Chapter 37: The Captain's Invitation
The capsule's doors opened with a gentle hiss, revealing not the cold steel of a prison, but a lavish sanctum that glowed with soft, golden light.
Plush furniture lined the walls, polished floors reflected the shimmer of magical chandeliers, and in the far corner, steam rose from a spacious hot spring carved from marble.
Rin practically leapt from the platform. "Finally!" she gasped, spinning in place. "A bath. A real bath!"
Riya watched her with a small smile as she rushed through one of the side doors — one that led into what appeared to be a dressing room.
There, she discovered fresh clothes folded neatly into enchanted drawers.
With a relieved sigh, she bent down to reach the lowest shelf.
She didn't realize the walls of the dressing room were made of enchanted crystal — one-way, from her perspective, but perfectly clear from the outside.
Riya, still standing in the corridor, blinked… and blinked again.
The angle.
The view.
He stared.
His thoughts wandered.
She's always so collected… but she really has no idea, does she?
When Rin turned, now holding the clothes against her chest, her eyes widened — and met his.
Her face went crimson in an instant.
Without a word, she grabbed the nearest object — a heavy metallic paperweight — and hurled it.
Thud.
The sound echoed down the corridor as the item struck Riya square on the forehead, causing him to stagger with a small trail of comical blood.
"Baka!" Rin shouted, slamming the door shut behind her.
Later that evening, the group gathered in the hot spring.
Tension melted in the warmth, conversation gave way to silence, and at last, peace settled among them.
After eating and exchanging a few words with the Servants, Riya slipped away quietly, a fine bottle of wine in hand.
He made his way to a familiar bed.
And woke to the sound of waves.
The ship was no longer flying.
It was gliding across a calm ocean, the scent of salt and wind sharp in the air.
Seagulls wheeled in the distance.
The skies were clear.
And at the helm, bathed in sunlight, stood Francis Drake.
She turned at the sound of his footsteps.
Her eyebrows raised, a grin splitting her face. "You're back already? I figured you'd take a while."
Riya approached, lifting the bottle.
"Brought you something."
She snatched the wine from his hand, popped the cork with one thumb, and drank from the bottle as if it were water.
Her cheeks reddened slightly, not from shyness — but from the drink.
"Now that's what I call a man's offering," she said, stepping forward.
The sway of her hips was impossible to ignore, as was the way she leaned into him, chest pressing against his arm. "Still cute, though. Young. Dangerous. My type."
Riya smirked but said nothing.
She took his hand — warm, calloused, firm — and pulled him toward her quarters.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, filled with maps, polished wood, and the scent of rum and salt.
Before he could speak, Drake turned and pushed him gently into a plush captain's chair.
She straddled him in one fluid motion, lips crashing into his with drunken bravado and heat.
For a moment, Riya let her take control — but then his hands found her waist, and he answered her kiss with equal fire.
He flipped their positions effortlessly, pressing her into the chair, and for once, the bold Captain seemed surprised.
She laughed between kisses, breathless. "So the boy has teeth."
"I'm not a boy," Riya murmured, voice low.
Their breath mingled, lips parted but still close — a string of warmth connecting them.
"You've got fire," she said, voice husky.
"I like it~"
Drake leaned back on the chair, eyes half-lidded, watching him with a sly grin.
"Still just a boy though" she teased, her voice a low purr. "Cute when you're trying to act tough."
Riya's brow twitched.
That word again.
Without a word, he stepped closer, his hands gliding up her waist with deliberate slowness.
Drake's teasing smirk faltered — just for a second.
His hands moved higher, cupping her breasts through the thin fabric.
She let out a sharp breath, part surprise, part anticipation. Then he leaned in.
His lips found the curve of her chest, warm and firm, and he began to lick — with rushed hunger and claiming rhythm.
Drake's teasing gave way to gasps, her back arching beneath his touch.
Her hand reached for his hair, fingers curling in as a low sound escaped her lips.
He continued for a minute… then another.
When he finally drew back, she was flushed, eyes a little wild, breath catching.
She laughed — breathless and warm.
"Now that's more like it," she said, voice husky. "That's the kind of man I like. One who knows when to take control."
She brushed a finger under his chin, pulling him up to kiss him again — slower this time, charged with heat and emotion.
Her lips lingered against his, as if tasting the weight of his desire, then broke away with a teasing smile.
Without a word, Drake turned from him, her fingers trailing across his chest as she stepped back — slow, deliberate.
Her boots clicked softly against the wooden floor as she made her way toward the bed, each sway of her hips purposeful, every step a silent invitation.
She didn't need to look back.
She knew he was watching.
By the time she reached the edge of the mattress, the air between them had thickened — electric with tension, heavy with promise.
She glanced back at him over her shoulder, her gaze smoldering beneath heavy lashes — challenging, inviting.
Then, with a smooth motion, she leaned forward onto the mattress, arching her back just enough to make her intentions unmistakable.
The curve of her body caught the golden light of the cabin, casting tempting shadows across her skin.
"Well?" she murmured, voice thick with playful defiance. "You gonna make me wait, captain?"
Riya stepped closer, his breath shallow, eyes fixed on the shape of her.
His hands found her hips — firm, steady, claiming.
For a moment, everything stilled.
Then he pulled her back slightly, the air between them charged and magnetic.
Their bodies have "connected."
Their bodies collided with raw urgency, every movement sparked by want, not tenderness.
It was rough at first — greedy hands, breathless gasps, the desperate rhythm of two people giving in to impulse.
They moved like flame and oil, feeding off tension, off sweat and skin.
The creak of the bed and the ragged pull of breath filled the room, mingling with the sharp sound of desire let loose.
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't slow.
It was lust, wild and unrestrained — the kind that didn't ask for permission and didn't need anything more than the moment.
They didn't speak — their bodies did.
And neither wanted it to end.
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RIYA RIOT STATS:
Francis Drake:
Skills:
Riding:(B)
Magic Resistance:(D)
Voyager of the Storm:(A+)
Pioneer of the Stars:(EX)
Golden Rule:(A)
Noble Phantasms:
Golden Wild Hunt:(A)
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