#tw: mention of forced marriage

[sp0o0kylights]

Whole thing on A03

It didn't matter how much Steve explained. Not one member of the Party was going to get it. 

Tommy and Carol would, but then, they were no longer on speaking terms. A fact that hurt even if it was for the best--particularly in times like these, because they got it. 

They understood how he had been ensnared with the very same wealth people mocked him for. What it meant when his parents demanded Steve drop everything and go on vacation, his own plans be damned. 

They knew, because their families had done much the same, and so the lives they led also were tethered to leashes made of their parents' design. 

Dustin, whose mother bent over backwards to try and better her kid’s life, didn’t even have a frame of reference for this kind of thing, let alone sympathy. 

"Do they not understand you have a job?" Dustin asked incredulously, and Steve didn't have the emotional bandwidth to explain that his parents didn't consider working at Family Video to be a real job. 

As far as they were concerned, Steve could quit if he had to, and then go find another job when they were done using him to play the nice, All-American family. 

Likely for business purposes.

"They aren't the type to care." Steve said instead. 

It was easier than getting into it.

(Easier than explaining the BMW wasn't in his name, but his parents. 

How his money went into a bank account they had access to. 

That practically everything he owned was actually owned by Richard and Stella Harrington, and both were quick to remind him of that fact the second they felt Steve was acting out of line. 

And boy, had he been acting out of line. 

 Getting into fights. 

Turning their punishment of working a job they picked specifically for the humiliating outfit, into the far worse public embarrassment of being involved in a mall fire--an embarrassment because Steve had "lost" the keys to the BMW, had "put himself in danger" playing hero instead of letting the perfectly capable firefighters do it, then “paraded around” with bruises all over his face, racking up medical bills. 

Truly a sin for someone who hadn’t made it into college.) 

So no, this vacation they demanded Steve drop everything for  was not anything close to a reward, or even something they were doing to spend time together. There was a reason they needed Steve, and as far as they were concerned, Steve was at their beck and call until he shaped up and got his life back on track. 

His own plans be damned. 

"That's not fair though!" Dustin burst out and Steve sighed in relief, because here at least, he knew what to do to distract his younger friend.

 “We planned our trip months ago!” Dustin continued, looking two seconds away from giving in and stomping his foot. 

The kid might have been smarter than Steve--smarter than most people really--by a hell of a lot, but he was still fourteen. 

Smarts, Steve knew, didn't exactly equate to emotional intelligence, and it definitely didn't stop rampaging hormones.

Ice cream on the other hand, was a great aid in both areas. 

"You better be making this up to us." Dustin threatened thirty minutes later, spoon wedged deep into a sundae. “We can’t do, like, half the stuff we were going to do without you!” 

“I'm sure you guys didn’t need me to play ghost runners or whatever.” Steve said, but was quick to back down when Dustin nearly threw his spoon at him. 

Rather than antagonizing him more, Steve dutifully raised his hand to put over his heart. "I swear on your mom that I’ll make it up to you.”  

Dustin rolled his eyes, but otherwise, finally, let the whole thing go. 

Stupidly, Steve thought this meant the worst was over.

He was wrong. 

xXx 

Mike hadn’t cared. 

El and Will hadn’t really either, though both expressed some sadness that Steve wouldn’t be participating in the camping trip that the Party as a whole had been looking forward to for the past few months. 

Erica had simply snapped at him, making him promise much the same as Dustin had that he would be making it up to her sometime in the future. Likewise, she had been bought off by ice cream (even if she insisted it didn’t count because Steve owed her ice cream anyways.) 

Max was the surprising emotional standout. 

"You can't tell them no?" She demanded, arms crossed over her chest. 

Lucas was hovering awkwardly at her shoulder, shooting "what can you do?" vibes as hard as he could at Steve as his (currently on-again) girlfriend outright dressed the elder boy down; her shoulders creeping up higher and higher until she seemed to realize she was visually giving away her upset and forcibly relaxed them. 

Unlike Dustin and Erica, her tirade was very out of character and Steve was growing more concerned by the second that something was wrong the more she spat at him. 

“I mean for fucks sake, didn’t you tell them you had plans!?” She finished, eyes narrowed in rage. 

Which was rich coming from someone whose stepdad had Billy Hargrove running all over town before he’d run off after the guy’s death, but then, Steve knew better than to bring all that up.

(The image of Max, unresponsive in the hospital with casts on almost every limb, was still too fresh. 

Even now he didn’t like to push her, even if the Party as a whole did their best to take notice when one of them was isolating themselves again. 

Max, though she was down to one crutch, was still inclined to use it as a weapon and very much enjoyed practicing her swings on people’s ankles.) 

“I did indeed. They don’t care and they’re not giving me a choice, but for what it’s worth I am sorry.” Steve tried to keep his voice even and out of angry-shrieking range, and vaguely prayed it was working. “I swear, I will make it up to you guys, even if we have to go on a second camping trip.” 

This was clearly not the correct thing to say.

Though judging by the murderous rage being aimed his way, Steve was pretty sure nothing short of “You know what you’re right, let me go tell my parents to fuck off!” would make Max happy. 

“So you’re seriously just going to drop everything, all our plans, your job, us,” She took a very threatening step forward and despite her being a full foot shorter than him, Steve had to fight not to take a responding step back. “So you can go play rich boy in the Bahamas?” 

“We’re not going to the Bahamas--” Steve tried, but was interrupted with a loud “ugh!” of disapproval. 

“Whatever makes you happy, Steven.” Max spat, and then turned on her heel, storming off towards the rest of the Party (who had taken one look at Max’s face and fled into the arcade so she and Steve could “talk.”) “I’m sorry us peasants weren’t good enough to hang around!”  

“Sorry man.” Lucas apologized quietly, on his way to run after Max. 

Steve just scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed. 

xXx 

“The kids are mad at you.” Nancy announced, appearing across the Family Video counter like a phantom. 

Steve swore, nearly dropping his stack of VHS’s, while Robin (who had clearly seen Nancy approach) cackled at his fumble. 

“Yeah, I did get that memo.” Steve said, after he stabilized his stack, safely moving them from his arms to the counter. 

Nancy peered around them, her face giving away nothing. “It is kind of shitty to cancel at the last minute like that. We were relying on you to drive.”

An old fury shook itself awake in Steve’s chest, taking an interest in the conversation the second Steve realized what Nancy was here to do. 

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and pressed it down, back into the box he’d slammed it in all those years ago. 

“I’d leave the keys to Robin here, but unfortunately, someone failed their drivers test.” Steve said instead, jamming his finger over his shoulder and blatantly attempting to pass the buck. 

Robin, who absolutely knew that was what he was doing, faked a gasp and kicked at his ankles. 

“That crotchety asshole failed me on purpose!” She protested, spinning to face Nancy. “He made like, three misogynistic comments before we even got in the car!” 

“Pointing out that he knew the car wasn’t yours wasn’t misogynistic, he was just surprised to see me letting you use the Beemer.” Steve shot back, rolling his eyes. “I don’t exactly let a lot of people drive it.” 

Unspoken was that Steve’s BMW was one of the town’s more unique cars, and thus easily identifiable by the locals at large. 

“How is that better!?” Robin returned, but Nancy cleared her throat before they could successfully get the Steve-and-Robin show on the road. 

“The point is that we--but really, the kids, were counting on you.” Nancy said, dipping into her patented “I’m upset with you” tone. 

A year ago it would have cut Steve to the bone, even if he didn’t show it. 

Now he just stared tiredly at her back. 

“I’m sorry, Nance, but it is what it is.” He said simply, hoping the apology (even if he knew it wasn’t so much a real apology as it was something he said to keep the rage from breaking out and wrecking havoc via his mouth) would soften his ex. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Given the abrupt narrowing of her eyes, it very much did not help his case. 

“For someone who was so vocal about trying to change I have to say this is pretty disappointing.” Nancy said simply, but with just enough of a tone that Steve had to close his eyes for a second. 

Feel the way that old anger, the one that had powered King Steve, hit the bars of its cage.

Robin stilled immediately next to him, her head ping-ponging between Steve and Nancy both as she too, clocked that Nancy was pissed, and here to chew Steve out about it. 

“Um.” She said, voice going high in discomfort. 

Steve grit his teeth. “I don’t exactly get a say in these things, Nancy. You know that.” 

He had to work to keep his voice even, fighting against the ice that wanted to sharpen his own tone. 

It was just---Nancy did know. 

Steve had told her all those years ago, in the safety of her arms, about his parents' expectations. Their predetermined path, the way they dictated large swathes of his life. 

How they’d allowed him to pick which sports he played, but required that he play a sport no matter the time of year. 

That the pool they had installed wasn’t for him, he just got to use it as much as he did in part because he’d joined the swim team, and the kind of mental mind games he and his parents played about things like that. 

Apparently either Nancy had forgotten, or simply hadn’t taken it in to begin with because she wasn’t backing down. 

(Not that Steve had ever seen Nancy Wheeler back down.) 

“I know you have trouble juggling your parents' plans with your own.” Nancy said, and her tone was absolutely icy now. “I certainly remember waiting for a date that never happened.” 

Steve sucked in a breath through his teeth, knowing immediately what Nancy was referring to. 

“I told you they came home unexpectedly.” He said, arms now crossed against his chest, nails digging into his arms as a way to help himself stay grounded. “They wouldn’t let me use the phone until the next day and I apologized.”

“And I recall having a lovely conversation with your mother where she said otherwise.” Nancy said, her words punctuated by another high pitched “Uhhhh.” from Robin. 

“Funny how you believe my mom over me.” Steve said and whoops, yup, he definitely sounded mad now. 

So much for all the effort he’d put in to staying calm. 

“Because I look at actions, Steve. Patterns. The same ones you kept repeating.” Nancy was clearly about to escalate, and Robin, bless her, had had enough. 

“He-eeey.” She said, wedging herself in between Steve and the counter Nancy was starting to lean over. “I totally get it, you’re both upset, but this maybe isn’t the venue to fight about it? There are customers in the store and--sorry Nancy--but I do kinda need Steve for work, so…” 

She trailed off, glancing nervously between the two of them. 

Nancy took a breath, blasting it out of her mouth like an academically inclined dragon. “You’re right. I’m sorry Robin.”

She then turned on her heel, making her way to the doors. She paused before them, and Steve prepared himself because he knew whatever she was going to say next, it was going to hurt. 

“I wouldn’t care if it was just me, Steve, but the kids don’t deserve you pulling this shit. Not after all they’ve been through.” With that, Nancy pushed through the door, head held high as she stormed to her car. 

As was typical for Nancy’s aim, she scored a direct hit. 

Steve, somehow, resisted throwing things. 

“Can you believe her!?” He said, the second the doors were closed and Nancy safely out of eyeshot. “Coming in here like that!?” 

He ran his hand through his hair, once, twice. 

A third time for good measure. 

“Yeah, that was seriously public for her.” Robin agreed, sliding up next to him. “Like really public.” 

Steve shrugged, because well. Not really. 

Not anymore. 

But Robin didn’t know that, just like Robin wasn’t entirely familiar with the depths Steve’s parents went to save face. They hadn’t exactly had time to really dig into it all, given how fast the Vecna situation had hit after Starcourt and the sheer PTSD both incidents had caused. 

Most nights they spent together was spent trying to avoid reliving nightmares, not discussing ones they were currently still living in. 

A fact that Steve was more than happy to bring her up to speed on, but to do so involved a lot of backstory, and backstory involved Nancy, and God, he was fucking pissed at Nancy. 

Soon it was an hour into his rant and he hadn’t actually gotten around to the sheer level of shit his parents would pull, too busy with Nancy and old echoes of ‘bullshit.’ 

 He only stopped when Robin put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him ever so slightly. 

“Dingus. You know I love you, and I know you’ve changed, but you do gotta admit, canceling at the last minute is kinda shitty and I get why they’re upset.” 

It was like the carpet had been pulled right out from under Steve, yanked so quickly he’d have to pinwheel to keep his feet. 

“What?” He said, eyes round in sheer surprise. 

“I just mean like, I get your parents are dicks but,” Robin’s face screwed up, looking like she’d sucked a lemon. It was her “I’m going to say something you don’t like face” and it hit Steve like a punch to the gut. 

“Our shift’s almost over and no offense, you’ve started to repeat yourself about Nance, and I get it! I do, memory shit is hard!” Robin’s hands moved as she talked, her bracelets jingling as if punctuating her point. 

“But I also think admitting you double booked yourself on accident and just taking responsibility for it would help smooth things over. Middle ground, you know?” Robin waggled her hands in a gesture that, for the first time in a long time, Steve didn’t understand. 

He found himself suddenly struggling to breathe. 

“Are you--are you saying you think I didn’t tell them I had a trip already planned?” 

Steve wasn’t sure how he managed to get it out. Wasn’t sure how he was doing anything, given the heat that was shooting through him, a hot mix of confusion and betrayal as Robin fidgeted to his left. 

“No! Okay well,” The lemon face got worse for a second. “I’m just saying you did kinda forget to pick me up that one time, and you do kinda blame your parents when stuff like that happens.” She bit a nail, peering at him out of the corner of her eyes.  

“I don’t--” Steve said, completely knocked adrift. “I…”

Robin didn’t believe him.

His Robin. 

Who wasn’t--wasn’t exactly siding with Nancy, but wasn’t saying she was wrong either, or that she understood that this shit was out of his control, and in fact, was kind of implying that Nancy was right more so than Steve was and---and--

There was a ringing in Steve’s ears he wasn’t sure actually existed. 

“I’m sure a lot of it is your brain injury. The doctors said your short term memory can take a while to fully come back and I totally get why you don’t wanna say that, I just, I think it would be better if--Steve?” Robin jumped back as Steve finally found his footing, swiping his jacket and punching out before she could catch how badly his hands were shaking. 

“I’m leaving.” Steve told her, his own words a million miles away, entirely uncaring if Keith fired him. 

Keith was likely going to fire him anyway, given Steve was about to ask for a week-long vacation not even four months after the whole Vecna ordeal. 

“Wait, Steve, hey--Dingus! I wasn’t done, I mean, I had more to say I, dammit Steve--!” Robin called after him frantically as Steve bolted for the door. 

Steve ignored her, aiming for the Beemer and swinging himself numbly into the driver's seat when he got it open. 

Put the car in park and avoided Robin’s face entirely as he backed it out, punching the gas far harder than he needed to. 

The Beemer roared in response, nose rising as it shot forward. 

Robin was his best friend. His fucking--platonic soulmate, as she kept calling him. The very idea that she agreed with Nancy in general was a blow but in this?

Against his parents? 

Nausea rolled angrily in Steve’s stomach, matching the sudden wetness that coated his eyes. 

Angry and needing an outlet, Steve stomped hard on the gas, taking the next corner far too sharp and making the beemer fishtail, tires squealing . 

He didn’t know where he was going.

He figured he’d find out when he got there. 

xXx 

Given what Steve knew about the universe at large, (nevermind Hawkins) it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to hang around the Quarry at night.

But then, summer was in full swing. Kids were home from college and itching to find a place to party without parental overhead. 

Deep to the left side of the water, around a few bends and tucked oh so neatly out of sight, was a place where one could do just that. 

Party.

This stretch had long been claimed by the college kids of Hawkins, and guarded zealously for it. 

With the sheer number of drunk people whooping and hollering around the bonfires below the ridge where everyone parked their cars, Steve figured he was safe enough. 

Even if he was up with said cars, sitting alone. 

Not like it mattered. If a demodog or demogorgan or demo-fucking-dragon decided to come along, Steve had half a mind to just let it have him. 

It felt easier than trying to fix the current mess his life was in. 

So he sat up here, blowing through the alcohol he’d purchased from the one gas station that never carded, drinking his problems away. 

(That also wasn’t the best course of action but with his parents home to spring the whole “vacation” ordeal on him, it wasn’t like Steve had a choice.) 

He hadn’t grabbed a lot--had been so damn upset and struggling to hide it that he’d picked up a four pack of wine coolers instead of the intended beer he’d wanted. It was all he had though, and so he chugged the last bottle with a wince and wished he was a hell of a lot drunker than he felt.

Then promptly caught sight of the person walking towards him, and wondered vaguely if he was drunker than he felt. 

Of all the people to come and offer him a can of beer, Steve would have never expected Tommy Hagan. 

He eyed it and his old friend both, before slowly reaching out and taking the can. 

“Heard you and your parents are doing CoHo this year.” Tommy said casually, leaning up against the front of the Beemer like it was old times. 

“Yup.” Steve replied, drawing the word out. 

“Angie Tideman’s parents are going, they’re bringing her ith .” Tommy said it casually, and had the good graces not to grin when Steve audibly groaned.

“Oh god.”

Tommy sucked on a lip, nodding absently. “Yeah.” 

Then; “It gets worse.” 

Steve, who now knew what this conversation was about, instantly began tearing into the beer can. “How can it get worse? You know what Angie’s like.”

Angie, whose full name was Angelina, lived a few towns over. Born to wealthy parents who doted on their beloved only child, Angie had more in common with your average shark than she did her fellow humans. 

A comparison that, frankly, was unkind to sharks.

She was without a doubt the most selfish person Steve had ever had the misfortune of encountering, and the mere idea of being trapped in a room with her made his skin crawl. 

Their parents were business buddies though, and god forbid he ever insult a business buddies kid, 

“She goes to Purdue, you know, with me and Carol.” Tommy said, instead of answering directly. “We cross paths a lot, party wise.” 

Steve stayed silent. 

Knew how Tommy talked, how his stories meandered. Especially the juicy ones. 

“She’s been talking a lot recently. Given you don’t look all that informed, I’m gonna assume the one person she hasn’t talked to is you.” 

Steve gripped the can of beer, a sudden, sick fear blooming in his gut. 

“Tommy.” He said mildly, not loud enough to really interrupt, but with enough force to let his former friend know to get to the point, now. 

“Got all super fancy right before we left for summer break. Hair done, whole new wardrobe, nails, you know.” Tommy waggled his fingers playfully, but dropped them when Steve just stared. “Went full whore on us. I swear she was making out with any guy who even looked at her--” 

“Tommy.” He repeated, this time a hell of a lot firmer. 

Done pushing, Tommy let go of the proverbial bombshell. “Apparently you’re planning on proposing to her this summer. She’s gonna return next year as an engaged woman, with you in tow, because apparently, you got into Purdue. Congrats by the way.” 

Tommy clapped him on the shoulder, right as Steve’s mouth went dry. 

For the second time that day, he found himself fighting the burning heat of embarrassment and fury as it rolled through him. 

“I’m proposing.” Steve said, as if saying it out loud would scare the very idea away. “To Angie.” 

“Yeah we kinda figured you didn’t know.” Tommy said with a snide little grin. To the average outsider it was mocking, but Steve knew better.

Tommy was uncomfortable, because Tommy had understood what Steve’s parents had done. 

“What I’d like to know is just how much Angie’s parents paid to get you into Purdue. That’s gotta be a minimum fifty thousand dollar donation at least.” Tommy removed his hand, to instead lean his shoulder against Steve’s. Like this was the old times, before they’d fought. “ I didn’t think they had that kind of money to throw around.”  

A past conversation with his father struck Steve, running through the front of his mind like a bad horror movie. 

“They sold the estate.” Steve said vacantly, the implications not quite hitting. “The one they’ve been trying to get rid of forever, over in Cape Cod.” 

“Oh shit.” Tommy said, blinking as he too, recalled what was likely his father telling him the very same news. 

“They sold the place on Cape Cod, and they used part of the funds to fucking buy me like a toy.” And yeah, saying it out loud, it definitely sounded bad. “I didn’t think Angie even liked me.”

“Does Angie like anyone?” Tommy asked, incredulously, but nudged Steve’s shoulder again when his joke didn’t net him the laugh he wanted.. “I mean, you had to know your old man had plans to straighten you out. He keeps getting mad at my dad, because the ass won't stop making jokes that I’m going to take over the company instead of you.” 

“And this is it. Attaching me to Angie.” Steve said vacantly. “Because they know if I get married…” 

He’d put his wife first. His family, first. 

The one he’d wanted, dreamed of, since he first realized he didn’t have one. 

He’d been playing checkers the entire time, too busy fighting fucking monsters and Russians to realize his parents had upgraded to chess. 

In a dizzying array of mental connect-the-dots, Steve replayed the last years worth of conversations. All the odd little things they’d said. All the dumb things Steve had just ignored. 

 They’d warned him. 

Had told him he better shape up, or they’d be forced to do something drastic. 

That his parents hadn’t wasted all this time, effort, money on him, for him to throw away his life like he was. 

“You better start acting right and figuring out how to get your life back on track, because you won’t like what happens if I have to fix it for you. You get a month Steven, and after that? Well. Just remember you forced my hand, Steven.” 

They knew. They knew him, and what made him tick.

“I think the real question is what Angie’s parents see in you.” Tommy teased, but then they both knew the answer to that puzzle. 

For all that Steve’s mom complained about her husband, the guy was a shrewd and calculating businessman. Those weekends, then weekdays, then more and more time away hadn’t just been so he could go screw his secretary. 

Richard Harrington had fast tracked his business to the point where it was now getting attention. The business journal, ‘Top 50 Companies to Watch’ kind. 

Even if Steve fucked up entirely, he was set to inherit a fortune and a business that would continue adding to it, for some time to come. 

Provided he did what his parents wanted.

Such as marrying Angie. 

Thing was, if his parents did what they always did, and held their wealth (his car, his home, his life and all the little things in it) against him like a gun to his head, if Angie got that ring around her finger? 

 Steve would bow to their whims. 

 Because they could fluster him into proposing so he didn’t embarrass Angie, and her parents and anyone else who’d undoubtedly be watching. They’d make a spectacle of it. 

Because once he did propose, they wouldn’t let him back out, burying him under guilt trips and veiled threats until he was marched down the aisle in a groomsman suite and told to stand. 

Because against all common sense, Steve wanted a family who loved him so desperately he’d chase it like a dog if he was presented with the opportunity and told to make it work. 

It didn’t matter that Angie was selfish. 

Steve would try anyway. 

His parents were maneuvering him as easily as they had back when he was a kid, using love as a tool to get him to do what they wanted and even seeing the nose hanging from the rafters, they knew just the right words to get him to place it around his neck. 

“Thought you’d wanna know.” Tommy finished, pushing himself off Steve’s car. “Before your parents sprung it on you.” 

“Sonofabitch.” Steve hissed angrily, a million thoughts racing through his head, the heat of being caught in a trap blasting down his spine. 

“Yeah.” Tommy added, rather unhelpfully. “But hey, given that you’re about to go on vacation to propose, why don’t we consider this,” here Tommy swept his hand, gesturing to the party below, “your proposal party?” 

It was a downright horrible idea.

But then, Steve didn’t exactly have a better one. 

Not  when the world itself seemed against him, grinding its heel into his back and laughing about it. 

He knew the drill. If he went down there, arm in arm with Tommy, then it wouldn’t matter that half those kids were from a few towns over, driven in by new college buddies.  

They’d see him as a reason to get wild, absolutely uncaring that they didn’t know who the hell he was. 

Steve needed that.

People who weren’t mad at him, buying into the easy lies his parents wove, or who didn't understand the games played against him. 

“Fuck it.” He announced, standing up from the hood of his car as Tommy’s grin morphed into something he used to see in the days of old, back when they were sneaking drinks from their parents' alcohol cabinets. “This way at least I get a party.”

Not like his parents were going to let him have an engagement party. Or a bachelor party, or likely let his ass back into Hawkins. 

No matter how long the engagement. 

Tommy cheered, raising his arms to the sky and Steve grinned wildly with him. 

He’d figure out how to get out of all this later--but for now, he wanted just a few damn hours where he didn’t have to think. 

Not about his parents, or Angie, or possible attempts to force him into marriage, like this was the yee olden days and Steve was a Victorian maiden who needed to be brought to heel. 

Likewise he didn’t want to think about the Party, or Russian torture, or how Nancy could be so damn smart in some things and downright stupid in others. 

He absolutely didn't want to think about Robin. 

“Hey boys and girls, look who I drug up!” Tommy yelled as they approached and soon, word had spread.

This was Steve’s proposal party, and he was here to get absolutely smashed (while encouraging everyone else to do the exact same, in his honor.) 

Which would be how Eddie found him a few hours later.

Still at the quarry, crossfaded off his ass, a forty in one hand and a lawn dart in the other. 

“Are you kidding me, Steve?” Eddie grit out, desperately trying to wrestle the lawn dart out of his hand. “You’re fucking partying with Tommy Hagan!?” 

Steve blinked at him a few times, finally catching on that Eddie was in fact, actually there. 

“When did you show up?” He asked, though given the wince on Eddie’s face and just how hard it had been to move his lips, Steve correctly assumed he’d slurred the shit out of the question. 

Somehow, Eddie understood him anyway. 

“Robin called me a while ago, gave me a list of places you might be. Almost skipped this one until I stepped out of my van to take a piss and heard the party.” Eddie explained, and somehow while doing so, he’d successfully gotten a hold of the dart. 

He was now working on removing the 40 ounce. 

Steve frowned, using his newly freed hand to grip it closer to his chest. 

“Harrington.” Eddie warned, and oh, wow, they were back to last names huh?

Well why not, it wasn't like his night could get worse. 

“This is mine, Munson.” Steve fired back, putting as much vitriol into Eddie’s last name as he could.

This did not detour the metalhead. 

“Come on man, give me the bottle.” Eddie said firmly. 

Steve shook his head stubbornly, enjoying the way his hair whipped at his face. “No.”

Another man stumbled over, a guy Steve absolutely did not know. He frowned, looking between Eddie and Steve. 

For two seconds, Steve thought they might have trouble, and given the way Eddie was tensing, he clearly thought so too. 

Instead, New Guy just kind of rocked on his heels. “Hey, shove off it, buddy. It’s this guy's bachelor party, let the man drink!” 

Eddie’s face did something complicated then, pulling the sort of expressive looks only he could manage.

It was both adorable and hilarious, and if Steve hadn’t just been reminded of the very reason he was drinking, he’d have told Eddie so. 

“Yeah!” He said instead, raising his hand in the air, toasting his bottle of forty against the other guy’s red solo cup. “It’s my proposalengagmentbachelor party!” 

Given the second, adorable-slash-hilarious look on Eddie’s face, Steve assumed those words hadn’t come out right either. 

“Okay.” Eddie said hands on his hips in a stance Steve was pretty sure Eddie had gotten from him. “Here’s what's going to happen. You’re going to put the bottle away. Then you’re going to give me your car keys, and then the two of us are going to my house to sleep whatever is happening here, off.” 

At least, that's what Steve thought he heard. It was a pretty un-Eddie like speech, and Steve maybe, might have been the one to say it, because he maybe, might have been mocking what Eddie had actually said.

Maybe.

It was hard to know, given that Steve’s thoughts were a thick soup on a bit of a time delay, and he was having a hard time figuring up from down, let alone what Eddie had been actually saying. 

Speaking of; 

 “When did I get into your car?” Steve asked, blinking as the van’s passenger seat appeared before him.

“Just now.” Eddie said, helping him in.

“Huh.” Said Steve, and then he maybe passed out a bit, because once again, he found himself awake and alert at a place that wasn’t where he’d just been. 

“Come on.” Eddie said gently, one of Steve’s arms over his shoulder as Steve leaned heavily into him, guiding the jock up the stairs and into the small house he and Wayne now called a home. 

The guy might have muttered a few things about bachelor parties along the way, but Steve was too focused on walking straight to really take notice. 

Part Two

[sunnysideaeggs]

Thinking about how since ancient times, young girls and women were married off to their rapist to safeguard their honor. How they believed it was the only way to leave behind their shame and continue being respected in society. How there’s registers of women who wished to stay celibate (like Hera, the Greek goddess of marriage) and had to marry their abusers. Even the bible has such a law to protect a young maiden’s honor. How in a medieval society, marriage was the only escape from shame after failing to maintain yourself chaste.

How Criston Cole begged for his rapist to marry him and run away with him, so he wouldn’t be killed for failing his celibacy vow, and would be able to restore his honor, if not as a kingsguard, as a married man. How he was laughed at. How he tried to kill himself to get rid of his shame. How he thinks it was a failure of his character to be abused and taken advantage of.

[eternally-frozen]

Sakura Blooms

Synopsis: You ask Childe to bring you a flower that’s on the other side of Teyvat. It’s a simple plan to get him away from you for a while, but he turns the situation around and makes you regret ever deceiving him. Had he seen through your plans?

Warning: Forced marriage, implied kidnapping, toxic behaviour, implied abuse (?) // its mentioned he locks you up in a room in the dark for hours when you don't behave

Note: This is absolute shit :( Wanted to write something about the dendrobium bc of the lore (I had a whole plan lmao) but I somewhere did a 180 and suddenly wrote 1k about something different??? It’s fine.

Song recommendation: None. I couldn’t fine any in my history that fit </3

“I want Sakura Blooms.”

He’s silent for a moment. “A what now…?”

“I saw them in the book you gave me. I want them.”

Childe frowns in confusion as he tries to remember where exactly he heard ‘Sakura Blooms’ and what book you’d been talking about.

When you point to the small table between the fireplace and the couch it clicked.

He’d given you the book after you complained about not being able to understand Snezhnayan. He assured you you didn’t need it with him by your side – he was all you need, but apparently when you grew bored you’d become crankier (or so he asserted), so Childe went to the nearest bookshop and asked for any books with pictures.

The shop owner showed him a few books but one specific one caught his eye. The cover was green with hints of pink, something cute that reminded him of you, so he bought it as a small present.

You’d been throwing fits every day ever since you arrived in Snezhnaya, something he understands since it must’ve been a big change from Mondstadt.

A welcoming gift was long overdue.

But you asking him to get something?

Now this is something he didn’t expect from you this early. He must’ve made big progress by showing you his patience.

“Show me which one.”

His voice is determined and he seems to have abandoned anything that went through his head prior to your question.

After you grab the book from the small table you flip through the pages, skipping as fast as you can through Mondstadt’s flora and stopping once you see the pink petals of the Sakura Blooms.

The page is filled with detailed illustrations. There’s a giant tree full in bloom, another illustration which depicts a bundle of the petals, and the last one, an illustration of a branch from the tree.

You can’t read any of the words but you’re familiar with the flower. It’s used when making perfume, but you previously used it to make paint. From this experience, you know the flower is hard to obtain.

Childe walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. You let him pull you back into his chest and ignore any further actions. If your plan succeeds you’d have him gone for a good while – any unwanted touch is a willing sacrifice if you can get rid of him for a few weeks.

He hums and you feel his breath on the side of your face.

When he doesn’t respond further you state your case. The more he’ll think about it, the bigger the change will be he’ll say no.

“I, um… I really want them because you don’t have that many flowers here.”

You grip the book a bit tighter. He stays silent – you hadn’t convinced him.

“And well… I.”

You try to look as nervous as possible. Be weak and he’d feel in control. Hit his weak spots and you’d be able to succeed.

“I always wanted the flowers on my wedding day.” You fiddle with the pages of the book on purpose, “And since you wanted to marry so fast I couldn’t choose anything. So I thought you could get these in return?”

You feel his lips press against your neck. His hands squeeze your sides a bit tighter and he tries to press into you even harder.

“Why didn’t you say so?” Another kiss on your neck, “You know that ceremony was only temporary. I promised you we could do anything we want once you stop throwing tantrums.”

One of his hands reaches for your face and turns it to the side so he’s able to look at you. His eyes are dull and they stare intensely into yours.

“So you’ll get them?”

“Yes. I should be able to get in contact with a few people, but it does mean you’ll be alone for a while.”

You relax in his arms. A few weeks with him stuck in the capital means silence.

“Do you want a different dress as well?”

“…what?”

“You’ve been so good lately. Of course, it can’t be anything outlandish…” he trails off, “-but I guess you can help this time with choosing your dress.”

You frown and he continues.

“It still won’t be a big ceremony, but bigger than our last one. My family will come and we can even get Pulcinella to come. If you really want it I can invite some of the maids as well, just so you’ll have some familiar faces.”

You try to push his arms away from your waist. “What ceremony?”

Childe’s grip turns stronger and he pushes a few other kisses to your neck. “Wedding ceremony.”

“No! I don’t want that-“

He suddenly squeezes you tighter than before. You immediately stop talking and you freeze in your place. You can already feel the bruises start to form on the areas where his hands dig into your body.

He’s silent again.

You had yelled a lot during the first few days after you’d awoken in Snezhnaya. He never yelled back and instead silently approached you before manhandling your body towards the basement where he’d keep you in the dark for hours. You’d scream, cry, and plead, but it’d always take a while before he’d let you out.

Your chest heaves up and down and you slowly turn your head.

He doesn’t seem happy at all.

“I… I’m sorry.”

“Hmm.” He watches the water pool at the bottom of your lids. “It’s alright. Everything is still new for you so you need time to adjust. It’s not that easy – I know, but we’ll always have each other.”

He continues, “My family adores you, so there’s no need to be afraid.”

He turns you around. One of his hands pushes onto your lower back, forcing your body onto his. His other hand pushes your head to his chest.

His heartbeat doesn’t calm you down. It beats too fast, almost as if he’s excited.

You wonder, did he know?

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Foreign Perception

TW: Bruises, scratches and fights mentioned

Words: 1.2k

He was sprawled out on the couch, dressed in a black, satin robe, the edges of it lined with a wine red trim. The sunlight illuminated half of his form, seeming to highlight his features; the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones and his sleek figure as well as the curves of the softer features of his face, of his raven hair, all drawn in golden ink.

"Ah, you've woken up," he remarked softly, the usual scratchiness of his morning voice missing, sounding silkier instead. He'd been awake for a while, it seemed, which was strange because he wasn't really a morning person.

Outwardly, he seemed immaculate, tousled hair slightly damp from a shower, his skin looking healthy and well cared for. The luxuriant garment fell slightly as he shifted himself, exposing his collarbones and the tips of his shoulders.

A closer look at him revealed details of a different nature, the ones the sunlight refused to cast its golden glow on. The bruise on his left cheek, an ugly shade of purple and swollen, the dark bags under his eyes, the partially split lip, and a long, fading scratch partially exposed where the fabric of his robe wasn't hiding skin.

"Lie down with me," he suggested, in the same gentle and yet commanding tone, "you look tired." He gestured to the empty space next to him, an almost expectant look in his eyes.

So she obliged, not so much lying down as sitting next to him, her movements a little slow. He smelled like strong, expensive cologne; some sort of smoky wood and an elegant mix of spices.

"Relax, I won't bite," he supplied, a very slight hint of amusement in his tone that one could only pick up by spending a considerable amount of time around him.

Tentatively, she leaned back until her head rested against his chest, letting her arms fall limp at her sides. When the villain showed no indications of discomfort or annoyance, she slackened her posture a bit more.

"That's more like it," the villain praised, no hint of his usual biting sarcasm present. Most of their previous exchanges had involved snide remarks falling off of his sharp tongue and her snapping back at him. Not now, it seemed.

He slowly moved his arm so that it was around one of her shoulders, letting out a soft sigh, a perfect mix of exhausted and utterly relaxed.

The villain was usually unapproachable, even in more casual clothing, with a cryptic resting face that loosely resembled a dark scowl and an unreadable expression in his eyes. He seemed to emant danger, like he carried a warning sign everywhere. Right now, however, he looked impossibly soft, no mask to hide behind.

This time, he layed down completely on the couch, tapping her shoulder lightly so that she would follow his example. The hero found herself being pulled into strong arms, the villain's embrace being surprisingly warm.

"Why are we doing this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Despite that, she half-wished to stroke a hand through the criminal's hair, settling only for pushing the loose strands out of his eyes.

"I'm not very sure, maybe it's just calmer, you know. Than what we do every day." He gently guided her fingers through his locks. "It's okay. I think I actually like it when you touch my hair," he said softly.

So she ran her fingers through the villain's hair, noticing how his breathing slowed, how he closed his eyes and involuntarily leaned into the touch.

He opened his eyes and started tracing patterns into her arm absentmindedly with the fingers of one hand, the other still holding her close to him. "You're extremely quiet, which is very unlike you, any reason why?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know, Villain, I just don't have much to say. Maybe I talk too much, but I don't mind the quiet," she remarked, continuing to card her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp.

"I don't think you talk too much," he stage-whispered, smoothing down a wrinkle in her silken dress, his fingers toying with the embroidery on the skirt. It had been a birthday gift, another trademark of their weird, nonsensical to-hate-or-not-to-hate relationship.

"You? Of all people. I thought you hated it." She let a dry laugh make its way into her tone, disbelieving.

"I didn't appreciate being insulted," he replied, only slightly irritable, a glint of mirth visible in the emerald green eyes, "but it was pretty much a mutual thing, and I know people who talk too much, incessantly, but you're not one. It's not noise to me, maybe you talk more than I do, but you listen, so that's a good thing." His hand skirted down the side of her face, and he started tracing her cheekbones down to her jaw. There were small bruises scattered across her cheeks, a few old scars across her figure, and some newer scrapes from more recent fights, some of which, he came to realise, were his fault.

But again, it's not like she hadn't managed to leave any marks on him.

"You're pretty," he remarked before he could catch himself, "for someone who has to get into all these fights, a bit of a shame, really."

"Fighting crime's not a good enough reason to taint my beauty?" she asked, ironically drawing the shape of a scar on his chest with her fingers, blissfully cool against his skin.

"Not what I meant," he attested.

She simply laughed. "Easy. I'm messing with you. Want to know something a little crazy?" she questioned, now playing with the curls of his hair.

"Mhm."

"First time I saw you without a mask, as much as I despised you then, the first, unfiltered thought in my head was that you looked like someone from a perfume ad."

A rare, genuine smile graced the villain's lips. "This is the most oddly specific compliment I've ever received but I'll take it." He toyed with the strands of her hair, weaving his fingers down the length of it. "I don't think we're friends," he decided.

"No," she agreed, tugging a little at the roots of his hair.

"I don't think friends keep doing. . .whatever it is this is unannounced," the villain concluded.

"Being physically affectionate, yes."

"But you know we aren't lovers, either. Is this a side-effect of the whole marriage thing?"

"No, I don't think so," she answered, smoothing the criminal's stray hairs down, "I think we're something in between enemies and lovers. I also think we're both touch-starved, and this. . .this calms us both." She started rubbing a stiff knot in his neck, earning a few contented sighs and shivers from him.

His hand flitted to somewhere near her shoulder, delicately tracing patterns into the skin, increasing pressure sometimes when it seemed fit. Involuntarily, she nuzzled her head into the crook of the villain's neck, and soon his own head slumped forward.

They'd both fallen asleep, mortal enemies in each other's arms, feeling safer than they ever had before.

Few things can rival something as simple and primitive as a gentle touch. More powerful than what one would expect, a frivolous, sentimental luxury only to those who chose to be blind, to run away and hide behind walls of indifference covered in cracks and close to collapsing. Even those who consider it a foreign perception in their world come to realise its priceless value sooner than they would dare to expect.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @usernotfound000 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[goldenhornss]

It makes me so sad that the polish King-Queen Jadwiga was just...so mistreated.

She took throne at 11 years old. She was forced to marry a way older man some years later.

My history class claims she was humble, that she gave crystal jewelry to support a college, that she surrounded herself with educated people...

But she died at 23. She was so young. She mustn't be happy spending all her child years being forced into a role of a King. She mustn't have been happy being forced to marry some old guy she didn't know who also had a bad reputation.

And she died having a child for that man. Yes she was an adult then, but it still. She probably never felt anything for him.

I feel so bad for her. She deserved to have a normal childhood, she deserved to choose who to love.

[inkblot22]

Appetence

PSA don't cheat on your partner. Also, this one is based on one of my more personal writings. If you want me to doctor that one so it can be posted as a reader insert, let me know.

TW for kidnapping, captivity, implied emotional unfaithfulness, implied Kalim x Reader x Jamil, mention of poison, isolation, and forced marriage.

You are supposed to want for nothing. And you would. That’s what he promised, and you would consider that promise fulfilled, if not for one factor.

Sure, you are laden with ornaments and fine fabrics, nothing but the best for his dear spouse, nothing but the best, but you are not entirely happy. 

Now that you’re back in Scalding Sands, Kalim has duties, and is no longer with you as often as he could be. He dotes on you, of course he does, but boundless energy has to end at some point. He still hosts parties, still enjoys wrestling with his brothers, still treats you as though you are a deity among humankind, but as happy you can be for him enjoying his home life once more, your eyes are not on your husband.

You did not want to marry Kalim. He promised you that you would want for nothing, that Grim would want for nothing, and you had no real choice but to accept when you found yourself trapped in one of the spare rooms in Scarabia, again. You were under the impression that becoming his spouse would mean that you would no longer be chained to the solid metal ring underneath the bed, no longer waiting to be taken care of. That was not the case.

At first, waiting for someone to take care of you was mortifying, but now you will gladly wait just so you can see him. 

Jamil. You are married to Kalim, but you are in love with Jamil. It’s ridiculous. You know if Kalim found out, he’d either become annoyed or he’d attempt to give you Jamil, but you don’t want that for him. You know it from experience, there is nothing worse than being forced to love someone. 

As though he is the devil, Jamil enters, carrying a tray and followed by a stout, middle aged man. The middle aged man is someone you’ve never seen before. Jamil places the tray on the table and the man takes a bite of each dish and pours a bit of your wine into another vessel so he can drink it himself. Jamil blankly watches and the man nods, then bows to you and excuses himself. You look back at Jamil.

“Kalim is under the impression that some of his former suitors and suitresses have it out for you. You’re safe, though. That man was just the poison taster.”

“Oh… Jamil, are you going to stay here for a while?”

He narrows his eyes, “Why?”

“I… I’m lonely, in here, and I don’t want to eat alone.” It wasn’t a lie. You hadn’t seen Kalim for hours, since he left before you woke up.

Jamil seems to consider this. He doesn’t answer until you take a seat at the table, his hands gently brushing your hair out of your face. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, something tender in his expression.

“Oh, baby bird,” He purrs, the nickname making your chest tight and tears well up in your eyes, “I only brought enough for you.”

“That’s okay! We can split it.”

His hand slides down to cup your cheek, an impossible warmth as his thumb swipes just under your eye, “No. You’ll need to keep up your strength. But I can stay for a few minutes.”

He takes a seat next to you, hand sliding across your back as he walks towards the chair Kalim usually sits in. He sits in it so easily, as though it’s where he belongs. You eat slowly, drink slowly, and Jamil is next to you the whole time, telling you story after story. Kalim has already told you most of these, they’re snippets of their daily lives, but they almost sound better coming from Jamil. More realistic. You find yourself nodding off as he speaks once you’re finished.

“Come on. If you fall asleep here, you’ll hurt your back.”

His hands are a gentle reassurance as he guides you back to your bed. As you take a seat, he quickly unlocks the ornate shackles around your ankles and begins massaging the swollen skin where they rested.

You lay on your side, legs dangling off the side of the bed as you sort of doze. It’s that comfortable state where you could fall asleep, but you aren’t. Jamil clicks the shackles back into place and tucks the blanket around you.

“Sweet dreams. I’ll come back tomorrow morning, if I can,” his voice is a whisper, a promise. 

You think you’re dreaming when his lips press against your temple. 

[archxngxl]

Closed Starter

Some people aren't meant to be mothers.

That was the cold, hard truth that a lot of people had to live with. Mothers forced into doing something they did not want, to carry babies they did not want. Laura often thought about her mother, what her life would've been like if she was not forced into marrying Laura's father, if she was not forced to carry her and her brother. Today would've been her 46th birthday. Laura was sat in front of her home, on the wooden steps in her backyard. A cigarette in her hands, a blanket over her shoulders and tears running down her face.

Laura loved her mother, she really did. She just wished her mother loved her the same.

"Oh..." Laura quickly wiped away her tears when she heard footsteps. "Sorry, did I wake you?" // @spideysmuses

[miss-allsundays]

hot take: stolas is absolutely fucking right not to feel bad for cheating on stella. the only one that he owes an apology to is octavia, which he DOES!! they talk and he tries to explain that his relationship with her mother has never been good, all while trying not to pit her against stella.

it is also fucking weird how some people want a reason to excuse stella’s behavior so bad. they say they want more nuance to her character but they wouldn’t criticize her this harshly if the roles were reversed and she were the victim

[beardeddetectivepaper]

I couldn't post the full presentation since it was 13 slides, so here's the link;

View this post on Instagram

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[re-pilot-info]

May I have your opinion on some Norman lore? I know in canon that Norman was made by Daisy to be her husband but don’t you think that’s a little fucked up if you think about it. I know daisy is a good person with only good intentions but it feels kinda morally grey and she chose to make norman without fully considering the ethical implications.

The idea that you come into this world loving someone and your whole life and identity revolves around this one person and you didn’t even have a say, don’t get me wrong he loves her but wouldn’t that just make it kinda worse? Like it’s conflicting. He knows he loves her but he also knows he doesn’t really have a choice to merry her, Norman heavily values robots rights and the ability to choose and free will so it’s complicated. I’ve always headcononed that Norman starts to resent his marriage over time but hes struggling cause his programming is telling him he loves her and makes the idea of leaving impossible. And to go through all of this only to be ‘abandoned’ would crush him so it would make sense that he uses his revolution to take out all the years worth of resentment, grief, confusion and betrayal using violence; don’t get me wrong Norman DOES believe in his cause and getting equal rights and so forth but I like to think there’s more behind it then just altruism.

Yeah I actually agree with this wholeheartedly even though I've never really. Y'know. Liked Norman due to the whole thing of him implied to be a nazi, had genocidal fantasies, and the fact that, apparently, in-universe of the old canon story, marrying or being in love with your creator is essentially incest due to them essentially being your parent or so, which would make him being married to Daisy basically forced marriage with a dash of incest. (I saw forced due to Norman not really having a choice in the matter.)

In all honesty, I never really saw the need for Daisy being Norman's mom-wife and I didn't really see their relationship as such to begin with? I'm not sure if it makes sense but when I first discovered those two, I didn't catch on the incest implications because, again, in-universe stuff about how being married to your creator is equated to incest. (So the whole mom-wife thing isn't canon, as Daisy in this rewrite only built Norman and his not-canon-to-the-original-story sister because she was infertile and couldn't have her own children.)

But yeah, I agree with this, the subject on Daisy creating Norman to basically be married to him despite him being equated to her son by law in-universe, either out of pure jealousy or extreme loneliness to the point of wanting someone to be with her, is incredibly morally grey because of the ethical implications, and how Norman views humans as these ‘evil creatures that NEED to be put down’ because he believes in robot rights despite the fact the only thing he really does for it is kill and idealize his genocidal fantasies to q degree he literally has GODS to help him wipe out parts of the human population to literally exterminate them, just makes it even more stranger as a result.

The whole abandonment schtick I can get, but it doesn't excuse the fact that Norman is a megalomaniac nazi who makes his genocidal fantasies a reality.

[procyon-kiryu-heaven]

5 Lambs AU thingy that since I don't know if I will incorporate it in the fic I explain it here.

Pan was the first to marry. Each Lamb will marry their correspondent bishop and Pan will be the first.

Not because she loves Narinder or because this is the first bishop to become a follower. No.

Pan marries Narinder to humiliate him. To destroy him emotionally. She forces him to get married and always wears her wedding dress as a way of teasing him. She also uses pet names for it.

[monstrousmaws]

Incredibly tempted to write a Papy/ton fic where Mettaton’s fans force him and Papyrus to date and eventually get married. And Mettaton HATES it. He tries to make it work the best he can, by having them live apart, but his fans say no and force them to live together. So he tries to do what they want while also making this work as well as possible. His fans say he isn’t trying hard enough, even though he’s trying the best he can. He starts to hate his fans, and especially his marriage since that’s what his fans stand for. He becomes horribly abusive to Papyrus, and his fans start to claim that he’s an awful person, he should have tried harder and it wouldn’t have ended up like this, that they had nothing to do with Mettaton’s downward’s spiral. Eventually Sans has to step in and say that it IS their fault. They should never have forced this marriage, and CERTAINLY not have pressured Mettaton to live with Papyrus and act exactly how they wanted, because all of it was clearly causing Mettaton extreme distress, and anyone with half a brain could have seen this coming a mile away. Yes, it is partially Mettaton’s fault for directing his anger in the wrong direction, but if his fans had never pressured him it wouldn’t have gotten to that point

[voidselfshipp]

Avatars and Rocky starts

Cw: Mentions of almost drowning, forced marriages, violence.

Summary:jon meets Jerico's avatars, whom he didnt even know they existed.

->Only mutuals allowed to reblog,

Its not always that Jon gets a break, but after his whole trip across America, hes jetlagged to shit. Which leads him to his current situation.

Hes getting ready to go out, he ties up his coat and fixes up his hair a little. --Im ready to go!--He calls out towards Jers room.

Jerico comes out looking as stunning as ever, she smiles and gestures towards the door-- Shall we?

Jon,though a little flustered, nodds and walks down the corridor to the bookshop with his girlfriend in toe. As they step out, they see the overcast Sky above,grey and rainy.

--It never lets up,does it?--He mutters a little annoyed, stepping into the passenger Seat of the car. An old vintage Mustang in a dark Teal color.

--nope--jer answered,settling down on the drivers Seat-- I Like it though

--Well youre associated with storms, no surprise there--He replied, putting on the seatbelt-- so,run me by the plan again?

--Im going to visit a few people, then we can go Grab lunch-- she answered-- do you need any more details?

Jon thinks for a moment, she knows his need to be in controll of everything, its what makes him feel safe.

--My avatars--She replied gently.

--YOUR WHAT? YOU HAVE- how do you have avatars?!--He exclaimed as she turned on the car.

--Ill tell you everything,settle down Jon--jer said Gently, stroking his knee soothingly before pulling out into the street and Driving down it.

Noticing his freak out, he clears his throat and takes a deep breath-- sorry its just- ive seen what avatars can become- it doesnt...it doesnt work how it works for others?

He sees her shake her head, understanding of his concern-- I have few avatars,and well- I try to make sure not to hurt them, theyre not human but...theyre not Michael level of not human

--So..theyre not insane?

--Theyre not, quite sane actually-- she replied, eyes not looking away from the street, a little empty.

--So...what are your avatars like? Like- they dont go insane or anything,How do they work? -- he asked,aware of how differently Antiquarian operated from the other beings.

--Theyre like...normal people. They get things for me you know? One of them gets me antiques,others get me books or transporation. But I take good care of them, I Keep them well--jerico explained, stopping ar the stop light and stretching a little.

--Im not used to that...--Jonathan confessed--How you take care of them, you actually care. Theyre not tools,theyre not playthings,theyre people you care about

She smiles and turns to him,leaning in to kiss him Gently and briefly. He barely has time to kiss back before she pulls away-- just like I care about you-- she pauses for a moment-- well,youre special,you get privileges

The archivist looks away,skin darkening a little-- oh uhm...I uh..--He looks away scratching his bicep.

Jer giggles and pats his thigh, to then Keep driving-- but yeah, I treat my avatars almost like...my children yknow? I Keep well,I Keep them healthy and safe, if they need my help I help. That sort of stuff

A thought comes into his mind but he doesnt say it, he doesnt know if its appropiate to say-- you surprise me more with each day-- he says instead,hand going to rest on her thigh.

She smiles and turns a corner--Cmon,youl distract me and we'll crash

--Ah thats not a me issue,love -- he answers smugly with a grin.

--Damn you archivist, you and your charming allure-- she replied slowing down to take the hand on her thigh and kiss his knuckles.

--Guilty as charged,im afraid-- He pulls away all flustered, and he sees her reach for the radio to turn it on.

The car drive is somewhat calm with sparse conversation and jerico vibing to the music on the radio. Jon,being the lovesick puppy he is,watches With loving abandon at how his girlfriend moves and sings along. Shes bright as the sun in those moments.

After a while,they reach their destination. The car gets Parked, and both step out. Jon looks upon one of the buildings, a small rustic café, nothing big or particularly eye catching, just cozy. Above it an old sign read "Seafoam Cafe"

--Who are we here for?-- Jon asked, opening the door at letting her go through first.

--Azariel, she procures hard to get books for me--jer explained, stepping in and walking alongside him to a booth.

--Like leitner's books?--He asked a little concerned.

--Nono,dear god NO--She exhaled with exhasperation at the mere thought of it. She sits at a booth and gestures him to sit by her side. --Those are off limits,im talking like... books with limited copies or those who are heavily censored by one entity or another

--Oh gotcha--He answered,taking off his coat-- and what book are we here for?

Jer smirked-- Oh youll see-- along comes a waitress to take their order, after both order some light breakfast, she adds-- oh by the way,can you call up the owner? Tell her Lady Racounteur is calling her

The waitress nodds and leaves,Jon smirks--Lady?

--Azariel insists on calling me that, ive tried to make it stop but.. shes stubborn--She shrugged it off,before taking off her jacket and feeling Jon help her out--Oh,thanks

Feeling a little mushy,he kisses her lips briefly and sheepishly says--its...its nothing

--Youre so sweet

--Cease

--I mean it!

--Well hello Lady Raconteur--A third voice says beside them, both turn to see a black girl with a slight hispanic accent, her hair is a bright white and tied off into space Buns,she wears a small lacey bolero and a black dress with tights and short boots.

--Azariel!--chirped jerico with a big smile-- good morning

The girl sits infront of them all happy and bubbly-- good morning, im guessing youre here to pick up that gift?

She nodds while Jon ignores the conversation,his eyes settle on the choker around Azariel's neck. Its that same symbol as the one hes got in his own necklace. A one eyed octopus in a stormy sea. The gold its made of looks pretty New, a little polished.

--Thats her insignia right? --He blurts out in a moment of recognition--Antiquarian's I mean i- I have the same one--He lifts up his own necklace to show It off.

Azariel grins with a child like happiness--Oh yes it is! Who might you be?--She turns to jerico-- is he another avatar?

--Oh nono,he is my boyfriend--Jer explained with a beaming pride in her voice. Jonathan goes a few shades Darker and he looks away.

--Oh pleased to meet you then!--The youngest avatar chirped-- lovely choice!

--Thank you--Antiquarian replied all sweetly,Jon sulks as he feels pretty flustered. The two ladies catch up, Like theyve been old Friends forever.

When their food arrives,Jon manages to calm down and ask-- s-so,how did you became an avatar?

Azariel's smile faltered a little and cleared her throat-- ah well, y'see, before my Lady over here came into my life,I was in deep debt to some people. Anything to fund this little place of my dreams

She stirrs her tea lazily in deep thought. Her eyes lost in the swirling liquid in the cup--Lady Raconteur here was a regular for the coffee part of the shop, one time she came late at night, and I was...cornered by these people...she uh... took care of them and my debt

--I was going to let her to free of charge but...--Jer trails off,taking a sip from her hot chocolate.

--I knew that what I saw,That Giant wave of well...you know--She follows up,though Jon doesnr know what she means-- was real,That she wasnt human,but she was such a sweet patron that I...invited her inside,asked her what she was and well...I accepted being an avatar, I mean she saved my life

Jer shrugs it off-- I did It out of good Will...but she wouldnt hear it, in the end she insisted so much that even after I explaimed everything she just...accepted

The archivist finds it endaring-- oh so youre telling me you defeated an eldritch being with the mere Power of human insistence?

She rolled her eyes at her boyfriends antics--Okay Simms, get it out of your system cmon

--Nonono,im gonna savor this-- He says,leaning in with a smirk-- Ive seen you take hordes of things down and what does you in is just...one human

Jerico sighs and takes a sip from her tea,Azariel giggles with mirthful joy and adds--You two are so entretaining to watch

--Im afraid we wont be here for an all day performance, still gotta visit the others-- Antiquarian replied,trying to put a stop to her boyfriends lighthearted mockery.

--Though im sure youll convince her to stay if you insist enough--he adds as a final comment, ignoring the glare from his girlfriend while he finishes his drink.

--But yes, she saved me,im here- it mustve been five years now--Azariel said to defuse the tension-- thats why this thing--she points at the disk with the insignia-- is not that old looking

Jon nodded in understandment-- mines...quite old actually

The avatar looks at the necklace,squinting a little. Theres barely any shine to the pendant, if gold could be corroded,it wouldve been nonexistent by now--jer never told me how old this pendant is -- he turns to his lover and asks-- how old is it?

He sees her start to count on her fingers in that dead language she uses sometimes, it sounds like the lulling crashing waves and a deep deep reverberating growling harmonies of the deep.

--Is she counting...?--He asks as his eyes widen.

--In centuries? Yes-- Azariel andswered non-chalantly.

--She just keeps going...

--III think it was originally made in the neolithic era--Jer finally answers-- first of their kind

Jon just stops, looks at jerico with wide eyes as his mind struggles to understand just how old the thing around his neck is--Are you mental?! This should be in a museum!

Antiquarian just shrugs-- You deserve it, anyway, im done. Azariel?

Azariel nodds and gestures them to follow her, they go to the storage room of the place, small and a little cramped, filled with boxes that contain books and supplies for the coffee shop.

She pushes a seeminglh normal wall and gestures them In-- welcome to my humble Office

It was rather small YES,possibly underground,but its cozy and quite comfortable. Cream walls, one half circle Window to let the sunlight in and a few shelves and boxes with a few hanging plants that looked a little too alive.

The avatar goes to Grab one specific book, not too big or too small. Its like an old leatherbound Journal that looks like it has seen better days-- so my Lady here has been looking for this thing, its really old.

Jer smiles and signals Jon to Grab It, she has a big big grin on her face filled with warm and excitement-- what is it?-- he asked, a little confused.

--Read it-- his girlfriend says.

So he does, the first few pages are unassuming until he spots the notes that have to do with the fourteen fears. More and more knowledge he starts to notice, then he stops and looks at Jeri-- oh my...god. -- he breathes out-- I...this is so helpful

--I had to make up for my lackluster insight on it all. Technically I just...helped. yknow? The information is yours to decode

Jon chuckles and hugs his girlfriend tight,--Im sure elias Will be happy to see it-- he said with obvious sarcasm.

--He'll be screaming with joy im sure-- she followed up squeezing him.

--Thank you love-- he murmurs,kissing her briefly.

--Dont mention it-- jer answers nuzzling the side of his face-- And thank you, Azariel

The avatar smiles wide--Anything for you,my Lady

Antiquarian looks at the time on her phone-- we Better get going, im hoping to get to Rudy's by the end of the morning

--Yes,of course. Do send my regards to him and Yuzuki--Azariel said,guiding them back out-- and Tell our lovely fisherman to be nice

--He needs the reminder?--Jon asked and the avatar scoffed,not answering the question.

Soon theyre back on the road towards their Next stop, the antique store. The drive is mostly silent with the radio playing barely audibly--

--what did Azariel meant with telling the fisherman to be nice?

--Ah, well Rudy's a bit of a....special case. Hes got a sense of humor thats very acid and comes across as really mean-- she answered-- hes a good Man, jusr rough around the edges

He blinks a few times-- I was hoping the other two were as nice as Azariel was...

She scoffs lightheartedly-- theyre not...That sweet but theyre good of heart,you know?

--I trust your judgement--He answered,looking out the Window.

Once at the antique shop, it was mid morning. Still that same rainy street, overcast Sky with that awful grey, and a wind thats starting to pick up as if to usher a storm. Jons about to ask if jer is the reason for the increased wind but he keeps it to himself.

Above the store,a pretty sizeable one, is a sign that reads "mother of pearl Antique shop" with the same thing written in japanese. The sign has that 1920s art deco and it looks old but well kept.

The store has that english look to it and its all in those brown,beige,cream colorations. As they enter through the white Doors, a small bell rings above, theres a few people here and there, Theres soft jazz music playing.

--wonder where she is now--Jeri mutters,Jon looks at her weird-- usually she has other employers cover the work here,but she did tell me she'd be here today

--Well, we can go look--He says,taking her hand a little shy.

--Yeah, cmon-- they walk around the place in comfortable silence for a little bit. They look at the Many oddities stored around, the halls they walk by arent crammed but theres certainly a lot going on.

--Soo..how did yuzuki find her way into being your avatar?--He asked, walking closer to her.

--Its kind of a dark story-- She explains,looking at some of the old portraits thar looked a little too haunted. She swears the eyes follow her as she moves

--eh, ive heard worse

Jer nodds and says--Well,Yuzuki was being taken from japan,her home,to the UK. She didnt want to go and her father forced her. To Marry her off rich or something. Every day and night she prayed to anything that would listen to sink that boat into the depths of the Atlantic.

--Then?

--Well, I answered. I sunk that ship so far into the Ocean. Yuzuki washed up on the shore and thanked the sea- me for it.  She started leaving me offerings and one morning I appeared by her side, she thanked me with a tight hug and well...she Wanted to serve me.

--Im guessing you explained her what an avatar was?-- he asked,stopping look at the old books.

--No,at firsr she just got me relics,antiques I needed. She had a way of talking herself in and out of situations. The years passed and Yuzuki told me she wanted to spend her life with me, i had been so good too her so far...--She explained,looking at him briefly to see his handsome face-- I had given her a home, a place to work...

--Basically a New life--He answered, pulling a book out of the Shelf.

--Yeah, and Well, I relented. I told her of the dangers but she said her New life had to have me in it. So I agreed. I named her The Collector, for obvious reasons

--You...named them?--He asked,putting the book in his bag.

--Youre literally titled "The Archivist",let me have fun,simms

--okay, okay. Sorry,please continue

--Azariel is The Scholar,Yuzuki is The Collector--she makes a pause to see a small miniature boat in a bottle and take it-- and Rudolph is The Scourge Of The Deep

--We were going pretty normal until we reached Rudolph-- he half joked, standing infront of a nice ornate fullbody mirror-- oh hey, Thats a nice mirror

--Yes it is--Jer agreed-- we should take it home...

--Im afraid thats not a good idea,my Lady-- Another voice comes from behind them. Jonathan turns to see a tall,elegant woman wearing a chestnut brown coat with fur across two large panels on the neck and at the end of the jackets wrist.

The best way he could describe her was as if she was stuck in the 1920s, that same make up, that wavy short hair and dark Teal flapper dress.

--its very much haunted--The avatar continued,taking a drag from a ciggarette using a long black Holder.

--Yuzuki,there you are-- jerico said warmly with a big smile-- how are you?--She walks up to her to give her one kiss on each cheek and then bowing at eachother

--Im quite alright, slow day-- yuzuki answered,eyes setting on jon--Who might he be?

--I am her boyfriend-- Jon answwes-- Jonathan simms,Head archivist of the magnus Institute

The japanese woman looks at him for a moment-- the eye has claimed you,this is most odd my Lady. Havent see two entities dating ever since...Michael

Jerico visibly flinches and shakes It off-- do you mind uh. Showing me what you got for me?

--Yes,apologies-- the avatar answered,waving one of her workers over-- show Lady Racounteur item 1414. Please

The worker nodded and took jerico away, Jon is about to follow when hes stopped by the owner of the place.

--aht archivist. Its not safe for you to see it, its unstable and Jerico is going to fix that right now. I do not want you going mad -- Yuzuki said, watching the Man step back a little annoyed.

--Fine, ill wait.

Theres a brief silence, broken by Yuzuki-- you fit well for the role The Eye has given you, I do hope theres no ulterior motive to your interest in my Lady

He growls under his breath-- Im not out to get her,I could never do it. Trust me,if I could change patrons I would.--She smirks a little at that last part--what?

--Ah nothing-- she answered,giggling to herself.

--What is it?--he asks again

--You wont take it well

--Try me

She sighs and takes another drag-- Well,you dont have the characteristics of someone whose an avatar for The Antiquarian.  Youre too paranoid, read too much into it, to enjoy stories, the calm of the Ocean,you cant be paranoid over if the pages Will cut you or if the sea Will swallow you. Theres a certain whimsy to it that cant be enjoyed if youre running yourself into the ground with paranoia

Jon blinks at her slowly, he cant even be mad because shes right-- I am her boyfriend, that ought to count for something... right?

Yuzuki shrugged with a conciliatory smile-- perhaps,truth is I do not know much about how all this works. Maybe you'd do a great avatar for her and im wrong.

Feeling a little vindicated, he puts his had in his pockets and smiles. --Perhaps-- He answered with pride in his voice.-- I think i'd make a great avatar for her-- he added,not Like he'd say it to jericos face

In all his little pride induced bliss he doesnt hear the avatar's Scoff that has the same energy as an adult playing along to a childs nonsensical tirade.

Jerico comes back a few minutes afterwards with a box that heavily carved along with runes and passages in what seems to be a dead language. A magical Nuke is in there.

--What do you have there?--Jon asked,pointing at the box,both worried and curious.

She shrugged--Contingency plans

--Care to explain?

--Nope

He sighs and nodds--Fair

Jerico laughed and with a wave of her hand, the box gets consumed by a roaring wave. Then it subsides and the box is gone.

--Ah Yuzuki, one more question--Antiquarian adds, pulling the avatar to the side,away from Jon--Jon here is looking for some sort of..gorila skin? Magic in nature,has to do with the unkowing,can you check?

--Yes,of course my lady--She answered-- y'know--she added with a conspiratory look in her eyes-- Jon said he'd make a great avatar for you if he could

Jer's heart warms up, she coos and puts a hand on her chest--man, thats so cute.

--Y'know, if uh...our watcher ever falls, maybe he could make an avatar...I personaly dont Belive it. Hes uh- theres something missing. No offense

The Antiquarian snorts-- None taken,hes good at what he does, the sea isnt really his calling

Yuzuki only chuckled,keeping her thoughts to herself before both walk back to the archivist. Jon insists on paying for the book and the little ship in a bottle jer got,but the avatar insists that its a gift.

--Im guessing youre going to see Rudolph yes?--She added as her patron and the Man stood there on the sidewalk.--

--Yes

--Tell him to watch his mouth

Jer can only snort-- I can certainly tell him,not that it would make him change behavior-- the antique shop owner nodded in understanding-- Goodbye, Yuzuki

--Goodbye,my Lady

As they drive away from the store, Jon looks out the Window with a few things on his mind. Thoughts that he knows he shouldnt share, because theres always some grey to everything.

--Yknow,its been two times that two of your avatars said that this Rudolph should watch his mouth--He states,trying to push away his thoughts-- what are they so worried about?

He sees her hesitate as she makes a turn to the left,the wheel turning to its respective side-- Rudolph has a certain way to react to people, especially those close to me

--jealousy?--he asked.

She shook her head-- protective

--Well...that I can respect--Jer purses her lips ,as if she knows something he doesnt-- can I ask how he became an avatar?

The streets and buildings were a blur as she drives down the streets,still somewhat rainy and grey. Theres a sudden shift on the air as they go a bridge overlooking one of the branches of the River thames, Jon sees shorter builders and cobblestone paths thick with sand between the cracks they form.

At this point he doesnt even ask.

--Well,he was a fisherman back in the 1800s. He was working extra time to pay for his two daughters' medicine, he went to fish on a really bad day once--She explains-- a big storm reached the place he was fishing at, it rocked his humble fishing vessel and he almost drowns...

--Jesus christ--He breathed out.

--I was around the area, it didnt take me long to find his struggling form. I scooped Him in my arms and dragged him to the shore, I pulled what water I could from his lungs...he was fine afterwards-- she followed up.

Jonathan looked at the little village they were Driving down, nobody seemed to even look at the Mustang-- and then? -- he asked.

--He knew that whatever I was, wasnt human. He explained his situation, why he was doing what he was doing, all while laying there on the sand-- jerico answered, recalling the memory almost fondly-- he invited me to his house for dinner,to thank me.

--If he had a wife I hope she didnt take it the wrong way. Her Man Bringing home a beautiful woman? Recipe for disaster--He half joke,unaware of the little flirty undertone to his voice.

She chuckles a little flustered--No, he explained the situation to her right away, and I think the wife could sense it too. That im not human I mean. But regardless, I loved the food, I loved his daughters that were having a heavy flu, and I decided to help them out

He smiles--good to know you never changed

--what can I say,im that good--jeri half joked-- I helped him get a New boat, get the medicine for his girls. Hell, I helped them get the kids to a good school, a good college and a good marriage.

--How much of that was...--He was reluctant to say the Word-- Magic?

--most of the money was magical, the marriage part was more of my well- aptitude to detect bad people--She answered.

--Your little escapades with Elias would beg to differ -- Jonathan said with a shit eating grin,still looking out the Window while the glass fogs with his breath.

--I said im good at detecting them, whatever I decide to do with that is something different-- She answered, holding back a few giggles.

--but im guessing Rudolph was very eager to return the favor-- He added.

--Yeah, even his wife was on board--She confirmed, scratching the back of her neck-- I of course was on the fence, they didnt want to adore me as a goddess, I had mentioned the thing about the avatars and they got the idea in their head. --Jerico finally parks outside one of the larger,mostly empty docks-- I told them that I had never had any avatars, That I wasnt sure what toll it would take on them

--But im guessing that they didnt care

--Rudolph,always the sweetheart, offered himself as an avatar-- she leans on the back rest, arms folded over her chest.

Jon unbuckles the seatbelt and shamelessly sits on her lap, resting on her chest. He didnt want to go out into the cold yet.

His action is such a routinely thing for her that it doesnt even phase her-- I wasnt sure at first but,as you can guess, he didnt want to hear any of it. I accepted, I could use the company anyway since onyx wasnt around at the time

With her arms around his waist, she nuzzles his face and Snickers a little as he returns the gesture-- He was the first avatar I ever took like,ever in my life. I wasnt sure how it all worked,what rules I needed to follow--She explained-- and at the time I didnt have any issue with the eye, so I asked it...

--Well shite--Jon scoffs--You? Asking for help to the eye?

She rolls her eyes and says-- again, I didnt hate it yet. Anyway,it told me that I made the rules, that my avatars could feed me if I wanted to,it wasnt too sure on if their sanity would be affected-- shrugging,she adds--not that it would not admit that it didnt know something. We guessed that it wouldnt happen,since im more of a force of nature,something they can sort of understand, so...

--Hmm,thats good--He answered-- then?

--Well, with my first ever avatar, I wasnt too sure on what to do with my life other than Keep Rudolph and his family company--She replied-- eventually his kids grew old,so did his wife...peaceful deaths all of them thankfully. Of course,its not something easy but if you ask him,rudolph wouldnt change a thing. So I guess he did his peace with it

There was something oddly powerful in that, making his peace with grief and loss,and not regretting such a big choice.

Jerico pressed a soft kiss to jon's jaw, adding-- we should get going

--Cmon,five minutes--He answered,cuddling closer.

--Fine,five minutes

《Come into the water

Do you wanna be my baby?

Are you waiting to touch me?

You look so good, but I keep my hands

'Til you come into the water》

The radio plays Gently,on low volume as to not distract their conversation. He sighs in comfort as he shuffles into a comfortable position, taking off his glasses and letting them hang against his chest.

Jer Strokes his forearm with her thumb,eyes closed and head resting ontop of his.

《Maybe I'm the same as all those men

Writing songs of all they're dreaming

But would you tell me if you want me?

'Cause I can't move until you show me》

The archivist hand goes to her face, tracing her jaw with his fingers. He tries to see his face but not with his eyes,but with his hand, brushing over her cheekbone and bridge of her nose, down to her Lower lip.

He can feel her giggle,all afluster,the sound gets stuck in her throat. She laughs to play off her feelings but he already knows,and no Powers needed, he simply knew his girlfriend

She leans into his touch, his hands feel the stay hairs to the side of her face and he pulls them back over the Shell of her ear, soft butterfly touches. Then he opens his eyes a little just to guide her head a bit to the side with the tip of his fingers that press against the curve of her jaw.

Jonathan kisses her, briefly,short. Still loving and warm,doing whatever his heart tells him to. Finally, a proper break.

《I didn't know I had a dream

I didn't know until I saw you

So would you tell me if you want me?

'Cause I can't move until you show me》

When he pulls away,she instantly kisses him again,holding Him close.

By the end of the kiss her forehead presses against his as he lets out a shaky breath,feeling safe for once in the years that hes been hunted by paranormal things.

It almost makes him crumble,he channels that shaking feeling into melting against her,he doesnt say anything but he doesnt need to.

She squeezes him a little,like a plushy. Jerico kisses the bridge of his nose and smiles.

Five minutes go by,and they get out of the car. The world outside is still that damp,rainy cold,still grey skies and  a misty dock that makes it feel almost like a hazy dream.

Jon is still drunk with the very sweet moment he just lived,so hes quiet as he walks alongside jerico, holding her hand.

Theres a few lanterns hanging on posts,light defused with the mist,making them look ethereal as the boats tied to the dock move back and forth with the waves.

Its oddly cozy,seagulls squak and a few bells ring. The air smells of salt, fresh and utterly freezing,but nice.His exhales get mixed with the mist, vapor getting lost in the blanket of condensation.

They reach the end of the pier where a Man is tying off a boat. This Man is huge, about 6'2, very well built.

Black hair tied up in a half bun, curls tight with humidity, he wears a simple white button up with his sleeves rolled up and the first few buttons undone,worn looking jeans and heavy rainboots.

His hickory Brown skin doesnt even seem to form goosebumps, utterly unpjased by the cold.

--Rudolph--Jerico calls out.

The Giant hunk of a Man turns and from a scarily serious face, he softens his empression-- ah,my Lady,good morning

She smiled, happy to see him--Good morning

His eyes fall to Jon and he just utters a mildly dissappointed and somewhat annoyedxhis shoulders drop and his eyes go half lidded,clearly holding back a scowl--...oh

--oh?--Jon parroted,a little confused and feeling a little insulted-- what does that mean?

--Jon,drop it-- She warns,voice stern and clearly not up to dealing with whatever shitshow was going to go down.

--Nono,what does he mean by "oh"?-- he insisted,turning to Rudolph.

--Youre supposed to be the Smart one,if she tells you to stop,then stop-- the other Man answered,brow quirked upwards and folding his arms over his chest. Almost defiantly.

--And im asking you a question,what do you mean by "oh"?!-- Jon asked again,jerico notices the whisps of green coming from his eyes that seem to glow brighter with the mist.

She flinches and purses her lips,mistakes where made.

Rudolph could shrug off the Effect of the compelling If he wanted. But he doesnt-- im just dissapointed

--Dissapointed?!--Jonathan echoed,voice cracking as he feels very offended.

--Out all of the people she could get, she chose you as her consort. You look like a wet cat, no offense

The archivist through gritted teeth turns to jerico-- say something! Hes being disrespectfull

She looks at him and says--I told you to drop it, youre a whole ass Man, figure it out. -- with her best resting bitch face.

Rudolph just smirks and turns to the woman--Anyway my Lady,the thing you asked for is in my captains cabin

--Thank you--She replied,-- ill go get it, you please do make sure nothing happens to Jon-- she kisses her boyfriends cheek and lets go of his hand,walking onto the ship.

--i can take care of myself!--Jon protested

--Do you want me to remind you all the times you got kidnapped?--She asked whilist still walking to the cabin.

He kept quiet and soon shes gone, rudolph sits on the short wooden pillar he tied one of the ropes around. Out of seemingly nowhere, he pulls out a fish gutting knife,twirling it around his finger a few times before checking the sharpness of the blade.

Jonathan heard the other Man curse in that ancient language jerico spoke, and from his pocket he pulls out what looks like a literal stone,but the surface is slick and looks quite sharp. And so he starts to sharpen the Knife silently.

--How do you know that language?--The archivist asked,unsure on what to do with his hands since he cant hold jericos.

--Im her avatar,of course I know it--He answered,not bothered to look up and meet his gaze. -- Jesus, you work with the Institute, you should know that

--Well excuse me if i do not like the idea to read all about my literal partner. Thats creepy-- he replied, folding his arms.

--Thats just basic knowledge,bruv-- he replied,voice thick with his english accent,not posh,a mix of all the accents in the uk--hell youre an avatar

--Im quite New to this whole avatar thing!--The archivist protested-- and im not being handed a manual for this

Rudolph looks up from his Knife to him,with what seems to be pity,but as soon as he makes eye contact he loos back to his hands-- I dont s'ppose other avatars help you out much

--The only one that does always gives me the smallest of hints. Not all of us are blessed with such a good patron,youre lucky

Finally he can say it out loud, he wished he could have a patron that didnt leech off of him,that it didnt feel like he owed it its life. That hes not under its control.

Jericos avatars got a loving,sweet patron that asks for nothing in return. They had true loyalty and camraderie, not whatever the hell he had.

Rudolphs keeps quiet for a moment,understanding his Point-- yer blessed too, in some ways- you dont know your patron,you do not care for It. If something happens to it, all the better for you. We dont get that luxury

--Yeah but you dont have to feed It or you die. Its different. -- Jon answered with scorn.

--touche. But you dont suffer with it when it feels sad,or alone, and you do not agonize knowing that there are things you simply cannot help it with even if shes suffering.

Jonathan rolled his eyes--youre talking about a friendshipp rather than a pact you made, you got to chose It ,*i* didnt. So excuse me if I dont feel lucky

Rudolph puts away the stone and grips the Knife and the archivist feels like hes about to get gutted--fair enough

--Also what is your damn problem with me?

The avatar looks the Man up and down-- its not personal

His companion scoffed-- bollocks

--Think what you want, im trying to weed you out--He answered,gaze unbothered as he twirls the Knife.

--I dont mean jerico any harm

--All of them say it, sorry if I dont Belive it-- he replied,clearly not sorry-- after everything with Michael id rather not have her be with men that end up in a tragedy

--Im not gonna

--You dont know that-

--And you dont know either!--Jon protested, pulling his arms away from their crossed position,voice roaring with anger-- what makes you think ill die or forget jerico? Good lord,have you seen her?! I dont think The Eye or anything in this world could make me forget her. Think whatever the hell you want but im not leaving her behind

--Hmmph-- Rudolph answered,sounding somewhat impressed-- very well archivist,you made your point. I take back what I said

--Good! I expect an apology

The Man shrugged-- im sorry

--Apology accepted and- wait a minute-- the Archivist looks at the man-- you were trying to weed me out.

--Finally you catched on, I started with a personal insult to see if if you'd take the bait. You did--the avatar answered, all smug-- I figured personal insults would make anyone mad,as soon as I got jerico involved, thats when you bared your teeth

--Why you little sh-

--i wanted to see if you'd stand by your Word, you clearly didnt show any signs of fearing me even if I was bigger,stronger And I was armed with something you knew I know how to use.

--You couldnt just...asked?!

--Actions speak louder than words-- he replied.-- congratulations,archivist, you passed. Not Many people do.-- both hear approaching steps from the ship.

Jerico steps out of the vessel with a leather bag, all happy--well,I think we should start heading back to london if we want to make it to lunch

Both men share one look and play along-- youre right,love-- answers Jonathan,fixing his glasses that got a little crooked in his little outburst.-- lets go

She turns to Rudolph who stands up and smiles-- Rudy,pleasure to see you again

--Same here,my Lady. Please do come by my home soon, ill make dinner. Bring Yu and Az-- he makes a pause, directing a look of mutual respect to Jonathan-- and this one too

Jer snorts and pulls the big Man in for a brief hug. -- Will do. Thanks ,again

--Its nothing my Lady,its the least I could do. Hope he likes it.

Thats when Jon notices the same pendant hanging around Rudy's neck. That one eyed octopus made out of gold that looks really,really old and exposed to the elements.

--I hope so. Anyway,lets go Jon

Jonathan nodds at his fellow avatar and offers his arm for jerico to take. She does and as they walk away rudolph adds--He'd make a fine avatar of yours,by the way,hes certainly got the ferocity for it.

She only smiles at it but the archivist turns to see the other Man step into his ship and getting lost in the mist. And he couldnt hear a hint of mockery in rudolphs voice.

With wide eyes he walks back to the car and off they go to london.

Both find a nice little restaurant to get lunch.Sitting there and eating, Jon Asks...

--So...what did Rudolph get you? More contingency plans?

Jeri chuckled,pulling out the small bag-- nope. A gift for you actually-- she shows Him that same amulet hes got but even older,with one aquamarine gem in the eye of the octopus. -- first pendant with my symbol that was ever made, it got stolen and tossed around and once it sunk in the Ocean, couldnt find it until now...I thought it would be a nice gift

His eyes widen as he takes the impossibly old pendant and changes the one he previously had on-- i- dont know what to say other than...thank you,I love you-- he scrambles to take her hand and kiss her knuckles.

--I love you too,im glad you like it. -- she answered with a smile.

After lunch,they return home. Jon changes into a green cardigan and his pijamas, as hes about to go down to the library to find a good book to read he hears jerico from the kitchen.

--So? What did you think of my avatars?

He stands there on the corridor that runs across all the rooms in the small appartment. His hands trace the carvings on his New amulet and just goes-- Theyre....alright-- he clears his throat-- thank Rudolph for getting this,tell Him the Institutes doors are always Open for him if he needs something...

And before she can answer he goes downstairs with quick nervous steps. But jerico smiles and has to wipe a small tear on her face.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Sacrifical Bride.

Commissioned by the very lovely @yanmaresu.

Pairing: Yandere!Hades x Reader (Record of Ragnarök).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Forced Marriage, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Emotional Manipulation, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, and Mentions of Kidnapping/Prolonged Captivity. Not Canon Complacent. I Have Never Met Canon But I Hear She's Very Nice.

The wedding was a solemn affair.

Not dull, because nothing that had your heart beating so violently could ever be considered ‘dull’, and not dreary, because despite the many, many things you could say about your kidnapper-turned-husband, he wasn’t one for bland affairs. No, your dress was of the finest and most vibrant silks, your veil lined with pearls and rubies and the gown’s train long enough to swell and ebb behind you as you walked down the seemingly never-ending aisle, unaccompanied by any escort. Wreaths of shining ivory lilies and blooming chrysanthemums encircled marble pillars, low-burning lanterns casting the chapel in long, wavering shadows. The pews were empty. The only guests were his ghastly servants, and they’d never once said a word to you.

There was no officiant. Hades waited for you at the brimstone altar alone, a gentle simper playing over his lips as he watched you drag your feet and fight the urge to bolt, to run, to do the very thing that’d left you trapped in his arm in the first place. It was tempting, albeit pointless. You’d always been swift footed, but there was nowhere to escape to in Helheim. At best, you’d spend a few days hiding and struggling to survive in the empty plains that surrounded his looming fortress of a home. At worst, you’d find yourself without direction and beyond the reach of his control, hopelessly lost and stumbling through fields of fading dead and gnarled beasts and things that would make the man in front of you look hospitable, in comparison. You tried to remind yourself of that as your body begged you to flee.

As you reached the altar, his smile grew into something that could’ve been convincingly genuine, had it been able to reach the pits of lifeless ice that were his eyes. Rather, the gesture only seemed to add to the coil of dread growing tighter in the pit of your stomach as you stepped beside him, clutching your bouquet to your chest in a white-knuckled grip. He’d let you pick that out yourself, at least, and you’d taken a truly irrational amount of joy in picking wildflowers and trimming roses and breaking every rule of decorum your mother had ever taught you. Now, though, the shadows of his hall seemed to dull your vision-searing colors, and it was difficult to take joy in such a simple pleasure knowing the man in front of you sought to ensure you’d never braid daisies or sleep beneath open skies again, when he was staring you down like yet another precious gem he planned to add to his ever-growing collection. It was a cruel comparison, but not quite as hyperbolic as you would’ve liked.

There was a shallow sigh, a hand brought to the edge of your veil. He toyed with the fabric for a long moment before taking the hem in both hands and pulling it away from your face. If he recognized the terror stitched into your expression, he only deemed it worth a slight shake of his head. “Oh, beloved.” His hand fell to your cheek. “You’re as radiant as the day we met.”

The day he plucked you from your mortal life and dragged you into the depths of the earth, the day he’d forced the awful seeds of that terrible fruit down your throat and promised you would never see another living soul again. You swallowed back your nerves. “Please, don’t draw this out.”

You were lucky you’d fallen into the hands of such a mild-tempered captor. He let out an airy chuckle, turning back to the altar. It was decorated sparsely; an overflowing cornucopia posed in one corner, a standing thurible slowly releasing nauseatingly sweet incense into the stagnant air sitting in the other. Between them was only a bottle of dark wine and two twin chalices, crafted of only the finest bronze and polished until they shined in the low lighting. He filled both to the brim before looking towards you, a glint in his remaining eye as he took a chalice in either hand.

You’d been wrong when you assumed they were identical. Where one had a line of aimless, curling thorns following the rim and plunging down the length of the handle, the other was embellished with roses, abstract and nearly shapeless, forming neat columns across the body of the cup. He extended the latter to you, its contents threatening to spill as you took it in your trembling hands. You’d managed to talk him out of the more elaborate ceremonies he’d suggested, but it was difficult to remember that this was a preferable alternative now that could feel the chill of his wine seeping into your palms.

You brought it to your lips, held it there for a moment, then pulled back at the hint of a more familiar scent than that of his dizzying incense. “Pomegranates?”

“I thought it would be a nice touch.” For him, maybe. He’d always struggled to see things from your perspective. “Forgive my sentimentality.”

You wouldn’t, but you were smart enough to keep that to yourself. When he raised his chalice, you did the same, mirroring him when your own will failed you. “To us, darling.”

You nodded. “To us.”

He took a long sip from his chalice, seeming to savor the rich wine, while you drained yours in a single breath. Try as you might to enjoy it, you could only seem to taste ash.

~

A few vows were exchanged, a kiss pressed into the back of your hand when you flinched away from his attempt to communicate his affection more directly. Finally, he took your arm and guided you back to your shared chambers, lingering in the doorway while you collapsed onto his bed – your marital bed, now, you supposed. You buried your face in the silken sheets, letting out a soft groan. There would be a celebration later on, a feast with all of his many gloating brothers and prying sisters in attendance, but the worst of it was over. You were bound to him, for better or for worse. All you could do was weather the consequences.

You’d hoped he would be kind enough to leave you alone while you consoled yourself, while you took all that you knew and all that you didn’t and recontextualized it with yourself as the mortal bride to the God of Death, but a hand on your shoulder dispelled that fleeting fantasy. With no small amount of reluctance, you pushed yourself upward and turned your attention back to Hades. This time, without the pretense of custom, he didn’t settle for your hand. His mouth found its way to the dip of your shoulder, then the crook of your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses into his chosen targets.

When he started to move towards the curve of your throat, you moved on instinct – your hands finding their way to his hair as you dragged him away from you before he could do anything you wouldn’t be able to forget as soon as he left the room. “Please,” you said, not for the first time that day. “I… I’d rather be alone, right now. If it’s all the same to you.”

His smile didn’t waver. “You know that, if it were up to me, I would bend to your every whim,” he spaced the words out generously, as if worried your feeble human mind might not be able to understand. “But we aren’t done.”

Your expression fell. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. I wore the dress, and—and I took your vows, and—”

“My love,” he cut you off swiftly, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek. “Our union will have to be consummated, eventually.”

You felt your throat begin to swell shut.

“I know that, but—” You laid your hand over his, trying to call upon whatever pale imitation of sympathy might’ve existed in his heart. “—does it have to be consummated now?”

You watched as his gaze softened, as his head lulled to the side in that endeared-yet-condescending manner he seemed so fond of. Slowly, with a painstaking gentleness, he brought you closer to him, ghosting over the top of your head and lingering there, even as he started to speak. “I think,” he started, his voice muffled by proximity. “that it would be in your best interest not to keep me waiting any longer.”

It wasn’t a threat, but it was posed like one, dredged up from somewhere deep in his chest and accompanied by his hand on your waist, nimble fingers slipping underneath the sash binding your gown together. When you jerked back, reflexively trying to escape his advances, he was quick to chase you, to let his softened smile spread into an amused grin as an arm wrapped around your midriff and dragged you, willingly or otherwise, into his lap. “I don’t want to hurt you.” And yet, your safety didn’t seem to cross his mind as his blunt nails bit into your waist, as he dragged you close enough to feel his chest press into yours, to become uncomfortably aware of the stiff outline against the loose fabric of his pants. “If I rely on my own self-restraint for another day—” Another kiss, this one to the tender patch of skin above your jugular vein. “I’m afraid I might end up doing something we both regret, when the time comes.”

“Less than a day,” you pleaded as he buried his face in your neck. There was a blur of movement, the ghost of his touch along the curve of your spine, and your bodice fell away in tatters, the ruined fabric collapsing to your waist. When you moved to cover yourself, Hades clicked his tongue and you froze, letting your arms fall back to your sides. Begging him to change his mind was one thing. Going against him so transparently would only make things more difficult. “Half a day. An hour. I just— Hades, I can’t do this right now—”

“My love.” Swift, blunt, merciless. You’d been a fool to ever think he was one of the kinder gods. “I think I’ve waited long enough to claim what belongs to me.”

Any protest you might’ve had died in your throat.

You’d been a fool to ever think he was anything less than the cruelest of his kin.

You wanted to scream. If you couldn’t run, then you would yell, raise your voice and tell him that he already had you, that he’d gotten everything he could’ve possibly wanted, but anything you might’ve said was torn away and ripped to shreds as his head dipped low, his teeth latching onto the vulnerable skin of you collar bone and sinking in. He didn’t draw blood, but he didn’t have to. A bolt of pure, stinging agony shot from your chest to your core, only dulling as he pulled away with a low groan. “Have I ever told you how much I adore the sound of my name on your tongue?” You felt his hand on your hip, then your thigh, the remains of your dress cut through and disposed of with little fanfare. He gave your bridal lingerie (pure white and so obnoxiously lacy, you’d had to wonder if this was all some sadistic joke as you slipped it on) more attention, his thumb running along the delicate trim before his fingers slipped underneath it, tracing the length of your slit before doing away with the barrier altogether.

Dread and panic dulled your reactions, but it would’ve been a lie to say the feeling of his mouth on your skin had left you completely unaffected. He chuckled as he gathered your slick on his fingertips, two of which were soon pressed into your clit with a brutal sort of precision. “And you tried to play coy.” He teased the sensitive bundle of nerves mercilessly, the patterns he traced into your clit too slow and too fleeting all at once. You wished he wouldn’t touch you at all, but if he was going to, it was the least he could’ve done not to draw it out. “That must’ve been why you seemed so rushed during our ceremony. If you’d asked me to make love to you on that altar, I happily would have.”

Hot, humiliated tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. You attempted to deny it, but a cracked moan slipped past your lips instead as two of his fingers were forced into your cunt and spread, splitting you apart. Your hands shot to his shoulders, trying to stabilize yourself, but he only saw your desperation as an invitation – bowing his head and pumping his fingers into you at the kind of languid pace that left you fighting not to rock against him, not to make up for the urgency immortal creatures so often lacked. “You’re a vice,” he muttered, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, his tone low and lecherous. You wondered, briefly, if words that fell from the lips of a god could be considered sinful. “To think my own wife would’ve had me neglect her so severely for so long.”

You shook your head. You were married to him, sure, bound to him. But you couldn’t afford to think of yourself as his wife. You couldn’t afford to think of yourself as something so limited, something so purely an extension of him. “I’m not—”

“Don’t try to spare my feelings. I can see that I underestimated just how much attention my little mortal would need.” His wrist quirked, another digit pushing past your entrance and stuffing your pussy full as his fingers curled and ground inside of you. Against your will, you felt a tight heat begin to twist and writhe in the pit of your stomach, pangs of burning pleasure coursing from your cunt to your core. Now, you cried unabashedly, embarrassment and shame burning in your cheeks and fueling the unsteady stream of tears that Hades was so agonizingly quick to coo over, to kiss away as your hips bucked unsteadily against his hand. “What a sensitive wife I have.” That word – that awful word – was enough to earn a ragged sob, but if he recognized the connection, he didn’t deem it worth his concern. “I promise, you’ll never feel so unloved in my care again.”

You would’ve given anything to be able to pull away from him, to be able to shove at his chest and swear to all the gods you’d once worshiped that there was no part of you that could ever feel loved with him, but in the end, he was the one to let you go, to throw you onto the center of his great bed and leave you whining involuntarily at the sudden loss of stimulation. He’d never been one to deprive you, though; in a moment, he was in between your open legs, one hand wrapped loosely around your thigh while the other pulled feverishly at his own clothes. His coat fell away first, then his shirt. You heard fabric shift and metal clink and, in a daze, saw him wrap his fist around something he could not have possibly planned to fit inside of you. Half out of terror and half out of instinct, your gaze flickered from his cock to his face – to the wide, fanged grin he’d been wearing for as long as you could remember.

He moved to kiss you, and you drove your heel into his stomach.

The blow would’ve been weak by human standards, but it caught him off-guard. Out of reflex, he reeled back, and you took the opportunity to scramble off his bed and towards the door, to any part of this forsaken place where Hades wasn’t. You made it a step, maybe two before something caught your shoulder, before your body buckled under a weight greater than your own. You were dragged onto your knees before you could so much as think to slip away from him, your cheek forced against the cool marble of the floor before you could hope to make your descent more dignified. You felt his broad chest press into your back, his snarling lips against the curve of your throat. You wondered if the insult would be great enough to warrant taking your life, but the thought was dismissed quickly.

Hades had never been the kind of god capable of showing such mercy.

“I would’ve made love to you like a queen,” he spat, his tone all manic venom and overdue obsession. “But, if you’d rather be fucked on the ground like a whore, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

You weren’t allowed the luxury of bracing yourself, this time. In one brutal movement, he thrust into you, splitting you open on his cock with the kind of harsh, unforgiving force better suited to a wild animal.  There was no time to adjust, no time to sob, only Hades groaning against your neck as he bucked against you, never daring to pull out completely. Whatever agony his fingers had sparked was now ten-fold. Your legs shook, your body threatening to collapse entirely, but Hades kept your ass raised and your thighs spread, his focus entirely on bucking into you as deeply and as roughly as he could.

It almost surprised you when one of his hands shot to your head, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he forced his mouth against yours. You tried not to cooperate, but two fingers pressed into your clit and your mouth fell open in a guttural cry, providing an opening he seemed content to take advantage of. It was a deep, lingering, messything – all tongue and teeth – but his cock ground against something soft and vulnerable and you failed to suppress the wave of pure heat that flooded through your battered body as you clenched around him, as you came undone around the cock of your kidnapper, your captor, your husband. Hades wasn’t far behind, his composure shattering no more than a second after the walls of your cunt clenched down around him. You could only choke on your misery-tinged pleasure as his hips pressed into your ass and he came inside of you – his awful warmth soon tainting every fiber of your being.

You tried to tell yourself that, at the very least, it was over - that he’d had his fill of you and now, you’d be free to console yourself elsewhere, but your hopes were once again dashed when Hades failed to release you, failed to pull out of you, failed to do anything but press himself into your back and trail his lips idly down to the nape of your neck. “Once is a pitiful amount for a king. Don’t you agree?”

You felt his hips move back, then rock against you just as quickly.

“You can forgive me when we’re done, love.”

[pin-k-ink]

kinda common request but ushijima with a size kink 👀

lusus // ushijima wakatoshi

tw ⇢ size difference, size kink, belly bulge, cumflation, mentions of pregnancy and marriage, a couple of clit slaps, teasing, pet names, “just the tip”, creampie, nipple play, unprotected sex, breeding kink

wc ⇢ 6.5k

a/n: i got a bit carried away… :(

It started as an idle observation - one Ushijima couldn't quite pinpoint the origins of amidst the endless cycle of practices, drills, and critical preparations filling his laser-focused mind. But gradually, possibility after innocent possibility arose where he found his sharp eyes catching on the sheer... daintiness of the team's new manager.

The first instance blazed into sudden, startling existence one afternoon as you attempted to ascend the rickety ladder for hanging the championship banners. Engrossed in charting out a fresh tactical overhaul with the coaches, Ushijima only registered your presence in his periphery as a flicker of movement.

Then came the tell-tale wobble of unsteady footfalls on the rungs, followed by a muffled yelp that managed to penetrate even his intense concentration. Before conscious thought could engage strategy, Ushijima was already in motion.

In what seemed like a single, supernaturally fluid heartbeat, his powerful strides had covered the short distance just as the ladder began tipping treacherously from beneath your feet. Another eyelash-blink later, and Ushijima's forearm banded like an iron bar around your trim waist - halting your stomach-dropping plummet with shocking ease.

But just as swiftly as your unconscious peril arose, it was snuffed out again by Ushijima's unhesitating intervention. That smooth-as-oiled-silk response was merely the product of endless repetitions and drilled conditioning honed to surgical sharpness.

What stole the breath from Ushijima's very lungs like a physical force was the sudden, bewildering intimacy of having your curves pressed flush against his chest in that follow-through motion. The way your back arched subtly against his solid wall of support as he cradled your astonishingly delicate frame against the immovable force of his body with negligible effort.

Even through the layered fabrics separating you, Ushijima swore he could feel every pliant inch of your modest silhouette molding against his ongoing inhale. Like liquid sin itself taking hypnotic shape and tempting form against the hardened steel of his physique.

It was such a disconcerting realization in that breathless moment that his brain lagged several precious pulses in catching up with the new data input overload. When Ushijima finally registered the quiet pants of shocked exhales ghosting warmly over the juncture of his throat, the sensory input proved as disarming as a physical blow.

The molten rasp of your breaths so unnervingly close... the plush press of your feminine curves all but swallowed up in the circle of his arms... the dizzying spiral of flowery shampoo and understated perfumes swirling between your two forms in a scent as unmistakably alluring as it was forbidden for the hyper-focused ace to dwell on...

With a ragged exhale, Ushijima abruptly disentangled you both by depositing your feet squarely back onto stable ground and swiftly disengaging contact. Though not before his senses insisted on greedily imprinting every nuance of your shared gravity - from the startled flutter of your lashes against flushed cheekbones, to the pleasing heft and hint of curvature fitting so unexpectedly neatly into his protective embrace.

As soon as the supporting rungs regained their burdened, you'd instinctively straightened with some reflexive murmur about being more careful in the future. But when your luminous gaze finally turned up to meet Ushijima's inscrutable stare, the words seemed to stutter and die on your lips.

For a suspended, molten pause, all the ace could comprehend was the sudden direct line of intimate access now open between you. The way your features were angled up towards him in the wake of that near-debacle, practically commanding his hyper-attuned focus lower...lower...to the utterly disarming swell of your parted lips that Ushijima swore he could nearly taste the breath-warmed fullness of despite no move being made.

It was such an unforgivable lapse of iron focus that in the next instant, Ushijima felt like he'd been doused in the coldest shower imaginable. A violent, full-body rejection of the distracting detour those inappropriate contemplations had nearly started meandering down.

That innocuous moment of dizzying intimacy seemed to awaken something deeply primal within Ushijima's consciousness - an insistent awareness that refused to fade back into ignorant complacency no matter how fervently he attempted to re-immerse in his usual flow of strategies and repetitions.

Everywhere he turned, his heightened attentions now persistently snagged on the same unavoidable observation: just how deceptively tiny and delicate your stature managed to be in direct contrast to his own honed, unyielding physicality.

During grueling practice sessions when the squad formed shoulder-to-shoulder for breaking down gameplay footage, Ushijima couldn't prevent his focus from repeatedly drifting to where you stood off to the side. The way the top of your head barely crested the center of his carved pectorals always delivered a strange molten punch to his gut - awakening unbidden flashes of you tucked securely against that very expanse of muscle mere days prior.

He found his stare lingering overlong on the gentle swell of your throat whenever you leaned in to inspect the tactical court maps unfurled across the staging tables before him. The delicate tendons shifting beneath satiny skin as you swallowed or angled your features in consternation would transfix Ushijima utterly. All he could envision was the scorching brand of his palm spanning that tantalizing column in a possessive caress as he angled your jaw higher to...

The inappropriate trail of thought would initiate a violent sub-routine reboot before it could bloat into something more disturbingly indecent. Ushijima's hands would unconsciously curl into white-knuckled fists at his sides as he forcibly rerouted higher brain function back to the neutral gameplans and optimizations spread before him.

But the struggle to maintain iron discipline only worsened from there as the days marched onwards. Like a riptide pummeling away at his steadfast restraint with each new swell, every innocuous reminder of your distractingly dainty proportions seemed to carve away another chunk of his control.

The mortifying afternoon Ushijima's broad shoulders and over-dense muscle mass saw him catching the spray of an entire water cooler you'd accidentally upended while attempting to carry the ungainly vessel. He hadn't registered more than a vague impression of your strained efforts across the gym before liquid splashed in a wide fan - drenching you from the crown of your head down to the tips of those petite, adorably flexed toes peeking from your sensible flats.

In the span of two lightning inhalations, Ushijima had closed the distance between you in a sinewy viper-strike of potent urgency. His hands - calloused, powerful, and larger than any person's had a right to be - spanned the width of your upper arms in an utterly dwarfing cradle as he instinctively inspected every inch for harm or hurt.

But there was no chance for actual injury of course, only your frozen astonishment and the way every fiber of Ushijima's existence zeroed in on that sudden soaked intimacy with frightening intensity. The cloying scent of your damp locks and the cool moisture beading along the plush pout of your lips in that breathless second redirected every one of his faculties with terrifying singularity.

He was mesmerized by the tiny rivulets of transparency skating across the high, delicate planes of your blushing cheekbones and down the tantalizing silk of your throat. So transfixed by the display of such naked fragility and untapped softness that the world beyond your shared gravities simply ceased to exist for one dizzying eternity...

Until eventually, you emitted the smallest, most temptingly breathy noise of surprise that managed to jar Ushijima from his reverie hard enough to wrench back to reality. Back to harsh fluorescents and squeaking sneakers and ambient shouts of exertion from his teammates resuming undisturbed drills. All the elements of the gym's familiar, safe equilibrium which starkly juxtaposed the darkly decadent awareness now swiftly metastasizing in his conscious thoughts.

Without preamble, Ushijima withdrew from your molten orbit as swiftly as he'd intervened - retracting those dangerously possessive hands before they could map out any more forbidden terrain or shape sin itself around your slender, soaked silhouette. An unforgivable indulgence the calculated, hyper-disciplined ace simply could not permit.

Or at least, so he had desperately resolved to convince himself in that moment of roiling weakness. Even as those traitorous eyes of his drank in one final, searing glimpse at the damp fabric now semi-translucent against the generous swell of your chest, straining invitingly over every tantalizing hint of feminine curvature concealed just beneath that teasing veil...

Encounters like that only seemed to escalate in both frequency and molten potency as the weeks drifted onwards. Until eventually Ushijima realized the gut-punched awareness plaguing his every waking moment was not some freak intermittence to be powered through with sheer determination, but a persistent condition demanding far more creative counterattacks.

Merely avoiding direct proximity to your daintiness proved an exercise in abject failure when the rest of the team apparently relished any opportunity to loudly emphasize the stark contrasts in your respective statures. As if the very sight of Ushijima's broad-shouldered bulk looming effortlessly over your petite figure acted as flashing neon bait to the resident school of minnows always nipping at his heels.

"Hey y/n! Get over here and compare hand sizes with Ushiwaka for the squad contest!" Tendou's vocals pierced the din of one post-practice cooldown with all the subtlety of a backfiring jet engine.

Ushijima felt his spine go ridgidly upright at the grating tones, shoulders unconsciously squaring off as he braced for the juvenile antics sure to fol--

"Yeah, find out if the great Ushiwaka's hands are truly the most gigantic mitts on the team, little lady!"

You obediently trotted over with an exasperated roll of your eyes, already offering up one slender wrist in resigned acceptance of whatever crass "competition" the randier hooligans had concocted during Ushijima's rare mental lapse into the indecent reveries swiftly spiraling out of control.

Before either of your startled regards could register, Tendou eagerly snatched at your proffered appendage and wrenched it upward in a comparative display beside Ushijima's own outstretched palm and fingers. The contrast in size made the breath stutter harsh and molten in the ace spiker's lungs.

Your soft, tapered digits barely spanned from the pointed tip of Ushiwaka's calloused thumb to the first knuckle at the base. Like comparing a child's plaything to the implacable, sinuous strength of a well-oiled machine purposely engineered for delivering controlled devastation. It abruptly felt utterly unconscionable for the two examples to be juxtaposed so overtly.

"Well I'll be damned..." Semi drawled somewhere from the peanut gallery, voice heavy with meaning. "Our little homeroom angelcake has Thumbelina hands after all!"

A few raucous hoots and whistles greeted that filthy observation, no doubt aimed at further fanning the flames of Ushijima's suddenly tenuous restraint. His free hand curled into an unconscious white-knuckled fist at his side as raw, unfettered possession roared to vivid life in his veins like an insidious poison.

The primal urge to snatch your tiny wrist free from Tendou's irreverent grip and reclaim your delicateness into the protective circle of his embrace grew increasingly maddening with every rasping inhale. To erase every set of degenerate eyes currently devouring the soft vulnerability of your feminine composition with their sordid regards from existence entirely. All while drowning in the molten awareness of how utterly and effortlessly your fragility fit beneath his dominion.

Only your smooth, infinitesimal squirm of apparent discomfort broke through the toxic spiral starting to cloud Ushijima's enraged senses in ruby shades of sin. His stare snapped to your features instantly, honing in on the way your cheeks had gone ruddy pink, your generous lips pressed into a flat line of perturbed propriety.

Meeting those wide, reproachful eyes - so innocent yet utterly unguarded in their honest chastisement - acted like a bucket of arctic water over the flames engulfing Ushijima's possessive urges. You didn't deserve to be subjected to the darker facets of awareness cresting inside the Ace's subconscious, he rebuked himself harshly. The quiet dignity and warm support constantly exuded by your graceful presence within their team dynamic far outstripped any sordid justifications brewing within his own repressed psyche.

Heavy footfalls crunched in the stale auditorium hush surrounding the gym as Ushijima turned on his heel to stalk mindfully away from further temptation. He couldn't trust his mental fortitude around you anymore, not with these unaccountable lapses into devouring indecency plaguing his iron restraint.

At least, not until the reckless firestorm of primal hunger silently raging in his core had been expertly doused and redirected once more into something resembling their usual polished professionalism.

Behind him, the continued jeering whoops and whistles dissolved into background static, tuned out utterly in favor of his silent, singular mission to wrestle his runaway restraint back into immovable discipline before it was too late...

The fever pitch of Ushijima's smoldering awareness continued spiraling to dizzying new nadirs with every subsequent team outing. As if some unspoken cosmic force seemed hellbent on testing the superhuman restraint of even the most stoic and unshakeable ace with a relentless barrage of fresh intimacies.

The yearly athletics festival proved to be a particular gauntlet of temptation in that regard. Your petite stature made navigating the rowdy crush of bodies lining the parade route essentially impossible without getting hopelessly turned around or even inadvertently trampled amidst the chaos.

Which was how Ushijima found himself glancing over at one point, only to feel a molten punch of concern twist his gut at the tableau laid out before him. There you stood, straining up onto your tiptoes in a fruitless attempt to glimpse whatever activity currently held the crowd's raucous attentions in thrall from your disadvantaged sightlines.

One broad sweep of his discerning gaze rapidly took in the squirming press of torsos and rippling sea of elevated arms boxing you into a near-suffocating pocket of confusion and mild panic. Your features pinched with that unmistakable look of overwhelmed dismay Ushijima was swiftly coming to recognize as a siren's call demanding his undivided intercession - propriety and personal restraint be damned.

Without preamble, his powerful strides easily ate up the short distance separating you as he shouldered his way through the rowdy crowd with unhesitating force. A few surprised yelps and grunts of displeasure met the wake of his passage. But Ushijima paid them no heed whatsoever, already caught up in the scorching undertow of his singular mission.

No words were exchanged, no by-your-leaves requested or offered as he coasted to an abrupt halt before your petite silhouette. You didn't even have a chance to register his sudden, looming proximity before Ushijima had already stooped into an effortless crouch and banded one heavy arm behind the pliant give of your knees.

The other swept out to catch the surprised bend of your lower back in a fluid, steely arc - essentially scooping your entire diminutive frame up into the air with all the ease and negligible effort most would exert when retrieving a magazine from the coffee table before them.

A soft, startled noise punched its way past your parted lips at the abrupt relocation. But before any reflexive protests could surface, Ushijima had already straightened back up to his towering full height with you easily cradled in the protective circle of his arms.

From this elevated vantage just beneath his squared jawline, you couldn't begin to even see over the tops of his powerful shoulders -- much less rejoin the rest of the team amidst the crowds. Ushijima's broad, marble-carved features stared inscrutably down at you through those perpetually shadowed lenses as a lush wash of heat flooded your cheeks.

In that suspended heartbeat of molten connection sizzling between you, the Ace spiker permitted himself the indecency of simply...savoring the moment stolen away against all propriety or restraint. Of drinking in the ephemeral impression of having your waifish curves and feather-light composition utterly subsumed within his protective embrace with utterly zero effort extended.

He allowed his larger-than-life palms to map out the delicious give of your lower back and hamstrings in one unhurried, possessive caress. Was mesmerized by the tiny, delicate bones of your wrist and the swell of tendons shifting beneath fragile skin as you instinctively curled your fingers over the carved geometry of his clavicle to steady your ascent.

There was simply no denying the rapturous delight thrumming through Ushijima's every tendon at how unimaginably minuscule you felt gathered against the solid wall of his torso like this. How confidently, how naturally your slight form seemed to melt into the cradle of his broad arms and chest as though every inch of whittled musculature had been divinely sculpted with this exact indecent cradling in mind--

With a harsh inhalation lancing through his nostrils like dragonsmoke, Ushijima abruptly resumed his sinewy strides forward once more - jaw clenching on a punishing grind as he ruthlessly smothered that wildfire of wanton fantasies before they could truly ignite. He refused to allow himself to be so thoroughly unmade and derailed by your doe-eyed prettiness again and again...no matter how transcendentally perfect your fragility felt molded against his immovable dominion in reality.

No. He was the consummate discipline in humanoid form, the very avatar of hyper-focused intensity and restraint. He would not be reduced to some dribbling, base cretin rendered incoherent by the fleeting impressions of tenderness and possession currently drug-hazing his senses.

Or at least, that's what Ushijima fervently told himself with every subsequent footfall resonating between you. Even as your quiet, self-conscious giggle of amusement suddenly wafted up on a humid zephyr - close enough that he could taste the sweetness of your breath on his tongue.

And close enough to rip the foundations out from beneath his fragile reasonings once again...

Ushijima really should have known better by now than to allow any scenarios where prolonged proximity to you proved unavoidable. And yet, time after time he seemed to stumble into these charged intimacies through sheer happenstance or unthinking habit.

Like the afternoon you'd both ended up seated side-by-side reviewing fresh game footage, with the rest of the team circled loosely around the solitary monitor on offer. It had seemed innocuous at first - nothing Ushijima hadn't experienced a thousand times before amid the endless cycle of preparations and chalk-talk sessions.

But the moment you shifted slightly closer, brushing your shoulder companionably against his in the tight confines, everything abruptly snapped into hyper-focused clarity once more. Ushijima became excruciatingly aware of even the most infinitesimal details radiating off your modest frame in dizzying waves.

The delicious floral bouquet of your shampoo and subtle perfume swirling between you in one intoxicating melange. The silken friction of your skirt whispering against his thigh with every minute readjustment. Even the warm puffs of your quiet breathing seemed to skate tantalizingly down the side of his throat in a searing caress he couldn't shake.

It was like being unwillingly submerged in an ocean of scintillating distractions and forbidden temptations, all designed to lash against the rickety moorings of Ushijima's restraint. He grit his molars hard enough for his jaw to creak in protest, determined not to allow himself to drown in those swirling indulgences again so easily.

Until the moment you made an abortive move to rise from the enveloping couch cushions - no doubt intending to step out briefly during a lull in the tactical breakdown occurring.

Before any rational thought could properly engage, Ushijima's hand was already lashing out in a reflexive, steely arc to halt your departure. Those same powerful fingers and sinuous tendons he relied upon to bludgeon spiker after spiker across the net wrapped like an immovable vise around your upper thigh with zero difficulty.

The jolt of heated realization that slammed into him was as disorienting as a physical blow. Ushijima froze utterly at the dizzying impression of his palm and splayed fingers spanning nearly the entire circumference of your thigh with space to spare. Of how easily that compact muscle strained and flexed beneath his grasp - as though every individual tendon comprising your modest curves had been purposefully scaled down to entice maximum inspiration from proportionally oversized grips like his own.

You'd startled at the unexpected contact just as thoroughly, pink lips parting to release some muffled noise or breathy exclamation of surprise. But all of Ushijima's strained focus abruptly hemorrhaged elsewhere in the wake of that heated touch.

All he could process was the rapturous give of your soft skin pulsing like molten silk against his calloused fingertips as you instinctively pressed back into the solid cradle of the sofa. The fine vee of your pelvis canting subtly against his knuckles in a sleek, powerful motion somehow throbbingly evocative of wholly indecent undulations and surrender.

An incendiary tidal-wave of wanton fantasy detonated behind Ushijima's eyes without preamble. Of ruthlessly leveraging his disproportionate physicality to seize every inch of your pliant, untapped softness in an iron grip and wringing out plaintive whimpers with each filthy glide of supplication...

Only your startled squirm and the faintly bewildered look now creasing those delicate features managed to pierce the scarlet haze building to criticality in Ushijima's skullfornace. Those too-large fists of his slowly unclenched from their vice with what felt like herculean effort -- leaving a burning imprint of possession seared into his flesh where unforgivable temptation had blossomed in the blink of an eye.

"Ushijima-san?" you queried hesitantly, no doubt picking up on the sharp disquiet simmering beneath his stoicism like corrupted code refracting beneath a still surface.

He didn't dare meet your gaze fully, instead making a Herculean effort to refocus on the tactical video still playing across the monitor before you both with hypnotic regularity. Perhaps if he immersed himself in those safe, sterile patterns once more, the more primal spirals of desire trying to pull him under again could finally be filtered ou—

"I'm just going to get some air," Ushijima growled before you could probe his sudden storm front further. He was on his feet before the words had even finished rasping past his lips, strides already eating up distance from your molten gravities in an urgent retreat.

The confused furrow pinching your brow as you watched his abrupt departure didn't even register to Ushijima. He was already compiling fresh deterrent subroutines in a frantic bid to wrangle back control of the rising inferno intent on consuming him from within over any further innocuous intimacies.

The dam finally burst during one of their routine evenings reviewing overhead camera footage from practice drills in Ushijima's private quarters. What should have been a perfectly sterile, professional exercise in optimizing spike angles and read progressions rapidly snowballed into something far more insidious.

Perhaps it was the dimness of the solitary desk lamp casting intimate shadows across your features as you leaned over the scattered topography of notes and stills spread before you. Or the way you'd automatically settled onto the edge of Ushijima's bed for lack of a second chair, creating a molten tableau of softness amidst his spartan sleeping arrangements that screamed of sin in the flickering half-light.

Whatever the catalyst, all it took was a single absentminded brush of your bare calf skimming up against Ushijima's as you shifted your weight - and every last vestige of restraint he'd been desperately grappling to maintain went nuclear in an eyeblink of culpability.

The live-wire frisson of that ephemeral contact jolted straight down to his very foundations like a lightning strike forking the sky. Before his conscious mind could fully grasp what was happening, Ushijima had already reacted on searing instinct honed across endless hours of emergency reads and scenarios.

In one blurring inhalation, his hand whipped out to lock around the flexing swell of your knee in an inescapable vise. With the other fist riveted into the mattress behind your hip, he effortlessly leveraged that staggering differential in strength to swivel your entire frame flush against his own coiled undulations before you could strangle out more than a whimper of surprise.

The rapturous juxtaposition of having your supple, dainty softness suddenly splayed out so nakedly within the cradle of his indomitable physicality very nearly punched every stray volt of higher reasoning from Ushijima's razored focus in a single shattering detonation. Finally, FINALLY, you were pressed so exquisitely into the scorching brand of him with zero boundaries or illusions of propriety separating you.

His senses veritably whited out beneath the molten lash of that merciless sensory overload as your heady bouquet, your delicate warmth, the whisper-slick friction of your cotton shorts clinging to the flexing sinew of his quads all slammed home in a rapturous deluge. For one endless, shuddering inhale, the primal immensity of having your frail, coveted prize conquered within his dominion rendered Ushijima utterly unmade.

Only one other base compulsion seemed capable of piercing that blinding nova scorching away the last vestiges of lucidity between you. With a harsh growl that seemed to emanate from the very dregs of his subconscious, Ushijima surged forward - simultaneously dragging your pliant form further into the cruel vanquishing of his embrace as he sealed his lips over yours in a branding conflagration of possession.

Any muffled whimpers of surprise or protests were instantly swallowed up and reduced to mere background white-noise in the wake of that indecent detonation. You instinctively melted and writhed, alternating between fitful struggles and the boneless surrender of prey before an apex predator's unhesitating advance as Ushijima's mouth plundered yours with nearly animalistic intensity.

Every hot exhalation stuttering from your gasping lips was instantly consumed and made air by the harsh rake of his next growling inhale. Lush whimpers transmuted to molten keens as his calloused palms mapped out every untapped inch of softness and burgeoning curve with searing brands of marking possession.

The taste of you on his tongue rapidly became the single point of obsession anchoring Ushijima's restraint to reality. Cloying floral and hints of something sweeter--the remnants of candy you'd treated yourself to earlier that day no doubt. The knowledge that he was finally savoring the true essence of your temptation after being starved of it for so long only served to inflame his primal desperation to experience everything all at once.

His iron-wrought frame visibly shuddered and heaved with each fresh glut of restraint rapidly ceding ground before that onslaught of unleashed lust. Everywhere his grasping hands ventured, electric ribbons of molten desire seemed to trail in their wake - intent on bathing you in the scorching, centered totality of pleasures Ushijima so rarely ever permitted himself to indulge at all.

Before that towering obsession could well and truly drown you beneath roiling tidal waves of sin, a final gossamer filament of conscience finally managed to penetrate the eruption enough for Ushijima to tear his lips free with a hoarse, bestial snarl of exquisite torment.

"You...have no idea..." he rasped in a slaughtering graveled baritone drenched in consumed want yet still somehow begging for Purchase. For you to meet him in the raging inferno of abandon he'd prepared to burn for. "What you do to me, little one..."

A desperate noise punched its way free from the back of your throat at those words - as if voicing the very same primal understanding now thrashing at your core as well. You were suddenly everywhere at once, pliant and heated and utterly unraveled, panting hot entreaties against the fury of Ushijima's next merciless inhale.

"W-what do I do, Wakatoshi?"

A harsh groan rattled loose from somewhere deep inside the ace spiker's chest cavity at those words. At the sheer, audacity of them. The brazen invitation they implied.

It was a question he couldn't possibly answer in any rational capacity. A question that demanded total and utter subjugation in the face of its overwhelming implications.

And one which Ushijima could no longer refuse.

With a vicious exhale, his broad, calloused palms slid to cup the generous curve of your rear in a claiming caress. Without pause, Ushijima dragged you upwards against his rippling torso, angling your head and lips back against his with an unhurried, deliberate savagery.

This kiss was different from the others. Gone was the frenetic pace and wild abandon of your initial collision. Now, his mouth moved over yours with a languid, unrepentant thoroughness - mapping out every seam and crease of plush compliance with the implacable, measured focus he normally reserved for the court.

A breathy keen vibrated from the center of your throat, and Ushijima seized the opportunity to delve deeper with a sinuous twist of his tongue, claiming the wet warmth of your mouth for his own once more. His large fingers dug into the pliant swell of your rear, kneading and spreading the supple globes apart until he could feel the wet heat radiating off your pussy soaking through the thin fabric of your shorts against his straining arousal.

A groan tore loose from Ushijima's chest, raw and needy, as he began rocking his hips in slow, deliberate circles, grinding his clothed cock into the slickness gathering between your thighs. The feel of your cunt pulsing against his length was like a match striking a dry forest. He couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd been so hard. So fucking desperate.

But the way your arms locked around his neck and your slim legs hooked around his waist as he continued rolling his hips sent an avalanche of need roaring through him. It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. He wanted you spread and bared, wanton and desperate beneath him.

"On your back, little one," he growled against the damp swell of your bottom lip.

The way your pupils dilated and your eyes darkened at the order was so damn sexy. The way you scrambled to obey was even sexier.

Without releasing his grip, Ushijima lowered himself atop you, careful not to let the full weight of his bulk rest upon you. He was a big man. Too big to risk crushing your smaller frame beneath his.

He would have to find other ways to keep you pinned beneath him.

With the tip of his index finger, he traced a path down the silky column of your neck, over your collarbone, and across the slope of your chest, watching as your nipples pebbled and hardened under his feather-light touch. He paused for a moment, admiring the view, and then he slid his finger down to the hem of your shirt.

He lifted his eyes to yours. "Arms above your head."

Your eyelids fluttered as you lifted your arms over your head, your breath coming in short bursts, and then you complied.

Ushijima pulled your shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind him. He didn't bother unhooking your bra. Instead, he shoved it up, baring your tits to his hungry gaze.

He dipped his head, capturing a nipple between his lips and sucking it into his mouth, while his hand cupped the soft swell of the other. A low, breathy moan echoed from the back of your throat as you squirmed beneath him, and he couldn't suppress a groan. Your taste was better than he'd imagined.

His teeth scraped over the sensitive peak, and a whimper bubbled from the back of your throat. You arched your back, pushing your breasts further into his mouth and hands, and he released the nipple with a wet pop, lifting his head and giving you a stern look.

"No moving. I'll tie you down if I have to."

The thought of tying you up sent another rush of blood to his already throbbing dick, but now wasn't the time. He could tie you up and torture you later, when he'd had a chance to go to the store and pick out some pretty restraints and maybe a vibrator.

Instead, he returned his attention to the task at hand, his thumb stroking over your hardened nipple while his lips descended upon the other. You gasped, writhing beneath him, and he nipped the delicate flesh with his teeth, eliciting a squeak.

"Be a good girl," he murmured. "Stay still for me."

And then, without waiting for an answer, he returned his mouth to your tits, licking and sucking, biting and pinching until the peaks were red and swollen, and you were a shivering mess beneath him.

By the time he finally lifted his head, the crotch of his shorts was soaked, and he could feel your own slickness soaking through the thin material of your panties.

He slid a hand between your bodies, tracing the outline of your folds through the soaked fabric. You moaned, arching your hips, and he gave a sharp smack to your thigh.

"Don't move," he ordered.

He hooked a finger under the hem, tugging it to the side, and his cock twitched at the sight of your glistening pussy. His mouth watered at the prospect of tasting you, but his own arousal was quickly becoming a problem. His erection was straining painfully against the fly of his shorts, and he was dangerously close to coming just from the friction of the fabric rubbing against him.

He tugged your underwear the rest of the way off, and you shivered as the cool air of the room washed over your heated flesh.

"Cold, baby?" he murmured, and you nodded.

"We'll fix that soon enough," he promised.

He pulled his own shirt off and tossed it aside. He didn't bother to unfasten his shorts, just unzipped them and pushed them and his boxers down enough to release his cock.

His balls tightened as his shaft sprang free, bobbing heavily between his thighs. He wrapped his fist around his shaft, pumping it slowly. He didn't need much stimulation. Just seeing you sprawled out before him, naked and wet, was enough to get him there.

He shuffled a bit closer and rested his heavy cock on the soft skin of your abdomen, hissing as the head of his cock rubbed against the smooth plane of your stomach. He couldn’t believe how tiny you were. How his cock could cover your entire stomach. How the tip of it almost reached your sternum.

He groaned, pumping his cock a few more times before lifting it and sliding the length between the wet lips of your pussy. You gasped as his cock glided over your clit, and he repeated the motion, enjoying the way you moaned and writhed.

"Look at you, taking my cock so well," he breathed, watching as his shaft slipped and slid over your clit.

You whimpered, and he increased his pace, rocking his hips and fucking his length between the swollen lips of your pussy. "S’ too big…" you whimpered, the walls of your cunt contract around nothing.

He grunted, thrusting faster, feeling your slickness coat his cock, making it easier for him to slide between the folds of your pussy. You moaned, arching your hips and trying to rub yourself against him, but he didn't let you. Instead, he pulled his cock away, smacking the underside of his length against your clit.

"Fuck!" you gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders, gripping the solid muscle and squeezing as you tried to find purchase.

"Don't move," he repeated, swatting his cock against your clit a second time, and then a third, before pressing the tip against your entrance.

Your eyes widened, and you stared up at him with an expression that was half-terror and half-excitement. He smiled down at you, his fingers tangling in the hair at the base of your skull, pulling your head back so you were forced to meet his gaze.

"You're going to take my cock like a good girl," he told you, and you shuddered, a whine slipping past your parted lips.

"I- I don't know if I can," you whispered, your voice shaky and uncertain, and he chuckled.

"Oh, you will," he assured you. "I’ll fuck you with just the tip first, okay? We'll start there and work our way up."

Your brow furrowed, and he could tell you were trying to figure out exactly what he meant by that. But then he was pressing his cock into your tight hole, and all thoughts flew from your mind as his girth stretched you open, stretching you wider than you'd ever been stretched before.

He didn't push his length into you right away, just slid his fat tip in and out, working you open. It felt incredible. You were so tight, so wet, and the way your muscles clenched and pulsed around his shaft had his balls drawing up, ready to blow his load.

"Fuck, baby, you're gonna make me come," he grunted, pulling his cock free from your pussy and rubbing the head against your clit, enjoying the way you shivered and writhed, the way your juices dripped from your hole.

"Want to fill you up," he muttered, pushing his cock back into your cunt, watching the way his thick girth stretched you, disappearing inside of you, inch by inch. "Fill you with my cum and make you pregnant."

Your eyes widened, and you stared up at him with an expression that was part shock and part fear. He didn't care. You'd take his cum, and he'd fill you with it over and over until he was sure you were knocked up.

He slid his length the rest of the way inside of you, until his balls were pressed against the curve of your ass. Until he saw the imprint of his cock bulging through your abdomen. Until his entire shaft was buried deep inside your hot cunt, the head bumping against your cervix.

"Gonna fuck you with my whole cock," he told you, and you moaned, the walls of your pussy fluttering around his shaft. "Gonna make you come all over me."

You gasped, your hands moving to grip his biceps, your nails digging into his skin as he began to pump his length in and out of you, fucking you with his entire shaft. He fucked you fast and hard, his hips snapping, the head of his cock hammering against your cervix, and it didn't take long before your muscles were clenching around his girth, milking him as he pounded into you.

You cried out, your eyes screwing shut, your body trembling as your orgasm tore through you, and he knew he couldn't hold back anymore. With a groan, he thrust his cock deep inside your pussy and came, spurting thick ropes of cum inside your cunt, painting your inner walls with his potent seed. He didn’t stop flooding your womb with his virile cum until he saw the skin of your belly distend and your lower abdomen rounding slightly.

He pulled his cock out, his shaft glistening with his spend and your juices, and you winced, squirming beneath him as his cum trickled out of your cunt, leaking down your ass crack. He pressed his palm flat against the bulge in your belly, watching as the cum gushed out of your stuffed cunt.

"Fucked you so full," he said, rubbing the head of his cock against your swollen clit, making you shiver. "Gonna be dripping my cum for days."

You groaned, your eyes falling shut as he continued to tease your clit, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, his tongue darting out to trace the seam.

"I'm not finished with you yet, little one," he murmured, and you moaned. "I'm going to fill you with my seed over and over again until I'm sure you're pregnant. And then we’ll get married, won’t we?"

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART THREE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, mentions of violence, blood, injury, 141 are still mean pirates, very brief mentions of death masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

The words of Captain Price weighed heavily on your mind. With little distractions to guide you away from them, they were all you were left with. They replayed on a consistent loop, like a broken record player. It was taunting, the way your own mind betrayed you after pleading with it not to think of the cold dose of reality the Captain had given you. It denied your requests for soothing calm and gifted you with roaring waves of chaos.

The Captain had been right. Every last word was coated in nothing but bitter truth, and you hated it.

Your village was nothing but unkind to you, and you knew it. You tried to defend them, tried to reason with why they could have been so cruel to you, but with only yourself and the sounds of the sea to fill the abyss in your head, your defense was bound to crumble.

It wasn’t your fault you were different, at least compared to the traditionalists you grew with. Being born in a secluded hamlet separated from the bustling mainland meant the people were just as isolated. Hermits, they were. They sought simplicity through actions shown by the book. Marriage, children, with women to remain in their place at home. It was a dream to some, and a nightmare to you.

You wanted more. There was a vast world out there for you to mark your claim on, yet your own people disregarded your desires. They turned on you, taunting you as the village outcast, one that many continued to torment well into adulthood. You were one against many, and you only had yourself in the long run.

You worked hard for what you had. Despite the consistent abuse your people had given you, you sought out adventure like a moth to a flame. It called out to you. Learning of medicines and practices to become more of the miniscule woman everybody saw you as was your safe haven. You wanted to explore the world and take your practices to a place where you’d be accepted as one’s own.

Then those pirates had taken that away from you. Not only had they stolen your dreams, but they had stolen your home, people, and passion. Everything was lost at the drop of a hat.

Being a medic for a scroungy group of thieving pirates was not in your cards. Before, you hadn’t even known pirates were existent. They were a simple folk tale, something to  share on quiet nights when the village had grown bored. Never did you think you would come across one, let alone four who had taken it upon themselves to make you their problem.

You feared that you would never achieve your dreams of being a proper medic. Of never escaping to the mainland where you could begin a tranquil life consisting of you and your studies. Now, it seemed that you would never experience peace or independence. Your dreams were embezzled, lost in the foamy waves that lapped against the side of the ship.

The grieving of your loss didn’t stop, even during Soap and Gaz’s visits. They kept it minimal, presumably under the Captain’s orders, or because they simply didn’t like you enough to further interaction. Not that you wanted them to, anyway, though it would’ve made the aching loneliness a bit more bearable.

They noticed, of course. The way your eyes began to sink in, casting a grim shadow across your face, or the way you no longer bared your teeth at them when they approached. Pirates like them didn’t care for people like you. You were a pawn in whatever game they were playing, and you didn’t know the rules.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the deck above you rattled you awake. The cot was fairly useless in providing you comfort, but you had succumbed to your eventual exhaustion over the course of your capture that you had grown used to it.

Unlike normal days, where their steps were more quiet and calculated, this time sounded like a frenzy. Uncoordinated, merging together in loud pitter patter. It was unsettling, lighting an icy chill in your bones. Even in the seclusion of the brig, the air felt thick with tension, as if the pirate’s suspense had crept through the crack under the door and spread throughout the ship.

The floorboards creaked menacingly from above. Your ears pricked at every stomp, every slam of the soles of their thick boots against the old wood. It was as if death was stalking you from the shadows, creeping in, jeering at you. You were in the dark, unaware.

You wondered if other pirates had invaded the ship. Perhaps this was your end. You’d be found by enemies and treated much more unkindly in the hands of men who only saw you as a mere woman and not the potential to be a medic.

Though your pirates were just as cruel, they hadn’t harmed you. They hurt your people, but salvaged you to make use of your knowledge. They weren’t as terrible as what may have lurked the waters. Maybe it was simply the fear talking, but if what you thought was true, then you prayed to whatever god was listening that you remain in the safe hands that had yet to pose a threat to you.

Your prayers were answered by the harsh sound of the door opening. It wrenched open, slamming up against the wall with a crack. Dim light poured through, down to your cell, illuminating a faint glow enough for you to see.

Atop the stairs, a large figure lurked, blocking out the light. It cocooned around him, casting an eerie shadow and successfully masking away his face.

Fear shot through your veins, burning like a raging fire, lighting you up from the inside. It threatened to combust, inching you towards a scorching agony. It clouded your mind, fogging over the logic and replacing it with racing thoughts of choking terror. You thought of death, torture, being swept away from this brig, only to be placed in a more torturous one with strangers out to harm you. To be used for pleasure and entertainment by a group of savage pirates unbeknownst to you.

“Get up,” a voice barked at you. It was rough and throaty, exuding pure authority. It was also familiar.

The sound of metal clanking on metal filled your eyes and once you had pieced together your mind enough, you realized it was the key unlocking your cell. The door opened, the figure stepping into your cell and closer to you, where you lay on the cot. It loomed over you, shielding you away from escape.

“Get up,” he ordered again. A hand reached out to you, cold, rough fingers wrapping around your bicep and lugging you off of the cot and on to your feet. There was no time for arguments. You recognized Ghost’s stony mask, and you knew fighting him would prove fruitless.

“What’s going on?” you asked, legs straining to keep up with his pace as he tugged you up the rickety stairs.

“Captain’s hurt,” Ghost gruffed, only the narrow of his eyes peeking through the eye holes of the skull mask, giving you a glimpse of his disgruntlement. “Need a medic. That’s you, birdie.”

Your heart sank to your stomach for numerous reasons.

For one, the smallest part of you worried for the Captain. No matter his actions thus far, he was hurt and required medical attention, enough of it that Ghost had prompted you out of your cell after residing there for the past month.

Then there was the fact that they were asking you for help. Sure, you technically were a medic. One in practice, but you knew the basics of medicines. However, the problem arose that you didn’t know much beyond that. If the Captain truly was injured to an extent beyond your skill, you feared they’d throw you over the ship and into the murky waters once they deemed you useless.

The misty air hit you the moment you stepped out of the brig and on to the upper deck. It was chilly despite it being summer, with the ocean breeze curling into your dingy hair and across your cheeks. The feeling was nothing short of relieving, to breathe in fresh air that filled your lungs, clearing them of the musty tang of brig air.

It was still midnight, but the moon was bright enough to have your eyes squinting, adjusting. Even the feel of it on your skin was like sweet kisses after a period of solitude.

That wasn’t what was important, though. Ghost had your arm in a chokehold, and he was urgently dragging you across the deck and towards the front of the ship. None of the other men were found, but you’d quickly find them when Ghost yanked open a door leading to the Captain’s quarters.

Inside, Captain Price was propped up lazily against the side of a large table, covered in maps and quills. A small pot of ink had been tipped over and spilled, tainting the papers with splotchy black. Drips of his blood had swirled into the mix, and the sight of it made you sick.

Price’s hand was smothering a gnarly gash on his side, fingers seeping over with crimson blood. Soap stood beside him with Gaz, the two of them seemingly anticipating your arrival. The moment they locked eyes with you, they stood up straight, expressions impatient.

“Took ye long enough, Ghost,” Soap boasted snarkily. Ghost huffed from beside you, pushing you by your arm and sending you towards Price.

“Fix him up,” Ghost commanded, stern. You blinked at him before switching to look at the Captain.

Price was a bit paled, skin clammy with sweat despite the chill in the air. He seemed more annoyed than pained, face pulled taut with a frown deepened beneath his beard. His eyes bore into yours threateningly.

“I don’t—“ you stared, stumbling over your words. “I don’t know how to stitch, I told you, I’m not a professional—“

“Surely you’ve had practice once or twice, haven’t you?” Price reckoned, cocking his head at you.

“Only on injured animals,” you defended. “I don’t know how to stitch on people.”

Price clicked his tongue, a hint of agitation gesred behind it. “Can’t be much different. Allow me to be your experiment, dove. You want to be a professional? Figure it out.”

You stared at him, bewildered. You knew there was no room for argument, nor was there any time. He was bleeding into the palm of his hand, wound sliced open from what you assumed was a sharp blade. You didn’t have the chance to think about how he possibly could’ve been injured in that way.

“Well? Go on, dove, it ain’t goin’ to heal itself,” Soap urged in annoyance, giving a light shove to your shoulder. Not enough to move you from your position, but enough to snap you into order.

“I need my supplies,” you explained. “Surely, you kept them.”

“Tch. Not stupid, dove,” Price snipped. With his free hand, he clumsily fumbled for one of the drawers of the table he leaned upon. Yanking it open, it was sent to the floor with a crash, sending its contents scattering.

The action was savvy and if you weren’t in a frenzied rush, you would’ve had the mind to be irritated. However, you remembered your place, as well as the people you were being forced to serve. It wouldn’t be wise to bark back at them for throwing around your work so carelessly.

You were quick to drop to the floor and begin retrieving what was necessary. Supplies were scarce, seeing as you weren’t fortunate enough to grow up on the mainland where demand was much more accessible.

Making a mental note to ask for them to collect more items for you, that is if this was really going to be your life, you clattered the items on the table Price rested on, making quick work of tugging stitching thread through the tiny needle.

The job would be sloppy, especially with the way your hands shook. You knew good and well that if anything were to happen to these pirate’s Captain, you’d be first one off the ship, sent to God knows where.

All eyes were on you. It was unnerving.

Soap remained next to Gaz, both watching you like a hawk. Their eyes studied every movement of your fingers as they worked through the threads, preparing to stitch up Price as requested.

Ghost stood near the door leading to the deck, arms crossed and eyes piercing into you like a warning threat. And really, you knew that’s what it was.

Price was awfully calm for a man who’d been stabbed, and you briefly wondered if this was something pirates were used to. Harming others was one thing. Gaining injury themselves was another.

Lucky for you, the Captain wasn’t wearing any fabrics. He must’ve taken his shirt off when he returned to his quarters, which made things easier for you.

“Remove your hand,” you said, before adding on, “please.”

Price huffed out what could’ve been mistaken as a laugh, though you highly doubted it. He carefully pulled his hand away from his wound, slippery with blood. The sight was quite gruesome, though you were sure it was just the blood making it so.

Taking a deep breath, you positioned yourself in front of the Captain. You dug deep in your memory of the times you’d operated on helpless animals you’d found in the outskirts of your village.

Animals were easier. They were more pliant and obedient. Some were squirmy, though being much smaller than you gave you advantage over them.

Price, though, was significantly bigger. And human. He was far from any animal you aided.

With his arm out of the way, you had a showcase of numerous scars scattering his torso. They were white, indicating they were much older, but some were still risen with pink tissue that revealed being more recent.

You had your hands full. Truly.

“I’m going to begin now,” you told Price.

“Don’t need to narrate the whole operation to me, medic. Just do it.”

Price’s tone was sarcastic and a tad bit mean. If he was aiming to offend you, he was doing a poor job. You’d taken ridicule all your life.

Brushing it off, you used nimble hands to make the first insertion of the needle, threading through the first stitch. Price showed no discomfort, though the eyes of the others didn’t help your unease. You felt like a lab rat and they were the ones operating on you.

The stitching became easier the more it went on. He needed quite a few, though the practice was appreciated. Your hands became more steady and your heart was no longer in your throat.

The room was at a standstill up until the very moment you tightened the stitches, tying them off and pulling yourself away from Price. Your work was far from perfect, but it was doable.

“Finished, are you?” Price hummed. You nodded in confirmation. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You bit your tongue to hold back mockery until the taste of metallic flooded your tastebuds.

“I’ve only worked on animals. It appears you are no different than one,” you bit back calmly, shiftingyour attention to organizing the supplies Price had so carelessly tossed to the floor.

Soap let out an obnoxious snort, while Price only cocked his head in faint amusement.

“You might want to watch your tongue there, dove. Ghost has taken out many,” Price informed.

That was enough to send shivers down your spine because you knew he was being truthful.

A quick glance to Ghost showed no indication of lies, so you quickly averted your eyes, opting to avoid him. You didn’t want to imagine the horrors Ghost had caused from his hands alone. He was a force not to be reckoned with, and you’d happily stay far, far away.

“I still need to apply an herbal balm and wrap it.” You changed the topic in hopes of forgetting your slip of tongue. You rather liked keeping it in your mouth.

“Very well,” Price sighed. With a gesture of his head, he signaled the other three men out of his quarters, leaving you alone in the room with him.

It was eerily quiet between the two of you while you worked a calming balm into the tender skin around his wound, careful not to touch the fresh stitches. The herbs were a mixed paste you had created back in your village from the supplies Mary had gifted you, and they proved futile now in a sensitive time.

You wished she were here to take you away from this nightmare fueled ship. Though, you couldn’t deny it any longer — you knew she was dead, just like the rest of the village. There was nothing you could do about it.

This was your life. This was your journey. Your opinion on the matter wasn’t valid.

“Quite the snippy one, aren’t you?” The Captain’s voice broke the tense silence, though it did nothing to calm you. “I heard from a little bird that some fortnights ago, you threw your porridge on to Gaz.”

Your shoulders pulled taut in a mix of embarrassment and shame. It was as if you were a child being scolded.

“I did,” you admitted quietly.

“And you do not feel bad?” Price questioned.

“No.”

“Hm.” A smile tilted on his face, lazy just as the other ones, as if he had no energy to display the true nature of a smile. “I will hand it to you, dove, he can be quite a brat sometimes. Perhaps he deserved it.”

You glanced up from his injury to look into his eyes. Your eyebrows tugged together in confusion.

You were fully expecting outrage, or perhaps the Captain to reprimand you for taking your anger out on his crew. Instead, he seemed almost like a jokester.

That couldn’t be. He was cruel and heartless, just as the others were. It didn’t matter how much Soap jested with you, or Gaz no longer glared at you. They were still pirates.

“I am all finished up here,” you explained, clearing your throat and taking a step back. “May I return to my cell?”

The cell was the last place you wanted to be in, but it was the only haven you’d found on the ship. You certainly didn’t want to stick around the other pirates for longer than necessary.

“Nonsense,” Price mused. “You have proven to have enough skill as a medic. You’re useful and resourceful. You won’t be able to work well in that dingy cell.”

You felt a pit of nervousness fill the void in your stomach. It did somersaults, making your mouth water with the need to be sick.

This was what you wanted, right? To be accepted into the crew so that you may plot your escape down the road when the time proved right. So why did it feel strange to be praised by the very man who had slaughtered your village?

“I will be staying in the upper decks, then?” you assumed, and he chuckled.

“We don’t quite have a cot set up yet, dove. We weren’t exactly expectin’ you to last, yet here you are.” He sounded almost prideful saying that, and you weren’t sure whether to feel comforted. “You’ll join me in my quarters for now. It only makes sense while I’m healin’ up, hm?”

That pit in your stomach turned into a canyon. To share a bed with the Captain of a malicious pirate crew, watching over him as his nurse? Perhaps this was your way out, or the start of your downfall.

Either way, you either ended up dead, imprisoned, or homeless on the mainland. Homeless, but free. You’d be an idiot not to play into the game.

You could do nothing but bow your head in silent agreement, unable to decide your fate once again. You were at the hands of the Captain and his crew, and those hands may be bloodied and mean if you said otherwise. hands may be bloodied and painful if you said otherwise.