazzled by the 'existential suffering' of a stain."
He steps a little closer, barely invading your personal space. His presence is almost suffocating, as if he fills the room with an authority that doesn’t need to be proclaimed. "True art doesn’t need explanation," he says, looking at the painting with disdain. "Only the insecure try to justify it with words."
You laugh, a light chuckle that’s not entirely genuine. "Well, I guess we found something in common. Though I’m not sure that’s a good sign."
"That depends," he replies, his eyes fixed on you as though he’s already made an important decision. "What brought you here? You don’t seem like the type who frequents places like this."
"And you do, I suppose," you retort with a mocking smile. "Let me guess: you're a misunderstood art lover here to find inspiration."
For the first time, a smile, or something resembling it, crosses his face. "Close, but not quite. I’m here for business."
"How convenient. I’m here because someone promised me 'an enriching experience.' So far, all I’ve found are empty glasses and boring conversations."
His eyes gleam with something you can’t quite identify: curiosity, interest, maybe even amusement. "Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places."
"And you? Have you found what you were looking for?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.
He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he observes you in silence, as though weighing every word he could say. Finally, he replies, "Maybe."
The rest of the night passes in conversations that aren’t superficial but aren’t completely sincere either. You talk about ambition, about how power can be as addictive as it is dangerous. He listens with an intensity that makes you feel exposed, as if every word you say is a thread he’s willing to pull to unravel who you really are.
Eventually, you find yourself with a glass of wine in hand, in a quieter corner of the gallery. He’s beside you, his proximity intimidating, but not unpleasant. "What do you really do? Because you don’t seem like just another businessman," you finally ask.
"And you? What do you really do? Because you don’t seem like just a college student."
His answer leaves you speechless for a moment, but you don’t let him notice. "Touché. Though I must admit, my motives are much... simpler than yours. I need to pay for my university before everything goes to hell."
"Money?" he asks, with a curiosity that seems genuine. "Is that what you're after?"
"No, of course not," you reply with sarcasm. "I’m here for the art, like everyone else."
He lets out a low laugh, barely a sound, but enough to send a chill down your spine. "Maybe we can help each other," he says, his voice almost a whisper.
"Oh yeah? And what do you propose?" you ask, pretending to be uninterested, though the intensity of his gaze makes it hard to keep your composure.
"Simple. I cover your expenses... and you share your time with me."
The proposal is so direct that it leaves you breathless for a moment. You look into his eyes, searching for any sign of a joke, but all you find is seriousness. It’s a deal, a non-verbal contract loaded with implications that you both understand perfectly.
You thought about it for a few minutes. You hadn’t gone there on purpose, you had just gone as a novice artist looking for new opportunities. You wanted to make money through your work, not by being someone’s sex slave. But he wasn’t just anyone, he was different from anyone you had ever met before. He was an older, attractive, cultured man, just your type. In a moment, the proposition didn’t sound so intimidating anymore. Money was money and right now you desperately needed it, besides, you weren’t going to lose anything, on the contrary.
Finally, you smile, leaning in slightly towards him. "I hope you’re clear that my time isn’t cheap."
"Neither is mine," he replies, his tone firm, almost threatening.
The deal is sealed with a raised glass. You both know it’s not just company you’re exchanging; it’s something deeper, darker, and you’re both willing to play.
The night is humid and heavy as you walk toward the restaurant Silco had mentioned. You’d never heard of it before, which is enough to know it belongs to a category inaccessible to most people. The tinted windows and discreet facade offer no clues about what you’ll find inside, but somehow, it seems to fit perfectly with the image of the man who invited you.
As you enter, the air conditioning caresses your skin, and the scent of aged wine and expensive spices envelopes your senses. The place is nearly empty, just a few tables occupied by figures who seem as far removed from your world as Silco himself. He’s already there, seated in a corner with one leg crossed over the other, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His black suit and relaxed posture radiate absolute control, as if this were his domain and you were merely a guest in his world.
“You’re punctual,” he says without standing, his eyes scanning you with an intensity that makes you feel as though he’s dissecting you piece by piece.
“Were you expecting otherwise?” you reply, letting a playful smile tug at your lips as you take a seat across from him.
“No, but it’s always refreshing to confirm someone understands the value of time.”
The waiter appears almost immediately, discreet and efficient, as if he were an extension of Silco’s calculated atmosphere. Silco doesn’t look at the menu; he simply orders a bottle of wine that likely costs more than your monthly rent, then watches you, waiting.
“Are you always this… precise about everything?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you leaf through the menu, pretending to understand the names of the dishes.
“And are you always looking for answers to questions you already know?” he counters, his words as sharp as a blade.
You hold the menu in your hands, scanning the names of the dishes in French, Italian, and Japanese. You turn it over as if that might help decipher it. In the end, you settle for what seems like a safe choice: “I’ll have the beef carpaccio as a starter and… the lobster risotto as the main course? Assuming it doesn’t blow my budget, of course.”
Silco lets out a low, almost inaudible laugh. “Tonight, you have no budget. Order whatever you want.”
“I’m not used to someone giving me carte blanche,” you murmur, handing the menu to the waiter.
“Then consider tonight an exercise in expanding your horizons.”
The wine arrives shortly after, and as the waiter pours it, you notice how Silco examines every detail: the label on the bottle, the way the liquid flows into the glass, even the waiter’s movements as he steps back. You take a sip and find it surprisingly good, even to your unrefined palate.
“This is… interesting,” you comment, swirling the glass between your fingers.
“Interesting. A safe word,” he replies, leaning forward, his voice reduced to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell me, is there anything you don’t approach with a layer of caution?”
“I’m not being cautious,” you say, though you both know it’s a lie.
“Of course you are,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I don’t blame you. It’s a quality many people underestimate.”
The first course arrives: beef carpaccio, thin slices of raw meat dressed with truffle oil, lemon, and a sprinkle of Parmesan. The aroma is as intoxicating as the wine.
“I have to admit, this is new to me,” you say as you pick up your fork and take a bite. The flavor is delicate but full of nuance.
“Fear of the unknown is a weakness,” Silco remarks, slicing a fine strip from his own dish, a foie gras that looks like something out of an art gallery. “Learning to master it is what separates the strong from the rest.”
“And what do you do when the unknown masters you?” you ask, holding his gaze with a hint of defiance.
“That never happens.”
The conversation drifts into broader topics as you share the main course. Your lobster risotto is creamy and perfectly seasoned, while Silco enjoys a wagyu steak paired with a black truffle purée. You talk about ambitions, the cost of success, the sacrifices power demands.
“Have you always known what you wanted?” you ask, leaning forward.
“Since I had the capacity to think for myself,” he replies dryly. “And you? Do you know?”
“More or less. I know what I don’t want, which is a good start, isn’t it?”
“It’s a start, yes,” he concedes, taking a sip of wine. “But the real question is: what are you willing to do to make sure you get it?”
“So many philosophical questions. You’re going to make me feel like I’m in a job interview,” you say, playing with the edge of your glass.
“Maybe you are,” he says, a shadow of a smile curving his lips.
Dessert arrives: a dark chocolate soufflé you share with him. The light texture and bitterness of the cocoa contrast with the sweetness of the dessert wine Silco ordered without even consulting you.
“I didn’t expect you to be the sharing type,” you comment, taking a spoonful.
“I’m not,” he replies, his tone dry. “But I can make exceptions… from time to time.”
When the waiter withdraws for the last time, Silco leans back in his seat, his eyes fixed on you with a burning intensity. “Tell me something,” he says, his voice low and deliberate. “How far are you willing to go for what you want?”
The question catches you off guard, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you hold his gaze, letting a slow, calculated smile spread across your lips. “As far as necessary.”
He nods, as if he expected that answer. “Good. Because the path you’ve chosen isn’t for the weak.”
“And you?” you ask, leaning closer. “How far are you willing to go?”
“I’m already there,” he replies without hesitation, his words carrying a weight you don’t need to fully understand to feel.
The tension between you has become almost unbearable, an invisible thread pulling you toward each other. You don’t know who makes the first move, but suddenly you’re closer to him, the edge of the table disappearing between you.
“This is a game, isn’t it?” you whisper, your lips barely a breath away from his.
“Everything is,” he replies before his lips meet yours.
The kiss is neither soft nor sweet; it’s a clash of wills, a battle for control that neither of you is willing to relinquish. His hand rests on your neck, firm but not aggressive, and the world around you fades, replaced by the intensity of this moment.
Hours later, you stand before a window in his penthouse, the city’s skyline stretching out like a sea of lights. He’s behind you, his presence as tangible as the cold glass beneath your fingers.
“This changes nothing,” you say, breaking the silence.
“Who said it should change anything?” he replies, his tone so calm it almost infuriates you.
You turn to face him, but his expression is unreadable, his face a mask of absolute control. “Just make sure you remember that,” you say, your words as much a challenge as a warning.
“I always do,” he responds, leaning closer with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
And though both of you know you’re playing a dangerous game, neither of you is willing to back down.
He circled around you, devouring you with his gaze. Silco's eyes roamed appreciatively over your curves, the red dress hugging your figure like a second skin. He stepped closer, the heat of his body radiating against your back as he pressed himself against you. His hand reached out, fingers tracing the delicate straps of your dress, toying with them.
"You look... exquisite," he murmured, voice low and smooth like velvet. He leaned in, nose brushing your ear, inhaling deeply. "Love the scent of you. It's intoxicating, just like you."
You almost moaned, but behaved yourself, you didn't wanted him to see you like an easy target. You were going play more, in the dirty meaning, of course.
His other hand rested on your hip, thumb rubbing slow circles through the thin fabric. You could already feel his hard cock against your ass, and it was so fucking magnetic. They way your body responding to his touch. It was almost magical.
Silco's lips curved into a smirk against your neck. "Tell me, my dear... are you wearing anything underneath this dress?" he purred, voice dripping with suggestion.
You smiled, mischievous. He had finally noticed. Although if we put it in a logical context, what was difficult was not to notice. You had chosen that dress especially for this night, it was your hunting dress. It accentuated your figure to perfection, leaving nothing to the imagination. So to tempt your prey you decided to put a hook, and that hook was something as simple as not wearing underwear.
"Why don't you guess?" You whispered, turning around to make eye contact with him. You would show him that you weren't easily intimidated. That he wasn't in the lead in this game of seduction.
His eyes darkened with lust and a hint of danger as they met yours. "Oh, I intend to," he replied, voice a low rumble.
In one swift, fluid motion, Silco spun you around and pinned you against the wall. His hands gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head as he pressed his body flush against yours. The hard lines of his suit-clad body molded to the soft curves of your dress. Was such a sight for sore eyes.
He leaned in, nose brushing the sensitive skin of you neck, inhaling deeply like a hungry man, a hungry man for you. "No lace," he murmured, voice a low rasp. "No silk. Nothing but bare, smooth skin..." His lips brushed the shell of your ear. "And this dress, just begging to be ripped off your delectable body."
One hand released its hold on your wrist to trail slowly down your side, fingers skimming over the red fabric. Silco's touch lingered on the hem of the dress. "Shall I find out if my guess is right, darling?" he breathed, teeth grazing your earlobe.
“I don’t know.” You arched your back like a tired cat, shamelessly rubbing your ass against his boner. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?” There was a challenge in your tone of voice. It was clear and forceful, like your desire for him.
Silco's eyes flashed with hunger at your defiant words. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he slid a hand up your thigh, pushing the hem of your dress gradually higher.
His fingers brushed against the bare skin of your upper thigh, confirming his suspicions. "No panties," he murmured, voice a low rasp. He slid his hand higher, until his fingers grazed the apex of your thighs. "Just as I thought."
And you smiled at him like a total slut. Like you were proud of it. Like you were proud that you walked around and ate in a restaurant without underwear. Living out your fetish fantasy to the limit, and using him in the process. It was perfect in your twisted mind.
And then he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss, plundering your lips with his tongue. He bit at your ower lip, tugging it between his teeth, tempted to rip it apart.
Breaking the kiss, he leaned back to look at you, eyes dark and intense. "Such a naughty girl," he purred. "Teasing me like this. Walking around half-naked." His hand slid further up your thigh, fingers brushing against your bare, slick folds.
"I just wanted to surprise you. Didn't you like it?" You faked a pout, pretending to be hurt in a tender, almost childish way.
Silco chuckled darkly, amused by your bratty behavior. His thumb rubbed slow circles on your lower lip. "Oh, I like your surprise very much," he murmured. "A bit too much, perhaps."
He gripped your chin tighter, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. His eyes raked over your face, lingering on your pouty lips. "The problem is, my dear, surprises like this one have consequences."
To punctuate his point, Silco slid a finger inside your slick folds, feeling your warmth envelop him. A gasp escaped from deep within your throat. It was so unexpected that you had to hold on to his shoulders.
He pumped it slowly, teasingly, watching your reaction. "And the consequences of your surprises are always so... pleasurable."
His hand on your thigh slid up to grip your ass, squeezing the supple flesh. "I should punish you for being such a tease," he growled softly. "For walking around with this pretty little pussy bare and dripping, just begging to be filled."
Damn, why was he so good with words? And with his hands too, he had just one finger in your pussy and it was driving you crazy. The years of experience were evident.
Silco added another finger, pumping them faster, harder. You moaned loudly into his mouth and he couldn't help it. He crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your weak gasp. He licked into your mouth, tongue delving deep to taste you. His fingers never stopped their relentless pace, bringing you closer to the edge.
You pulled away, agitated, to take a breath and regain the lead. You took his face in your hand and squeezed hard, with dominance. "Lucky for me, I do enjoy some punishments," You stuck out your tongue to slowly run it along his pronounced Adam's apple until you reached his lips and outlined them delicately with a lot of saliva in between.
Silco approved your actions with a growl. Although, he removed your hand from his face and took yours in return, switching positions. His thin fingers digging into the soft of your flesh.
"Mmm, you're playing with fire, little girl," he murmured, voice a low rasp. His eyes flashed dangerously, but there was a glimmer of admiration in their depths. "You're either very brave or very foolish, taunting me like this."
You didn't give a verbal response, but you did give a physical one. It was enough to just stare at him, blankly. You didn't look away, you didn't lower your eyes for even a second. You weren't going to give in.
He licked his lips. "And I do so love a challenge."
In a flash, Silco had spun you around and walked over to the expensive plush couch, but hadn’t sat down yet. He grabbed you by the hips, creating friction between the two of you. His hands slid down your back, gripping the straps of your dress.
"I'll give you the punishment you're craving," he purred darkly. "I'll fuck you so hard, so thoroughly, that you'll forget everything you know. All you'll remember is the feeling of my cock splitting you open, claiming you."
He leaned in, breath hot against your ear. "And I won't stop until your pretty little cunt is dripping with my cum, until my essence is leaking out of you with every step you take. Until everyone knows who you belong to."
With that, Silco ripped the straps of your dress down, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He latched onto one nipple, sucking and biting the sensitive bud as his hands groped and squeezed the newly exposed flesh.
“Yeah? Wouldn’t you rather see your cum on my feet?” You managed to say between labored breaths, your leg coming up and sliding over his. “Do you think I’m blind or stupid? I’ve noticed your particular interest in my feet ever since I met you. You even noticed today that I had a pedicure done and told me that the pastel blue color I had on from the day of the gallery looked better on me. You have a thing for feet. You’re a fucking pervert. Do you want to fuck my feet? Is that what you want, old man?” You were teasing him, oh, and you were having so much fun.
Silco’s eyes darkened with lust and a hint of anger at your provocation. He took your leg and lifted it up to touch your foot, luckily for both of you, you were pretty flexible so it wasn’t a problem. “Careful, little girl,” he growled. “Keep pushing me and I might just take you up on your offer.”
He leaned in closer, nose brushing against your ankle. "I've imagined bending you over and fucking your pretty little feet. Painting your toenails white with my cum. Marking you as mine in the most degrading ways possible."
His hand slid up your calf, squeezing the firm muscle. "But I want more than that. I want to ruin you completely. Shatter you into a million pieces and put you back together as my perfect little fuck toy."
Silco's voice was a low, dangerous rasp. He nipped at your Achilles tendon. "I want to fuck your every hole until you're a drooling, cock-drunk mess. Until the only thing you understand is the feeling of my dick pounding into you."
He licked a stripe up your sole, tongue swirling around your toes. "So keep taunting me, darling. Push me. Give me a reason to absolutely destroy you." His eyes flashed with sadistic promise. "I'll make all your dirty little fantasies come true. And so many more."
"Stop barking, and do it." You said, like an insolent brat. You finished taking off your dress, now all glorious and naked you sat on the couch, facing him. You raised your legs and showed him your feet in a very suggestive way. "Look at them. They're ready for you."
A wicked grin spreading across his face as he took in the sight of your naked body splayed out on his couch. You were offering to him in a golden plate, with feet and everything. His gaze lingered on your exposed pussy, already glistening with arousal.
He began to slowly removed his suit jacket. His shirt followed, buttons scattering across the floor. Your eyes roamed over his scarred, thin yet muscular chest, the sight of his physique sending a thrill through you. He was definitely a dangerous man with a even more dangerous past. And the scariest part was that you weren't even scared. Not even a little bit.
Silco knelt down in front of you, gripping your ankles. He brought your feet to his mouth, kissing along your arches reverently. "Such beautiful feet," he murmured. "So delicate. So perfect."
He licked between your toes, tongue delving between them, tickling you.
You were trying to stop yourself from laughing. It was so pathetic the way he was degrading himself for you. A powerful, billionaire man was drooling all over your feet like crazy. And all for feet. You had never understood that fetish. Feet weren’t attractive to you at all, they were just feet, and sometimes they smelled bad, and that definitely wasn’t a turn on. But in the end, who were you to judge?
Silco's tongue flicked out, licking a long stripe up your sole. He groaned at the taste of your skin, the texture of your soft feet against his tongue. He suckled on your toes, lips sealing around each one as he savored the flavor.
His hands slid up your calves, gripping your thighs possessively. "Wrap those pretty feet around my cock." he commanded roughly.
He freed his thick, hard length from the confines of his pants. The bulbous head was already leaking with arousal, a bead of precum dripping from the tip. Silco rubbed it teasingly along the arch of your foot, coating your skin with his essence.
"Warm it up for me, darling," he ordered darkly. "Get my cock nice and slick with your spit."
You didn't wait for him to tell you a second time, you got close enough and spat a considerable amount of saliva on his cock. "Come on, fuck them now. I know you crave them." You hummed, rubbing your fingers toes across his face.
With a feral growl, Silco gripped your ankles tightly and positioned the spit-slick head of his cock against the arch of your foot. He rubbed it along the soft skin, coating your foot thoroughly with your own saliva.
"Fuck, you're such a dirty little cock slut," he panted, voice heavy with arousal. "Desperate to have your feet defiled, to be used as a cheap fuck toy."
Cheap. That word hurt your pride. It was as if he was reminding you of your place and position. And indeed, he was.
With a sharp thrust of his hips, Silco forced the head of his cock past your toes, pushing into the tight, slick channel of your foot. He groaned at the exquisite sensation of your silky skin gripping his sensitive flesh.
Pumping his hips, Silco fucked your foot with slow, deliberate strokes. The wet, obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room as he used your eagerly offered appendage to pleasure himself.
"That's it, darling. Take my cock like the foot slut you are," he grunted, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "I'm going to fuck your pretty little feet until they're red and raw. Until you can't walk straight."
"You're really having fun there, old man!" You laughed openly at him, you couldn't help it. You needed to humiliate this powerful man. This man who had called you cheap.
Silco flashed a wicked grin at your teasing laughter, not slowing his frantic pace as he fucked your foot with desperate abandon. "Oh, you have no idea how much I'm enjoying this, you little minx," he growled. "I've wanted to ruin these perfect feet for so long. To claim them. To mark them as mine."
He brought your other foot to his mouth, sucking two of your toes deep inside. He licked and swirled his tongue around them, tasting her them again, before releasing them with a wet pop. "You taste divine, darling. Like sin and temptation wrapped in soft, delicate skin."
"How poetic," Your tongue was covered in sarcasm.
Silco's thrusts became more erratic, his heavy balls slapping against the heel of your foot with each desperate pump of his hips. "Keep laughing, darling. Keep taunting me. It only makes me want to use these feet even more."
He gripped your ankle tightly, pulling your foot further down his thick, pulsing shaft. The head of his cock pushed against the ball of your foot, leaking copious amounts of precum. With a final, brutal thrust, Silco buried himself balls-deep into the tight, slick channel of your foot. His cock throbbed and jerked as he found his release, thick ropes of hot cum erupting from the tip to coat your skin.
"Fuck." he roared, eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy.
You looked at your cum-covered feet with an indifferent grimace.
Silco's eyes flashed dangerously as he sensed your boredom. In seconds, he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back roughly. He dragged you across the polished marble floor of his penthouse, towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city.
You stumbled and bent over willingly as Silco positioned you onto the crystal of the window. Your naked body now on lewd display for any prying eyes that might look up from the streets below. The transparent windows offered no modesty, no privacy.
Panting harshly, Silco gripped himself and slapped his sensitive, spit-slick cock against your dripping slit. He was hard again. With one brutal thrust, he hilted himself inside you, burying his thick shaft to the balls in your tight, clutching heat. He groaned gutturally at the exquisite sensation.
Your eyes rolled back. Finally, some action.
"That's it, my little whore," he snarled, fingers twisting cruelly in your hair. "Take my cock like the desperate slut you are. I'm going to fuck you right here, where anyone can see what a dirty little cock sleeve you are for me."
Those words echoed through your mind and blew your brain cells off.
“Fuck, you’re lucky I took my pills. You didn’t even put on a fucking condom!” You moaned, taking his cock so well, your boobs grinding against the glass, creating a wonderful friction. Unintentionally, you looked up at the night view. It was wonderful. A paradise of lights and stars. From one second to the next your mind wandered to the possibility that someone was watching them right now, the walls of your pussy contracting at the thought.
Silco smirked cruelly at your breathless words, not slowing his punishing pace as he slammed into you again and again. The windows rattled with each powerful thrust, the night air chilling your sweat-slicked skin. "Lucky indeed," he growled.
He leaned over you, breath hot against your ear as he fucked you harder, deeper. "Imagine it, darling. Someone spotting us through the windows, seeing what a brazen slut you are for my cock. They'd watch as I ruin your tight little cunt, pumping you full of my seed. Watch as it leaks out of you, marking you as my property."
The picture Silco painted for you was too exciting, you had always had that fantasy. Of being watched or watching in sex. Which combined with your exhibitionist tendencies right now was making you lose your mind. Not to mention how well Silco's cock stretched you, it was as if it had been tailor made for you.
Silco's hand released your hair to grip your hip bruisingly, pulling you back onto his pistoning cock. "Maybe it's a group of my men, watching their boss claim his whore. Or perhaps a curious passerby, getting an eyeful of your slutty body bouncing on my dick. It doesn't matter. I want you to imagine them seeing you like this. A filthy little fuck toy, existing only for my pleasure."
He licked a stripe up you neck, tasting the salt of your sweat. "Now be a good girl and scream for me, darling. Let all of the city hear who you belong to. Who makes you feel this good."
And so you screamed. You couldn't takenit anymore. You came between sobbings and incoherent words, spams all over your body. It was magnificent.
Silco felt the way your pussy clenched around his cock as your orgasm crashed over. Your scream of ecstasy echoed through his penthouse, no doubt alerting his men and any curious onlookers outside to the carnal act taking place within.
The feeling of your velvet walls gripping him like a vice only spurred him closer to his own release. He leaned over you, hips grinding against your ass as he buried himself to the hilt inside your quivering cunt. With a guttural groan, Silco found his own peak, his cock pulsing and throbbing as thick ropes of cum painted your inner walls.
He rolled his hips, grinding against you, ensuring every last drop of his essence was seated deep within your fertile womb. Panting harshly, Silco collapsed against your back, pinning you beneath him. He nipped at your shoulder, voice a low rasp. "Such a good girl, milking my cock dry. I think you've earned a reward, my dear."
He reached down, fingers sliding through the mixture of their juices leaking from your fucked-out hole. Bringing his coated fingers to your lips, Silco rubbed them against your mouth. "Clean them off," he commanded. "Taste what a perfect little cumslut you are for me."
And you obeyed. And not because you had to, it was because you wanted to. You two were cut from the same rotten wood.
Silco's eyes darkened with sadistic satisfaction as you eagerly licked his fingers clean, savoring the tangy essence of their combined releases. He could feel your tongue swirling around each digit, lapping up every last drop.
"That's my good girl," he praised darkly, voice a low rumble. He kissed the back of your neck and sat down on the couch, taking out a small black box of imported Italian cigars from a table. He lit one and smoked it while looking at you intensely. Both of you naked and satisfied.
When the room finally falls silent again, filled only with the distant murmur of the city, you step away from the window, letting the night breeze brush your skin. Turning around, you notice something you hadn’t seen before: a collection of musical instruments carefully arranged in a corner of the room. A sleek black grand piano, an impeccably designed harp, and a violin that looks well-used yet lovingly cared for.
“Are you a musician?” you ask, picking up the violin with a mix of curiosity and admiration.
“I was,” he replies, his tone carrying a disinterest that doesn’t match the meticulousness of his collection. “A long time ago.”
Without another word, you position the violin on your shoulder, adjusting the bow with an almost automatic precision. Closing your eyes, you let the melody take shape in your mind before playing the first notes of Tartini’s The Devil’s Trill.
The music fills the room, each note cutting through the silence with an almost painful intensity. It’s both a challenge and a declaration, a metaphor that needs no explanation. You play with a ferocity that seems to pull something from your very soul, and though your eyes remain closed, you can feel Silco’s gaze on you, as heavy as a divine judgment.
When you finish, the bow still trembling slightly in your hands, you open your eyes to find him staring at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a spark of something you’ve never seen before: awe.
“I didn’t know you could play,” he says after a long pause, his words soft but carrying the weight only he can convey.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you reply, carefully returning the violin to its place.
“That makes it all the more interesting,” he murmurs, leaning back into the couch as his eyes follow you with an intensity that seems to strip away every layer you try to keep intact.
Finally, he stands and approaches slowly. His shadow looms larger than it should in the dim room.
“Why that piece?” he asks, his tone calm but edged with something sharper.
“Don’t you know?” you reply, leaving the violin behind. “It’s a piece about ambition. About pacts and obsession.”
“Ah, yes. Giuseppe Tartini said he dreamed of the devil himself playing it. A composition born of the desire to possess the unattainable.” Silco tilts his head, his eyes gleaming with a perverse interest. “Ironic, isn’t it? Sometimes, the most ambitious dreams are the ones that destroy you.”
“I don’t think Tartini saw it that way,” you counter, crossing your arms. “He tried to recreate what he heard in that dream, but he never succeeded. He spent the rest of his life chasing a perfection that only existed in his mind.”
Silco smiles, that subtle, menacing curve of his lips that always leaves you on edge. “Exactly. Isn’t that the true nature of ambition? To chase what you can never have. It’s a curse... and a blessing.”
“And you? Have you chased something you can never have?” you ask, locking eyes with him, daring him to reveal even a sliver of vulnerability.
“I’m not interested in chasing impossibilities,” he replies, though something in his tone tells you he’s not being entirely truthful. “I prefer to negotiate. To make deals.”
“Like Tartini’s pact with the devil?” You let out a brief laugh, devoid of humor. “What happens when the price is too high?”
Silco steps closer, the distance between you reduced to a mere shadow. “There’s always a price, darling. The question is whether you’re willing to pay it.”
“And if I’m not?” you whisper, your words defiant but laced with a tension you can’t deny.
“Then someone else will pay it for you.” His voice is low, barely audible, but the implied threat wraps around the room like a shroud.
The silence that follows is heavy, laden with unspoken meaning. It feels as though the music you just played still echoes somewhere in the dark corners of the room, a reminder that this, this entire relationship, is a dangerous game.
“Do you know why I chose that piece?” you finally say, breaking the silence as you approach the violin again, your fingers trailing over its strings before pulling away. “Because it’s a metaphor.”
“For what, exactly?” he asks, though his tone suggests he already knows.
“For you,” you reply with an enigmatic smile, though your eyes are serious. “For us.”
“A pact with the devil?” His tone is mocking, but there’s something else beneath it, something you can’t quite place.
“A pact we both know we’ll lose,” you clarify. “But we keep playing the melody, over and over.”
Silco chuckles, that low, guttural sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “An interesting comparison. Though, I must say, I’m more curious to see how long the game lasts before one of us breaks the rules.”
“And when that happens,” you murmur, locking eyes with him, “who will pay the price?”
Silco doesn’t answer. Instead, he cups your chin, tilting your face toward him. “Perhaps both of us. Or perhaps neither.”
What happens next isn’t something you’d planned, but neither do you stop it. His mouth finds yours with an intensity that takes your breath away, a mix of possession and defiance that leaves you reeling.
Later, as you stand by the window with the city as a silent witness and the breeze caressing your skin, you realize this is everything he’d promised and more. It’s raw, it’s powerful, it’s inevitable.
And later still, as he sits on the couch with a glass of whiskey in hand, you pick up the violin again. Your fingers glide over the strings with a familiarity that feels ancient, as though this moment was always destined to happen.
As the first notes of The Devil’s Trill fill the air once more, Silco closes his eyes, but you can see the faintest hint of a smile. You don’t need words to understand what he’s thinking: that you are as dangerous as the melody you’re playing. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.
The sound of the violin still seems to linger in the air of the room when you wake the next morning. The first rays of light filter through the vast windows of the penthouse, reflecting off the polished, minimalist surfaces around you. The city below pulses with frenetic energy, but here, at the summit of this luxurious haven, all is still. Silco is not in the bed, but that doesn’t surprise you.
You rise, wrapped in the soft fabric of a shirt that isn’t yours, and find a note on the bedside table. His handwriting is precise, almost artistic, and the words are brief, as always.
“Breakfast on the terrace. We have matters to discuss.”
Your heart beats a little faster, though you’re not sure if it’s from anticipation or the growing sense that you’re playing a game whose ending you can’t predict.
When you reach the terrace, you find him seated in one of the sleek chairs, a cup of black coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He is impeccably dressed, as if there isn’t a single moment in the day when he doesn’t have complete control over his appearance. The view of the city from here is dizzying, a constant reminder of the power he wields over the world he inhabits.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks without lifting his eyes from the newspaper.
“As well as someone who struck a deal with the devil last night,” you reply with a wry smile, taking a seat across from him.
Silco sets the newspaper aside, his eyes meeting yours with that intensity that always seems to disarm you.
“I hope you don’t regret it. Though, if you did, it would only make things more interesting.”
“I’m not one for regrets,” you say, lifting your chin. “What about you?”
“Only when the results fail to meet my expectations,” he answers, and you know it’s a warning disguised as a compliment.
Breakfast is a display of luxury: freshly baked croissants, exotic fruits you can barely identify, and a selection of cheeses and cured meats that seem straight out of a culinary catalog. He drinks coffee; you opt for a fresh juice that tastes as expensive as it looks.
“What’s the matter you wanted to discuss?” you ask, breaking the silence after a while.
Silco leans back in his chair, turning the coffee cup in his fingers.
“I’ve been considering the next phase of our… collaboration.”
“Collaboration? How professional that sounds,” you reply, arching an eyebrow.
“Everything in my life is professional,” he says with a half-smile. “Even the personal.”
“And what does this next phase entail?” you ask, trying not to show too much interest, though curiosity eats at you.
“There’s a gala next week, hosted by some strategic partners,” he explains. “I want you to come with me.”
“As your date?” you ask, knowing perfectly well what his answer will be but enjoying the game.
“More than that,” he responds, leaning toward you. “I want you to be my calling card.”
“And what’s in it for me?” you ask, resting your chin on your hand and looking at him with playful defiance.
“More than what you already have,” he says with a dangerous smile. “Your student loans, for example, could vanish with a single stroke of my pen.”
“That does sound tempting,” you admit, leaning closer to him. “But you know I never give anything without expecting something in return.”
“Of course,” he says, his tone cold as steel. “I wouldn’t be interested otherwise.”
The exchange feels like a chess match—every word carefully calculated, every gesture loaded with meaning. But beneath it all, you can sense something more: a tension, an attraction neither of you seems willing to ignore.
After breakfast, he invites you to explore more of his penthouse. Instead of heading straight to the bedroom, he leads you to a room you’d overlooked before. The door is thick and unassuming, but what lies beyond feels like a private museum.
“This is my personal collection,” he says, opening the door with a theatrical gesture.
You’re met with glass cases holding all manner of exotic objects: ceremonial daggers, tribal masks, ancient jewelry, and archaeological artifacts that look centuries old.
“Every one of these objects has a story,” he says, walking slowly among the cases. “And every story has a price.”
You stop in front of a mask carved from dark wood, adorned with gold and precious stones.
“Where’s this one from?” you ask.
“West Africa,” he answers. “It belonged to a shaman who, according to legend, could speak to the dead. He was executed by his own people when the voices began demanding sacrifices that were too great.”
“Macabre,” you say, but you can’t tear your gaze away from the mask.
“Power always is,” he says with a smile.
He shows you a ceremonial dagger, one of his most prized pieces.
“This dagger was used in a ritual that ended with the fall of an empire,” he says, turning it so you can see how the metal catches the light.
“How do you get these things?” you ask, admiring the detail of the hilt.
“Money,” he answers simply. “And the willingness to cross lines others wouldn’t dare.”
The next stop is his library, an impressive space filled with shelves that reach the ceiling, packed with books whose spines are worn and titles written in languages you don’t recognize.
“Some of these books are centuries old,” he says, running his fingers over the spines as if they were old friends. “Philosophy, history, the occult… everything you need to understand the world and manipulate it.”
“Manipulate it?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Knowledge is power,” he says, looking at you with that intensity that always seems to disarm you. “And power is the only currency that truly matters.”
Finally, he takes you to the bedroom. But instead of diving straight into intimacy, the evening takes an unexpected turn when he leads you to the massive bathtub occupying the most privileged corner of the penthouse.
The water is filled with bubbles, the temperature perfect. Both of you are naked, enjoying the feel of the hot water against your skin as the city lights twinkle through the floor-to-ceiling windows. On a floating tray rests a bowl of perfect grapes and a bottle of the most expensive champagne you’ve ever tasted.
“Do you always live like this?” you ask, taking a grape and bringing it to your lips.
“Not always,” he replies, holding his champagne glass with an air of nonchalance. “But I make an effort to enjoy the pleasures the world has to offer.”
“Makes sense,” you say, leaning back to gaze at the night sky through the glass. “Though I wonder if you actually enjoy anything, or if all this is just a distraction.”
He smiles, a smile full of secrets.
“You’re perceptive. Perhaps too much.”
The conversation moves between banter, innuendos, and dangerous truths as the glasses empty and the grapes disappear. The atmosphere is charged but also unusually calm, as if you’re both in a momentary truce in your endless game of power.
For a brief moment, the world seems to stand still, and though you both know this is just another stage in a larger game, neither of you is willing to break the spell.
Night falls over the city like a dark veil, illuminated only by the flickering lights of the skyscrapers and the distant, pale moon. Silco’s penthouse is a refuge of luxury, distinction, and coldness, but tonight, something else flickers in his eyes. The invitation to the opera is his way of showcasing what he possesses, of showing the world what belongs to him. And you, though you don’t entirely understand it yet, know that being part of this spectacle is more than just a simple evening out.
You stand before the full-length mirror in the room, dressing carefully, aware of what awaits you. The dress is black, hugging your figure, with lace details that caress your skin with a touch of restrained sensuality. The fabric flows to the floor, offering only the slightest glimpse of your heels. The delicate neckline strikes the perfect balance between provocative and elegant, while the long, sheer sleeves add a hint of mystery, as if something lies hidden beneath. Your hair cascades in loose waves over your shoulders, dark and gleaming under the dim light.
Your makeup highlights your features: eyes deeply lined, lips a crimson shade that contrasts with your pale skin. You look like a masterpiece, a muse that Silco has no fear of displaying as his own. And though part of that unsettles you, you also feel powerful, irresistible. The image you project is not just that of an attractive woman but of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing, someone who plays with shadows as much as with light.
When you step into the living room, Silco is waiting for you, standing by a window that offers an impressive view of the city. His gaze lands on you immediately, like a predator spotting its prey. He says nothing, just watches you, as if conducting a meticulous examination, a silent evaluation. For a moment, the air seems to still. It’s a mix of admiration and something darker, indefinable, but undeniably present.
"Stunning," he murmurs, barely audible, before offering his arm for you to take.
The limo that picks you up is luxurious, its interior upholstered in black leather with gold accents that shimmer under the soft lighting. Silco remains silent, but there’s something different about his demeanor. His body is tense, as if anticipating something—or someone—to breach his domain. The ride to the opera feels long, though words are unnecessary. The tension between you rises, like the air is charged with electricity.
When you arrive, the building is an architectural jewel, imposing, made of marble and glass. The lobby is grand, with towering columns reaching for the ceiling, adorned with frescoes and floating chandeliers. The opera, the season’s most anticipated event, is in full swing, and you’re the center of attention—but not in the way you expected. As you make your way to the private box, the eyes of the men can’t help but follow you. Discreetly, but you notice—the glimmer of interest in their gazes, the latent desire to approach you, to speak to you.
Silco notices too.
"Interesting, isn’t it?" he says in a low voice, barely audible amid the orchestra’s first notes. "How some men feel so comfortable admiring what doesn’t belong to them."
He turns you to face him, his face impassive but his expression betraying restrained jealousy. The way his eyes trace over you, how his hand rests lightly on your back like an invisible brand, reminds you of the true meaning of this invitation. It’s a reminder: you’re here with him. But also a warning of what might happen should anyone cross the boundaries he has silently set.
"Isn’t it beautiful?" you ask, your voice tinged with genuine fascination as you gaze at the stage. The soprano, bathed in golden light, sings an aria with such intensity that the air seems to vibrate. But your words aren’t just for him; they’re for yourself, for the magnificence of this place that makes you feel both small and immense at once.
"It’s a spectacle," Silco replies coldly, "but nothing compared to the beauty you’ve brought to this room."
You turn to him, offering a slight smile, playing with the idea of provoking a reaction. But Silco isn’t someone easily manipulated. And as the performance continues, you realize what bothers him most isn’t the opera or the perfection of the event. It’s the fact that others dare to look at you, even indirectly, in ways only he believes he has the right to.
Suddenly, as if the opera’s atmosphere weren’t stifling enough, you decide to break the ice and venture into less superficial territory, something more intellectual.
"It’s curious how opera can be so... disturbing," you begin, casting a critical look toward the soprano who seems to sing not just with her voice but with every fiber of her being, projecting an emotion so intense it hurts. "The passion conveyed in every note—it’s not just technique. It’s raw. Visceral."
Silco studies you for a moment, intrigued by your ability to see beyond the surface. "Visceral?" he repeats, a faint smile playing on his lips. "What we’re witnessing is the distortion of human emotion taken to its limit. Artists like her don’t sing for us. They do it for themselves. To confront their own suffering and turn it into something consumable."
"Perhaps," you reply, analyzing the glint in his eyes, "but I can’t help thinking all that suffering has a darker purpose. Sometimes, the rawest emotions are the most genuine. But do we really seek to understand them, or just consume them?"
Your serene yet thoughtful tone immediately captures his attention. Silco leans back slightly in his seat, his eyes fixed on you as the orchestra carries on, though his mind seems ensnared by your words.
"It’s a reflection of human fragility," he finally says, as if speaking more to himself than to you. "Pain, despair. People pay to witness that vulnerability because we’ve distanced ourselves so much from the genuine that we find solace only in reminders of our worst selves."
Your gaze softens, acknowledging the depth of his words without letting them disarm you. You know what Silco is insinuating: his fascination with human darkness, with imperfection.
"And don’t you think all of that is present in us? In what we do, in what we seek..." you say with a faint, ironic smile. "Or do you believe we can escape our own need for destruction?"
Silco stiffens slightly, the atmosphere between you growing even more charged, almost oppressive. "There is no escape," he responds, his tone grave and piercing. "Only acceptance."
"And I accept what I am," you say, holding his gaze, a challenge in your eyes.
A tense pause stretches between you as the soprano’s voice continues to hang in the air. Silco watches you intensely, a mix of respect and dangerous possession in his gaze. "Perhaps you’re right," he murmurs, his voice low, almost a whisper, as he fixes you with a look that burns more than it illuminates. "Perhaps you accept more than you’re willing to admit."
The opera comes to an end, and while the crowd bursts into fervent applause, for the two of you, everything else fades away. In this space between shadows, the words you’ve shared become a tension even more palpable, a line that cannot be crossed without consequences. The opera’s beauty, with its raw passion, becomes a reflection of what binds you together—and, at the same time, what sets you apart.
Outside, under the starlit sky, the air is fresh and clean. Silco escorts you back to the car, and during the ride home, the silence is heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts.
When you reach the penthouse, the tension that’s been building all night finally erupts. The door closes behind you, and immediately, without words, he turns you toward him, taking your face in his hands, his grip firm. But the look in his eyes is something entirely different. It’s possessive, urgent, as if he’s claiming something he always knew was his, though you’ve never fully given it to him.
"I don’t like when they look at you," he whispers, his lips close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "I don’t like when you seek their attention."
It’s a dangerous game, and in that moment, you know you’re trapped. There’s no escape, no alternative. The passion between you morphs into something darker, more controlled, and at the same time, more intense. As if everything he does, everything he gives, is part of a way to mark you, to ensure there’s no doubt in your mind about what you truly are to him.
Before you can react, his lips claim yours in a deep, possessive kiss, and the world outside that room fades away. All that matters now is what’s in front of you. Silco. And the power he holds over you.
The sea stretches out before you like an endless canvas, as vast and deep as the emotions Silco stirs within you. The ocean breeze caresses your skin, carrying away the heavy thoughts you’ve been burdened with over the past week. In this space, everything seems clearer. Yet, despite the stunning scenery, an undercurrent of tension lingers in the air, impossible to ignore.
Your birthday has arrived, and Silco has planned something special, something you never expected. This time, there’s no shadowy gala or opulent halls. Instead, you find yourself in a secluded paradise—a hidden corner of the sea where the elite rarely tread. You’re aboard a private yacht gliding over turquoise waters, far from the city you’ve always known, but close to what is inevitable: Silco.
You’ve dressed more simply than usual, in a flowing white dress that drapes softly over your figure, and a straw hat that partially shields your face, giving you an air of mystery, almost ethereal. The sun beats down mercilessly over the ocean, but the warmth of the daylight is tempered by the cool breeze sweeping over the water. Yet, despite the relaxing atmosphere, the silence between you and Silco carries a weight that’s impossible to ignore.
The yacht is a spectacle of luxury: polished wooden decks, a lounge with glass windows offering panoramic views of the ocean, and a bar that looks like something out of a high-society film. It’s elegant, comfortable, and perfectly isolated—a microcosm where the outside world ceases to exist. And yet, you know you’re not here just to enjoy paradise. Silco watches you, seated in a chair by the railing, his gaze steady, analytical, calculating. Somehow, you know this trip isn’t solely a gift for you.
“This place is perfect, isn’t it?” he says in a calm voice, almost a whisper, as he takes a sip from the wine glass in his hand. “A place where you can think without distractions.”
You look at him, unsure if he’s actually asking you or simply sharing his thoughts. The sunlight casts a special glow over his face, highlighting his sharp features and the piercing gaze that tracks your every movement. The yacht glides further into the water, each passing mile pulling you further away from everything you know.
“It’s beautiful,” you finally reply, but the air remains thick with unspoken tension. “Why here? Why today?”
Silco observes you with a small smile, something he rarely shows. It’s not a smile of contentment but of control, of possession. As if this place, this moment, everything, was orchestrated for you but also for him. And that unsettles you in a strange way.
“It’s your birthday,” he replies, his tone soft but firm. “And while I don’t care for pompous celebrations, I wanted you to have something special. A place where neither of us has to worry about anything but being here.”
You search his eyes for some clue, something to tell you that this is genuine. But you find nothing. Silco has no intention of making things easy for you, and you know it well. Despite the idyllic setting, there’s a palpable distance between the two of you, like an invisible field neither dares to cross.
Shortly after, lunch arrives. A feast prepared for two: fresh lobster, tuna sushi, and an endless selection of wines. The scent of the sea mingles with the aroma of the food, and the sun casts everything in a perfect golden light. But as Silco serves you, his eyes betray something more—something you’ve come to know well: a subtle control over your every action, as though each gesture is part of a scene he meticulously arranged for you.
“Do you like it?” he asks, watching your face as you take a bite. His tone is almost condescending, as though he’s assessing your reaction.
“It’s delicious,” you reply, but the taste is overshadowed by the pressure you feel being here with him. The sun shines too brightly, but his eyes are even more intense, always watchful, always calculating.
“All of this is for you, but it’s also for me,” he says, almost muttering to himself. “It’s easy to give gifts; the hard part is knowing how to thank someone for what they give you. But you’ll see—everything comes with a price.”
Your stomach churns at his words. Despite the dazzling view, the weight of what he’s just said hits harder than the heat of the sun. Silco has gifted you a perfect day, but the price of that perfection is something you can’t help but wonder about. What does he truly want from you? What else is he expecting?
After the meal, Silco approaches you, his gaze never less than piercing, scrutinizing every inch of you. There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes everything once serene feel more complicated, denser. He hands you a small package, his smile teetering on the edge of irony.
“A gift, though you may not be sure you want it,” he says with a low chuckle. “I’ve observed you, and I know what you like. You know I enjoy giving you what belongs to you.”
You open the package carefully, finding inside a diamond necklace—an intricate design that almost seems alive, as though each stone was placed with specific intent. You hold it in your hands, admiring its perfection but also feeling a growing pressure in your chest. The price of this gift isn’t just monetary—it’s emotional.
“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, feeling the weight of every word you say and the discomfort rising within you. The necklace is the final touch to a stage where you already feel trapped.
“Yes, it is,” Silco responds, his tone almost intimate, as though he knows what it truly means to you. “But don’t forget—everything I do has a purpose. Nothing comes without a price.”
Those words land like a blow. You know this isn’t just a necklace he’s given you but a reminder of his power over you, of what he expects from you. He isn’t merely offering you something beautiful—he’s offering an unspoken contract where you are the one who must pay.
The afternoon drifts by as the yacht continues to float aimlessly in the turquoise waters. The sun begins to set on the horizon, painting everything in shades of orange and gold. Silco never stops watching you, as though measuring you, waiting for something within you to react, for something to break. But you remain there in silence, wondering just how far you’ve fallen into his web, just how deeply you’ve allowed his influence to seep under your skin.
As night falls and the sky darkens, Silco moves closer to you, his presence firm and assured. His arm wraps around your waist with a possessiveness you cannot ignore.
“This is a birthday you’ll never forget,” he murmurs near your ear, the implicit promise in his words more terrifying than any celebration. “No matter how many gifts I give you, don’t forget—you’ll always be mine.”
The sound of the water lapping against the yacht, the whisper of the wind—all of it fades as his words echo in your mind. You cannot escape his control, not while you continue accepting his gifts. And deep down, you know you’re already too far gone.
Four months. Four long months since you entered Silco's world. Everything you knew before seems to have vanished. You live with him, in his house, in his space, isolated from your friends, from your family. Everything has changed, and although a part of you knows things weren’t healthy from the beginning, you’ve grown accustomed to this new reality. You’ve become his shadow, his silent company, an ornament accompanying him in his business and his life, without truly being part of anything.
University is the only thing you have left outside his sphere. You only leave to attend classes, as just another obligation. The campus feels like a distant world, and interactions with your classmates are limited to class meetings, while the other students dive into their own lives. You’re just there, doing what’s expected of you, like an automaton. After classes, you quickly return to the penthouse, as if it were a refuge, though deep down you know it’s more of a prison than a home.
Your friends no longer call, your family barely hears from you. And you… you’ve forgotten how to be yourself. Conversations that once felt light now seem distant, as if they were memories from another life. You’re trapped in a cycle with Silco that you don’t know how to break. Everything you do, everything you are now, revolves around him. The arguments, the fights, the manipulations—it all feels like a whirlwind, a maze with no exit.
Tonight feels different. Something in the air is heavy, a tension you can’t ignore. Silco arrives late, his face hardened by business, by stress. You watch him from the couch, the dim light of the lamp illuminating his figure. You know something is about to erupt. The question is, will you be able to endure it?
He approaches, watching you for a moment, his gaze piercing as always. "Where have you been?" he asks, his tone low, almost uncomfortable, but there’s something more there. It’s not a simple question—it’s an accusation disguised as curiosity.
You rise slowly, feeling the weight of his gaze. "I’ve been here, waiting, as always. Doing what you asked of me," you reply, your voice already laced with the frustration you’ve been repressing.
He studies you, his expression unreadable. "Waiting… for what exactly?" The question is provocative, but also charged with a power you can’t ignore. You feel as if you’re standing on a battlefield, unsure if the war is already lost or if there’s still something left to defend.
"I don’t know what you expect from me," you say through clenched teeth, your hands balled into fists at your sides. "Everything I do, everything I am, revolves around you. I don’t know if you like that or if it disgusts you, but I’m tired of you treating me like I’m just an extension of yourself."
The response comes faster than you expect, his voice turning colder. "I’m not treating you as an extension of myself," he says, every word sharp as a blade. "I’m showing you reality. I’m the only thing keeping you here, the only thing giving you purpose."
The words hit you like a whip. They hurt more than you’d like to admit because, deep down, you know there’s some truth to them. "And what am I to you, then?" you ask, your voice breaking slightly despite yourself. "Just another tool? A piece of flesh to satisfy your needs?"
Silco smiles bitterly, a gesture he rarely shows. "Isn’t that what you are, dear? In this world, we’re all tools. The difference is that some of us hold more power than others. And you, without me, are nothing. I’ve given you everything you have; everything you are now is thanks to me."
The air grows heavier, and your hands begin to tremble, but you try to keep calm. The venom in his words wounds you, but not enough to make you crumble. "I don’t need you to remind me. But what you don’t understand, Silco, is that this isn’t what I want. This isn’t who I want to be."
He takes a step closer, his figure darkening the room. "Then what do you want? To run away from all of this? To live a life of lies, like the others? With your friends, with your illusions? That won’t give you what you really need. You know that. Everything I offer you is the truth, without embellishments."
"The truth?" you repeat, struggling to contain the rage boiling inside you. "The truth is you’re suffocating me. You’re manipulating me, dragging me further and further into your world. What you’re giving me isn’t truth—it’s your version of what the truth should be, your control. And I’m tired of being part of it."
The words hang in the air, and for a moment, you wonder if it’s really possible to escape all of this. Silco pauses, his gaze no longer as intense, but his words still cut deep. "You know you can’t escape this, don’t you?" he says softly, as if he knows something you haven’t yet accepted. "You can’t live without me. You have nowhere to go."
The anger begins to bubble over, and it’s as if all the repressed energy explodes at once. "Of course I can! I can leave! I can… I can go and never come back." Your voice trembles, but the decision is clear.
Silco’s laugh echoes through the room, bitter and cold. "And what would you do out there? Where would you go? The world around you has no place for someone like you. Without me, you’re nothing. And you know it."
A heavy silence fills the air as you both stare at each other, weighing every word, every gesture. "I am nothing without you," you say finally, your voice barely a whisper. "But that doesn’t mean I can’t find myself. That doesn’t mean I have to keep being part of your game."
Silco remains silent, watching you as if he’s evaluating something in your words. His expression is hard to read, but for the first time, there’s something in his eyes you can’t identify—something that looks like doubt.
"If you leave, there’s no coming back," he says in a low voice, an implicit threat in his words. "There will be no place for you in my world, and you know it."
And in that moment, something inside you clicks. The decision is made. It no longer matters what he says. "I know," you respond firmly, your heart pounding. "I know. But I’m leaving."
You turn and begin walking towards the door. Silco does nothing, doesn’t move, doesn’t stop you. But his gaze follows you, weighing on you, one last attempt at control.
As you step through the door, the sound of your heels echoing in the hallway is your only companion. The cool night air greets you, and for the first time in a long time, you feel free. At least for a moment, you can breathe.
Thirty long days have passed since you left his side. A month. Thirty days of loneliness, abandonment, and anguish. Broken promises crash against your chest like an echo, and the constant pressure of an uncertain future devours you from within. You try to survive, but each day becomes harder.
Your university life, once your salvation, is now just a chain tying you to a routine that slowly consumes you. You can’t pay your rent. The overdue payments loom like a black shadow, threatening to swallow you whole. The people who once stood by your side now turn their backs on you. Friends, so conventional, so distant, can’t understand what you’ve lost. Your family doesn’t even try. They’ve rejected you, abandoned you. And amidst all this, your studies remain a distant beacon, an unattainable dream you can barely cling to.
You tried finding a job, but you lost everything as quickly as it came. The university demands more of you, and all you have to offer is the anguish of knowing your world is collapsing while they move forward, oblivious to the darkness consuming you. The days stretch endlessly, and the nights become unbearable. Sadness courses through your veins like a dark current, but nothing, nothing hurts more than his absence. The void Silco left is an open wound that cannot heal. The luxurious life you shared with him, the brilliance of his world—you miss it. The darkness within him, that sense of belonging found only in the depths of wickedness, you miss that too. That is the price you pay for leaving.
One day, without thinking, without knowing what drives you, you decide to return. You don’t care if he rejects or humiliates you. The only thing you know is that you can’t go on without him. The city looks dull and cold from the heights, but Silco’s building draws you with a dark, almost magnetic force. Your steps are slow, heavy, each one closer to the truth you’ve been denying. When you reach the door of the penthouse, doubt strikes you, but you don’t stop. You know. You can’t escape him.
Silco is there, waiting for you, as if he knew you would return. As if he knew the absence was only temporary, that nothing could keep you apart for long. His presence fills the air, heavy and dense, as always. And yet, there is something more in his gaze—something dark and satisfied. Silco is not the kind of man who is surprised by others’ decisions because, in his world, he is always in control.
“You had nowhere else to go, did you?” he says in that deep voice that takes your breath away, his tone so full of certainty you can’t respond. “You’ve realized it, as you always do. No one understands you. No one knows what you need, what belongs to you. Only I do.”
His words pierce through you like a knife. You know he’s right—there is nowhere else you can find what he gave you. The void left by his absence is something you cannot fill. No one else understands you. No one else has seen the darkness you both plunge into and embraced it. Silco is everything you are, everything you know.
You move closer to him, wordless, eyes downcast, a silent plea. Silco smiles, his gaze softening for just a moment before growing more intense. He steps toward you, as if advancing over familiar terrain—a battlefield he already knows. He watches you intently, as if he can read every thought in your mind.
“I knew you’d come back,” he murmurs, touching your face with a dangerous softness, a touch devoid of affection but full of possession. “You know, don’t you? You can’t live without me. You never will. You’re too broken to be free, always have been. You can’t stand being away—you know it.”
You nod slowly, unable to speak, unwilling to say anything more. The only truth is that you need to return to him. You cannot escape.
“You’re mine,” he continues as his fingers slide down your neck with palpable possession. “And you know it. No one else does, not even you. But I’ll remind you always, until you die. Because everything you are, everything you have, is mine.”
Before you can process his words, he steps back, and with a disturbingly calm demeanor, he pulls a small case from his pocket. He opens it slowly, revealing a black diamond ring. The jewel gleams with a macabre luster, as if it has a life of its own. He looks at it, then offers it to you. “I gave you everything. Now, I want what’s mine completely.”
The ring, with its dark color and incalculable value, hypnotizes you. You don’t need to think—you can’t think. In that moment, you surrender. You know what it is and what it means, but the idea of being entirely his draws you in with unstoppable force. You accept without hesitation. It feels as natural as breathing.
“Yes,” you whisper, the word flowing from your lips like a sentence, and you feel the world begin to revolve around him again.
He smiles—a cold, satisfied expression—and takes your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger with unsettling precision. “I knew you would. I knew you couldn’t escape. No place is safe enough for you. You’re mine, and you’ll never leave me.”
He moves closer to you, his face mere inches from yours. “Because only we understand what we truly are. No one else has seen the darkness like we have. No one else appreciates it. We deserve this. All we have left is this bond, this darkness. Why fear it when we can embrace it together?”
Your lips brush against his, and the dark passion overtakes you like a flame consuming everything in its path. The kiss is deep, almost destructive. There is no sweetness in it, only savage voracity. In his arms, you finally feel like you belong to something, to someone. You are his. And for the first time, everything feels right.
In that moment, the world shrinks to just the two of you. Nothing else matters—neither the university, nor family, nor friends. Only him and you, immersed in a darkness only you two understand. The ring, the seal of possession, is the final bond tying you together—a reminder of the inevitable.
Silco looks at you, his eyes dark yet filled with a satisfaction you’ve never seen before. “Welcome home,” he says in his deep voice. And for some reason, in this moment, all you can do is nod, surrendering entirely to the shadow that surrounds you, to the darkness that calls you.
#arcane x reader#arcane au#arcane fanfic#arcane imagine#arcane smut#arcane x female reader#arcane#arcane x you#silco x reader#arcane silco#silco x you#silco x oc#silco smut#silco league of legends#silco au#silco is hot#silco oneshot#silco posting#silco arcane#silco fanfic#silco lol#silco my beloved
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over and over, you read the sign outside a small agency, rolling the name in your head and flipping it up and down: teyvat's sleuth operatives, sleuth operatives... sounds tacky and lame...
it is only when a brown-haired someone approaches you, that your doubts are erased. their uniform neat, mastering the archetype of a professional private investigator, amber eyes unexpecting your early arrival. “you must be the new recruit, why don’t you come inside?”
edit: i think my tumblr is finally working again, hopefully this post works(-ω-、) w.c. ~3.5k / content: modern au! private investigators (PI) au! [not canon, slight ooc?] bulletpoints and scenarios, writing out of my arse again, lil' crack, another gang of idiots, total braincells: 8.88 (a high score!!), surprisingly they co-exist pretty well, zhongli doesn't know what a waffle maker is, you and childe watch a traumatic talent show, alhaitham's love lang is bickering with you, and wrio has a depressing backstory👍, tldr; working with 4 very fun guys / boss!zhongli / rival!childe / childhood friend!alhaitham / colleague!wriothesley / x gnreader
𝐳𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢 as your boss!
✦ oldest member, worked in the profession for many years. however, when you ask about that, he is suspiciously evasive. zhongli seems to have lived a long life, though his appearance does not tell it
✦ out of touch with the new generation and technology. asks alhaitham to fix his computer and the kettle (bro just needed to plug it in) or asks you what the newest trendy slang means. it is a wonder how he manages the workplace
✦ tea buddies with wriothesley. hosts tea parties in the local retirement home to discuss and rate tea (power scaling tea real). there's enough boxes to last a lifetime in the breakroom. oh, zhongli is pointing at the clock. it’s… tea time… again
✦ talks your ear off about philosophical questions such as what happens after death, or whether a hotdog is a sandwich
✦ you and childe share a joint role as zhongli’s personal wallet. as to what your boss spends his paycheck on… maybe the countless snacks he leaves at your desk. and tea. more tea. poosssiibly those trinkets he has gifted you too
✦ glasses wearer. appears when zhongli is in deep concentration, due to an unexpected influx of cases so he's staring at the computer often, or during an intense reading session
ᯓ★
you flick through the papers detailing the information you recorded from your client. you and zhongli are out on a scouting mission to obtain clues that could point the case in the right direction. “are you listening?”
“mhm,” zhongli claims, but you can see your words are flowing in one ear and out the other with the way he is plucking free food samples as if they were flowers, bunched together in his hand like a bouquet, offered to him by the fawning ladies at the market stalls. the foreboding premonition of another unproductive day is brimming to the surface.
“where should we start?” you clear your throat, keeping the task on track.
“we should entertain any threads and trace it back, even if it proves to be a dead end. there is no such thing as a bad clue,” zhongli pauses in front of a shop. “for starters, what’s this?”
you raise an eyebrow. “a waffle maker.”
“interesting. what about this?”
“a robot vacuum cleaner. would be good for the office.”
“indeed,” zhongli’s eyes shift. “and this? such a profound colour, this corrosive yellow that erodes my vision is quite unpleasant. could it be…? is this a weapon of mass destruction?”
“zhongli, sir, that’s a banana.“ you shake your head. “is this important?”
zhongli nods. “could be. is it really a banana? a true investigator must question even the simplest of theories.” he points a finger at your pocket. “and this?”
“... that’s my wallet.”
zhongli has a penchant for being attracted to your money, if he can trace the imprint of your wallet against your pocket.
zhongli nods, closing his eyes. “a sacred item indeed,” he opens one eye which looks at you expectantly. “i suspect you have quite a formidable sum of mora on your person. and mora is an imperative factor that may save the day, or destroy the world. after all, we still do not know if the banana is deceiving us in its testimony, hm?”
you give up, handing the money over to the shopkeeper.
his philosophy remains a cryptic language to you. perhaps it’s the gap in experience that makes it hard to connect a bridge to whatever planet zhongli lives on, a divide in universes between you, a disciple, and a master. sometimes, you do believe that there’s a rip in time and space with how zhongli’s senses lag behind as if stuck in the past.
you hand one over to your side. “here—huh?” where did he go?
one look behind you and you find zhongli by a lamp post. a young girl, scratching the ground with a sharp branch with a pout, gazes at zhongli. “who are you?”
zhongli slowly crouches down. “someone who listens to everyone’s troubles. would you mind telling me yours?”
no response. then, a small stomach growls.
zhongli motions at you. immediately, you walk over. “may i take one of the bananas?” you hand him one. “why don’t you take this?”
despite her embarrassed expression, the girl grabs it. she hesitates. “... mama, gone.”
your lips part in realisation.
“come now, we’ll help find your parents.” zhongli offers a hand but the girl extends his invitation, taking his whole arm instead, hugging it. he chuckles, picking her up, her arms naturally cradling his neck as if he is family.
you observe the warm scene, smiling. “you’d make a pretty good parent.”
zhongli watches you, quiet for a moment. “why don't we raise one together?”
“oh, i’m not—”
“alhaitham can be the teacher; wriothesley will do the cleaning. i can do the cooking, and childe can do all the shopping. you can play the toys with the child.”
“ah. of course,” teyvat’s sleuth operatives is one big family, after all. you have to ask, “also, that banana, how did you know to buy it?”
“well, who knows?” zhongli pats the girl’s back, helping her fall asleep. there’s a glint in his eyes when he looks at you, asking you to work out the mystery. to chase after the clues he left.
another cryptic answer. the master really does live in another world—one that you want to keep learning about.
𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞 as your rival!
✦ works for the rival agency which, unfortunately, is much more popular. when watching cat videos, their adverts often pop up with childe’s annoying face plastered on it, winking at you
✦ tags along when you are on a case. doesn’t he have anything else to do? at least he buys your fav drink from the vending machines. although he trails around you like baggage, you hate to say that he is good at what he does.
✦ … a bit too good at his job. you’ve spotted him slinking into dark alleys occasionally. what’s he doing there? one day you will know.
✦ trained under zhongli before. therefore, he is lowkey in competition with you. any task is met with the following question: who’s the better apprentice? so far, the score is even, but you’ll get him next time
✦ never enters your agency through the front door. opts to crawl in through the window (no idea why, maybe it's the challenge). comes bearing gifts such as expensive fruit baskets, bouquets, and medicinal roots like ginseng. you’d think he’s meeting his in-laws or something. rare, but may bring his younger brother teucer as well. on these days, teyvat’s sleuth operatives becomes half private agency and half daycare.
✦ for uniform, the red shirt from his birthday art is nice. maybe a leather jacket that hangs on the shoulder. wears accessories: earrings, rings, bracelets, watches, gloves. bro is something of a fashion icon, tbf he’s rich so might as well
ᯓ★
desolation unwraps itself before you, beckoning its finger at you to sink into the drab swamps. you saw a tuft of ginger hair disappear into this alley, submerged by its fog. it is inevitable; you need to know the truth behind the mystery to quell the ‘investigator’ in you.
as soon as you think that, your face hits against, according to your common sense, a wall—if the wall defined was actually an amalgamation of flesh and muscle.
“need our help?”
a voice irritates your ears. you frown, looking up at the culprit. “you can’t steal our catchphrase like that, childe.”
childe—your rival, your nemesis, the guy who childishly filled a ketchup bottle with strawberry jam so that he could chug it in front of you, without flinching, solely to disgust you, and counted it as a victory—that childe, shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.
“boss, who’s dat?” a voice calls from the darkness.
your ears perk up. boss? childe? a responsible leader? no way. you push childe aside. “... who are you guys?”
a whole lot of people are uncomfortably staring at you. “us?” one man stands out from the crowd. “the fatui, duh. have ya not heard of us, newbie?” the man proudly puffs his chest out.
childe rubs his forehead. “you doofus.”
bells were ringing in your head, red alarms were sounding. “the fatui? aren’t you guys wanted?”
before you can reach for your phone, childe catches your hand. “don’t,” his tone is rigid. it takes you by surprise. “look,” childe sighs. “they’re not bad people, promise.” he lets go.
a fatui agent is dancing. “yup, we have many talents, like stealing lunch money.” that is literally illegal. “say, why don’t we host a talent show?”
“oooooh!!” a chorus of easily amused delight.
“me! me!” a burly man wearing a tank top and shorts, holds up a jar of hotdogs. he twists open the lid.
you and childe exchange glances. the next sequence of events you witness are really unfortunate. “oh– please don’t shove that up your– well, okay then.” the sky looks especially wonderful today.
these guys should be in prison after all.
“ahaha, okay, okay,” childe gestures with his hands, asking everyone to quiet down. “alas, this should be enough–”
“but i can break into people’s houses without triggering the alarm system!”
“i can use my anemo vision to amplify my fart!”
“aha…” the light in childe’s face falters. suddenly, he grabs your hand. “run!”
“—!” in an instant, your legs suddenly burst into strides, finding the right pace to keep up with childe. “where are we going?!”
“anywhere! anywhere is good!” under the sky, the breeze carries his airy laughter. in his eyes, the blue sea parts, a brightness coruscating on its horizon. it is refreshing, brilliant, childish. and vulnerable.
you can’t help getting carried along by the waves.
.
“i should report you… for almost getting me killed by an anemo-amplified fart,” hands on your knees, the words struggle out of your mouth.
“sorry about that, they’re just really friendly.” he laughs. you notice, the way childe expresses himself towards the fatui, it is a delicate artistry woven with heartfelt tenderness. it’s the same fragileness as when he talks about his family and home. “how about i buy you a drink?”
you contemplate his offer. after taking a few more breaths, you stand up. “even though i know you meddle with the fatui? how does a vending machine drink suffice?” childe tilts his head, encouraging you to speak. “for a week straight at least. there’s a new cafe opening, but the prices are too steep for my wallet.”
“okay, okay,” his gentle, tender voice extends to you, lifted by a smile. the blue sea parts, and behind it is childe, offering you a place in his home. “you win this time.”
𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 as your childhood friend!
✦ more like estranged childhood friend. you left teyvat at a young age, leaving your childhood friend, alhaitham, behind. you only returned recently, surprised to find that little alhaitham grew up well
✦ does not concern himself with anything that doesn't yield results, keeps conversations succinct, conveying what needs to be said for the job with as little words as possible. only interjects if something intrigues him, or when anyone makes a clueless comment that needs correcting
✦ favours are not regarded well. one time, you asked him to grab you some coffee if he was going out for lunch break. alhaitham sighed, listing the side effects of overconsumption on caffeine and how a sufficient amount of sleep will do you better. although, when you came back to the office after an outing, you found a mysterious cup of coffee on your desk. must be the wind
✦ dislikes outputting energy where it’s not needed. when finished with his tasks, he will head to the breakroom or the corner with the bookshelf to relax until zhongli’s next order. rarely seen at his desk
✦ went to uni for a comp sci degree but it wasn't challenging enough. dropped out, but zhongli, a guest lecturer, managed to recruit him after witnessing his talent. has rejected prestigious titles and positions in favour of a peaceful life. but with you in the picture, he wonders how long this peace would last
✦ wears strapped pouches and harnesses… around the chest... and biceps... straps around the thighs... (;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`) for utility ofc. equipped with useful items for the job, like a gps tracker, voice recorders, spy cameras, and his music player.
ᯓ★
“can you afford to be slacking off right now?” the silence breaks, and you are forced to speak.
“i’m not.” you quickly glance at the time on your screen. “besides, i should start heading home before the last train runs—”
“the last train has already gone.”
“... great.” you sigh. “how come you didn’t tell me earlier?”
“the sharp possibility that you’d insist on finishing your work is comparable to chasing after a dead end, and ultimately, a waste of time.”
a trained oracle, predicting every branching future based on your rooted disposition. it is difficult to debate against that which has inputted all your details, computing every possible output.
you rest your chin on your palm. “what are you even doing here? shouldn’t you be getting your healthy eight hours of sleep?”
“and in the time that has spanned since you’ve sat at your desk, shouldn’t you be done already?”
you object, “you can’t deflect me with a question.”
“which principle asserts otherwise? i can.”
“you can’t.”
“can.”
“can’t.”
“can–”
you sigh frustratedly, knowing that you’re talking to a wall. throw your words at it and it bounces right back, a ball hitting at you squarely.
with purpose, you blurt out, “little haitham was so much cuter, you used to follow me everywhere.”
and finally, alhaitham looks at you for the first time today. and for the first time today, you get a good look at him too. his posture manages to be effortlessly upright, not a lick of exhaustion burdened on his face.
“why are you bringing that up?” alhaitham returns to his monitor.
the buzzing of the ceiling light fills the silence. you blink. once. “we promised to the stars that we’d be the best detective duo in teyvat.” the mechanical clicking of keyboards clogs your ears. blink. you tug at the cuffs of your sleeve. “to solve all the mysteries, crimes, and beat up the bad people hiding in the world.”
sounds of the mouse clicking. a pause builds. alhaitham glances at you. “and? we’re doing that pretty well, aren’t we?” you can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic.
“i thought you’ve forgotten about that,” you admit.
“it was you who forgot.”
you sit up. “come again?” your eyes twinkle, watching alhaitham, your childhood friend. the hope that swells on your face, and alhaitham notices it; the stars in your eyes, he’s tracing the constellations in them.
"why do you think i'm here in the first place?" his voice dips, as if hoping you didn't hear that.
a promise embedded in the stars, and one of them was waiting for the fated reunion. then, in a split second, you see a younger haitham tugging at your sleeve, following your footsteps. you hide the smile behind your hand. “you’ve been waiting for me all this time?”
“don’t flatter yourself.” alhaitham quickly extinguishes. ouch. another pause washes over before he speaks up, “come over.”
your eyes widen. “over? where?”
“to mine.”
“mine? yours?”
“my apartment. it’s close by.”
“your place?”
“yes,” alhaitham glares at you. “do i happen to be speaking in another language?”
“i mean, how come?”
“i do not want to be investigating a missing person’s case anytime soon,” alhaitham stands up, packing his belongings, leaving you no choice but to swiftly follow suit. “and our photo albums,” he stops moving. “i've kept them.”
your heart skips, touched by the rare sincerity. you tease, “so you do care about me.”
alhaitham scoffs. “it's only a sensible suggestion. i don’t.”
“you do.”
“don’t.”
“oh, come on.”
𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲 as your colleague!
✦ was classmates with you at a police academy. by the academy was an arcade where you two played too many games. after graduation, you two silently seperated. wriothesley worked in enforcement for some years before gaining his investigators licence, moved to teyvat, and eventually settled at teyvat’s sleuth operatives
✦ your current hangout place with wriothesley is still an arcade, the one by the agency - it reminds you two of the past. favourite games include money-grubbing claw machines, boxing machines, and “dancing dance rev rev” (i dont wanna get sued–). that, or you end up chatting the day away about whatever new complaints you received from alhaitham, not realising the sun has set and the owner ends up shooing you two out
✦ owns a red motorbike. will take you on rides for fun, watching sunsets on the highway feeling the breeze. will take you home whenever you need—just give him a call. he insists that the best place to hold onto is around his waist
✦ the tea connoisseur of all time. drinks a minimum of 5 cups a day, and you worry he might drop dead one day. you’ve tried to get him onto different drinks, like the popular boba tea, but plain old tea always triumphs in the end. tea is life and zhongli agrees
✦ good at subduing any targets. prefers not to shed blood, but will deescalate confrontations, usually by submission rather than violence
✦ messy uniform. shirt not buttoned all the way up, rolled sleeves, fingerless gloves, dark colours. often seen with bandages along his arm. wears a choker. like a werewolf, rugged
ᯓ★
years back, before you returned to teyvat, you attended a police academy to aid in the preparation and experience needed for your investigators licence.
you always frequented the desolate arcade by the academy. there was no door, the arcade was impartial to any of its visitors, like an open hug.
time and time again, you blew your stress off after a long day. the boxing machine was particularly satisfying in that regard. you and that machine watched the early evening resign, and the night shift taking over everyday.
the tedium was so easily penetrated by soaking crimson, the liquid leaked vividly dripping down from the forehead. a moment was needed for you to process it.
a dark-haired person sat languidly against an arcade machine, in a uniform you recognise. half bent-over, head tilting. the sanctity of life departing through hurried breaths.
“h-hey,” you crouched next to him, hands outstretched but were waiting for a coherent command. “shit.” the lectures slipped by you, running past but never handing the baton. it felt useless.
suddenly, your hand was flicked away by the person. behind his fringe, it was frozen, crystallised, icicles shot past his dark strands piercing you. “don’t bother. it’s nothing.”
eyebrows furrowed. “you’re insane,” you brushed the hair out of his face, finding splotches of bruising. his lip, busted red. injuries walked all over his skin, trampling the delicate layer. his complexion ghastly pale, you weren't sure if it was his skull peeking through his skin. “i need to call you an ambulan–”
“i’m serious,” he reiterated, “i… i just need a moment, some quiet. please. i don’t want them to find…” his sentence trailed off.
you gulped, hands trembling. “you’re sure you don’t need me to call?”
he nodded.
he reassured you, but you can’t help but feel weighed by the fact that an injured person was right next to you. you made a mental note to ensure he visits a doctor by the end of this. sighing, you slowly sat next to him.
“... i’m just stressed. tired.” his words hung heavy in the blank air.
a familiar word. a sentiment that resonated. all too familiar.
if there was a way to cheer him up... there was only one thing you knew about feeling burdened. you point a thumb at the boxing machine. “wanna blow off some of that stress?”
.
“do you think that the arcade by the academy is still open?”
“i hope so. i wanna know if we’re still first on all those machines. and if my bloodstain still frightens people when they walk in,” a snicker. “remember when we played ’dancing dance rev rev’ for six hours straight? those were good days.”
you and wriothesley watch the boxing machine, your joint high scores blinking on the leaderboard in excited colours.
“do you still have those old plushies i gave you from the claw machine?” you ask.
“of course,” wriothesley searches his pockets and pulls out his keys. a miniature wolf plush keychain hangs, bobbing up and down. “like this one. named it after you, how adorable they are.” he playfully pokes "mini you", cracking a grin.
you smile at the gesture. after all these years, you never forgot each other. “hey, no bullying.” you pause. “... weren’t we supposed to be tracking a suspect? i think they have already left this arcade.”
“oh, yeah. oops.”
a pair of fraternal twins stand outside outside a small agency, reading the sign over and over: teyvat's sleuth operatives… sounds tacky and lame... they think in unison.
it is only when you approach them, that they stop hesitating. your uniform tidy, almost mastering the archetype of a professional private investigator, smiling at your newfound clients. you are no longer the new recruit. “need our help?”
a/n: i havent played genshin seriously since inazuma so i missed out on many events ( ; ω ; ) sorry alhaitham and wrio i tried my best⭐ lemme know if my reserach sucks bc my references were ace attorney and google (ノД`) also i wanted to draw their uniforms but got lazy, so i drew the banner instead (・ω<)☆ anw im off to read more manhwa (great start to the year), ill be back when the motivation finally whacks me hard again. if anyone wants to request ideas, feel free! my inbox is open 24/7! happy new year!!!! 🎆🎆🎆2025 will also be the year of the snake, so shoutout to all my snakes😎
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#zhongli x reader#childe x reader#alhaitham x reader#wriothesley x reader#genshin x you#they said the world is ending in 2025#when bro#im waiting🧍♂️
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Cordially Invited
Series: One Piece
Chapter: One Shot
Word Count: 9796
Rating: T
Pairing(s): Cross Guild x Reader (YN)
a/n: This is it. My last post for the year. Thanks for sticking around with me while I ride the high of my One Piece hyperfixation. Especially with the Cross Guild. Here. I've been working hard on this for a while now. And uh...You know...For science...If someone were to draw Crocodile from this chapter, I'd be forever grateful...Happy Good Riddance to 2024 day. <3
You knew that your boys were not ones to shy away from a good party. Given that Buggy was a natural entertainer, Mihawk was a slut for attention, and Crocodile practically lived in a casino in Alabasta, you knew there was no way you were getting out of a party. Granted, you had your own plans. You wanted a night of peace and quiet. You wanted a night of some time alone with Buggy, Mihawk, and Crocodile. And possibly Perona if she was feeling up to it, but for the most part, you wanted your boys.
However, you were not going to get that luxury. Because Mihawk wanted to play. Mihawk needed that attention whore itch scratched. And as much as he loved you, he needed something more. That also meant you going into hiding. Mihawk’s castle was full of secret passageways. Some of them, he didn’t even know about. Even though he had Perona who had a working map of the place in her head. And given her pension for making things messy, it made you need an exceptional place to hide.
You didn’t want to party. You didn’t want to deal with people. You didn’t want a bunch of strangers in your home. You wanted your boys. And no one could blame you. You were their greedy baby and they loved you for it. But from the time you knew Mihawk would wake up in the morning, you needed to be up at least ten minutes beforehand in order to find somewhere safe. Where there was a party at Mihawk’s castle, there was going to be three gentlemen who wanted to spend their time making sure their crown jewel, their special treasure, shine as bright as possible.
Whether that treasure liked it or not.
Which brings us to why you’re hiding in a cozy corner of the castle. Why you’re currently living like the rats in the wall. Why you’re hoping like crazy that no one finds you. You could hear footsteps outside your hiding place. The worst game of hide and seek ever, you thought to yourself. And you weren’t wrong. You just wanted a day to yourself. You didn’t want to deal with a party. You didn’t want to deal with a full house. You wanted your boys. And your boys alone. But oh, no. Mihawk’s too big of an attention whore to realize his own attention whore right in front of him.
Tap…Tap…
“Found you,” Mihawk spoke outside the wall. Your hands immediately went over your mouth as your breaths grew shallower. They had to. Mihawk could hear a pin drop on the other side of the castle. You breathing in the walls would be nothing. Still, you managed. As far as you were concerned, he had no idea. You were still safe.
“Did you find her yet?” Ordinarily, you’d love nothing more than to hear Crocodile’s voice. However, this wasn’t the context.
“I did,” Mihawk confirmed, sending your heart rate through the ceiling, “I think she’s hiding in the servant passages. And if I hear correctly…”
Tap…Tap…Tap.
“There?” Crocodile assumed.
“There,” Mihawk confirmed, “YN…You need to come out now, darling. We don’t have time for this.”
You stayed right where you were. Although, you knew you weren’t going to stay there forever. You wouldn’t be able to. You needed to run, but they’d definitely hear you running. And Mihawk and Crocodile were never ones to shy away from the chase. They liked the hunt. Especially when you were their prey. It brought out something incredibly primal in them. And competitive. Because they both knew whoever got to you first was the winner. And yet, you never won in that scenario. At least not like this.
“And it looks like she’s not coming out,” Crocodile noticed, “Would you like me to get her?”
“If it’s not too much to ask for.”
“She seems to think she can run…” A sudden rush of sand came through the crack in the wall. And Crocodile apparated on the other end, “But she cannot hide. Hello, Princess.”
“Hello…” You knew you were screwed. You knew you were so screwed. You weren’t sure if it was the smirk on Crocodile’s face or the smug sense of satisfaction you could feel radiating from Mihawk.
“Oh, YN,” Crocodile pulled you against his chest, “You know I love you dearly. You know I want only the best for you. But it’s not nice to not come when we call for you. Especially on nights like tonight.”
“Oh, fuck,” you fell in Crocodile’s arms. Because he wasn’t going to give you another option, “Fine…”
“You’re going to go play with Mihawk for a while,” Crocodile picked your chin up, forcing eye contact with you, “And you’re going to be his good little girl for a while. Do you understand? You’re not going to give him any attitude. You’re not going to be a brat. You’re going to do exactly what he says and you will do it whenever he says to. Aren’t you, YN?”
“Yes, sir…” Because any other answer would’ve resulted in Crocodile taking you over his knee. And he was in a mood already. Any other time, you going over Crocodile’s knee wouldn’t exactly be a bad thing. Today was not the day.
And so, Crocodile held your hand while he marched you back down the hall and out the servants’ door. Was it a death march? No. Did it feel like one? Kind of. Would you live through it? Yes. Absolutely. That didn’t mean you wanted to, though. Once you popped out of the servants’ door, Mihawk waited for you, leaned against the wall. He wasn’t overly thrilled about your sudden game of hide and seek, but the chase wasn’t the worst.
“Next time, darling,” Mihawk took you off Crocodile’s hands, “Make it a little more of a challenge. The servant passages seem a little…I don’t know. Cliché. You’re much cleverer than that. You can do better.”
“I probably could’ve found a better beach to wash up on, too,” you sassed him under your breath.
“And I seem to remember someone waking up in a nice, warm bed,” Mihawk thought back, “with dry clothes on her body and the moment she woke up, she had warm food in her stomach after not eating anything in days. And then, she ended up with a roof over her head and three men who fell hopelessly in love with her. You live such a difficult life, don’t you, YN?”
“I’m going with you, aren’t I?” You really didn’t anticipate Mihawk hearing you, but you really should’ve known better. Mihawk’s hearing was sharp as a tack.
“The way I see it,” Mihawk bargained, “This can go one of two ways. Either you fully cooperate with me and this is a pleasant experience for you or you don’t cooperate and I make this experience a living hell. Either way, it’s getting done.”
You may have not been overly thrilled, but it wasn’t going to be the end of the world. So, you forced a smile on your face, “I guess I cooperate.”
“Good choice, darling,” Mihawk stole a quick kiss from you, “Now, you know where to go.”
“I know, I know…”
When you first ended up on the shore just outside the castle, you were hardly alive. You were shipwrecked and barely floated to the beach on a piece of driftwood. But you were tired. Your will to live slowly slipped away. Any hope of finding help was lost. Until you nearly blacked out on that little strip of beach. You didn’t know how long you were on that beach, but it wasn’t that you were worried about. It was you waking up in what would eventually be considered your bedroom that had you concerned. You saw the wanted posters. You knew who stood around you. You knew who the Cross Guild was. It wasn’t every day you ran into warlords. And you also knew they were the most beautiful bunch of pirates to sail the seas. But you knew they were dangerous. You knew you needed to be careful. In those days, though, you didn’t have the energy to fight back. And you didn’t regret it for a single second.
Until Mihawk brought you to his room where a seamstress was already waiting for you. And because you made Mihawk a promise, you had to suck it up. Through the invasive measuring, you gritted your teeth and let her do what she needed to. And once she was done, you immediately went straight into Mihawk’s bed. It’s all you wanted. Just comfort. And maybe the sweet smell you two leave behind in those soft, silk sheets.
“Oh, darling,” Mihawk crawled in next to you, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Catching a brief nap until I’m needed again,” you told him, your eyes closed and your head on the pillow.
“No,” Mihawk gave you a nudge, “You’re going to have to go through a few fittings and make some fabric choices before you can take any naps.”
“Perona!” you called out into the ether, hoping she heard you somehow somewhere.
“You bellow for me, YN?” Perona apparated in the middle of Mihawk’s room.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“No,” Mihawk already shot that down, “You’re not letting Perona be your stand-in. Not happening. Although, while I have you here, Perona, perhaps you could help me with something.”
“Sure, Mihawk,” Perona floated above him, “What can I do for you, oh great master?”
“Perona…”
“I know, I know,” Perona brushed him off, “What’s on your mind?”
“I may need a second opinion,” Mihawk explained, “And I trust your judgments.”
“Aww, Mihawk,” Perona melted inside, “That’s so sweet of you. I’d be happy to be your second opinion. What’s it for?”
“We’re putting a dress together for YN for tonight,” Mihawk explained, “And I’m a little torn on fabrics.”
“I can do that,” Perona leaned over his shoulder, “What did you have in mind?”
“I’m thinking jewel tones,” Mihawk suggested, “YN always looks drop dead stunning in jewel tones. Then again, she also looks her best in absolutely nothing at all, so you understand my dilemma.”
“Mihawk,” Perona squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to suppress what just came out of his mouth, “Come on. What you and YN do behind closed doors is your business. I hear enough of it through the walls.”
“Sorry,” Mihawk looked over at you. Beautiful, wonderful you, comfortably laying on your belly, “But I’m not wrong. YN in jewel tones is the ideal.”
“Big surprise,” Perona floated on her back, “Mihawk wants YN in jewel tones. Probably the darker jewel tones, too, right?”
“Naturally.”
“Again,” Perona reiterated, “Big surprise. Come on, Mihawk. Do you not want YN to branch out? Or hey! Better yet, shouldn’t we let her have an opinion?”
“When she doesn’t hide in the walls every time we throw a party,” Mihawk shot you a glare that ran through your body in the best way, “That’s when she gets an opinion.”
“Fair,” Perona let it go.
“Fair?” you whined, “Perona! I thought you’d be on my side. What happened to you being a girl’s girl?”
“I still am,” Perona assured you, “But Mihawk’s got a point. If you were acting up, who am I to stop him from punishing his little brat?”
“Perona!”
“Thank you, Perona,” Mihawk pulled a few fabric swatches and handed them off to her, “Go on. Pick your favorite.”
“Will do,” Perona thumbed through her options.
“Traitor…” you growled at her.
“I wouldn’t say traitor,” Perona held up a deep red silk to your face before grimacing a bit, “No. Not that one.”
“Really?” Mihawk wondered, “Why not? Honestly, that was my first choice.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Perona brushed him off, continuing through her choices, “Don’t get me wrong. I do love a good dark red, but not for tonight.”
“Understandable,” Mihawk backed off.
“Hmm…” Perona held up another swatch to your cheek. A deep green that she was seriously considering, “Mihawk? What are we thinking?”
“Too subtle,” Mihawk shot her down, “YN is definitely stunning in green, but it’s not doing anything for me.”
“Alright, alright,” Perona kept going, this time, pulling a deep navy that nearly bordered on black, “What about this one? How are we feeling?”
“You know,” Mihawk thought it over, “It’s not bad. That one?”
“You don’t think it’s too subtle?” Perona wondered.
“Don’t you think YN should get a say in this?” you chimed in.
“Not now, darling,” Mihawk hushed you, “Perona and I are in deep collaboration.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” you groaned, falling back onto the bed.
“No, no, no,” Mihawk smirked, “I like that. As much as I love the thought of making YN stick out like a sore thumb, she’s still my sore thumb. And everyone in the room needs to understand that. No one needs to be making cheap passes at her. And she certainly doesn’t need to stray.”
“She has no intention of it,” you nestled your face in Mihawk’s thigh, making yourself comfortable…and hopefully in his good graces.
“I know,” Mihawk ran his fingers through your hair, “I know. Because cheating on me would mean cheating on Crocodile and Buggy, too. And we all know that wouldn’t end pretty.”
“I’m not going to cheat on any of you,” you promised, “Mihawk, I love you. And I love Buggy and Crocodile, too. I’m not straying. No matter how much this party is going to make me want to leave all three of you.”
“What did we do?” Mihawk wondered, “What did we possibly do to make you want to leave us?”
“You and Crocodile ganged up on me this morning,” you reminded him, shoving your finger in his chest, “Buggy was complicit.”
“Buggy’s been holed up in his room for the last hour,” Mihawk rolled his eyes, “You think I’m dramatic for things like this. Clearly, you’ve never dealt with the clown when there’s promise of an audience.”
“He is kind of an attention whore,” Perona agreed, “But I hate to break it to you, Mihawk. You’re just as bad.”
“Bullshit.”
“Really?” Perona floated on her belly, “Are we really going to go down this route?”
“YN,” Mihawk gave you a little nudge, “Stay in the castle. Perona and I need to have some words.”
“Oh, boy!” Perona giggled, “My favorite.”
A sudden groan from down the hall caught your attention. You figured that would be somewhere better than Mihawk’s room. A room you didn’t expect to go into. Crocodile grumbled curses to himself while the sound of falling objects clattered on the floor. When Crocodile got into a mood, you knew to tread lightly, but something about this one felt different. You’ve seen him in moods before. You’ve never heard him in a mood coming out of his bathroom.
“Crocodile…?” you spoke softly, kindly, “Is everything ok?”
“Not now, YN,” Crocodile shooed you away, “It’s not the time. I don’t want to deal with you when I’m pissed off.”
“What happened?” you tiptoed into the bathroom where Crocodile sat on a stool in nothing but a towel. You’d be lying if you didn’t appreciate the sight. Under any better circumstances, you would’ve been into it. But seeing Crocodile with his face in his hands killed the moment.
“Don’t worry about it, YN,” Crocodile’s irritation only grew, “Go. Aren’t you supposed to be with Mihawk right now?”
“He’s tearing Perona a new ass,” you filled him in, “He told me I could walk around the castle all I wanted. I’m sure he’ll yell for me when he needs me again.”
“Then, shouldn’t you just stay with him?” Crocodile scoffed.
“Why would I do that,” you draped your arms over his bare, solid, and still slightly wet from his shower shoulders, “when you need me more than he does?”
As infuriated as Crocodile was, he couldn’t help but hold your hands against his chest, “Thank you, Princess. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“So,” you hoped you had him calmed down enough to get him to talk. Just a little, “What seems to be the problem?”
“It’s something incredibly stupid to get this pissed about,” Crocodile sighed out, “But I’m out of gel and it’s kind of getting to me. I don’t look right without it.”
“That’s what this little tantrum was all about?” you stared blankly into the mirror, “That’s what’s got you so bitchy?”
“I told you it was stupid,” Crocodile got defensive again.
“Stupid, no,” you laid your head in his neck, “Nonsensical, yes. So, you ran out of gel. Find something else. Or improvise.”
“There isn’t anything else around the castle,” Crocodile pouted, “There aren’t any supply ships running for another couple days. Everything for this party came this morning and I didn’t realize how empty my jar was.”
But that’s when you had an idea. You knew exactly how to fix everything, “Do you trust me?”
“Of course, I do,” Crocodile pulled you into his lap, “Why?”
“Because,” you kissed his cheek, “I have a plan. Stay here. I need to go steal some things from Buggy real quick.”
“What would you need to go steal from the clown?” Crocodile started to sweat a bit, “Unless he’s got a spare jar of the goods, I don’t see you needing to see Buggy, too.”
“Just trust me,” you left Crocodile alone in the bathroom and bolted down the hall, nearly tripping over your own two feet. You had a plan. And a good one at that. But before you could enact your plan, you had to go and grovel at Buggy’s feet. But considering he had a very soft spot in his heart for his special little doll, that wasn’t going to be much groveling.
When you poked your head into Buggy’s room, he, too, was in the middle of preparing for the evening’s festivities with outfit options on the bed. You didn’t even have to knock. Buggy was always more than happy to have you in his room, “Hey there, doll. What brings you center stage?”
“I need a little something, something from my favorite ringmaster,” you draped your arms around Buggy’s shoulders, stealing a quick kiss on his cheek.
“My, my, YN…” Buggy clutched his chest, “You realize if we’re not downstairs by the time this party starts, Mihawk’s going to have our asses mounted over his fireplace, right? And I’ll admit it. If we’re only here for a quickie, anything under five minutes would just be an unnecessary blow to my ego.”
“I’m not here for sex, baby,” you assured him, “I need about a dozen clear elastics. You wouldn’t happen to have any, would you?”
“In the bathroom,” Buggy directed you, “Top drawer on the far right in the back. Those don’t get used often. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with you having a little color. What would you want the clear ones for?”
“They’re not for me,” you went digging around in Buggy’s bathroom drawers for your elastics, “Crocodile’s having a mini tantrum and I’m about to make it all better.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Buggy followed you into his bathroom, “You didn’t say anything about this being for Crocodile.”
“Oops,” you grabbed a fistful of elastics and started heading out. Only for Buggy to grab you by the shoulder, “Come on, Buggy. Even though I want to go to this party as much as I want to go to a slumber party at the Marine base, I want to have a good time. And I can’t go have a good time if all my boys aren’t at their best. Besides, you have a thousand of these things. A few of them going down the hall isn’t going to kill you.”
“Let me rephrase this, sweetheart,” Buggy cradled your cheek in the palm of his hand, “Crocodile’s mean to me and I don’t want him to have any of my things.”
“He doesn’t have them,” you clarified, “Right now, I do. You can live with that, can’t you? I’m not mean to you.”
“I don’t know, doll,” Buggy thought back, “I seem to remember someone dropkicking my already severed head down the hall once.”
“That was one time,” you rolled your eyes. But you pulled yourself together and snuck in one last kiss, “Thank you, Buggy. I’ll be sure to repay this favor later.”
“Well…” Buggy smiled a bit, “If it’s getting repaid, I suppose I can let you go off with them. Besides, it’s just the clear ones.”
“Thank you.” And with your little success putting a pep in your step, you headed back down the hall.
“YN!” And there went your mission busted. Mihawk’s voice echoed through the castle. And you knew you needed to go back to his room. However, you had more pressing matters to attend to. You stopped off back in Crocodile’s bedroom. And you wanted nothing more than to crawl back into Crocodile’s bed and take a little nap before the evening’s festivities.
“YN?” Crocodile poked his head out of the bathroom, “I could’ve sworn Mihawk was yelling for you.”
“He was,” you nodded, “But right now, Mihawk is the least of my worries. Right now, I’m more concerned with you.”
“Uh-huh…” Crocodile saw through you like a sheet of glass, “You just don’t want to go deal with whatever bullshit Mihawk has for you, do you?”
“No, sir,” you shook your head, “I would much rather be here.”
“Go, YN,” Crocodile insisted, “I’m sure it won’t be long. And I’ll still be waiting for you.”
“Fine,” you begrudgingly made your way back into Mihawk’s room. Mostly to avoid any sort of punishment he may have had ready for you, “You call for me, Mihawk?”
“I did,” Mihawk nodded, a needle between his teeth, “Come here. I need to see if this fits you.���
“I’m sure it does,” you saw a big, beautifully made hoopskirt in that deep, navy blue that Mihawk and Perona had picked out while you were still in their clutches, “I mean, you do have my measurements, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Mihawk nodded, watching you wiggling into the skirt, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t occasionally make mistakes. Or perhaps your body changed a bit here and there since the last time I took your measurements.”
“Are you telling me I’m fat?!” you squeaked.
“No, darling,” Mihawk settled you, “I’m not saying anything of the sort. I’m merely thinking about inevitabilities. Your body is going to change. That’s just an unfortunate fact of life. Kind of like when it’s toward the end of the month and some of your bustiers fit a bit more snug than they usually do.”
“That’s not my fault,” you grumbled.
“And if somehow, we’re blessed with a baby,” Mihawk added, pulling away some of the fabric, “It’s going to change again. That’s not something to be ashamed or offended by. It’s merely part of you.”
“And that,” you stole one last kiss out of Mihawk, “is why I keep you.”
“Because it’s not you being on this island with us and having no other options?”
“That’s just a bonus,” you smiled, warming Mihawk to his core. But you were there for a reason, “Well? How are we feeling about the skirt?”
“It suits you,” Mihawk approved, “Do you have somewhere else to be?”
“I do,” you stepped out of the skirt, “I don’t know how to break this to you, Mihawk, but…There’s another man.”
“You have two other men than me,” Mihawk rolled his eyes, “Which one is trying to get their hands on you?”
“Crocodile,” you started walking out, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a big baby to take care of.”
“Baby?” Perona perked up, “What’s got Croccy all pissy?”
“He’s out of product and needs me to save the day,” you pushed Mihawk’s door open, “Yell if you need me!”
And so, you walked back down the hall to Crocodile’s room armed with a fistful of clear elastics and a dream. Sure enough, Crocodile hadn’t moved. Not for a change of scenery. Not to get dressed. He stayed in the bathroom right where you left him. You left the elastics on the counter and draped yourself around his shoulders yet again, “Something still bothering you, pookie?”
“Just one thing,” Crocodile admitted, looking at you strangely in the mirror, “I just recently found out you call me pookie and I’m not totally sure how to feel about it.”
“Just accept it,” you insisted, “It’s not hurting anything. I could be calling you worse.”
“Like what?” Crocodile wondered, “What could be worse than you calling me pookie?”
“I could’ve come in here,” you looked around the vanity for a brush for the sake of getting started, “And said, shut the fuck up, slut. We got work to do. But I didn’t. Instead, I called you pookie. Does that not sound a little better?”
“I guess,” Crocodile caved, a hint of a smile on his face while you raked your nails over his scalp, “So, what did you say you were doing?”
“I didn’t say anything,” you started separating your sections out, quietly grateful that Crocodile’s hair was still damp. Just for the sake of making things easier, “But lucky for you, your girlfriend…That’s me, by the way. Hello. Your girlfriend’s braiding skills are top notch. And I can make you still look like you, just in a different way.”
“I don’t remember asking for braids,” Crocodile thought back. However, he wasn’t going to fight you. At this point, he was desperate. And look at that face. Crocodile couldn’t say no to that cute little face.
“Put it this way,” you already started one just above his ear, getting it as tight as you could, “I’ve done this for Buggy a million times.”
“Oh, great,” Crocodile grumbled to himself, “So now, I’m on the same level as the fucking clown.”
“No, no, no,” you knew he was going to take that derogatorily. Fortunately, you knew how to dig yourself back out of the hole. By using the stairs, “Crocodile, you can’t do that to me. Do you know how big of a prissy bitch Buggy is when it comes to his looks?”
“No. And quite frankly, I don’t give a fuck.”
“You should in this instance,” you kept going, regardless of what Crocodile said, “Because even though it doesn’t seem like it, Buggy is the prissiest bitch when it comes to his looks. He’s worse than Mihawk and that is a hill I will die on. If he’s going to perform, he will trust me to do his hair and makeup for the night. That right there should tell you all my credentials I’ll ever need. Because he wouldn’t go on if he wasn’t into the look. I’ve seen it happen.”
“Why don’t I remember this?” Crocodile wondered, finally succumbing to your love and affection.
“You weren’t here,” you explained, “Mihawk either. Mihawk wanted a drink, so he had gone to the Baratie for the night…And a couple days after. And you wanted to check up on the rogue Baroque Works agents that still blindly and loyally follow you. So, it was just Buggy and me home. And much like teenage children who are left alone while Mom and Dad are gone, Buggy decided to throw a party. Or, in this case, Buggy decided to put on a show. His makeup wasn’t setting right. His hair was a disaster. And he got super bitchy and I had to be the one to deal with that.”
“Oh…” Crocodile’s face fell, “I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t know you had to handle Buggy. I thought that was the other way around.”
“That’s what he says,” you clarified, tying your first braid off, “But no. I don’t get that lucky. I had to deal with his Primadonna ass while he threw a tantrum. But while he was busy pouting, I was busy fixing. And by the time he was done with that tantrum, he looked fantastic. Better than he planned. And I was the one responsible. And now, every time something isn’t working right…”
“YN!” Almost as if it were on cue, you heard Buggy’s voice down the hall.
And you let out a heavy sigh of sheer exasperation, “I get to be the one to fix it. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Crocodile leaned back in his chair, feeling around the counter for his lighter. Because nothing would’ve made him feel better quite like a bathroom filled with steam and cigar smoke.
“Thank you,” you snuck a little kiss on his cheek and headed down the hall. Because the day couldn’t have been more hectic. And you knew that once Mihawk entered the mix, it was only going to get worse. And yet, when you walked into Buggy’s room, he was still staring down wardrobe options on the bed, “You call for me, sweetie?”
“I’m torn,” Buggy sighed, “I got nothing.”
“Yes, you do,” you assured him, “You just need to find a way to combine in that makes your sad little brain happy again.”
“You’re not wrong,” Buggy agreed, “But where is that winning combination?”
“It’s somewhere in this pile,” you promised, already halfway out the door, “Love you!”
“Wait a second, YN!” Buggy stopped you, “I called you in here for help. How am I supposed to do this all by myself?”
“Well,” you suggested, “You pick up one piece of clothing. Find another one that could go with it. And hope that sparks some kind of flood of serotonin in you, sad clown. Ok, love you, bye!”
“But wait!” Buggy took your hand, “What if I need your opinion?”
“Look, Buggy,” you held your face in your hands, “I’m not going to be the one to beat some sense of self-esteem into you. You don’t need my approval. You don’t need anyone’s approval but your own. If you’re into it, then fuck what anyone else has to say. Has that not been your entire business model since the day I met you? I’m pretty sure it is. Now, put on whatever the fuck makes you feel good and call it a day. Ok? We got it? Good. Wonderful. Now, again. Love you, bye!”
“Hold on, doll,” Buggy wrapped his arms around your waist, “I appreciate it. Thank you. But you’re still going to give me a pass or fail on it, right?”
“If it gets me out of here quicker,” you nodded, “Yes. I will. Just not right now. I’m in the middle of something.”
“Fine,” Buggy let you go. But not without a little kiss first, “Love you. Go on. Go show someone else all of your attention.”
“Don’t you try and pull that bullshit with me,” you rolled your eyes, “My attention is split three ways and you know it.”
“Ahem…”
“Four…ways…” you growled. But then, a lightbulb flickered on in your head, “Hey! Wait a minute, Buggy! Since Perona’s not helping Mihawk anymore, she can help you!”
“Wait, what?” Perona made herself known a little better.
“Huh?” Buggy was just as lost.
“Hold on, YN,” Perona tried to backpedal, “I didn’t say I was done with-”
“Yeah!” you sang, nudging her forward, “Perona can help you, Buggy. And she’d be happy to. Isn’t that right, Perona?”
“No,” Perona scoffed, “No, it’s not. It’s not right at all.”
“Great,” you praised, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work. Love you both! Bye!”
And before anyone else could stop you or think about protesting, you left Buggy and Perona alone in Buggy’s room to sort out any outfit dilemma he may have had. In all honesty, you were grateful Perona’s ego decided to make an appearance. She gave you an out without even realizing it. And that meant you getting back to Crocodile a little faster. It felt like you hardly got to spend any time with him anymore. Sure, you had your Crocodile weeks, but even those didn’t feel like enough anymore. And for something so intimate like this where you’re making him feel all better? You ate this up like it was your bread and butter.
“YN, dear…” But as you told Buggy, your attention was split three (possibly four, but only Perona was counting) ways. And lucky for you, it was Mihawk’s turn.
“Yes, Mihawk,” you poked your head into his bedroom, “What can I do for you?”
“It’s not necessarily what you can do for me,” Mihawk clarified, a fistful of fabric in his hand, “But what I can do for you.”
“That’s great, sweetheart,” you put a hand to his cheek, “But I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
“What?” Mihawk looked at you strangely, “What could you possibly be doing?”
“You’re not the only one in this castle,” you pointed out, “Buggy’s having a wardrobe situation. Crocodile ran out of gel. And then, there’s you.”
“The only one not asking something of you,” Mihawk wrapped his arms around you, “The preparations for this party were supposed to be a way to help you relax. And it’s been nothing but chaos for you. I’m so sorry, darling. You deserve better.”
“What I deserve and what I have right now are two different things,” you argued, “But that’s just life. We don’t always get what we deserve. And right now, I’m in the middle of fixing that situation for two of the men in my life that I love most. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
“YN, wait,” Mihawk took your hand, “You’re spending all this energy, all this effort in taking care of them. What about someone who just wants to take care of you?”
Mihawk’s words hit you like a cannonball. Because you knew how much you did around the castle. For Crocodile, for Buggy, even for Perona. And occasionally for Mihawk, too. Sure, you wanted to sit down for a while and get off your feet, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the direction life decided to take you. Instead, you nestled yourself into Mihawk’s chest, “I know you want to help me, Hawky. And I love you for it. But I just have one thing I need to finish first. Then, you can have me all you want. As long as you promise me one thing.”
“Of course, my love,” Mihawk brought your hand up to his lips, “What is it?”
“That you don’t go overboard,” you shoved a finger in his chest, “I know how you can be. It seems innocent enough, sure. YN, let me help you get dressed. YN, let me do your hair today. YN, it’s my week. Let’s go take a bath together. And then, all of a sudden, I look like I’m ready to femme fatale for the Cross Guild.”
“Be honest, though,” Mihawk smirked a bit, “You do make an excellent femme fatale for the Cross Guild.”
“I do,” you agreed, “But that’s when I’m actually doing femme fatale work. Not when we’re just spending the day with some downtime in the castle.”
“Alright, alright,” Mihawk backed off, “I understand. I have a bad habit of going overboard.”
“Thank you,” you got one more kiss from Mihawk, “But I need to go back to Crocodile. Ok? Is that something we can both agree on?”
“I suppose so,” Mihawk let you go, “But if he was so pressed for product, he could’ve asked me. I have a small stockpile that he’s more than welcome to.”
“Probably because he knows you’d go overboard, too,” you giggled to yourself.
“Am I really that bad?” Mihawk scoffed, “Surely not.”
“Just out of curiosity,” you wondered, “This party…You wouldn’t have happened to invite the Strawhats this way, would you?”
“Only one of them. Why?”
“Ask him,” you smiled a bit, “Ask him when he gets here if you go overboard. And very carefully, study his expression. That will tell you all you need to know.”
“Don’t you have another boyfriend to go contend with?” Mihawk knew you were right. That didn’t mean he wanted to be called out on it.
“Yes, I do,” you stole a quick little kiss and headed back into Crocodile’s room. For some reason, you had that feeling that this was the end. That once you were done with Crocodile, you’d finally be able to relax the way Mihawk intended. You followed the cloud of smoke back to the bathroom.
“Where the hell have you been?” Crocodile asked, much calmer than the last time you saw him. For a brief moment, you almost wondered if it was more than just a cigar he was smoking. But you knew better. Weed was more of a Buggy thing. Not Crocodile.
“It feels like I’ve been everywhere,” you admitted, twisting your fingers back up in his hair, “Buggy needed me. Then, Mihawk needed me. And now, I’m back to where I’m needed most.”
“You are a life saver, YN,” Crocodile cracked a little smile, “Thank you.”
You debated for a moment or two whether or not to tell Crocodile what Mihawk told you. Did he know Mihawk was well stocked? Or was this just an excuse for you two to spend a little extra time together? You may never know. But you kept Mihawk’s offer to yourself. Mostly because you had already started. And you were three braids on the left in already. You went up another three on the left and then, another six on the right, leaving some of his hair alone on the top. And once you were done, you knew giving Crocodile some Viking braids was most certainly the move.
“Well?” you asked, leaning over Crocodile’s shoulders, “I told you.”
“In all honesty,” Crocodile admitted, “I wasn’t expecting to like it. But I suppose it’ll do. For tonight, anyway.”
“Bullshit,” you draped your arms around him, getting a little kiss out of him, “You love them and you know it.”
“I love you,” Crocodile took your hands and held them against his chest, “I know that’s for sure.”
“I love you, too.”
“YN!” And yet again, you were summoned.
“Go,” Crocodile insisted, “I know you said Buggy was the bitchy Primadonna, but I don’t want you to have to deal with bitchy Primadonna Mihawk.”
“I’ve dealt with worse,” you started heading out and ran down the hall where Mihawk stood in front of a dressmaker’s mannequin, beyond proud of himself with the navy and gold ballgown he put together himself. Because…Well, it was you. There was nothing Mihawk wouldn’t do for you. And the man could put a ballgown together in his sleep, “Mihawk, this is incredible…”
“Thank you, darling,” Mihawk took your hand, “I want you to try it on. Just to see if there are any adjustments I need to make.”
“Ok.” Very carefully, you slipped the dress on. Despite that corset making it a bit more difficult to breathe, you weren’t mad about it. You checked yourself over in the mirror, loving what it was doing for your body, “Mihawk, this…I can’t even begin…”
“Nor can I,” Mihawk gave you a little spin, “Damn, I’m good.”
“Yes, you are,” you gently sat at the edge of his bed.
“It’s such a shame…” he let out a heavy sigh, “I put in all this work and all this effort. And tonight, you have to go to the fucking clown.”
“Sorry, baby,” you giggled a bit, “Don’t worry. It’s just a week.”
“Maybe you could sneak across the hall,” Mihawk insisted, “I wouldn’t tell you no. Who could turn away a pretty face like that?”
“Mihawk,” you put a hand up to his cheek, “You know you have to wait your turn. It’s Buggy’s week. Then, it’s yours. Got it?”
“Very well then,” Mihawk took your hand and brought you back onto your feet, “You really are truly a vision, YN. You quietly wanted it to be Mihawk’s week already. However, you also knew that after your bout of being sick, Buggy had a little something special for you. And you couldn’t wait to see what he had in store for you. But first, you had to get through this party.
And before you knew it, the party was in full swing. The music was perfect. The food was perfect. Everything was perfect. Because Mihawk would never allow such a thing. You had watched as he meticulously planned this party for the last week. The late nights he spent micromanaging the decoration of the ballroom. Everything was just the way he wanted. However, that didn’t mean he could have his perfect night.
“Heyyyyyy!” a familiar, overexcitable voice broke through the string quartet. Not only did it put a vein in Mihawk’s forehead, but you watched as it became the thorn in Buggy’s side and pain in Crocodile’s ass, “You threw a party and only invited one of us? Come on, Hawk guy! You could’ve invited all of us!”
It had been a while since you saw Mihawk’s protégé. And you weren’t too terribly upset by the rest of the crew coming along. You never had any problems with them. Your boyfriends, on the other hand…That was a different story. Mihawk wanted nothing more than a nice, classy evening. And yet, who shows up on his front door but the one and only future king of the pirates himself?
“Monkey D. Luffy,” Mihawk grumbled. Although, you knew the truth. Mihawk may not have been able to stand being in the same room as him for long, but that didn’t mean he didn’t keep his ear out for any little scraps of gossip on him, “What the hell do you think you’re doing in my house?”
“This is your house?” Luffy gasped, getting a good look around, “This is a whole castle! This is so cool!”
“What the hell is he doing here?” Buggy stepped in, “Mihawk, you didn’t do something stupid like-?”
“Of course, I didn’t invite him, you fucking moron,” Mihawk snapped at him.
“What are you doing here?” Crocodile joined them, just as ready to tear into Luffy as the others.
“Hey!” Luffy’s grin was unwavering, “Binky! Croccy!”
“It’s fucking Buggy, you little shit!” Buggy growled.
“Buggy,” you had to step in before things got ugly, “Play nice.”
“Sorry, Mihawk,” Zoro came in, “I made the mistake of leaving the invitation on the table. And asking Nami for a ride.”
“You brought this plague upon my home,” Mihawk shot Zoro a glare.
“Hi, YN!” Luffy waved to you.
“Hi, Luffy!” you waved back, pulling on Buggy’s arm, “Excuse us…Crocodile? Do I need to pull you away, too?”
“I need a snail,” Crocodile walked away on his own accord. Which, in all honesty, you were impressed with his restraint.
“Who you calling, Croccy?” Luffy wondered.
“A certain revolutionary,” Crocodile stormed off, his heart a little heavy. You made a mental note to go check on him later.
“Now, you…” You dragged Buggy to the bar and poured both of you a drink, “Here, sweetheart. For what ails you.”
Without hesitation, Buggy threw back whatever it was you made for him and pulled himself together again, “Thanks, doll. I needed that.”
“I figured,” you gave him a little kiss right on the end of his nose, “You’ll be fine. It’s just for tonight. By the end of the night, I’m sure he’ll go back to his ship.”
“I wasn’t expecting a night with the fucking Strawhats, though,” Buggy pouted, taking your drink from you.
“What the hell?” you took your empty glass back, “I don’t remember where I said you could have my drink. I made that one for me.”
“And now, it’s for me,” Buggy sat down and rested his head in your shoulder, “You know, YN, you and I should find a way to sneak out of this party early.”
“Well,” you started racking your brain for ideas, “I could always say I got my period a week early.”
“So, I’d have to let you be in your room for my week?” Buggy scoffed, “Try again.”
“Dammit,” you went back to the drawing board. Only for the true bolt of lightning to strike your thoughts, “Hold on. Why would we have to sneak upstairs?”
“You think Mihawk’s going to just let us waltz upstairs?” Buggy pointed out, “No way. We need to be down here and sociable apparently. I’m not thrilled about it either.”
“Well,” you sat in Buggy’s lap, “We could always just say we’re tired.”
“Oh, YN…” Buggy awed, “My dear, sweet, little doll that you are…I love you so much.”
“I love you, too, Buggy,” you melted in his embrace, “Where did that come from?”
“We couldn’t say it’s because we’re tired,” Buggy kissed the back of your neck, “It’s your first night with me again. You really think we’re going to sleep? Especially with that new little toy I got just for you? Oh, no, no, no, baby. That’s not how that’s going to work. It’s going to be a beautiful disaster to see you come fucking unglued. It’s going to be a spectacle for an audience of one. How lucky am I to have the front row seat to that?”
“The luckiest,” you couldn’t keep a smile off your face if you wanted to. You had a feeling something special was going to go down tonight. You just didn’t anticipate it being Buggy. Not that you were complaining in the least bit. You knew what waited for you. Somewhat, “You better be a gentleman about it, clown.”
“When you say gentleman,” Buggy moved in a little closer. Sure, he could be an absolute mess more often than not, but you had to admit…He could flirt like no one else, “You want me carry you over the threshold? Cuddle you after?”
“I mean, if you come first,” you threatened, “We’re going to have a problem.”
“Ooh,” Buggy clutched his chest, “You know I love when you talk dirty, doll. What were you thinking? Torture? Maiming? Cutting me up?”
“You are a sick bitch,” you giggled, “Did you know that?”
“What can I say?” Buggy shrugged, “I’m into some things. Sue me. But please don’t. Most of my money ends up going to Croco-douche, so…”
“Hey…” You knew your boys were no strangers to their petty squabbling. But you weren’t overly fond of them dragging you into it. Whatever they did amongst themselves was their own business.
“Sorry, YN,” Buggy immediately bit his tongue, “I guess that means I’ve been a naughty boy…”
“Mmhm,” you nodded, “The naughtiest. And you know what that means?”
“Naughty boys get punished?” you could see Buggy crossing his fingers with anticipation. That was yours. That was your clown. That you agreed to let into your life. Somewhat. But that was all yours.
“Naughty boys should get punished,” you left a little kiss on his cheek and started walking out to the dance floor. Because what better way to punish your naughty boys (who ALL have been naughty in one way, shape, or form this evening) than to cross enemy lines? And with you spending as much time as you did with Buggy, you were getting a taste for putting on a show. And you had your eyes on that kid in the straw hat, “Hey, Luffy?”
“Hi, YN!” Luffy perked up, his cheeks almost stuffed to capacity. But you knew those cheeks could stretch a little more. He swallowed hard, “How’ve you been?”
“Come with me,” you took his hand and led him to the middle of the floor.
“Ok,” Luffy was a touch confused, but bless his heart, he had the spirit, “What are we doing?”
“You’re helping me enact a little vengeance plan.” The two of you started moving together while a soft, romantic concerto played through the room. And you could feel it. Both Buggy and Mihawk were watching intently. All while Luffy was blissfully ignorant.
“What kind of vengeance plan?” Luffy wondered.
“Well,” you explained. Because you weren’t totally going to keep Luffy in the dark, “Buggy’s being kind of an ass. Mihawk’s being kind of an ass. I’m sure Crocodile’s done something to be kind of an ass. And if I had to find someone in this room who is public enemy number one to all three of them, who do you think that would be?”
“Probably me,” he assumed. That’s when all the tumblers fell into place, “Ohhhh. So, you’re dancing with me to get back at them?”
“Mmhm,” you nodded, “Is it a dick move? Yeah, but it teaches them.”
“Well,” Luffy decided, giving you a little spin, “If you wanted someone who’s a better dancer than me, I could point you in the direction of someone else.”
“You’re doing just fine,” you assured him, getting a quick look at Mihawk and Buggy. Mihawk and Buggy exchanged glances with Buggy giving Mihawk a little nod. With a dramatic flourish (because you’d expect nothing less), Mihawk went off to, no doubt, find Crocodile. You knew better, though. It was Luffy. Luffy wasn’t going to do anything stupid. Nor were you. At this point, you were merely dancing with a friend. If they couldn’t accept that, that was on them.
“I’m serious, YN,” Luffy insisted, “If you really want them nervous, he’d be much better than me.”
“I don’t think I could,” you backed off, “Zoro might be pushing it.”
“Who said anything about Zoro?” Luffy scoffed, taking a quick look around the room before his eyes falling on his target, “Hey, Sanji! There’s a lady that wants to dance with you!”
“Why, hello there, YN,” Sanji apparated in front of you with a rose in hand seemingly out of nowhere. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate Luffy coming in clutch for you, but you knew how Sanji could be. Sure, he wasn’t hard to look at, but he wasn’t your type. At least not when you had the likes of Mihawk, Buggy, and Crocodile at your disposal. They ruined you.
“Hello, Sanji,” you took his hand anyway. You knew this was playing with fire, but you were looking to stoke some flames. And if all else failed and your boys didn’t want to get their hands dirty (but since it’d be for you, of course, they would in a heartbeat, but in a hypothetical scenario where you weren’t within their eyesight), you knew Zoro would step up for you. Maybe not necessarily for you, but you two never had a problem with each other. And Zoro knew Mihawk would see him hung in the courtyard of the castle if he didn’t defend you with his dying breath, “Care to give a girl a dance?”
“It’d be my honor,” Sanji clutched his chest, carefully spinning you around the floor. And you could see it all over Buggy’s face. Both he and Mihawk were ready to burn the world down around you. Not even hesitating to watch Sanji be engulfed in those flames. But they also weren’t going to cause a scene. If Mihawk didn’t have Buggy on a metaphorical backpack leash, he would one hundred percent have killed Sanji with no remorse. With every step, every turn, every spin, you weren’t expecting to enjoy yourself so much. And with Sanji, of all people.
“Thank you,” you gave him a little curtsey and started walking off. You needed somewhere quiet for a while. Just to recharge. And the study sounded like a good idea.
“YN,” Mihawk stopped you before you could find your solace, “Are you alright, darling?”
“I’m fine,” you assured him, gently shaking him off, “But I’ll be right back.”
“Ok,” he let you go.
You wanted some peace and quiet. And in all honesty, you were hoping Buggy caught the little glance you gave him over your shoulder. You made your own out. And as long as Buggy played along, you two would get what you both wanted from the beginning. Still, you made your way through the castle and into the study. Although, you weren’t expecting to hear a voice still dripping with bitterness. Then again, you knew where the nearest communicator snail was.
“No. When he’s being a pain in my ass, he’s your son…I don’t care if you’re staging a coup in the North Blue. Get your ass here and pick up your son! Oh, look at that! Father of the year doesn’t want to come back with the milk! Who would’ve thought…? Oh, really? That’s how you’re going to be? Uh-huh. See if I ever do that little tongue thing you like ever again…Now, I’m the one playing dirty? You’re damn right, I am! And I have every right to! I had no idea he was going to show up here tonight! Mihawk’s pissed. The clown is pissed…And I’ll admit. Any other time, it’s amusing as hell. Tonight? Not one of those times! Now, like I said before. Get. Your revolutionary ass. To Mihawk’s. And pick. Up. Your. Son…! Well, he sure as hell isn’t crashing here!”
“Crocodile…?” you spoke softly, just so you wouldn’t startle him. And you knew he was riled up enough.
“Shut the fuck up for a second!” Crocodile put the receiver down and tended to you, “Hi, sweetheart. What are you doing in here? The party’s downstairs.”
“I’m hot and needed somewhere to recoup,” you told him, “I’ll be ok.”
“YN…” Buggy poked his head in the door, “Sorry. I couldn’t help but hear the bitching from the hall.”
“Buggy,” you stepped between them before Crocodile could choke him out.
“Alright, alright,” Buggy stopped before things could escalate, “Come on, YN. I know it’s my week, but I think it’s time I get you to bed, too.”
“But there’s still a whole party downstairs,” you protested. But in all seriousness, you didn’t want to go back downstairs.
“No,” Buggy scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder, “You’re coming with me, young lady.”
“Buggy, put me down!” you started your tantrum, “Put me down! Put me down!”
“See what I mean?” Buggy turned his attention to Crocodile, “She’s clearly got the tired crankies and needs to go to bed.”
Crocodile picked your chin up and stole a little kiss from you, “I hate to admit it, Princess, but the damn clown is right. You should go to bed.”
“I’m not tired!” you whined, “I’m fine!”
“YN…” Crocodile lightly scolded you, “Time for bed.”
“What’s going on in here?” Mihawk joined in, catching an eyeful of what you had up your skirt, “Mmm…You look lovely in black lace, YN.”
“Fuck off!” you snapped.
“Now, that wasn’t nice,” Mihawk took your face between his hands, “Say you’re sorry, darling…”
“You were just looking up my dress!” you argued.
“Don’t take it personally, Hawky,” Buggy brushed him off, “She’s tired and needs to go to bed.”
“Very well,” Mihawk allowed, “Crocodile, you need to-”
“I’m already on a call,” Crocodile nodded toward the also tired communicator snail, “And I’m sure he’s GETTING AN EARFUL!”
You could’ve sworn you heard laughter on the other end of Crocodile’s call. But you weren’t going to think too much about it. Still, you felt Buggy’s hand on your backside. Not that you were really complaining, but you also weren’t expecting it, “Well, I should probably be getting the little one to bed. Good night, gentlemen.”
“Good night, Buggy,” Mihawk let him go. But not without one last kiss from his favorite, “Good night, YN. Sleep well, darling.”
“I’m not tired, Buggy!” you continued to flail. And at that rate, you’d be exhausted by the time you got to Buggy’s room. You squealed and squeaked all the way down the hall. You weren’t tired! You didn’t want to go to bed! You caused such a scene, but you didn’t care. You knew that if the baby threw enough of a fit, Buggy would do what any decent parent would do. He’d get you out of the situation. It wasn’t necessarily the party you wanted to get away from, but the anticipation of starting Buggy’s week was killing you, “I told you to put me down, you son of a-!”
“The door’s shut, doll,” Buggy pointed out as he threw you down onto his bed, “We’re in the clear.”
“Ok,” you let your body go limp, quietly celebrating your success, “So, we did it?”
“We did it, baby girl,” Buggy flopped down next to you, “We did it.”
“Thank God,” you sighed out, immediately kicking your heels off, “My feet were killing me. Don’t get me wrong, it was nice dancing with Sanji. And believe it or not, Luffy, too. But goddamn…Mihawk needs to learn to not put me in heels that high. I was lucky I could walk, let alone dance.”
“About that,” Buggy pulled you into his chest, “What the fuck was that all about?”
“Mihawk told me he wanted me to have a good time tonight,” you explained, “And in order to do that, I needed my boys to have a good time, too. And I need you not to be so bitchy, but at the same time, I needed you to unclench. Especially when the Strawhats show up.”
“By the way,” Buggy cut you off, “You may need to take stock of any knickknacks you love and hold dear. The girl with the tattoo on her shoulder has sticky fingers.”
“Noted.” But you knew Nami wasn’t going to steal from you, “Sanji wasn’t my idea, though. That was all Luffy’s idea. But I don’t think he fully understood the ramifications of that.”
“More importantly,” Buggy asked, a little smile on his face, “Would you like to see what I have for you?”
“I’d love to see what you have for me,” you cuddled into him, “What’s my present?”
Buggy turned on one of his spotlights, showing a long spool of ribbon hanging from the ceiling, “That.”
“You got me silks?” you got up from Buggy’s bed and went to go see it for yourself.
“That’s part of it,” Buggy nodded, already running his fingers down the buttons of your dress without even getting up from the bed, “I hope you’re not afraid of heights, YN. Because I was thinking we give suspension a try. How are we feeling about that?”
“Hold on,” you thought it over for a moment or two, “Are you saying…Did you get us a sex swing?”
“I might have,” Buggy got up and wiggled your dress down to your ankles. And he loved what he saw, “Damn, Mihawk was right. You do look phenomenal in black lace.”
“Not you, too,” you blushed a bit.
“Get in the ribbons, doll,” Buggy ordered, running his finger down your chest and just over your nipples, “Because I’m about to make you put on one hell of a show…”
#one piece#one piece fan fiction#one piece brainrot#cross guild#cross guild x reader#buggy x reader#buggy the clown#mihawk x reader#crocodile x reader#dracule mihawk x reader#one piece x reader#buggy x you#crocodile x you#crocodile x y/n#buggy x y/n#mihawk x y/n#mihawk x you#cross guild as a polycule#ok to reblog#bedtime story#personal attention
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Looking back at 2024
I check tumblr quite regularly, but I haven't posted anything much in ages. The end of the year seems like a good time to do a bit of a retrospective on what I have been doing, though!
I wrote only the teeniest amount of fic. When the Veilguard info started coming out in the summer, I reread basically all my DA fic, and tuned up some small things and posted them to AO3, but new words have been few and far between. Perhaps that will change into the next year, we'll see!
I finished Baldur's Gate 3! Like, last week, and yes, I'd been playing it on and off for nearly a year and a half. I should maybe make another post with thoughts about this game, because it's a great game, and I like my character very much, and yet I found certain combat scenarios so absolutely infuriating at certain times that it really slowed down my progress on the game as a whole. I also found it difficult to write much about my character as it felt necessary to see how character arcs resolved before writing anything romance-related.
Lost and I played lots and lots of board games. We probably played Ark Nova more than anything else, but we really kept up playing games on a regular basis much more consistently than any time in the past. It's been nice taking the time to do something together in our precious free time. We also went through our game collection and made a nice tidy spreadsheet listing everything we own, which is... um... kind of a lot. But it is a very tidy and satisfying spreadsheet!
Crafting: I did knitting and sewing intermittently -- I sewed Lost a cozy flannel robe, and made skirts for both of us, and knitted an assortment of socks and shawls and things. I got an inkle loom and tried out tablet weaving, which I really like and want to make more time for (also true of sewing).
Other life highlights of the year: We took a trip with a group of dear friends to a dream location and it was really, really great. We had social time with other delightful friends pretty regularly, and had some short visits with family. I took a research leave in the first half of the year and did a ton of reading toward prepping a new course. I still have a week and a half to pull everything together before actually teaching the course (laughs nervously), but I'm excited about it.
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(Spoilers for P:EG Chapter 1 for the unaware)
In a non-killing game AU, would Eva be able to mend her relations with the class and eventually befriend or at least reach civil terms with the others?
For this scenario, assume...
...That some events play out similarly to the game: Eva and Damon voice disagreement with Wolfgang and the class at some point, creating tension. Later, Wenona exposes her true talent, resulting in mockery and disdain from most of the others, especially Wenona herself, Kai, Grace, and Wolfgang. From then on, she's largely shunned and limits her interactions with the others to a bare minimum, keeping to herself when class isn't in session.
...That she starts off with an ally in Damon, and they spend time together. After a little while, her bond with Diana becomes genuine as well; that hidden contempt she had for Diana which was revealed post-trial in-game is greatly subdued, and Diana resolves to help Eva, which Eva accepts (I wouldn't mind some speculation as to how this could work as well, since this doesn't seem like something that could be easily resolved. I simply thought a solid foundation of two other students on her side would be good to start with.).
Well, you already did quite a bit of the leg work for me, but it's still an interesting thing to think about!
Spoilers for P:EG CH1
It's an interesting question, because really, the reason Eva becomes ostracized in the first place is a disagreement born from the killing game itself. Wolfgang and the rest only really start beefing with Eva because she says she thinks people will try to kill each other. If Eva doesn't say anything so provocative before her real talent got revealed, even if she had still said she was the Ultimate Liar, I actually think Wolfgang might have tried to defend her from other people making fun of her in the name of keeping the class together. After all, calling herself the Ultimate Liar would only distance her from the others, and wouldn't cause as much panic as her statements on the killing game.
However, part of this scenario is that Eva and Damon have some disagreement with Wolfgang and gang (heh) that causes tension before her real talent is revealed. Since what exactly that looks like depends on what the disagreement is, let's assume that it's bad enough that we end up in a situation exactly like the killing game, but outside of it.
However, outside of the killing game, I definitely think the relationships are mendable. From my read of Eva's character (which is obviously subjective and could be wrong), it seems to me that she only pretended not to care about Diana and made excuses for why she deserved what Eva did to her because Eva was under threat of the Traitor Perk, and getting attached to anyone would be a bad idea in that situation. Without the guarantee that one of the two was gonna die soon (be it Eva through Traitor Perk timeout or Diana through loss of class trial), I think Eva would be more open to opening up to Diana. Yuri ftw, and all that. And she's already relatively open to Damon, so like you said, that's two people definitely on her side.
Between Diana and Damon, they'd probably be able to get her to explain her mindset and the reasons she doesn't like getting made fun of for her talent. After that, I think between Diana's charisma and Damon debating skills, they could get the rest of the cast to Fucking Chill. And while they wouldn't immediately become friends or anything, once people stop antagonizing her for her talent, the anger from whatever opinion she shared to cause the rift in the first place will fade with time.
Indeed, once the talent thing is dealt with, the more reasonable people will understand that one disagreement isn't enough to justify that level of social ostracizing (provided it's not an irredeemably horrible opinion like "burning orphanages is good actually" or "cats aren't cute"), then reaching civil terms between Eva and them shouldn't take too long. After that, I could see the friendlier people, like Ingrid, Cassidy, Jett, etc., slowly warming back up to Eva and genuinely considering her a friend (it would take longer on Eva's side but she'd probably get there too eventually. Maybe). I don't see everyone becoming friends with Eva, even given a few years, but once most of the cast is treating her civilly, the more antagonistic characters would probably stop openly confronting her at least.
Btw, I don't want to make it sound like Eva is 100% blameless in all this. A big part of why she ends up the way she does is that she hardly makes an effort to mend her relationships in the killing game and pushes away even the people who want to help her, though admittedly the Traitor Perk could be a huge part of that depending on when exactly she got it. She has her reasons and issues she needs to work through, but that doesn't make her flaws go away. The reason this post has been mostly focused on the rest is that Eva doesn't go around insulting people and casting suspicion on them the way the others do to her. Even if she dislikes someone, she can remain civil with them, so she's not the limiting factor in that regard.
Of course, this is all my opinion based on my interpretation of the characters, which is subjective etc etc. But I hope you liked the answer, and thanks for the ask!
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I saw a post where someone was adding up the numbers of the bowling game Daisy and the group were in and making it mean something. I’d encourage those folks to take a step back and ask themselves if anyone in that family has the time and desire to make everything into a sign or symbol. For me fandom is much more enjoyable to accept things as they are instead of creating scenarios that don’t exist. Once I took a step back and did that everything changed for the better. Blogs like yours keep me sane
Oh my god that’s just so aggravating. I hate to break it to these people but they’re about ten years too late to be involved in the period where everything was a sign. Please, for the love of god, stop making us look insane.
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