#they have to treat him like an adult ADULT now and I don’t think they like that

[347-emeraldbitch]

Molly: I think you have been spending too much time with the Black brothers.

Percy: We’re all unemployed and depressed. Besides they’re family on BOTH sides mother.

Molly: Please don’t say it like that!!! You make it sound like we’re……

Percy: Whole family is indeed inbred mum. Can’t do much about that now.

[seaweedstarshine]

RIP Krakoa 🌹 I can’t lie I’ve been kinda behind since midway through Fall of X I’m gonna catch up before my first SDCC this summer but I hear Vulcan didn’t see much action anyway. Anyway my hand slipped and I found myself looking into the eyes of my canonically psychotic son the best Summers brother who’s never done anything wrong in his entire life, (he’s done lotsa wrong things but I love him more for it)

[nympippi]

Necromancer Finney AU: Adults in general aren’t sure how to feel about Vance. On one hand, he’s got that infamous short temper. On the other hand, he’s been through quite a bit, even before the Grabber incident. Ultimately, it’s generally agreed that Vance is a victim of terrible circumstances and is reacting accordingly to them

I’m actually unsure on this one because I do think maybe in a town like Denver they’d definitely sympathize with him, and feel for his pain but at the same time I think Vance would hate it. Because it’s only after Vance has to undergo massive amounts of trauma and pain for the adults around him to see him as a kid and not some criminal.

it’s showing him that the adults had potential to care but they never did. And instead of working with him, they work against him labeling him as a troubled child who would end up seriously hurting someone. …I don’t know, I’m not too sure on my stance or have any ideas on the adults in tbp but I do headcannon Vance to dislike adults to a serious degree and it only gets worse after his kidnapping.

[xazse]

Female!Reader × HybridPuppy!Yuji

The reader produces breast milk , which she expresses and donates to a shelter for small hybrids. HybridPuppy!Yuji often hugs her and presses himself against her chest to inhale the smell of milk, which makes his mouth water and his cock hard. In the end, he can't resist and begs his mistress to let him suck her milk. Or he sneaks into her bedroom at night and drinks her milk while she sleeps.

Instead of Yuji, you can have Satoru if you want to change the character

Notes: I love this so fucking much, I made a few changes I hope you don’t mind and I’m using Satoru btw because I don’t write for minors.

Pairings: PuppyHybrid!Satoru x LactatingFem!Reader

Warnings: I’m sorry but I’m warning ya now this is some nasty shit but a good nasty if ur into this! + Smut + Lactation + hybrids + reader has big boobs + possessive!Satoru + perv!Satoru + porn with plot + notproofread + bathroom sex + I think I spent too much time on plot and not enough porn sorry!

You love visiting the shelter near your house, it’s just a ten minute walk of you enjoying the scenery and speaking to the townspeople, they always greet you with the warmest smiles because they know you, they’ve known you for years.

In fact everyone here knows you: a widowed mother and wife, a mother whose children have been moved on to pursue their own hopes and dreams so in your little warm house it’s just you. You’ve noticed for a while a void in your heart, the loneliness does get to you some days but not today.

Recently a facility had been built, a hybrid facility, at first you hadn’t ever thought those existed because under new law hybrids are allowed to coexist around regular humans, they are to be treated as such it was a long time coming, it hurt your heart to see them being treated as outcasts.

You learned that this facility was for the young, abandoned and on occasion they’d take in adults who still couldn’t find their place.

And in that place you finally found your calling. for some odd reason you and your doctor couldn’t place you were still weirdly lactating, it was exhausting having sore breasts and an endless supply of milk you’d have to pour down the drain: too embarrassed to donate it in fear of being found out in the small town of people.

You awake up with full boobs that needed to be emptied or you’d spend the entire day in pain, pumping the milk was the only way, you’d only have to do it once a day but the sheer amount could keep a baby feed for the entire day.

You’d been talking to one of the workers of the facility and they’d been explaining how the young ones weren’t exactly taking well to the supplied formula milk, “they’d cry constantly” he exclaimed and it broke your heart into pieces the thought of them not eating hurts you, for the very first time you confided in the worker and he didn’t look disgusted not one bit in fact he seemed overjoyed.

“Disgusted? Why would I feel that way? This means the little ones will eat and not throw fits.” When he finishes that sentence a long drawn out sigh leaves his lips. You can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips.

Suguru you learn comes by your house to pick up the supplements and does he have some comments, he had waited a week to see how much you would produce.

“All this?!” You stand in your doorway shyly nodding in his presence, he’s actually appalled you weren’t lying when you said you have a good bit, he shakes the box in his hands and listens carefully, it’s hard for you to watch him do that right in front of you and not get a little flustered.

He thanks you graciously and makes his way back to the facility, you really hope they like it, it was one hell of a week for you. Though the feeling you did something good swarms you with warmth.

After that it was found that they absolutely loved your milk, and you had plenty to give, it was so cute the way Suguru described their reactions and how priceless it was. One little one had whined for more: Yuji was a special character he required a bit more milk since he was malnourished, Suguru couldn’t stop describing how he would not let go of the bottle, his grip was not going to let up easily, he looked so genuinely happy describing his work and how much he enjoys this field.

You break out of your thoughts and make your way to the facility, it’s downright gorgeous garden greeting you before the glass doors, smelling so good greets you just as warmly, you open the door and offer your greetings to the staff, Suguru had told you on the phone that the little ones had been particularly needy and needed some attention, attention they couldn’t provide right at the moment so they called you: they always do.

They’re way more comfortable with you, always asking when you’re coming back and on occasion they’ll beg you to stay a little longer with them, cute little faces decorated in tears to trick you.

Right now you’re relaxing on the mat in the playroom whilst they all run around chasing after one another, Nobara: a little lion hybrid is trying her hardest to doze off on your lap, she can’t with all the loud children playing like it’s their last day ever. You slowly and softly rub her short locs to lull her, it’s working until Yuji: a tiger hybrid ever the energetic thing is crawling to come bother her.

With Megumi: a wolf hybrid, and basically his other half following right behind him quietly.

Nobara seems unphased by the tiger trying to bother her, simply shooing him away so she can get her beauty sleep, that sentence makes you giggle, you continue to watch the threes antics without saying a word, a show with no production is how they act together.

Yuji sees your hands rubbing Nobaras ears and he’s immediately making his way towards your soft fingers, basically forcing you to rub his orange striped ears, this doesn’t make Nobara happy and she tries to shove him away; whining for your attention again.

You know how they get if you aren’t showing them equal parts attention so now both of your hands are preoccupied, Megumi doesn’t seem to mind, simply sitting and watching on.

You hear his voice before you even see him, he’s definitely running through the halls disrupting the staff, he’s yelling your name so loud that you know its Satoru and how eager he is, you know how eager puppy hybrids can be.

When he pops his head into the playroom the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen, he quickly makes his way over to you ignoring the little growls the babies give him, he’s pushing them aside against your protest and laying in your lap. The grip he has around your waist allows for him to fully envelope himself in your breasts.

“Missed you’s much” he playfully whines.

“You seen me yesterday Toru.”

Satoru lets out a satisfied sigh in the warmth of your boobs, he’s become obsessed with you, and it’s bad he’s had to he reprimanded by Suguru and the other staff multiple times for his possessiveness it’s not his fault though! He can’t control how he feels about you not after that day.

It was when he was feeding Megumi, sometimes as a way to bond Suguru will have Satoru bottle feed them, though he absolutely dreads it, he has to put up with it, all the other adult hybrids are far too hard headed.

He was curious one day, about how the milk had tasted, he found out through Suguru that the formula had been changed to breast milk, it was a slip of the tongue but he himself had also noticed how they whined for more.

He unscrewed the top to the bottle, the little calm Megumi was already drifting off so he wasn’t a problem.

He took a sip, and quickly pulled away: fully expecting it to be the worst thing he’s ever tried: it’s baby food not food meant for him but that feeling on his tongue never came in fact it was actually quite good.

Another sip and another after that; he scarfed the remains of the bottle down with a flushed face, it tassted like- well he couldn’t describe it but he knew he fucking loved it. He found himself sneaking into where it was kept and taking some for himself, it was almost an everyday thing, he knew when Suguru was questioning and bothering him he had to stop but he couldn’t, until he met the source of where the milk was coming from.

He snuggles his face deeper, ignoring and zoning out the loud noises around him, he can smell the milk on your breasts, you recently pumped? Probably this morning to be exact as and all he can think about is how you sat there for hours getting rid of the awful feeling in your sore breasts.

You feel something hard against your leg, you know how Satoru feels about you but this is too much. You’ve already had to tell him in the past that he’s much too young for you and would be better off finding someone who can fit his needs, he insists that he only wants you and doesn’t care about the age difference.

You have yet to bring up these feelings to Suguru though, you can’t bring yourself to say because what if Satoru won’t trust you anymore, it was hard building trust with the man due to his past experiences.

He’s only getting more excited by the minute, his tail moving in slow languid motions.

The way he’s looking up at you is filled with nothing but love and lust, you know that look too well.

You aren’t sure why you’re in a bathroom stall with Toru whilst he feels you up, caressing your boobs, every attempt to tell him to stop dies on your tongue when he rubs a sore area, your breath hitching in your throat when he grinds his hard cock on you.

Such a needy puppy he is, whining under his breath words that you can’t quite decipher especially with how heated you’re getting, your mind getting foggier by the minute as you let Satoru get his fill of you.

He rips apart your blouse and carelessly throws it on the floor, along with your bra next. Your nipples are exposed to the cold air of the facility and Satoru is reveling in it. He paws at your heavy boobs with rough calloused hands that are uncoordinated, squeezing the fat in his hand until he sees what he wants.

The droplets of your milk finally coming to fruition, he licks one nipple and you think you can see him visibly shake with excitement, he filts that nipple in his mouth and suckles, after a good minute he ceases his constant unconscious movements and readily focuses on the sweet milk cascading down his throat.

A moan breaks free from your trembling lips, this feels nothing like the machine you have at home, this feels so fucking good it alone has your cunt throbbing in your panties, the swirling of his tongue and just how content he looks is driving you mad.

You slip into that space that you know is bad for you, your voice is for some reason egging Satoru on, calling him all sorts of names that entice him to suck harder. Your hands don’t listen to you either because you’re rubbing the front of his pants in soft motions.

His whimpers don’t go unnoticed, nor does his swishing tail, such a good boy you tell him, losing all sense of rational he drags you with him to sit on the toilet, you don’t expect the amount of strength he has for being so lanky but he manages it.

He goes right back to sucking on your fat breasts that still replenish his appetite.

You let Satoru strip you of your bottoms and your panties, you let him slip his cock inside of you when you know you shouldn’t, he isn’t big but he fucks constant, always hitting that good spot inside of you based off your reactions.

He looks disheveled and messy, his face red and his mouth dripping with drool and remnants of your milk.

You let him bend you any which way he sees fit in that stall, an overexcited hybrid means it’s going to take a while to exhaust them, though you feel tired after having an orgasm you’ve never experienced he isn’t done, he’s cum multiple times, filled your cunt with his leaky cum he still isn’t done yet.

When he’s got you in his lap leaning on him for support he’s nonstop talking about what you and him will do from here, he talks about how he wants a family of his own and how you’ll be such a perfect mommy to his little ones.

[tuliptears]

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WEARING!?”

Halloween was such a freeing holiday.

getting to dress-up as anyone or thing that tickled your fancy, as long as it was funny and recognizable.

it's refreshing to see others also partake in the festivities with the exchanging treats and the abundance of tricks played on unsuspecting victims.

not to mention the absolute kick you’re getting as Katsuki seethes at what you'd chosen to wear.

“My costume!” You grin widely with pride, puffing your chest out and putting your hands on your hips.

sure, he’s seen plenty of dynamights roaming the streets as he went about patrol, yelling kiddy swears and mimicking his move sets to the best of their abilities.

it's a whole different ball game when his partner decides to dress up as him; the fact that it was identical to the one he wore back during his UA days makes it worse.

“Midoriya helped with the finer details,” you casually named drop your accomplice, gave an uncharacteristic twirl, and let Katsuki bask and relive his glory days, “what do you think?”

“It fucking sucks.” Is all he manages to get past his tightly gritted teeth.

as he makes an expanding list of ways he plans on getting his revenge, you change your pose to one you'd seen him do a dozen times.

“I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure I absolutely nailed the ‘Lord Explosion Murder’ era perfectly.” the chunky styrofoam gauntlets were a bit of a hassle to haul around and you weren't even going to mention how heavy the mask/headpiece was.

“Don’t fuckin’ stand like that!” He’s pointing now, bright-red eyes narrowing at the protruding curve in your spine as you dramatically slouched into yourself.

"please, you stood exactly like this. I have the pictures!"

Katsuki's growling now, chest heaving with each angry breath he took, "you and that shitty nerd are so gonna get it."

“What’s crawled up yer ass, ya damn extra?” you try to closely match the gravelly, rough draw of his voice, which stokes the fire from deep within him even more.

the embarrassment hits him at full-force when your lips curl into an intimidating snarl, thinned-out brows making nearly perfect ‘v’ shapes as you do your best ‘dynamight’ glare, “cut it the fuck out!”

that's when he sees it.

a mischievous glint you get in your eyes when you'd come up with something you knew he'd absolutely hate.

tension only seems to thicken as you open your mouth and attempt to speak.

you’d barely rasped your first ‘oi!’ before he’s finally had enough and charges at full-speed.

costumed kids and adults alike looked on in confused horror as two Dynamights went barreling past them, one letting out boisterous fits of laughter and the other looking like he was seconds away from tearing his doppelgänger’s head right off.

[a11eya]

TITLE: lights will guide you home

CHAPTER: 11

PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

SUMMARY: Soul-lights aren’t as common in this day and age as they were in the past, before quirks, but they’re common enough that people do still find their soulmates.

At thirteen, you meet Bakugou Katsuki, and he lights up for you in orange and gold. You tell him he's your soulmate. He sneers and tells you that you aren't his. He makes your adolescence miserable until you part ways.

You meet again as adults, late at night, in a grocery store, over a pile of bok choy. He apologizes for how he treated you when you were children.

(In which you have a choice—to reject Bakugou's apology, reject him, or to let him show you the man he's become, to learn with him what it means to love and forgive.)

TAGS: soulmate au, trope inversion/subversion, slow burn, getting together, falling in love, fluff, aged up characters, pro-hero characters, eventual smut, mild bullying

NAVIGATION: Series Masterlist

“And you haven’t heard from Bakugou?”

“I haven’t.” Kirishima wrings his hands as you nod and look away, trying to hide your expression. In other circumstances, the sight of such a big man—fiery red hair, sharp teeth, muscles and all—fretting in such a way would’ve been funny. Sweet. But as it is, your worry shadows everything.

The first couple of days after Bakugou falls off the grid, you’re a little annoyed. He couldn’t have spared a minute to reply before leaving? Or at least given you an estimate about when he’d be back? Given you a heads up at all?

But a couple days quickly turn into a week, and you begin to worry. Is this normal? Can you call his agency to ask? Or would that be inappropriate, you butting your head into hero business? 

You don’t know if you’re being irrational or if you’re being overbearing when you and Bakugou are just friends. Unrequited soulmates don’t count. You have no real claim to knowledge regarding his whereabouts, his movements. You’re just friends. 

But friends can worry about their friends. That’s totally normal. So you figure—it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Just one call.

“Hi Aiko. I was just wondering…” You hesitate. “You know how Bakugou—Dynamight is away on a mission right now? Would you happen to know when he’ll be back?”

“I’m sorry.” Even over the phone, her regret comes clear through. “I don’t have high enough clearance to know that info. And even if I did, it’s agency policy not to share that kind of information.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” you tell her, forcing a cheerful tone. You gnaw at your lip, feeling a little lost. What now?

“But I’m sure Red Riot would know!” she says, just as you make up your mind to say your goodbyes and hang up. “Would you like to schedule a meeting with him?”

You immediately perk up.

“Yes, please!” 

Kirishima touches your shoulder. He says, “I think Bakugou’s been instructed to go dark for this mission.”

You look up into his earnest eyes.

“None of our friends have heard from him either,” he tells you. 

“Oh.” The ball of anxiety that’s been sitting on your chest like a weight lightens just a little. So it’s not just you. 

But is that a bad thing? No one’s heard from him?

The weight returns. 

“Is it normal for him to take missions like this?” you ask. “You guys are used to it?”

Kirishima frowns, looking conflicted. “No… These longer missions are usually reconnaissance or stealth missions, and Bakugou’s quirk doesn’t really mix well with them. But there might be other reasons for him to go dark.”

“I see,” you say, gaze falling to the ground as frustration swells in you. 

You’re so clueless about the hero profession. You don’t know what’s normal, how you should be feeling. If the relative calm Kirishima’s exuding is something you should mimic or if the calm’s due to his familiarity with situations like this. And it’s your own fault. Because in the months you’ve spent learning Bakugou, you could’ve asked about all this. About what he does and what’s to be expected. But you didn’t. 

“Look, please don’t worry.” Kirishima ducks his head to look you in the eye. “Bakugou’s really, really good at what we do. He wouldn’t want you to stress over him being gone.”

“Right,” you say, summoning a weak smile. 

“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything,” Kirishima promises.

“Thanks Kirishima,” you say. 

“Call me Kiri, if you’re comfortable with it!” he says, grinning. “And send me pics of Mikan and Natsu. Bakugou’s stingy about sharing them.” 

Laughing, you agree. 

You: I finally got Kirishima’s number! Remembered to ask him while stopping by the agency this morning 😌

You send a picture you’d taken—Kirishima grinning in the background with the smoothie you’d gotten him, and you throwing up a peace sign at the camera. 

Smiling a little, you imagine Bakugou’s reaction upon seeing the picture, seeing your message. He has no right calling you squirrely when he’s so weird about you being friendly with Kirishima. You’re not sure, but if you could hazard a guess, you think it’s because he’s uncomfortable with mixing friend groups. Which you can understand—sometimes it just doesn’t work, or it’s awkward to facilitate. But still. 

You admit that it’s fun getting reactions out of Bakugou, that sometimes you do things on purpose. You miss messing with him. 

Your messages finish sending, finally. But just like the other texts you’ve sent over the past few days, there’s no indication that they’ve been delivered. 

Your smile fades. 

“Hey, what’s up?”

Your head jerks up from your phone as you meet your friend’s eyes. Feeling strangely guilty, you set it down on the table in front of you as she settles back into her seat. 

Mitsuru raises an eyebrow at you. “You’ve been glued to that thing today. You expecting  to hear from someone?”

“Kind of,” you say, then make a face. “Or, I guess, not really. I’m not sure.” 

“The most convoluted answer,” she says, snorting. “Here, pick something from the dessert menu while I flag down that server. You can tell me what’s up with you while we eat.”

Sighing, you take the menu from her. 

Mitsuru’s sharp as a tack in general, but she’s also known you since middle school. It’s not often you wish you could hide things from her, but this time might be one of them. 

You haven’t told anyone about reconnecting with Bakugou. Not Mitsuru, or any of your other friends. You hadn’t even noticed you’d kept your friendship with Bakugou to yourself until recently. You’re not sure why. It’s not like you’re actively hiding it. It’s just… how it’s turned out. 

Okay, maybe you’ve been hiding it a little from Mitsuru specifically. But it’s because she knows him from your time at Aldera. She’d witnessed how mean he was to you, had gotten into verbal scuffles with him, defending you, until you’d asked her to stop.

So. You know that she doesn’t have a good impression of Bakugou. Even after all these years, when she sees ads or merch of him, she rolls her eyes. 

But you do want to talk to someone about it, about him, if only to get some objectivity about your worry. And Mitsuru, with her frank, realistic outlook on the world, is perfect for the job. 

So you tell her about it—an abbreviated, edited version of it. About this friend you’d gotten to know over the past couple months. The “business trip” he’d gone on with little notice and no heads up about when he’d be back. That’s you’re worried because you haven’t heard from him. 

Hiding details—that it’s Bakugou, that the trip is a hero mission—makes you shift in your seat, a stone in your stomach. But you’re scared of what Mitsuru would say. What she’d think if she knew. She’d only ever seen the cruel child he’d been. 

Mitsuru gives you a look when you finally fall silent. She plays with her nails, painted to look like glass, haloed like cat’s eyes, then lifts a hand to wrap a strand of black hair around her finger. 

“This friend of yours,” she says. “It’s Dynamight, isn’t it.” 

Your eyes widen. You choke on the water you’d been sipping. 

“What? Why would you—”

Mitsuru watches as you stumble over your words, mind racing as you try to figure out what to say. She sighs. 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to confirm anything if it’ll get you into trouble or something. But I’ve had my suspicions since I saw those promotional pics he took with those kittens. They’re the ones you’re fostering, right?”

Fuck. You should’ve thought of that. Mitsuru was the first to meet them, all those months ago.

“And then there was that noise on social media about Dynamight at that fancy pet store you were excited to try out a couple months back. Don’t think I wouldn’t recognize the back of your little head,” Mitsuru says, eyes narrowed at you. 

You stare at her for a long moment, scrambling for things to say to deny it. She’s cool, eyes steady.

You cover your face with a hand. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” you say, letting your hand fall, and she scoffs. 

“Who do you think I am,” she says. 

“You’re the only one I’ve told about him.” 

Mitsuru raises a brow. She crosses her arms over her chest. “I appreciate you confiding in me, I do, but… I remember that little shit did to you when we were in junior high. What the hell are you thinking?”

You wince. “I know how it sounds. But he really has changed, Mitsuru. He’s not that little kid anymore. That bully. People grow up.”

Mitsuru’s mouth remains downturned, eyes distrustful. 

“We really did meet months ago,” you say. “And within the first five minutes of conversation, he apologized. I wasn’t ready for it then, but… But since then, we’ve spent time together. Gotten to know each other. And he’s only ever been kind to me.” 

You find that your words catch in your throat, an unexpected wave of emotion flowing through you. Fiddling with your fingers, you say quietly, “We’re friends now.”

You raise your eyes to meet Mitsuru’s. 

Her expression has changed, softened a little. She reaches over and rubs your arm up and down briskly.

“Hey,” she says. “You don’t have to justify anything or feel any type of way about being friends with him given your history. I trust your judgement. I’m just worried, is all.”

“I get it,” you say. “He really was an asshole as a kid. But he’s a better person now. Promise.” 

You feel your words with a certainty you didn’t have months ago. The Bakugou you know, who cares deeply for his friends, who’s always honest, who admits his mistakes, who puts so much effort and care into his job, helping people, protecting people—he’s a good person. One of the best people in your life. 

Mitsuru leans back into her chair. She inhales deeply, exhales. She says, “Just one more thing. I… I know you say he’s your soulmate, that you can see his lights—”

Your breath catches. You know she doesn’t mean anything by it. But her doubt hurts. It echoes yours, feeds into an insecurity that’s only just tempered by the reassuring flicker of orange and gold when you see Bakugou.  

“—but I remember how unkind he was when he told you it’s not a mutual thing. I don’t know if you’ve already resolved that with him, but… I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

“I know.” You tap your foot against hers under the table. “Thank you. Really. And we… haven’t talked about it yet. It hasn’t come up.” 

“Why not?”

You shrug, looking away. Prickles of discomfort race up and down your arms. You should talk about it. But. What if it changes things between you? 

Mitsuru studies you for a long moment, then sighs. “All right. All right. But as your friend, I reserve the right to yell at him the second he fucks up. Just letting you know.” 

You snort, tension releasing. “Yes, yes.”

“And you gotta introduce us. Re-introduce us.” 

“I will!” 

Mitsuru reaches over and pinches you in the arm. You whine.

She grins. “Okay, now tell me how the cats got tangled up in being promotional material for Super Explosion Guy blah blah blah. I can be nosy now that you’ve said something.”

You laugh. “His hero name is one of the funniest things about him, isn’t it? So it started because of that pet shop…”

Natsu, your sweet girl, is finally adopted. The paperwork is finalized, Bakugou’s PR people and the foster organization wrap up all loose ends, and you say goodbye. 

It’s quieter, once she’s gone. Lonelier. She was never a noisy cat, but she would always curl up in your lap whenever you’d read or watch something on the couch. Make biscuits on you when you’d drape a blanket over your legs. She was the cuddliest of the three. 

Mikan’s lost both his playmates, and you try to make up for it with extra play time and mental stimulation via things like treat puzzles. You’re glad you still have him. You don’t know what you’ll do when he leaves you too. He’s so big now. 

To distract yourself, you sign up for a cooking class. It’s just one lesson, two and a half hours. You want to feel out the chef instructor, the vibes of doing something like this, before investing in other packages where more lessons are offered over the course of several weeks. 

It’s surprisingly really fun. You’d gone in worried about your knife skills, about keeping up with the instructor. But you shouldn’t have because everyone is super nice and encouraging. The instructor is attentive, patient. And what you make ends up being surprisingly delicious. 

Mitsuru comes over for dinner the next night and you prepare it for her. It’s a hit. 

“How’s pilates been?” you ask, and Mitsuru groans, reclining further into the couch and patting her belly.

“A nightmare,” she says. “I didn’t think it’d be so tough. You’d think two decades of playing sports and generally being active would help. It does in some ways, but not really. You know, I got the shakes yesterday? We were doing an exercise on the reformer and my leg kept shaking, like I had no control over it. It was so embarrassing, jeez. I was at the front of the room, too.” 

You laugh, imagining it, then shake your head. “If you think it’s hard, there’s no hope for me.”

She turns her head to look at you, eyes brightening. “Are you interested? Forget everything I said. It’s amazing. Life-changing. So fun. Easy, even. Come join.” 

Laughing, you push her away as she smacks your leg in enthusiasm. 

“Have you tried pilates?” you ask Kirishima as he finishes taking a big sip of the smoothie you’d gotten him. He’s just wrapped up a workout, and you’re visiting on your lunch break. 

“No,” he says, tilting his head. “My friend Mina does classes at a studio, though, if you’re interested.” 

“I’m definitely not,” you say. You give him a quick rundown of the conversation you had with Mitsuru, adding, “It just got me thinking about maybe joining a gym or picking up something easy I can do consistently. When I moved to this neighborhood two years ago, I canceled my old membership because of the distance. But with how much I’m chained to my desk at work, I figure I should find a new gym.” 

“If you’re down, I can get you started with a couple workouts here at our agency’s gym until you find something you like,” Kirishima tells you. “I know some gyms in this area, so if you want, I’d be happy to help you look, too!” 

You smile up at him. 

“That’d be great, Kiri, thank you! You sure helping me with workouts won’t interfere with your schedule?” 

“We’ll work it out, don’t worry.” He grins at you, giving you a look as if to say, Did you catch that? Did you get it? 

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m going to ignore that. That’s terrible.” 

“Aww.” Kirishima ducks his head. 

You shake yours. “But really, thank you. For the gym stuff and just for being so nice in general.” 

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we? Always happy to help a friend.” 

You smile. You open your mouth, then hesitate.

You like Kirishima, think you can become even better friends with time. Still, you’re conscious that you haven’t known him long. That the topics of your conversations have been everyday, casual ones.

But lately, certain heavier thoughts have been plaguing you. Despite keeping busy at work, indulging your interests, investing in your other relationships, you can’t stop thinking about Bakugou. It’s been two weeks now. 

Before, Bakugou being a pro hero meant that every once in a while you’d see him on the news if a villain altercation was serious enough to get covered. It meant seeing him in uniform on the streets during patrol, discreetly waving at him as you passed by on your way to and from work. 

Now it means struggling with not knowing where he is, when he’ll be back, if he’s safe. When you’ll see him again and if he’s okay.

How do heroes, especially ones who grow up together as classmates like those attending UA or Shiketsu, handle all these feelings? How do their—their friends, their families, and their partners manage the fear and uncertainty? 

You know you’re not doing a good job of it.

Looking up into Kirishima’s friendly face, those bright eyes and comforting smile, you take a little leap. 

“Can I ask you a question? A kind of serious one.” 

“Anything!” Kirishima says. He gestures for you to sit on a nearby bench, taking a seat next to you after you’re settled. 

“What’s up?” he asks. 

You take a deep breath and decide to just go for it. 

“How do you deal with it? The worry, the… all these terrible feelings when your friends are risking their lives fighting people or going off on these long missions?” You have to stop yourself there, worried that if you keep going, you won’t be able to stop; all of these feelings you’ve been grappling with will just come rushing out. 

Kirishima’s gaze softens, understanding. His mouth sets into a thoughtful line as he considers your question. 

“It never stops being tough,” he says slowly. “Simple patrols can turn into fights, or chases, or rescues all the time. Other heroes with more specialized quirks and jobs can be put into even more danger than us regular heroes, depending. I went to school with people who told us the risks, and we faced them. Even earlier than we should’ve.”  

For a moment, the planes of his face fall into a weariness, a seriousness you’d never seen on him before. That lovely light in his eyes dims, just a little. 

He meets your gaze. “And we still stayed on with the job. For lots of us, helping people, keeping people safe, it’s worth all of it. But for our family, partners, who’re civilians, it’s hard.” 

“So it never gets easy? You just have to live with it?” you ask quietly, that burden settling heavy in your heart.

“I don’t know about easy. But. For me, uh. I don’t know if this’ll be helpful at all, but, um, I try to stay in the present. I used to always be thinking about what ifs or things that hadn’t happened—yet, I thought, and worked myself up. Still do sometimes. But one of my former teachers told me that that’s no way to live your life. Miss out on so much doing that.”

You can relate.

Kirishima tilts his head, thinking for a moment. 

“Oh! And of course there are, like, mental health professionals and support groups I can connect you to. If you want! Lots of heroes see someone regularly, and so do their family members or partners,” he says. 

“I’d like that,” you tell him. 

He smiles at you, reaches out to pat your hand. “Talking about it helps. Having community helps me most, personally. Friends who have my back, family who care. So. If you need someone. I’m always here, okay? I got you.”

An open hand, so readily offered. 

A little lump rises in your throat. These people you’ve met—Bakugou, Kiri, Pulsar, Shieldmaiden—really are heroes. They’re such good people. 

“Thanks, Kiri,” you say with a wobbly smile. 

The days continue to pass, and you try to stay balanced, focused. Some days you succeed, and others you don’t. 

A new restaurant near your work opens up, specializing in your favorite cuisine, and you and a coworker head out to try it. 

You’re waiting for the light to change for the crossing, chatting with your coworker, when a flicker of orange catches your eye. 

You raise your head, your coworker’s voice receding into the background as you slowly scan the streets for what’d caught your attention. 

There. That orange and gold is unmistakable. Your breath catches. 

“Bakugou,” you say, and—his name feels like it’s ripped out of you, a compulsion. The vowels and consonants are lost to the bustle of city life, but his name remains, a question on your tongue. 

You nearly start forward, stepping into the street, before remembering yourself. It’s so hard to resist the urge to run after him, cars be damned, what your coworker would think be damned. But you hold yourself still, tense. Eyes locked on the man walking further and further away from you.

It’s him, right? If he wasn’t wearing a hoodie, you’d be able to tell for sure by his hair, his build. But the hoodie obscures the lines of his body. This far away, you can no longer make out any flashes of orange and gold.

The wait for this pedestrian crossing is so fucking long. You’re going to file a complaint to—to someone, to whomever is in charge of this shit. Fuck. 

Biting your lip, you watch as his figure disappears around the corner. 

“What’d you say?” your coworker asks, jostling you. 

You blink, feeling a little out of body, dazed. Your coworker peers into your face, concerned. 

“You good?” 

“I—yeah. I’m fine.” Forget about lunch. You need to check your phone. 

But before you can do so, your coworker grabs your elbow, propelling you forward. “Hey, the light’s changing, c’mon.”

Maybe you imagined it. Maybe it wasn’t him. 

The second you got the chance, you checked your phone. But there were no messages from Bakugou waiting for you, none from Kiri. Just a couple from Mitsuru, one from your mom, another from a coworker asking you to pick something up from the restaurant for them. 

Maybe you’re losing it.

You sigh, stroking down the length of Mikan’s back, eyes watching but not perceiving the show you’d put on. 

He’d text you if he were back in town, right? Kiri would give you a heads up. So it was your wishful thinking earlier, your imagination. 

You miss him. It’s been almost three weeks. You’ve thought about reaching out to the groups Kiri recommended to you, but you always chicken out at the last minute, phone in hand, number undialed. 

Kiri’d said that heroes’ family or partners go to these things. He hadn’t mentioned friends. Would it be weird to show up just as a hero’s friend? Would telling them he’s your soulmate help justify it? 

But no, because. What would you even say? Hi, I’m a hero’s friend. Yeah, just friends. Well, no, technically he’s also my soulmate. What do I mean by technically? Well, he’s mine but I’m not his. So yeah. 

Even the thought of admitting that to strangers makes you nauseous. 

And what if you slip and say his name? You don’t want people to know you’re talking about Bakugou. You’re not sure you’re allowed to say he’s on a mission. You’re still not sure you want people outside your personal lives aware that you know each other, are friends. 

You pick Mikan up, lifting him to eye level, and bury your face in his side. That nice cat smell envelops you for a nice moment. 

He squirms out of your grip, jumping to the floor. Giving you a look, he begins washing his fur with his tongue. 

You slump into the couch, defeated.

Bright and early, the next morning finds you at the agency in workout clothes. 

All night, you’d tossed and turned, mind busy. You’d fallen into a fitful sleep around 2 AM, only to wake up again around 5 AM. At that point, you gave up and decided that maybe if you tired your body out, your mind would shut up and let you rest. At the very least, you’re grateful it’s a Saturday and you don’t have to come in to work. 

Flashing a quick smile and wave to the front desk, you use your access card to head up to the gym. The halls are quiet, and the few people using the gym are people you don’t know. 

You slip on some headphones and get to work. 

Truthfully, you shouldn’t be mooching off Kiri’s—and Bakugou’s—generosity. But you’ve really enjoyed the workouts you’ve had with Kiri this past week. He designed a workout routine for you and demonstrated the exercises you’ve been doing. He’s encouraging, and he knows just how far to push you. He really has a way with people. It’s made you less motivated to seek out your own gym. You’ve been spoiled. 

You’ll look into the gyms Kiri recommended later today, you resolve. After a nap. The workout’s done its job. You clean up the machine you’d been using and head out. 

You’re mid-yawn, eyes squinted and watering, so you don’t catch that someone’s trying to enter the gym at the same time as you’re exiting until it’s too late. 

“Oh, sorry,” you say, quickly wiping at your eyes, embarrassed. When they’re clear, you look up, then freeze. 

“Bakugou!” 

Bakugou grunts. Says your name in greeting. His eyes quickly scan you up and down before coming to rest on your face. 

You’re warm, very aware that you’re still a little sweaty. You hope you don’t smell. You want to hug him so badly, but you’re too nervous. You’re self-conscious, shy. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. 

He looks tired, eyes weary. His hair’s grown out a little, longer than you’re used to seeing on him. A bandage rests right below his scar, stark against his skin. 

The little details don’t matter. You’re so happy to see him. You’re smiling, not realizing it. 

When Bakugou doesn’t say anything more, you ask, “When did you get back?”

He hesitates for a second, looks at the wall next to you, then back at you. 

“A couple days ago,” he says shortly. 

You pause. 

“A couple days ago?” you repeat. A feeling you can’t quite name begins to creep up the back of your neck. It’s not a nice feeling. “Oh. Did you, I mean, were there a lot of post-mission things you needed to do?”

“Yeah. A bunch of annoying bullshit.” 

You make a sympathetic sound. There, you tell yourself silently. He had reasons for not giving you a heads up that he’s been back. The world doesn’t revolve around you. 

“What’re you doing here?” he asks. 

The gym’s doors open behind you as someone exits, and Bakugou puts a hand on the small of your back, pulling you to the side and out of the way. 

His hand on your back, even through your clothes, is warm. 

It takes you a second to reply. “Kiri said it’d be okay if I use the agency’s gyms until I find my own. I hope that’s okay.”

“S’fine,” he says. 

His hand’s still on your back. He’s standing so close to you, just looking at you. At your face, darting down your body, as if committing you to memory. As if it’s something you won’t notice. You don’t mind at all. You can’t take your eyes off him either. 

But—

“I—sorry, I gotta ask, it’s bothering me,” you say. “I hear that you’ve been busy, but. A quick, ‘Hey I’m back, I’m fine’ message would’ve been appreciated, y’know? If you were allowed. Was it that you weren’t allowed to tell non-heroes that you’re back?”

Bakugou’s hand falls away from you. He exhales deeply and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“No. Just didn’t have time to talk to you.”

Something sharp and unpleasant rises as a slow wave in you. You remind yourself that busy is busy, and some things aren’t in his control. 

But—it’s been days. If it really was him you saw the other day, out in the city, it’s been at least four days. And it looks like he was heading into the gym before you bumped into him.

Frowning, you shift your gym bag to your other hand, bowing your head. “Bakugou. You were gone a long time, and I had no idea what was happening with you. I feel like you could’ve shot me a quick message.”

“I told you I was gonna be on a mission,” he says, furrowing his brows. 

“Yeah, but you didn’t say when you’d be back, or if it’d be dangerous, or anything except just that,” you say, voice rising a little at the end. 

Inhaling deeply, you force yourself to breathe, speak normally. “Neither Kiri nor the agency could tell me anything. It sucked, Bakugou. I just wanna know what’s going on.” 

Bakugou scowls. 

“Look, I told you I’ve been busy,” he says. “I just got back, give me a fucking second. And I can’t always tell you shit just because it’s inconvenient for you not to know.”

The gym doors open once more, another person leaving, and you become hyper aware that you’re having this conversation in public. Suddenly, you don’t want to be having this conversation anymore. 

“You’re right,” you say evenly. “Sorry for overstepping. I’ll let you get to your workout.”

You move to get past him, and he steps in front of you. You stop just short of touching, your hands tightening into fists. The strap of your bag digs into the meat of your hand.

“Fuck,” Bakugou says. “You’re not getting it. Stop taking shit personally. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

You look at him. Shaking your head, you say, “You know what? I’m done here. Bye.”

“We’re not done with shit,” Bakugou says.

“Well I’m done, so back off.”

“Not until—”

“Look, Bakugou,” you say, voice trembling. Shit. You don’t want him to think you’re crying, because you’re not. You’re just so mad. “I’m really fucking upset right now. And the shit you’re saying’s just making things worse. Let’s table this. Let me go.”

He stares at you for a long moment. You stare back at him defiantly. 

“Fine,” he growls.

“Great,” you say. 

You turn on your heel and leave.

Your mind is empty the entire train ride home. 

Distantly, you recognize that your back and neck ache from the tension you’re carrying, but it’s impossible to relax. You feel a little separate from your body, like you’re watching yourself move through the actions of getting off at your stop and walking back to your apartment. 

Once you’re home, you throw yourself into a hot shower, hoping to jar yourself out of the mood you’re in. But even after it, you’re still tense, still aching. 

You try to take a nap. But your body only remembers conflict; the normally satisfying ache and tiredness post-workout is nowhere to be found. You’re wide awake. 

The anger rears its head once more. Why doesn’t he get it? That you were worried, that you wanted him to communicate as much as he could, as soon as he could. 

You understand that he can’t tell you certain things because of the nature of his work. You just want him to think of you, of how you’d feel, of how you felt. 

Then it’s like a switch flipping, and you’re just. Sad. What a dumb thing to argue over. Such a small thing. Did you overreact? Did you mess things up because you’re overthinking things?

But how would he feel, if you did the same thing to him? Just—fucked off to some place without telling him where or when you’d be back? And when you did get back, not let him know until it’s been days? 

Maybe he wouldn’t care. Maybe it’s that you care too much, too much to be right for the relationship you have with him. 

Sleep finds you, eventually. You’re grateful.

Author's Note: And... I'm terrible! Awful! First I left ya'll with a cliffhanger with chapter 10, and now I show up nearly a year later with this angsty chapter... Feel free to yell at me in the replies, I deserve it. 😔

But thank you to all of you who've liked, reblogged, and commented on chapters of this fic since last update! And sent in asks wondering if I'm ever going to update again!! LOL! Knowing that people are still reading and care to know the end of Bakugou and Reader's story motivates me to keep writing. 💖

I do have about 2K of chapter 12 written... Hoping to post that soon, and not after a year has passed lmao. 😅

Alrighty, take care everyone! Hugs and kisses!!!

[velvetures]

Soap would be so fucking protective of you, and I can’t get it out my head. So now it’s your problem :)

You don’t like drinking? He’s the first to draw attention away from the lack of a beer bottle in your hand. Using that irresistible charm to woo everyone out of their questions and peer pressure to get you to join in. He sees how nervous it makes you. And he’s far too sensitive to your feelings to let it happen. Besides… he’s gotten really good at giving the right orders to bartenders, so that he can give you some fruity, soda-laden thing, that passes off as one of the other cocktails all your friends are nursing.

Uncomfortable family dinners? You know, that one where your least favorite uncle is oh-so-willing to give you shit for not going into the career all of them think you should’ve pursued? Oh hell no. Soap won’t spend one second thinking over whether it’s polite or not to speak up. He just does. Abandoning your mom’s casserole he’s been complimenting with a full mouth, just to look your bastard of an uncle in the face and tell him he’d be better off complaining to the business end of a pistol. At least then, he’d get a response that would shut him up for good.

That ex who won’t take ‘no’ for an answer? He’s as good as dead. Not that he’s instinctively jealous… because really, he knows better. It’s just the mere thought of someone taking advantage of your life. Of your time. He’s livid because you’re too special to be harassed like that. Treated like a game that can be picked up and put down whenever the mood arises. Soap won’t make a spectacle of it… but the monthly calls and texts suddenly stop after a while. And you think it’s because you finally broke down and changed your phone number a second time. But… that hadn’t stopped your ex the first time. Soap just shrugs. Giving the excuse that common sense might’ve given him a change of heart. Johnny just didn’t have the heart himself to tell you that ‘common sense’ didn’t have the chance. He was far quicker.

Soap had lived a life so uncomfortable for so long, that seeing a sweet thing like you experience it becomes intolerable. It’s as if all of the killing and destruction he’s committed was for nothing, when something -even trivial- blockades your walk through life. His nature is to fix the problem. And his training only enhanced the instinct to do it violently. Quick and controlled action, using brute force to make the world spin to your tempo. And god… you hate when he does it. Constantly reassuring him that you’re an adult. That you’re prepared for life not to be easy, and that it’s only going to make you stronger in the end.

He won’t hear it though.

He wants you soft. Desperately, actually. More of a requirement for his own happiness than anything. And often times he thinks that it’s selfish. That maybe he is truly robbing you of some experiences that might be good for you. Make the life you lead interesting for the kids and grandchildren you tell stories to. But then again, he’s so staunch in his ways, that it comes to fruition like muscle-memory. Placing you on your silken throne and taking a defensive stance in front of you like a medieval knight hellbent on keeping his royalty alive and well.

John MacTavish knows your place and it’s to be behind him. Right where he can protect and provide, without the fear of you crying or getting hurt by the seemingly endless amount of people who unfathomably don’t want the same things for you. They all say they love you… want the best… but he challenges it.

Every. Single. Time.

[rafesplaymate]

Yes, daddy.

Older!Rafe Cameron x Stepdaughter!Reader

���⁺‧₊☽ navigation. ⋆⁺‧₊☽ masterlist.

warnings: step / fauxcest. infidelity. manipulation / gaslighting. abusive behaviors. immoral though process. threats of abuse. choking / manhandling. mentions of smut. dark themes / adult content. suggestive themes. slight plot twist?

a/n: this was completely self indulgent. for the girls with daddy AND mommy issues. not apart of my ‘Off to the Races’ AU. Can be read as a stand alone.

⋆⁺‧₊☽⋆⁺‧₊ ☽⋆⁺‧₊ ☽⋆⁺‧₊ ☽⋆⁺‧₊

She can’t stand it. Can’t stand her mom and most of all can’t stand the way he’s —her’s.

Rafe Cameron came into her life like a whirlwind. Leaving her completely dazed and her mind fuzzy the moment he stepped into her line of sight. He was just so strong, so domineering and had an energy about him that screamed; no matter how much he could harm you —he could keep you grounded and tamed all the same. And ever since then, he’s been all she thinks about. All she wants.

And unfortunately for her. He’s her mom’s husband. A spiteful, vindictive woman whose nasty attitude taints her physical beauty. She can’t help but constantly wonder how someone as out-of-touch and controlling as her was able to tie down the enigma that is Rafe Cameron —but she thanks her for bringing him into her life all the same. Even if it’s not the way she’s been dreaming about or what she wants.

Regardless, she’ll take it. Because the way he allows her to shut off her brain, to find solace and acceptance in his embrace —will forever mean everything. The way he defends her and protects her like his little exotic, rare —caged bird he wants to keep locked away and from the hands of harm. Harm that her mother constantly perpetuates onto her and constantly leaves her in a spiral of hopelessness and resentment.

But not him. No, never him. For once in her life she has someone who stands up to the looming presence that is her mother. Who shuts her up and puts her in her place. So use to the purposeful blind eyes of the rest of her family, so use to the constant repeated words of “suck it up.” It’s validating, it’s acceptance. It’s something that makes her feel less crazy and frees her from the shackles of constant manipulation and gaslighting from her mother.

And now, she stands on the other side of the wall from the home office —sniffling with tears streaked cheeks and a consistent impending fear settled deep in her gut. Rafe and her mother were going at each other’s throats. Verbal attacks and words of rage being thrown around as he defends her being and her mother debases it. Spewing rants of her being an ‘ungrateful brat’ and ‘fucking crazy.’ Her mom’s words of degradation nothing new to her; but it feels like knives stabbing all the same.

It’s when Rafe speaks with pure loathing and booms out one final, “get the fuck outta my house. Now!” Does she hear her mother, for once in her life, slightly realize the gravity of the situation and her perpetuated actions. Her voice breaking slightly and now calmer as she speaks out a, “you don’t meant that. Rafe, she’s my daughter. I have every right to treat her the way I’d like. I wouldn’t be so fucking angry with her all the time if she didn’t act the way she does.” Firmness and disdain laced within each word. The knives stabbing deeper into her daughter’s already fragile being. Hopelessness filling her up —once more.

But it’s the immediate scoff that comes from the one person who’s always sided with her; that makes the pain less unbearable. “Maybe take a look in the fucking mirror, instead of thinking your daughter is the problem here. She’s not, you are. And quite frankly, I’m sick of it. Everything about you —is revolting.” He speaks gruffly, steadiness and profound confidence laced in every truth he shoots back at her.

She listens to his work shoes scuffing across the floor as he steps closer to her mother, his tall frame bending to level his eye contact with hers. Pure disgust, and indignation pooling in his beautiful cobalt eyes as he intimidates her mother. The older woman shrinking slightly under his gaze, but her stubbornness refusing her to completely submit. Staring back into the eyes of the man she once thought was her’s, now slowly but surely become her daughter’s.

“I meant, what I said,” he spoke lowly. His voice confident and tone domineering as he cornered the threat on his little girl. His baby, his sweetheart, his everything. Determined to eliminate it. “Get. The. Fuck. Out of my house. I don’t care where you go, I don’t care what you do or what happens to you. All I know is I don’t want you in my fucking house or my fuckin’ life anymore.” He drawled with pure abhorrence. A snarl on his lip like a lion ready to devour and defend his cub.

He watches as the woman he once thought he loved, he once thought he wanted —completely fold in. The obstinance in her gaze now replaced with despondency —her heart cracking as it finally clicked that this wasn’t just another fight that would pass. Another trial she put her daughter through that would be forgiven. No. This was her getting reprimanded for all the harm she’s pushed onto her. And for once in her life, she’s left speechless. Her mouth opening to reply -much to Rafe’s dismay.

“No. I’m done listening to your bullshit. You heard what I said, I’m gonna give you 20 minutes to take any necessities and get the fuck out.” He snarled once more, pushing her further against the wall as her back hit it. Trapped like a prey in the lion’s den and realizing she was no longer the lioness she once believed herself to be.

When Rafe finally saw her submission, her giving up. It’s only then, did he crack a mocking smirk. The same smirk that attracted her to the man and her daughter too. Yet, this one wasn’t playful —no. It was Rafe’s display of asserting his dominance, asserting that he was the one who ran things and she was manipulated by his whim no matter how much of a ‘hot shit’ she thought herself to be.

“Don’t even think about taking any of the nice shit, either. I bought it, it’s mine. You can take whatever crap you came with, including yourself.” He told her once last time, holding her gaze with his own as his jaw ticked. Imploring her to understand the gravity of the situation, the honesty in his words. Standing straight up to his full height once more when he feels he got his point across and turning his back to the woman he once loved. A physical representation of him shutting her out —once and for all.

And it’s when Rafe exits his office, that he find his princess sniffling with wide, defeated eyes. Manicured hands fiddling together as her pretty, pedicure toes pressed deep into the ground while she fidgeted with herself. Her cheeks streaked with ruined makeup and her gorgeous eyes blood-shot, wispy faux lashes clumped with tears. A frown on her plump lips as her chest heaves and she looks at him with pure melancholy. It’s a sight that both fills Rafe with immense satisfaction but anger at who caused it. His baby bunny, who he would forever keep bound to him —regardless of her relationship to his wife.

His demeanor immediately softened, a mocking coo falling from his pink lips as his large hands reached out and grasped her smaller body against his. Both palms cupping her sticky, wet cheeks as he rubs his nose against hers softly. Watching as her clumped, faux lashes flutter shut and she whines. Falling into him once more and fisting her hands into his already crumpled button up. A fresh batch of tears making their trail down her flushed face as whines turn into pitiful sobs —clinging onto the only lifeline she knows.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he consoled —pressing soft kisses to her lips, tip of nose, forehead and then finally both cheeks. Face manipulated in his grip as she pushes herself deeper into him. It’s when he kisses her cheeks, that his chest burn again with his intoxicating desire for her. The taste of her salty tears against her lips satisfying the twisted darkness inside him. Lightly bringing the tip of his tongue out to lick a new drop that fell. Groaning when it hit his tongue; her despair a drug to him.

Yeah, sure Rafe hates the way her mom treats her. Manipulates her and leaves her daughter’s head constantly fuzzy with stress. But only because he feels that he’s the one who’s entitled to treating her that way. Not her mother, not her family, not her friends or any lovers he’ll ensure she never has. No. Only him. Because she was made just for him to destroy and he’ll be damned if anyone else does.

His baby who he wants to breakdown with her malleable compliance to him. Break her entirely into his sad, little doll that wouldn’t be able to breathe without him. His brainless little girl, who would let him exploit her to his heart desires. Manipulated at his whim, never anyone else’s. His prized possession he’ll keep locked away and submitted next to him while he breaks her down day by day into nothing but his devotee. Making sure she never misunderstands her place in life —to be his brainless, little fuckdoll. Forever and always.

“Don’t cry, hmm. At least not this way.” He taunts with a small chuckle. Watching as she looks deep into his darkened gaze. And the look in her pretty eyes is all the confirmation he needs to know her has her. Not matter what. Pure resignation and undiluted adoration filling the large pool of her iris’s. Her eye color disappearing with the enhancement of her pupils as she looks at him with something that a follower would look at the God they worshipped if he came to stand directly in front of them. He would be everything she’ll ever know.

“That’s it, sweet girl.” He cooes sweetly, bringing his right arm to wrap around her back and his left hand to wrap harshly around her throat. Hearing her breathy gasps as her brows furrow and she lets him cut off her air supply. “The only reason you should be crying is because of me. Not your mom, not anyone else. Me. I want you to save those pretty little tears, you’re gonna need them when I show you how I can really make you cry.” His grip tightens, a wicked smile plastering along his features as he watches her eyes flutter shut and her small fist banging against him to let her breathe. He wants her to know that she only breathes because he allows it.

When Rafe sees her eyes flutter once more with a sign that she’s falling into unconsciousness —does he finally loosen his grip. Watching as her pretty lips widen and she gasp air deeply into her chest. Coughing and gathering herself until she’s back to. Her cries returning with a force as she sobs, letting him pull her into his chest and ruin his white button up with her tears. Swaying them side to side as she weeps into his chest. Deep, twisted triumph filling Rafe’s entire body as she does exactly what he wants. Kissing the top of her head and then nuzzling his cheek against it while her hands come to pull him closer to her and grip the back of his shirt. Hanging onto her lifeline.

It’s when they heard a loud thump, does Rafe’s head turn to the side to eye whatever caused it behind him. His wife standing there, her bag having dropped with a purposeful force on the floor as she takes in the scene in front of her. The twisted feeling in her gut and her resentment toward her daughter deepening as her deepest suspicions are confirmed. All those soft moments, all those borderline incestual touches and gazes. All those crossed boundaries —finally showing what they truly were in front of her.

Her gaze full of pure repugnance as she watches this twisted display of love. Her daughter gazing over her stepfather’s shoulder with a look that left her stunned. Her daughter’s manicured hand releasing his shirt and coming up to grip the back of his strong neck, standing on the tips of her manicured toes as she lifts herself to his level. Whining to him for his attention once more which he gladly grants after glaring at his wife. Pressing her lips to his with haste the moment he faces her as his tongue shoves deep into her mouth. His hand coming to grip the back of her head and keep her pressed right against him as he dominates her once more.

As he dominates her in front of her mother —and leaves no room for questioning at the new regime of Tannyhill. Imploring her again to know her place once and for all.

And it’s when they hear the front door slam shut, does Rafe disconnect their lips. A string of saliva keeping them together as she whines and seeks him out once more, his hand coming to grip her face to hold her back as he lets out a teasing scoff. Watching her eyes look back into his once more, no sign of anything but thoughts of him in her gaze.

“You know your place. And now she does too. Get your ass upstairs. Want you naked, face down in the sheets by the time I come up, princess. Go on.”

He sends her off with a harsh smack to her ass after her turns her around, shoving her forward and toward the staircase as her brain goes into autopilot and her body moves by the will of his words. One thing replaying in her mind over and over again.

Yes, daddy.

⋆⁺‧₊☽⋆⁺‧₊ ☽⋆⁺‧₊ ☽⋆⁺‧₊ ☽⋆⁺‧₊

a/n: want him to use & abuse me so bad. I will be releasing my ‘Euphoria’ AU soon so if anyone would liked to be on the taglist please feel free to comment or message my inbox.

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

do you have any kinks?

pairing: daddy!chan x fem reader

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: daddy kink, breeding kink, pet names, oral (f.receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie

an: the pictures i chose for this banner.. are just pictures ive been obsessing over. they’re my favorite pictures atm. need him so so bad. okie here 🤲🏻 have this. love you.

masterlist

‼ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⚠︎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ‼ adults only • mdni ‼ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⚠︎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ‼

“can i ask you a question?” you had just taken your shower, your hair still slightly damp. chris was reclined on the bed, one arm behind his head, one hand holding his phone, wearing nothing but his boxers. upon hearing your question, he tossed his phone onto the bed beside him.

“of course. you can ask me anything.” he smiled. but you were still nervous. you had been dating chris for a few months now, and things were going great. he had been spending the past few weekends over at your place. and today, this saturday night, was no different. you really did feel like you could talk to him about anything. but still your stomach churned with anxiety.

“do.. you have any.. kinks?” you couldn’t look at him, instead opting to search through your dresser for your favorite pajamas. he was silent for a moment, though it felt like an eternity.

he cleared his throat, embarrassed by your question.

“you don’t have to answer that if it makes you uncomfortable.” you blurted out, grabbing your pajamas and slamming the dresser drawer closed. you were starting to rethink this conversation, wishing you had kept your mouth shut. but you couldn’t ignore the way you felt. couldn’t ignore your desires. couldn’t ignore the way he treated you.

you spared a nervous glance in his direction. he was smiling at you, his ears were a little red, but mostly he was just enamored by you. he chuckled. “i don’t mind to answer. like i said, you can ask me anything.”

you dropped your towel, leaving you bare before him for a moment, only to slip your pajamas on. his cock twitched, but he ignored it. focused on the conversation. “i guess.. i don’t have any kinks? or maybe i do and i don’t know about them?” he thought about it some more and couldn’t come up with anything. “why do you ask?”

you tossed your used towel into the hamper and nervously climbed into bed next to him. “uh.. no reason.” you said, pulling the blanket up over your body and laying back onto your pillow.

he sat up, looking over at you. “suuree.” he said. he knew you were lying. you wouldn’t just ask that for no reason. he wondered what made you think of such a question. “do you?” he asked.

“do i what?”

“have any kinks.” he clarified. “you.. don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable.”

you were silent. contemplating whether or not you wanted to be honest with him right now. should you just blurt it out and get it over with? like ripping a band-aid? or would he think you were weird, and should you keep it to yourself..

“it’s.. nothing.” you said, cursing yourself for even starting this conversation in the first place.

“i understand if you don’t want to tell me yet.” he reached for your hand, which was holding onto the blanket for dear life. he gave it a reassuring squeeze. “i would never judge you though. i’m very open minded.”

he snuggled under the blanket, his body next to yours. he held his arms out, inviting you to lay in your favorite spot. you turned over, your head against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you. you could hear the thumping of his heart in your ears. he gently grazed his fingertips up and down your arm, lazily tracing designs into your skin. a long while had passed. so long that you thought he may be asleep, though you didn’t hear his signature snores.

your arm that was wrapped around his middle, squeezed him tightly, in preparation for what you were about to say. “i want to call you daddy.”

it fell out of your mouth, in a not so graceful way. you squeezed your eyes shut, hugging his body tightly, afraid he may push you away.

but he didn’t.

instead, you heard a low hum radiate through his chest.

“you have a daddy kink?” he asked. you couldn’t tell by his tone if he was excited by your confession, or disgusted.

“i.. guess?” your voice was quiet. though he could hear you just fine in the silent room. “it’s been on my mind recently.”

his fingers continued their trails along your arm. “what’s been causing you to think that?”

you took a moment to think about your answer. “uh.. i think about it when you call me princess.. and when you do stuff for me.. like that time you helped me brush my hair.”

“i see.” he said. it didn’t feel dismissive. it just felt like he understood and was formulating his next thought. “but isn’t a kink.. something sexual?” he asked. “what you’re talking about isn’t sexual.”

“well i think about it when we’re having sex too..” you confessed.

he made a hmph sound. “well that’s disappointing.”

your heart sank. disappointing? he hated it. he thought you were gross.

“i.. im sorry.” you said, your voice mousy. “just forget i said anything.”

he squeezed you tighter. “no, no baby. i don’t mean i’m disappointed that you think about that.” he explained. “i’m disappointed that you can think at all while i’m fucking you. i’m not doing it well enough.”

you huffed out a laugh. “oh you’re doing it well. believe me.”

he giggled, rocking your bodies back and forth. “oh yeah?” he teased.

you looked up at him, giggling too. “yeah.”

he leaned down, pressing his smiling lips to yours. his giggles died down, and his tongue slipped into your mouth.

it didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, for his panting breaths to be mingled with your desperate ones. kissing chris was one of your favorite things to do. maybe it was his lips, so plump and kissable. or maybe it was his skill. he clearly knew what he was doing. you didn’t like to think about how many girls he may have kissed before you.

he turns you over so you’re on your back again, and he is hovering above you. his kisses travel down your jaw, down your neck. his beautiful hands slowly found their way under your shirt. his index fingers finding your bare nipples. he pushed the material up, exposing your chest to him. he latched those kissable lips around one of your nipples, sucking and licking on it gently.

your right hand found it way into his hair, not tugging or pushing, just feeling him. trying to ground yourself by touching something with texture. when he was done with your breast, he migrated down further, his lips and tongue exploring your tummy. he looked up at you through his lashes as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your shorts. he was looking at you for approval. you silently lifted your hips off the bed, aiding him in removing your shorts, permission granted.

his fingers found your folds before his lips did. his middle finger dipping in gently and playing in your arousal. “look at your little flower, baby..” he cooed. “so messy for me..” his lips followed shortly after, finding their way to your clit, his tongue taking long strokes across it. your eyes closed and your head fell back as you focused on the way he was making you feel. he loved to watch you while you were like this. loved to see you feel good because of what he was doing to you.

he carefully guided two of his long fingers inside your drippy hole. he slid them in as far as you would allow it, and he curved them upward, gently thrusting. the moans and whimpers falling from your lips were music to his ears. the sweetest sound he had ever heard. he would do anything to have you make those noises. he wanted to record them so he could listen to them whenever he wished.

“please..” you whined. your glassy eyes looking down at him, his tongue working quickly against your bud.

“please what, princess?” he said, his breath warm against your skin.

“need you..” you breathed. “please.”

“need me?” he played dumb. he shoved his aching cock against your leg, grinding against you so you could feel how hard he was. “need this, baby?”

you squirmed underneath him, nodding frantically. “please.. please..” you begged.

he slowly removed his fingers from inside you, bringing them to his lips. he sucked them clean, groaning at the taste. you felt you may explode. spontaneously combust. no one had ever made you feel the way that he does. no one had ever turned you on so much.

he pulled his boxers down, his cock springing free. he kicked his boxers off the bed, and knelt in front of you, spreading your legs. “ready, princess?”

you nodded, your big puppy dog eyes begging him to please just fuck you already.

he ran his tip up and down your folds, tapping it against your sensitive clit before finally sliding inside of you. you took him in easy. he had prepped you well. “fuck.. baby..” he exhaled. his hands gripped your hips harshly as he began to thrust. his slow and gently demeanor didn’t last long once he was inside you. he couldn’t handle himself anymore. it was no time at all before he was pounding into you, tapping your cervix with each thrust.

“fuck..” you moaned. “feels so good da-“ you cut yourself off, suddenly overthinking things. the D word almost slipped out. you clamped around him, seizing up at your mistake.

“relax for me, princess.” he said, rubbing your skin gently with his fingers. you exhaled a long breath, relaxing your body.

he started fucking you again, quickly working up to his previous pace. “feel good baby?” he asked.

“yes. yes.. so good.” your hands explored his muscled body. your fingertips brushing over his abs and his pecs and his biceps.

“mmm” he moaned. “say it.”

you were nervous again, but he didn’t slow down. wouldn’t let you clamp around him.

“say it.” he ordered.

your eyes were focused on where your bodies were connected, how easily he slipped in and out of you. how much of a mess you were making of the both of you.

“look at me.” he growled. your eyes quickly snapped up to meet his. “you’re okay. i’ve got you. say it.”

you continued to stare into his beautiful brown eyes, but your mouth refused to move. your vocal chords refused to make the sounds. you were scared. but you didn’t know why anymore. you didn’t want to be scared anymore. you just couldn’t make your body listen. there was too much going on.

“princess..” his tone shifted to one of warning now. “say it or i’m going to stop.”

“no! please..” you begged. “please don’t stop.”

“then say it. be a good girl for me and call me by my title.”

“fuck..” your breathing was ragged, your orgasm on the edge of release. “daddy..”

his eyes rolled back, his head leaning to one side before straightening again, his tongue in his cheek. “again.”

“daddy..” it fell from your lips easy now. you loved the taste of it in your mouth. “daddy.. gonna cum.”

“you’re gonna cum on daddy’s cock, baby?”

“yes, please. fuck, daddy, please.” your body was on fire, every nerve tingling.

“i.. fuck. i have a confession to make.” he grunted. “i do.. have a kink.”

your pleasure ridden mind was trying to process his words.

“do you wanna know what it is, sweet girl?” he asked, his thrusts getting sloppy. “wanna know daddy’s kink?”

you nodded, gripping his biceps. “please tell me, daddy. please.. fuck.”

“i’ve got a breeding kink.” he growled. “wanna fill your little pussy up baby. can i do that?”

you were nodding before he even finished his sentence. “gonna let me pump my cum into you? hmm? can’t.. fuck.. can’t waste a drop.”

“yes please daddy.. please cum in me.” his eyes looked wild now, sweat dripping off his face and onto your chest. “please daddy, fill me up.”

his grip on your hips tightened, sure to leave a bruise. “cum with me, baby.” he panted. “cum with daddy.”

and with one last thrust, he stilled inside you. your orgasm crashed over you as his cock twitched inside you, filling you so full, it leaked out around his balls and onto the sheets.

he slumped on top of you, his head on your shoulder, his lips against your neck. he placed soft kisses there. you ran your fingers up his back, then to his hair, trying to brush the sweaty strands out of his face.

“was that okay?” he breathed against your skin, out of breath. “are you okay?”

“i’m okay.” you nodded and smiled. “are you?”

he raised his head and looked at you. he looked completely fucked out and you supposed you did too. “i’m so okay. better than okay.” he giggled, kissing you quickly. “we should have had that talk a long time ago.”

he slowly pulled his softening cock out of you. he went to the bathroom to grab a warm washcloth to clean you up. he gently wiped at your sensitive skin, careful to not overstimulate you. the D word came to mind again.

“i’m thinking it again.” you said quietly.

“thinking what, baby?” he asked, still cleaning you, making sure to get every drop of your shared release.

“thinking about calling you daddy.” you confessed. his hand stilled and he looked up at you. “how can i not when you take such good care of me?”

he smiled, finished his cleaning, and then kissed the tip of your nose. “you can call me daddy whenever you want to, princess.” he said. “i love it.”

“really?” you asked, your heart beating fast.

“really really.” he kissed your lips before throwing the washcloth into the hamper and cuddling close to you. he pulled your body against his, kissing the top of your head. “i love taking care of you. it would be an honor for you to call me daddy.”

you smiled. you were so incredibly happy. so proud of yourself for starting the conversation. your heart felt so full. you cuddled close to your daddy, nuzzling your face into his chest. your eyes closed, heavy with sleep that was about to pull you under. and you thought the next conversation would have to be about the L word.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

♡ pls reblog if you liked it! it truly helps a lot and makes me smile :) ♡

©hyunjins-orange-slice-too i do not give permission for this work or any of my work to be translated, copied, or reposted.

[bweeeb]

PUPPY EYES

Synopsis: When Pedro doesn't take you to the awards ceremony for his new movie, your relationship starts to go downhill with the thought that maybe you're too young to give him everything he needs.

Warnings: nothing major, angst, couple with problems, Pedro and you are 26 years apart.

Career, projects, new movies, memories, and that topic that always left you unsure—was it negative or positive anticipation when people brought up relationships?

It wasn’t news to anyone that five months ago, when you and Pedro made it official that you’d been secretly seeing each other for a year, people started digging into every little detail. And a few months ago, the age difference between you two didn’t bother anyone in your social circle. Both of you were adults who knew exactly what you were doing with your lives.

Even your parents, who had initially been surprised by the man 26 years older than you, eventually came to accept your choice. So it shouldn’t bother you or anyone else anymore.

"So, I don’t think you’ve ever openly talked about your relationship with Pedro Pascal after making it official. Is it okay if we discuss it?"

The podcast host smiled at you, and you let out an embarrassed laugh, shrugging.

"Why not?"

"How did you two meet?"

"We worked on the same movie, so we were constantly together on set. One thing led to another."

"And you never thought, like, ‘Wow, he’s way too old for me,’ since there’s a significant age gap?"

"Twenty-six years, isn’t it?" Another host interrupted.

"Didn’t he say in an interview that he wouldn’t date anyone with more than a 20-year age difference? Doesn’t that make you curious about what changed?"

"Well, when we met, I didn’t think much about it, and I don’t think he did either. Yes, he mentioned that he wouldn’t date someone with a 20-year age gap. But I’ve always had a thing for DILFs, and he’s definitely one. One thing led to another, without either of us realizing it."

Your cheeks flushed as you spoke honestly, your eyes briefly catching your publicist’s approving thumbs-up from behind the glass.

"I think it’s much more about connection than anything tangible, you know? Our age difference is almost unnoticeable in our day-to-day life now."

"Pedro is, what, around 50 years old? Let’s not pretend it’s entirely unnoticeable." One of them chuckled, and you narrowed your eyes, frustrated at how your words were twisted.

"You’re young, clearly with the body of a 23-year-old, while he’s middle-aged. I think people are just curious about what made you stay." The other one chimed in, leaning toward the mic. You smiled politely, glancing between the camera and the hosts.

"Maybe the real question is what makes him stay. He had a firm opinion, and suddenly, it changed. Pedro has the purest and most beautiful soul in the world. He laughs at his own dad jokes, he shows me things I’d never imagined because he’s from 1975, and he’s a man with a capital M who treats me like the last rose petal in the universe. So, honestly, if he ever agrees to do an interview with you, maybe you should ask him what makes him stay.

"After the podcast aired, what you thought would be a calm discussion turned into a social media battleground. People twisted your words and intentions.

"A man taking care of a child—what nonsense."

"Really, ask him why he stays because she’s unbearable."

"Did she call his jokes ‘dad jokes’? Who does that to their boyfriend? RUN, PEDRO!"

"She’s just after his money."

"The most boring woman in the world is with the hottest man alive. How does that even happen?"

"She has nothing to offer him. Relax, ladies, it won’t last three more months."

"Dakota Johnson seemed interested in him; I wouldn’t be surprised if he ditches this corn husk for her."

"If I knew he was into younger women, I’d have listed a hundred better options than Y/N."

"Wait, guys—he didn’t even take her to the Gladiator premiere. How serious do you think this is?"

It was exhausting. Even though you avoided reading the comments, they popped up everywhere, and all the therapy you’d done to maintain a stable mental health seemed to be slipping through your fingers. But Pedro couldn’t know, so you plastered on a sweet smile whenever you saw him, even as doubts began to creep in.

Maybe you really were the worst option for him. Maybe someone older, with similar experiences, would be better. Someone more mature, less bubbly and silly.Sitting in the car, you stared blankly out the window as Pedro talked about the Gladiator premiere—the one you hadn’t attended because you weren’t invited.

"Hey, are you okay?" It wasn’t that you weren’t listening. You just didn’t have much to say, so you let him keep talking.

"Yeah, I’m fine. Go on."

Your smile didn’t falter, and you silently thanked yourself for being a good actress.

"No, you’re not fine. What’s wrong?"

"Of course I am. It must’ve been surreal, babe. Even Dakota Johnson was there, right?"

"Yeah, but what’s wrong with you?" His eyes left the road momentarily to glance at you. You shook your head.

"Nothing. You’re just imagining things." You leaned over, cupped his face in your hands, and pressed a kiss to his lips before pulling away.

"Eyes on the road, old man."

"Okay, but I thought I was your daddy."

He exaggeratedly rolled his eyes as if offended. You loved that about him—the way he was so expressive and dramatic, some might call it embarrassing, but you found it endlessly entertaining.

"You know when you’re my daddy," you said with a mischievous smile, swallowing the rising bitterness in your throat. That night was the last time you slept at his place. Over the following days, you insisted on being dropped off at home, and Pedro didn’t argue. He simply observed your strange behavior.

At first, he thought you might be pregnant and unsure about what to do. But then he remembered you weren’t the type to hide something like that. He considered that maybe you were overwhelmed with your new projects, but you usually loved talking about them. And then, his thoughts landed on your relationship. Had he done something wrong? He couldn’t pinpoint anything.

Five days later, the two of you were at a dinner with friends. Everything was going well until it wasn’t.

"Hey, Y/N, why didn’t I see you at the premiere? I thought I’d catch a glimpse of you in a glorious dress," Lux, Pedro’s sister, asked.

Your cheeks burned, and your heart raced with nervous discomfort. Were you supposed to admit you hadn’t been invited? No. Your mom had taught you better than that.

"I…" A nervous laugh escaped your lips as you shifted uncomfortably in your chair. You didn’t dare look at Pedro beside you, though you could feel his guilty puppy-dog eyes on you. You wouldn’t give in.

"I had some things tied up with the script for the movie. It was a hectic week."

In reality, the script had been finalized, and even if the writer had faced complications, you’d have found time to support your boyfriend and contribute new ideas to the director.

"Ah, really? What a shame. I hope everything’s okay now," Lux said.

"Oh, it’s all sorted," you replied, forcing a smile.Your smile faltered briefly when Pedro’s hand tried to find yours under the table. Clearing your throat, you stood up, announcing that you needed to use the restroom.When you returned, Pedro was chatting with one of his friends, and you were grateful he was too preoccupied to bring up the earlier conversation.

"Wow, did you do something with your hair? It looks blonder, or is it just me?" Hazel, one of Pedro’s friends’ girlfriends, asked politely.

"Yeah, I did. Amelia’s amazing," you replied.

"Oh my gosh, give me her number, please. I need something this stunning."

"Of course, I’ll even book you an appointment if you want."

"It’s impressive how an older man managed to snag someone as beautiful and sweet as you," Lux teased. Normally, you would’ve laughed it off, but everything felt different that night. You chuckled falsely, smiling as you’d been doing all week.

"Oh, come on, stop that," Pedro said, sounding uneasy. He could sense your odd mood.Of course, you were acting strange.

Everything had been strange lately.

Later, in the car, your gaze rested on your hands in your lap while you felt Pedro’s eyes boring into the side of your face.

"Honey—"

"If we could not talk about this now, I’d be much happier. Can you just take me home?"

"You know I want to—"

"Pedro."You turned to him, tired of pretending. Your voice was tense, and he immediately understood how serious it was. You never called him by his name. "Stop." Your tone wasn’t angry or annoyed, just lifeless. That terrified him. Women didn’t usually scare him. At nearly 50 years old, he thought he’d learned to handle these situations.

"I’m sorry, okay."

His gaze returned to the road, while you looked out the window, waiting to get home.

As you were arriving, you realized he wasn't taking you to your house but to his instead. Closing your eyes, you let out a sigh and covered your face with both hands.

"What are you doing?" The words came out muffled as you felt him slow down.

"Going home."

"This is the way to your house."

"My house is your house, darling."

"You know what I mean," you whispered, exhausted.

"I thought you didn’t want to go. That it would be too much pressure for you, that... that you wouldn’t want people talking."

You heard him lament, and biting your lip, you sniffled. You tried hard not to act childish in the situation, looking up and taking a deep breath, reminding yourself not to let the tears fall.

"I know," was all you managed to reply before your voice broke.

"I... I just need to think for a bit."

"Think... right. Think about what?"

"Can you please take me home?" Pedro nodded at that and drove to your building. For the first time, he felt a strange haze between the two of you.

"Thank you." Even in the awkwardness, there you were, sweet as ever. Pedro could never deny how much he appreciated that about you—the way you always thanked everyone for everything. You were so pure. "Anytime." You opened the car door and stepped out, but before you entered the building, Pedro got out and called after you.

"I'm sorry. And I love you." That’s what he said before you turned to look at him with sad eyes—the same expression you wore when you thought he had forgotten to pick you up for a date, only to find out he was planning a surprise trip to Chile.That night, Pedro went home with his tail between his legs. When Lux called him in the morning, he couldn’t have felt worse.

"You look like one of the infected from The Last of Us. Gross."Lux teased as Pedro rubbed his face with his left hand."What do you want?"

"Wow. Rude."

"Sorry, I didn’t sleep. Just tell me why you’re calling me at six in the morning."

"I was thinking about how you said Y/N was acting strange, and I agree. Last night, she was quieter than usual. Pero luego empecé a preguntarme: ¿la invitaste al estreno? Porque se puso muy rara después de que lo mencioné y estaba revisando los comentarios..." ( But then I started wondering—did you invite her to the premiere? Because she got all weird after I brought it up, and I was checking the comments...)

"Ya te dije que no revises los comentarios. La gente está loca". (I already told you not to check the comments. People are insane.)

Pedro rolled his eyes, sighed, and collapsed onto the couch, exhausted. You and Pedro had talked about ignoring online negativity countless times. Neither of you usually cared about it. You weren’t starting now, were you?

"Lo sé, lo sé, pero se están portando fatal con ella. Y al no invitarla, la gente pensó que la estaban dejando de lado". ( I know, I know, but they’re being awful to her. And not inviting her made people think you were sidelining her.)

Lux sounded worried, almost angry.

"Eso es ridículo. Yo nunca haría algo así. Ella lo sabe. "(That’s ridiculous. I’d never do that—she knows that.)

"La compararon con Dakota Johnson. No es justo, son completamente diferentes. Dijeron que te cansarías de la 'niña'. Sabemos que es más madura que la mayoría de las mujeres, pero aún es joven". ( They compared her to Dakota Johnson. It’s not even fair—they’re completely different. They said you’ll get tired of the ‘kid.’ We know she’s more mature than most women, but she’s still young. )

Pedro propped his elbows on his knees and sighed. You had never acted immaturely. You never made rash decisions or threw tantrums over small things. You never picked fights or complained about work or friends. People didn’t know anything about your relationship—how could they?

"¿Crees que está preocupada? "(Do you think she’s worried)

"La mujer está intentando mantener la compostura y alejarse antes de que la abandones, como todos han estado diciendo". (The woman’s trying to hold herself together and pulling away before you ditch her like everyone’s been saying.)

Lux sighed and continued,

"Deberías haber escuchado cómo habló de ti en ese podcast. Nadie más sería así, no como ella. Haz algo. ( You should’ve heard how she talked about you on that podcast. No one else would be like that—not like her. Do something. )

Fuck. Pedro thought. He’d be stuck working all day, knowing you were likely asleep now. As the day went on, you ignored his missed calls. Not as an act of immaturity but because you needed personal space. You planned to talk to him eventually, but your phone felt like a weight you couldn’t bear. Instead, you threw yourself into work, ensuring every detail was perfect.Later, your group decided to go out for dinner, and you joined to keep your mind occupied. You loved them all but remained mostly a listener. Exhausted from a sleepless night, you struggled to follow the conversation, though you smiled at their stories.After dinner, you excused yourself to the restroom. As you washed your hands, you overheard two women talking in mocking tones.

"Do you think it’s a PR stunt?"

You frowned, listening as the other responded,

"It must be. I mean, it’s all over the news, and she’s playing the sad little girl role."

"Yeah, right? He used to call someone 25 a kid, and now he’s with a 23-year-old? Ridiculous."

"Did you see the photo of him with Dakota at the bar?"

"What? When?"

"Today, about an hour ago. She was kissing his cheek, and even if it’s for the movie, I doubt it. They weren’t even working."

"Think he’ll trade her in?"

"She won’t last ten days."

You grabbed your phone and opened Twitter. The first thing you saw was the photo of him and Dakota. He had that drunken smile on his face as she wrapped her arms around his neck. You weren’t the jealous type, fully aware of how PR worked in Hollywood, but it still stung.You washed your hands, turned to face them, and said,

"At least I’m more than a nameless extra without a single line. The only roles your venomous tongues will land you are in adult films, and not the Pearl kind—cheap, disgusting ones. Have a good night.

"With that, you left, hailed a cab, and went home. Fighting back tears, you repeated to yourself, Don’t cry. It’s just a picture. You ignored him all day, so stop acting like this.But for the first time, you cried over something like this.

Your head ached, and with the tip of your nose red, you picked up the phone and called him—without thinking too much, without wrestling with your thoughts. You just did what you felt needed to be done.The first call went straight to voicemail, and even though the thought of not wanting to humiliate yourself for him crossed your mind, you ignored it, knowing you were the one who had lost ground first. On the second call, your phone was answered, and the muffled sound made you swallow hard—he was out of the house.

“Hey.”

Your voice came out low, and you heard some murmurs on the other side, blending with loud conversation.

“Hello?”

A woman’s voice called from the other side, and you grimaced. “Uh, hi. Is Pedro there?”

“Uh, he’s kind of busy right now,” she said.

“Busy…” you repeated softly. “Who are you?”

“Carly.”

Carly? Who the hell is Carly? you thought immediately.

“Then tell him I called, Carly.”

“And you are…?” The mocking tone in her voice irritated you, and your expression was far from pleasant.

“A friend. Tell him a friend called.”

“Great.” She hung up without saying anything else, and you wrapped yourself in your own cocoon of blankets that didn’t warm you like Pedro did.Suits was playing on TV while you avoided going to bed, eventually falling asleep without even realizing it. Around 3 a.m., frantic knocks on your door startled you awake, making you look warily down the hallway. The doormen usually informed you of anyone coming to your floor.

Cautiously, you peeked through the peephole and saw him there, rubbing his face with his two hands, five times bigger than yours. You stopped, stepped back from the door, and sighed before opening it. Once you unlocked the door’s security latch, you looked at him and almost closed it again upon seeing your reflection, still wearing his shirt.

“It’s late. What are you doing here?” Your voice came out softly, and you saw Pedro stammer as he raised his hand in a nervous tic.

“A friend?”

“What?”

“Why did you say you were just a friend, sweetheart?” Pedro asked, stepping forward. You didn’t step back, only shrugged and gave a disheartened smile

.“She said you were busy. I thought it would be more… convenient than saying something else.”

“You’re something else. You’re my girlfriend. And my fiancée. And my wife. And I don’t care if you want to be the mother of my kids when I’m a hundred years old.”

He’s so drunk, you thought.

“How much tequila did you drink, Pedro?”

“The whole bottle.” He laughed, moving closer and gently touching your face. He’d always been gentle; being drunk didn’t change that.

“Please don’t tell me you’re breaking up with me.”

“I won’t say anything to you while you reek of cheap booze and cheap women.” You closed the door behind him and stepped away, heading to the hallway and your closet to grab a towel and clean clothes for him.

“Take a shower. If you sober up, we’ll talk.”

Pedro knew what you were thinking—that he’d gotten mad, drunk with his friends, and gone out with women named Carly. But he hadn’t done anything other than stare at the karaoke machine, hating every second he wasn’t there to mock what he was hearing.

“Everything’s cheap,” he laughed, following you.

“You know what isn’t cheap, Pedro? My patience. I haven’t slept well in over a week, and now it’s almost four in the morning, which means it’s been twenty minutes since you showed up at my door, and I don’t know why the hell you’re not naked yet.”

Your words left your mouth, and Pedro smiled at you.

“One day without you, and I forget how hot you are when you’re bossy and sleepy,” he slurred, making you laugh softly as you turned on the shower and pushed him into the bathroom.

“Don’t fall in there, please.”

Fifteen minutes after you pushed him inside, your eyes were heavy, and the strange way your body associated his presence with a different kind of rest annoyed you. Without realizing it, you fell asleep on the couch, wrapped in your blanket. It was as if your body said":

— Oh, it’s okay; Pedro’s home, so we’re safe,— but was your heart safe?When he saw you asleep there, the tequila had only left him dizzy—nothing a cold shower couldn’t fix. He approached and carried you to your room without thinking twice, whispering as he looked at your face:

“I’m so sorry, my preatty little thing.”

He laid you on the bed, and as he was about to leave, he heard you murmur:

“Stay. Please.”

Without hesitation, he lay beside you, pulling you against his chest and wrapping you both in a cocoon where it was just the two of you.

“Have you ever thought that maybe I’m not the right person for you?” you murmured, burying your head in his neck and feeling his hands trail up your back.

“Have you ever thought that maybe I’m not the right person for you, sweetheart?” he emphasized, and you sighed.

“I’m scared of losing you when you realize I’m too young, too naïve, and haven’t even experienced half of what you have.”

“I don’t even know why you’re thinking that. I’m the one who’s old. You’re perfect, intelligent, hot, and extremely talented—a young woman who fell into the arms of an old man like me.”

“Yeah, but I think maybe one day you’ll want someone your own age, someone like Sarah or any of your exes. I think it’s okay if you get bored of me, start feeling ashamed, and—”

“Stop. Stop that.” Pedro cupped your face, pulling it from his neck and making you look into his eyes. Your hands rested on his chest as you stared at him, and with a disheartened smile, Pedro caressed your face, clearly upset. When had your relationship reached such a fragile state?

“I didn’t take you to the premiere because the press is cruel. They’d talk about you, probably reinforce the rumors, and talk about me—call me a disgusting creep. I was going to take you, but all of our advisors told me not to risk exposing you in a bad light. I… I would never feel ashamed of you, for God’s sake. Look at you. A woman of any age wouldn’t hold a candle to you in a million years.”

Sniffling, you climbed onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. Pedro sat on the bed, hugging you back, his hand resting gently on your waist.

“You don’t need to worry about anything. Whatever was written about you was a lie. God, I don’t think I even know how to live without you by my side anymore.”

You laughed, and a smile appeared on his lips.

“You don’t need to worry either. Other men lost their appeal the moment you wanted me.”

“That’s good, sweetheart.”

His hand traveled to the back of your neck, his large fingers running through your hair.

“And who was Carly?”

“A friend of the group.”

" And why did she have your cell phone?"

" It stayed on the table because I focused on looking at it for five to five minutes waiting for you to send me a message. "

“And the photo?”

He knew what you were referring to, and when he took it, he hadn’t expected it to reach you before you two made up—if you made up.

“It was to promote the movie, sweetheart. Dakota’s engaged.”

He brushed your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“Hmm, alright.” You looked at him, tracing your fingers from his hair to his beard until they stopped at his mustache.

“Stop looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes. It makes you irresistible.”

“Like this?”

He did it again, and you laughed, kissing his lips immediately after.

“Mm-hmm, like that.”

You murmured against his lips as he smiled at you, and you whispered,

“I love you.”

“I love you more, sweetheart. Just you.”

Pedro pulled you close, laying you back against the soft mattress, kissing you as if it were the last moment of your lives. At least, that’s what both of you hoped.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

I apologize if there are any mistakes in this writing. I didn't proofread it with the best eyes.

Requests are open

[littlcdarlin]

My Burning Sun Will Someday Rise

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 || read on AO3

summary: Joel and reader's vacation continues and lines start to blur. tags: daddy kink, big age gap (Joel is 49, reader is 23), dbf!Joel, Joel has a lovely belly, Joel is a little mean, praise kink, Joel calls reader "kid", unprotected piv, creampie, cunnilingus, sexual tension, blow jobs, smut with a little bit of plot, no use of Y/N, afab!reader, reader has hair (will add more as I add more parts)

note: happy new year to all of you, and sorry for the long wait! I was completely flashed by the love you showed for part 1 (THANK YOU!!!), and wanted to live up to your expectations. I’ll try to write part 3 as quickly as possible! Sorry if there's any typos, I edited this while severely hungover

The afternoon at the beach was relaxing and lighthearted after you agreed with Joel and stopped studying so much, and you find that apart from having a body that makes you clench your thighs together, he’s interesting to talk to. He doesn’t give you the same bullshit about university and acting responsibly, but rather accepts that there are things you dislike about your degree. He doesn’t offer advice on how to learn to enjoy those things, he just nods when you tell him you’ve learnt to deal with them. He treats you like an adult, someone who makes their own informed choices – something your life has been sorely lacking.

You head back to the rooms in comfortable silence, and you enjoy the way Joel’s arm almost grazes yours. When you think about the flutter in your stomach for too long it’s ridiculous, but it’s so easy to leave behind the morals and expectations of home when all you’re facing right now is an all-inclusive dinner and as many cocktails as you want. You aren’t planning on getting drunk if Joel isn’t, but you want to have fun tonight. You haven’t been on a real vacation in ages.

 You take another shower once you’re in your room, wash away the sunscreen and sea salt, until your hair is all soft again and you smell like shampoo. The hotel restaurant isn’t super fancy, but you feel like putting in a little effort, so you pick out a black dress you like, and wear your sandals again. You wonder if you’ll get cold – the days are burning hot, but at night there’s a cool breeze that might make you regret your choice of clothes. Fuck it, you think, you haven’t had an occasion to dress up in ages, and getting Joel all flustered again sure seems like reason enough. You grab your purse, phone and keycard, and head to the door.

Joel opens his door at the same time you do, and you swallow when you see he’s changed outfits, too. His hair is slightly damp and all curly, he’s wearing black jeans and a simple black t-shirt with an unbuttoned, flowy linen shirt over it. The sleeves are rolled up to reveal his forearms. It’s stylish. You didn’t expect Joel Miller to look stylish.

"Wow," you say with a smile. "You clean up nice."

Joel just huffs, but his eyes ghost over your dress for a second too long. He doesn’t answer.

When you get to the restaurant, Joel pulls out your chair for you, which earns him a blinding smile. Stylish and a gentleman, who would have thought? Back home he always seemed like a grumpy lumberjack to you, and although you do find him excruciatingly attractive in his flannels, you’re intrigued to find out what else you didn’t know about him.

"Is it really all-inclusive?", you ask, gazing at the menu and not quite believing you can order anything you’d like and not pay for it. 

"Sure. You want a cocktail?"

"If you’ll have one with me?"

Joel holds your gaze, but shakes his head.

"I think I prefer whiskey over that sweet stuff," he says, and you make a face.

"Fine, whiskey it is, then," you say, and Joel frowns.

"You don’t have to drink what I’m drinkin’. Have a cocktail."

This time you’re the one to shake your head.

"It’s no fun, having cocktails on your own. But I haven’t had whiskey in ages, maybe I like it better now."

The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches.

"Ages, huh? How long have you been allowed to drink again?"

You smile, but don’t dignify his question with an answer, and after a moment Joel chuckles and looks back at the menu.

"Fine, I’ll have a Gin Fizz," he says, looking up again. "You?"

He wants to order a cocktail, just so that you can enjoy having one, too. Your stomach flutters.

"Joel, you don’t have t-"

"I know I don’t. I’m having a Gin Fizz."

There’s a finality to his tone, but his voice is friendly. You give him a reluctant smile, one that isn’t ironic or half-joking. He smiles back, and leans back in his chair, eyes still on yours. You study the menu again, this time having a closer look at the cocktails.

"Sex on the beach," you say seriously, and Joel snorts.

"Clever."

***

You do end up drinking a sex on the beach, and Joel actually enjoys his gin fizz. The food is delicious, Joel lets you try a piece of his steak and you offer him a bite of your fish, but he declines with a disgusted look on his face that makes you grin. No seafood for Joel Miller, then.

Joel orders you another cocktail when the waiter clears your plates, and you smile to yourself. He’s being courteous.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Miller?", you ask, the corner of your mouth twitching. Joel raises an eyebrow.

"I think you’re managin’ that without my help."

He’s right, of course – your long day of traveling makes the buzz in your head more prominent, and although you’re nowhere near drunk, your tongue is a little looser than usually, and you find it much easier to hold Joel’s eye-contact.

"I’m glad I came here," you say all of a sudden, the thought fleeting, but true. "I needed a break."

Joel’s smile is honest, when he answers.

"I’m glad you came, too. It’d be boring, bein’ here on my own."

"Right," you say, "who would get you to drink cocktails? You’d be stuck drinking disgusting whiskey and wallowing in your loneliness."

Joel smiles, shaking his head slightly, and takes a sip of his Gin.

"You wanna head down to the beach?", you ask when your glasses are empty and you feel a little woozy from the second cocktail. Joel looks surprised.

"I love the sea at night," you say a little dreamily, voice trailing off.

"Sure. Let’s go," Joel just answers.

The air outside is cool, just like you anticipated, and you shiver slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself to keep the goosebumps at bay. Joel notices, and immediately shrugs out of his linen shirt, handing it to you. You stare at him.

"Take it," he insists, and you do, the fabric soft in your hands. You slip it on, the sleeves coming down to your fingertips, the collar smelling of Joel’s cologne. You wonder why it took you two cocktails to notice how good he smells. When you’re done rolling up the sleeves, you look up and find Joel watching you quietly. Your eyes meet – he looks away, and starts walking again.

You’re pleasantly tipsy, walking to the beach at night, wearing Joel Miller’s clothes and brushing his arm with yours every once in a while. It feels a little surreal.

"Aren’t you cold now?", you ask after a couple of minutes of quiet.

"No," Joel answers, his voice a little rougher than before, "’sides, you wear it better anyway."

You flush, and when you don’t answer, he looks at you.

"Jesus, sorry," he mumbles. "I didn’t…it slipped out. Just meant you look pretty, is all."

Your stomach swirls pleasantly, and you want Joel to put his arm around your shoulder, or kiss you, or take that shirt off again. You clear your throat.

"Thanks," you answer quietly, toying with the hem of the shirt. "I think you wore it well, too, though. Suits you."

Joel doesn’t answer, but when you glance at him, you notice the ghost of a smile on his face, half-hidden by his patchy beard.

You walk the rest of the way in contemplative silence, each of you lost in your thoughts. You’re always amazed to see the sea at night. The darkness somehow elevates its vastness, water and sky bleeding into each other at the near invisible horizon. It’s easy to forget about your exams here, with the whole expanse of the planet spread out before you, the relentlessly calm sound of the waves, and Joel’s scent in your nose. You sit down on an abandoned deck chair and watch Joel walk up to the water, pick up a seashell, and drop it into the water again. He seems content to be here, you think. Relaxed. You don’t know him well, but his body language seems more at ease than it did back home. Perhaps you’re not the only one who needed a break.

You get up again, and walk over to Joel, who smiles when he sees you coming.

"You were right," he says, "it’s different in the dark."

You know he means the sea, the beach, the lack of people around, the sand that burned your feet only hours ago now having a cooling effect. Still, his words leave room for interpretation and you don’t miss the way his gaze moves over your form in his shirt.

"Thanks for the cocktails," you say quietly, "and the shirt."

Joel looks over at you, but you don’t have the guts to look at him. You can’t quite be sure what the moonlight and scenery will make you do, not when he’s never looked more handsome, and you’re more than tipsy.

"You’re welcome," he says honestly. "I know you’re doin’ this for your Dad more than anything, but I hope you’re still havin’ fun."

He’s self-conscious, or something close to it, wondering how he could make this trip more enjoyable for you – so he orders cocktails he doesn’t like and lets you wear his clothes.

"I am having fun," you reassure him. "I’m at the beach at night wearing a guy’s shirt who got me all the cocktails I wanted, instead of studying at my desk for the millionth night in a row."

Joel chuckles.

"My Dad should break his leg more often," you sigh, digging the heel of your foot into the sand. Joel doesn’t answer.

When you walk back to the hotel, you feel the ghost of his hand on your lower back, not touching, but lingering, as if he instinctively wants to stir you in the right direction, or keep you from stumbling. It makes that flutter in your stomach reappear.

You pass reception to get to the elevators, and the same woman is still there, smiling when he recognizes you.

"You two enjoying the sea?", she asks.

"Very much, thank you," you answer, "we had cocktails and walked to the beach."

The lady looks pleased at how happy you seem and smiles at Joel.

"I’m glad to hear it! Well, you two enjoy your Daddy-daughter trip," she says, before answering the telephone that starts ringing just as you’re about to say good-night.

Joel’s brows are furrowed when you look at him, which makes you suppress a grin. The lady assuming he’s your father is clearly bothering him, and you get the feeling it might not entirely be about his age.

When you’ve made it up to your rooms, you turn to Joel to find him already watching you. He looks different here, in the harsh light of the corridor, dark shadows falling over his features, his form somehow looking broader.

"Breakfast at nine?", he asks you, voice quiet so as not to disturb any other guests in their rooms.

"Yeah," you say, and before you can change your mind, you kiss his cheek. His expression is unreadable, when you pull away.

"Goodnight," you say with a tired smile, before teasingly adding "Daddy."

Joel holds your eye contact, and doesn’t flush this time.

"Careful," he says gently, voice low and dark. You swallow.

Before you can forget, you shrug off his shirt, but Joel doesn’t move to take it from your outstretched hand. After a beat, his eyes flicker over your face.

"Keep it," he says curtly, "I like it on ya."

And then he’s gone, the door to his room shutting with a soft thud. You shake your head slightly, and press the soft linen fabric against your nose, inhaling the scent of his cologne and sweat. You ache just at the thought of it having touched his skin, and him now wanting to see you in it, but it would feel like a violation if you relieved that ache now, even if Joel wasn’t there, so you ignore the dull throbbing between your legs best as you can and go to bed with Joel’s shirt right next to your bed.

***

The next morning you feel a little nervous about breakfast – something shifted between you and Joel after your good-bye in the hallway. He seemed so sure of himself when he told you he liked you in his shirt, so unwavering, and you’re a nervous wreck just thinking about saying good morning to him.

Instead of putting on the white sundress you wore yesterday, you slip into a bikini, a pair of comfortable shorts, and Joel’s linen shirt, half unbuttoned so that your necklace peeks out. This time you leave the sleeves un-rolled, liking how big it feels on you, a constant reminder of Joel’s size.

You wash your face and brush your teeth, but don’t shower since you’re going to have to do that in the evening anyway. Although you’re mostly excited to see Joel again, you also can’t wait to have your morning coffee and something to eat – you hope the breakfast buffet will be as good as dinner was.

You wait for Joel in the hallway, but when he doesn’t come out of his room, you knock on his door.

"One second," his voice comes from inside, and you wait leaning against the wall just like he did the day before. When he opens the door, you can’t suppress a smile – his hair is charmingly tousled from his sleep, he clearly didn’t know what to do with it without taking a shower first.

"Nice hair," you say, the corner of your mouth twitching. Joel doesn’t answer, with his brows slightly furrowed he keeps staring at you. Anxiety floods your veins, and you wonder if it was the best idea to dress the way you did, if Joel might think of it as strange or creepy or pathetic.

"You’re wearing my shirt," he says, voice quiet and still rough from sleep. It’s not a question, just a statement, no judgement behind it. You swallow, watching his brown eyes trail over your arms, torso, your shorts.

"Yeah," you answer timidly, fighting the urge to cross your arms. "You said you liked it on me."

Joel’s eyes snap up to yours, and with all the courage you can muster up, you hold his gaze for several long seconds.

"I did."

Again, just a statement. One that doesn’t require an answer, but you feel like shrinking under Joel’s gaze, so you offer him an out out of the situation.

"I’ll take it off, if you want me to," you mutter, and quickly add "I’ll put on something else."

Joel watches you quietly, and finally runs a hand through his messy hair.

"No need, kid," he says with a defeated sounding exhale. "’M glad ya like it."

***

Breakfast is a welcome distraction from whatever happened in the hallway – you drink too much coffee, and try all of the delicious food offered: bacon and eggs, colorful fruit you have never seen before, yoghurt and pancakes. Joel sticks to coffee and toast, though he does steal one of the peaces of fruit from your plate.

"I’ll get one more cup," you say when you have drained the last of your coffee, and Joel chuckles.

"Might as well do a line," he says and you snort, but stay seated – he’s right, you should watch your caffeine intake. He watches you, and after a second raises an eyebrow.

"I didn’t mean anything by it. You drink as much coffee as you want."

His voice is apologetic and soft.

"No, I’ll do as you say," you answer, "or I’ll die of heart failure."

Something flashes over his face at those words, but you can’t pinpoint it. Still, your stomach flutters, when Joel doesn’t break the eye-contact.

After breakfast the two of you get your towels and the rest of your beach-belongings from your rooms, and Joel changes into his trunks again. You walk past reception quietly, the lady from the day before isn’t there, and Joel’s arm brushes against yours casually. Suddenly you wish you weren’t wearing his shirt, just to feel his skin against yours. It’s a little pathetic.

Joel gets you two deckchairs – the beach is still relatively empty – and you put on sunscreen. When you’re done with your limbs and stomach, you offer Joel the bottle.

"Do my back, please?"

"Sure," he mutters, taking the bottle from you, and gently stroking your hair out of the way. He’s quiet, holding you steady by the shoulder when you instinctively squirm away from the initial cold of the liquid on your skin, his hands calloused but gentle. From time to time, his fingers slip under the shoulder straps of your bikini, and you feel heat pool between your legs when he starts covering your lower back in sunscreen. His hand is dangerously close to the waistband of your swimsuit.

"All done," he says, closing the bottle. You raise an eyebrow.

"Don’t need sunscreen," he explains, "I don’t burn easy."

"You’ll get skin cancer," you argue. "Everybody needs sunscreen."

He huffs, but hands you the bottle and turns around to sit down on the deckchair. You watch his beautiful back, the way the skin ripples over his muscles, how broad and solid it seems. You squirt some of the sunscreen onto your hand and apply it to Joel’s shoulders, rubbing gently. He relaxes under your touch, the tension leaving his muscles, and you move your hands more deliberately, focusing on his shoulders, until Joel’s head falls forward slightly, giving into the sensation.

"Good?", you ask, a little shy.

Joel hums, and you wonder if his eyes are closed, if he’s enjoying your touch so much he can’t form a full sentence. You dig the heels of your palms into his muscles, the sunscreen making the slide easy. His skin his littered in freckles and birthmarks, marked by years of working under the sun.

"You always apply sunscreen like that?", Joel asks suddenly, and you flush.

"Most people aren’t this tense," you quip back, fingers gliding over Joel’s neck. "Actually, nobody’s ever been this tense, I think."

He shakes his head slightly, but lets you carry on, working your way down his back, the tan line of his trunks visible and oh so tempting. You imagine pulling them down and try to refrain from clenching your thighs together.

When you’re done, Joel’s muscles feel a little looser, more relaxed, and he turns around to look at you.

"Thanks," he says quietly, and you nod. Now that he can see you, look you directly in the eye, it feels almost absurdly bold to have touched him like that. Still, things have started to unravel a little. Lines have blurred.

Although you don’t know where you get the courage from, you hold his gaze, put one hand on his shoulder, and squeeze.

"Any time, Joel," you answer, and watch him swallow. Then, his own hand comes up to yours, and you half think he’s going to remove yours, but he just loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist, eyes not leaving yours.

"That’s a dangerous game you’re playin’, kid," he says quietly, but doesn’t let go of you. You hope he never does.

"Do you…want me to stop?", you ask him, because you will if this is making him uncomfortable, if you read him wrong. He’s silent for a second.

"No," he says so quietly it’s almost inaudible. His thumb starts moving over your wrist, right over the pulse point, and it makes you weak in the knees. You didn’t know a touch as small as that one could be so erotic, but with Joel it seems, everything is. You fight to not let a whimper escape your mouth, and close your eyes for just a second.

"God," Joel mutters, more to himself than to you, "look at you."

Your eyes snap open when you feel him move, hand still locked around your wrist securely, and suddenly he’s towering over you. You gaze up at him, his eyes bright under the blazing sun, his hair still tousled, his beard patchy and flecked with grey. He’s all man, in a way you didn’t know you found desirable before him, but there is undeniable proof of your want leaking into your swimsuit, sticky and hot between your thighs.

He watches you, intense eyes moving over your face, your eyes, your mouth, your hands, your body in your nicest swimsuit, your throat as you swallow. His other hand comes up to stroke the hair away from your neck, and goosebumps erupt on your skin. Joel almost chuckles, but it’s more the ghost of a breath. You flush.

"It’s fucking stupid to go through with this," Joel says seriously, like he wants to inform you of it – as if you don’t know.

"Yes," you breathe, because he’s completely right.

"Your Dad would kill me, and rightly so," he adds.

"Oh, fuck my Dad," you answer, trying to reach out to touch Joel, but your wrist is still tightly locked in his grasp. You tug a little, but he doesn’t budge.

"You doin’ this to get back at him?"

You detect something in his voice you don’t like – uncertainty.

"No, Joel," you breathe, "God, no. Have you looked into a mirror recently?"

That makes him smile, and you wonder if he gets compliments a lot, but by the way his cheeks gain color, you don’t think he does. Stupid, stupid world, stupid people who came before you. He should be told every second of the day.

"It’s still stupid,“ he says, but his eyes are more intense than before now. You’re on holiday, away from all judgement. You can do whatever you want to do to each other.

"Thought I was the smart one in my family," you tease, reminding him of his words on the plane. You want him to lean down and finally kiss you, or throw you down on the deckchair and fuck you right there, your face pressed into his linen shirt. His thumb keeps moving over your wrist, relentlessly building tension.

"Take me to your room," you whisper, eyes wide, and anticipation pooling deep in your belly. Joel curses.

"You have any idea of the things I wanna do to you?"

His voice is low, dangerous, and you’d be at least a little afraid if this one anyone else. But it’s Joel, who lets you hate your degree without judgement, drinks cocktails he doesn’t like just so you can enjoy yourself, and through his permission allows you to stop studying, lets you enjoy this trip.

"Do them," you breathe, "I’ll let you do anything."

"Jesus fucking Christ, kid," he answers, and finally lets go of your wrist, one hand coming to rest on your waist, tugging you towards him, the other gently cradling your face. His breath ghosts over your mouth, and then he brushes your lips with his in a needy, slow kiss. His tongue slips into your mouth and you open up for him willingly. He tugs your hips against him, making you whimper and feel his bulge dig into your stomach.

The only thing keeping you from pulling him out of his swimming trunks right then is the fact that there are people around, and you’re pushing it already with the way his hands grasp at your skin and his tongue licks in your mouth. Any further and you could be arrested for public indecency.

"Please," you ask him between kisses, "Please, Joel, just take me to your room."

His teeth dig into your lower lip, and you fight a moan.

"Ask me again," he says, voice a little wrecked, and the need you feel for him deep in your stomach burns white hot. He wants you to beg.

"Please," you say, like he isn’t stripping you of your dignity instead of your clothes, but you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed, not when Joel groans at the sound.

"Alright, kid. I’ve got you.“

[wonderjanga]

I May be a Kid but I’m not a Kid Kid.

When Billy’s secret identity was revealed, he started getting treated like a little kid. It really annoys him whenever these guys try to baby him.

Supes: “Billy, uhm… we were wondering if you would like to be moved to the Teen Titans.”

Marvel: “What…?” *sounds absolutely horrified at the thought of that* “Why?”

Supes: “You’d around kids your age.”

Marvel: *stares and blinks rapidly* “Are you saying you’re gonna demote me to the Teen Titans of all things? No offense.”

Supes: “Billy, it’s not a demotion.”

Marvel: “But it is. I’ve been on this team for what? Four years- almost five. You guys are acting like my age automatically means I can’t be a good hero anymore.”

Supes: “We’re not saying that. We just think it’d be good if you were on a team of heroes around your age.”

Marvel: “But you are. You’re literally all but saying it. I like those kids but not enough to want to be on a team with them.” *doesn’t know if he’d like listening to Robin’s condescension in more than small doses* “I prefer you guys. We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

Supes: “Of course!” *happy Billy is still somewhat comfortable around them*

Marvel: “Good.” *smiles* “Besides, I do hang out with kids around my age. Mary and I are the same age while Junior’s a year older than us.”

Supes: “He’s the oldest?”

This conversation got them to back off about kicking him off the team. That didn’t stop them from poking their stupid adult noses into other parts of Billy’s heroics though.

Marvel: *helping someone at like 2am because he patrols as much as he can*

Supes: “Captain! Whatcha doing up this late, champ?”

Marvel: *makes a face that being called champ, but doesn’t say anything about it* “Uh… patrolling? *finishes helping the person*

Supes: “Patrolling? It’s a little late- er early for that. Isn’t it?”

Marvel: “I guess…? I still have a couple more hours.”

Supes: “Shouldn’t you be turning in earlier?”

Marvel: “No…?”

Supes: “Aren’t you tired though? Kids need plenty of sleep.”

Marvel: *a little irked at being called a kid but brushes it off* “Stamina of Atlas, remember?”

Supes: “Oh.” *silence* “Well, maybe you could still turn in earlier?”

Marvel: *looks around for any hidden cameras* “No.”

Supes: “Oh okay…” *doesn’t really want to seem controlling so he just sulks while flying back to Metropolis*

Don’t worry, Superman trying to give him a curfew isn’t the only thing a nosy adult tried to do.

Marvel: “Mr. Batman Sir? Are the new long term mission signs up sheets out yet?”

Batman: “Ah, yes.” *hands him the sign up tablet* “There are three new ones.”

Marvel: “Great! Any potential overlaps?”

Batman: “Only these two.” *points to two missions*

Marvel: “How long would these two last?” *points to one of the overlapping missions and the one that doesn’t overlap*

Batman: “Together would be about a month and a half or longer.”

Marvel: “Cool.” *is about to sign up for them*

Batman: *remembers school exists* “And school?”

Marvel: *pauses so he can look at Bruce confused* “What about it?”

Batman: “If you sign up for these, you’ll miss at least a month or two. You’d be stuck catching up.”

Marvel: *laughs* “You say that if I actually go to school.”

Batman: “You don’t?”

Marvel: “No.”

Batman: “I see.” *takes the tablet away before Billy can sign* “Well, you’ll go now then.”

Marvel: *thinks he’s joking* “What?”

Batman: “I’ll enroll you in a school in Fawcett.”

Marvel: *stares for a solid minute* “Mr. Batman Sir, you’re not sending me to school.”

Batman: “Yes, I am. William-”

Marvel: “Don’t call me that.”

Batman: *sighs* “Billy, education is important. You shouldn’t put it off for heroics. Even Robin goes to school.”

Marvel: “Okay? I’m not a Robin though. And that only works because you guys patrol at night. If I go to school I’ll miss my day-patrol.”

Batman: “I’m sure there are plenty of other heroes in Fawcett who patrol during the day. Why not leave it to one of them?”

Marvel: “Because I don’t want to. I like saving people. The more heroes who are out in Fawcett, the less likely somebody might get glossed over and hurt because a hero wasn’t there in time to save them. I don’t wanna be the person that failed them just because I was busy with school or because I went to bed early… I say that last part because no matter what Supes thinks, he’s not subtle about wanting me to have a darn curfew.”

Batman: *stares in silence because he now feels a little bad and also empathizes with that “what if I’m not there mentality*

Marvel: *thinks that silence is Bruce still not understanding him* “Look, if you still don’t get what I’m trying to say, imagine if someone came into Gotham and tried pushing you out of the superhero business just because they thought you unfit to be hero. That’s how I feel in this situation. I don’t tell you guys how to your jobs, so why are you trying to tell me?” *reaches over to grab the tablet a sign up for the two missions he wanted to take*

Yeah… Batman started treating him normally after that. Supes also did because his superhearing caught the convo.

Then, there’s his relationship with Flash and GL. They’d taken to treating him like a little kid or nephew even though Billy doesn’t want that.

Marvel: “Could you guys uh- stop treating me like a kid?” *sounds disappointed them*

Flash: *somehow still feels dread at the disappointment even though, NO, this guy is younger than him, why does Barry still feel like he disappointed his dad?* “You are a kid though.”

Marvel: “Yeah, I know, but you didn’t used to do this before.”

GL: *also dislikes that he’s bothered by the Dad Disappointment™️ radiating off of Marvel* “That was before we knew you were a kid though.”

Marvel: “Yeah, well I don’t care. I don’t need you to act like this. I don’t want you to act like this. I want friends, not chaperones or parental figures or anything stupid like that. I don’t like that you’re treating me differently now.” *sounds bitter* “You guys seem to forget that I’ve been doing this since before most of you were even, excuse my language, sperm cells. And sure, there was suspendium, but I fought Nazis, commies, and my own villains on top of that, all without being treated like a defenseless little kid and I ended up just fine. So I don’t need any of you acting like I’m a stupid little baby.”

That shut them up. It didn’t make any of the relationships between Billy and them go back to normal though. Not completely anyways. At least it was somewhat better though.

By the way, Billy, throughout all of this, just sounds bitter about being treated like this. He misses his friends guys :(.

[thelikesoffinn]

„Astarion ending as the Vampire Ascendant is the correct ending for him, because it is what he wants.”

That is a claim I’ve been seeing pop up more and more often these days. And I think it’s both a very bold and a very odd claim to make.

But first things first: Hello, I’m a licensed social worker! So far, I’ve worked with children, refugees and youths with behavioural issues stemming from bullying and or abuse.

Please be aware that I will be mentioning different kinds of abuse, coping mechanisms, and victim/abuser relationships. If any of this is difficult for you, don’t force yourself through it. My jabbering about a traumatised vampire is not worth your wellbeing, not ever.

I will, however try to stick to Astarion and not use other examples. If, in any case, I do use a non-Astarion example, I’ll add a warning beforehand so that you can skip the part. And I’ll make it clear what will be discussed in the next bit, so that you have a chance to skip it entirely.

This is an effort to make this as accessible as possible for everyone that wants to indulge on a mad woman’s rambling – and I know there’s a few people that like this sort of stuff!

And, uh, there's obviously spoilers for all three acts. Serious spoilers, even.

Before I can get into the whole ‘why Astarion didn’t really want to ascend,’ we need to understand him a little more. And to understand this pretty boy’s brain, we first need to understand the gist of what we’re talking about when we throw around the word ‘abuse.’

“Abuse” is when someone is treated with cruelty, violence, or neglect – often to bad effect – on a regular basis. Repetitively. Check’s out for Astarion, I’d say, but we all knew that already. I mean, if one thing was obvious, it was this.

1. Astarions Abuse

Next we need to look at what kind of abuse Astarion faced over his long years of torment, seeing as different types of abuse will have different effects on the victim.

Not that that is anything we have to worry about with him – Astarion won the abuse lottery, to put it bluntly. In a horrible game of fate, he got everything. He himself indirectly mentions all the types of abuse he faced, albeit never using the correct terms.

The first we properly notice – fitting, seeing as it is often the most obvious form of abuse – is the physical abuse. Astarions scars are probably the biggest tell Larian could shove down our throats, only underlined by Astarion’s tale about the night itself. About how Cazador ‘misspelled something’ every time he flinched or screamed and had to do ‘many corrections. On top of this, Cazador locked Astarion up for months on end and tortured him – or had him tortured – on a regular basis both as a rite and as a punishment.

Next up, we have the fact that Astarion was forced to basically prostitute himself repeatedly. This is what we call sexual exploitation.

“I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my Master.” – Act 2

Two hundred years is a long time, filled with great many people. Now, we don’t know how many of those people actually tapped into the sexual exploitation and how many he could just lure back with other means, but the fact that it happened a lot is undeniable.

Next we have a form of abuse that we often disregard in adults: Neglect. It sounds odd, I know, saying that a fully grown adult was neglected. They can care for themselves, can they not?

Well. Yes and no.

Adult neglect is proceeded by the condition that one adult has to lean on another adult to fulfil their needs for whatever reason. This could be anything, from disability to income-based issues.  

Seeing as Astarion had absolutely nothing, while Cazador had everything, we can assume this was the case. Cazador had the house, the money, the power. Astarion owns but one pair of clothes, assumedly, that he has fixes over and over again. Fair to say, that’s pretty neglectful. (And it’s one more reason to shower the guy in pretty armour and camp clothes. Go ham, people.)

Last we have the form of abuse we actually get to witness later in the game – emotional abuse.

Once again, it’s undeniable that this happened. Especially since we’re all seeing it in the flesh upon meeting Cazador in his crypt.

“Have you no respect for yourself?”

“I strove for perfection in all things. Even those as imperfect as you.”

“A pity you amounted to so little, despite my efforts.”

“A pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything.”

All Act 3, Crypt

Here we have just a few examples of things Cazador throws in his face. It’s like reading a textbook on emotional abuse, this one (and it’s definitely a reason to throw hands).

Blaming the victim, keeping their sense of self and their self-worth as tiny as possible to make them cower and flee. A true classic.

This pretty much shows that Astarion suffered all forms of abuse we commonly see and it is implied – once again by Astarion himself – that at least a few of those instances were ritualistic.

Now, what does that mean exactly? Well, I fear I need to use a real example here, so please skip the next paragraph.

Ritualistic doesn’t refer to a proper ritual – it can, but that’s mostly a thing for those in a cult. So, we’re not necessarily talking about a ‘Vampire Ascendent Ritual’. A husband, beating his wife every evening after his third bottle of beer is also called ritual abuse. It happens regularly. It is part of a routine. Both parties know what will happen.

I can’t find the exact quote, so I’m working of my memory here, but at one point he said that when Cazador invited him to eat and he said yes, he would be served a putrid rat. If he said no, he’d be beaten.

The way it was phrased made it clear that it happened more than once and that Astarion clearly knew what would happen. So, this can be classified as ritualistic abuse.

2. A Note on Conditioning and Compliance

By default, abuse victims are conditioned to behave a certain way or in a certain fashion. This is a natural response to avoid further abuse.

In Astarion, the thing we see most often is his inherent need to please. Not literally, he doesn’t mind being an arsehole. But he initially feels the need to follow Tav’s orders, even if they go against his own wishes.

This can be clearly seen in the conversation with Araj Oblodra. Astarion very clearly doesn’t want to bite her. He doesn’t. But he will do so, if Tav tells him to. This behaviour is not conscious – he doesn’t know why he does it, he just does – and it is to be expected. This is how he kept himself save for two centuries, so of course he will fall back into his usual pattern when the pressure is high.

This goes hand in hand with the fact that most abuse victims don’t fight. Maybe initially, but not after long term abuse. Especially not after two fucking centuries.

This is true in Astarion – offered by his ‘siblings’ during act 3 and unhappily acquiesced by the man himself. Astarion stopped fighting and, once again implied, cowered, and did as he was told in order to survive.

3. The Astarion we know and love

Obviously, all that abuse does have an impact on our vampire boyfriend. He shows various common signs of abuse and just like with the forms of abuse, Astarion raked every coping mechanism he could find. (Not really, but it feels like it.) It’s also important to note that nearly all of the following things happen inwardly. Astarion is not one of the victims, that tries to rationalise and minimise the actions of his abuser. Quite the opposite, actually.

I’ll note from the beginning, that rationalisation will not be covered in this bit, as most examples will be important later on. But he definitely does it.

One of his biggest skills is to hide every ounce of fear or hurt behind sarcasm and snarky theatrics. He doesn’t seem to hide his anger much, though, so that’s something! Our boy is cool with anger, not so much with being afraid.

“Ahahaha, now that you mention it….I might have done…that.” – Act 3, regarding the Gur children

“The thing that will decide my fate forever more? Yeees, it’s been on my miiiind. Why?” – Act 2, regarding the Ritual

And there’s many more instances that prove this. Honestly, half his dialogue is sarcasm, so it would really be too long to get into and we all know what I mean, right? We have alltalked to the guy before. It’s obvious that he’s sarcastic to a fault.

This goes hand in hand with his penchant for defensiveness. I would personally state that he’s simply not really good with guilt. When talking about fear, he usually just opts for sarcasm or avoids the topic completely, but guilt especially has his defences going up. This is also when he’s most likely to shove all the blame off to Cazador.

“Don’t look at me like that. Cazadors orders.” – Act 3, Crypt

“I just did what I had to!” – Act 3, Crypt

And don’t get me wrong, he does that anyway. And with good reason. Astarion didn’t have a choice for the most part, but he’s still easy to shove things off.

This kind of connects to his penchant for denial.

Astarion doesn’t really like to talk about most things. He firmly believes he is an ‘action’ sort of person that just does instead of plans, which invertedly just means he’s great at pushing the thinking stuff away. He also likes to get rid of stuff, so that he doesn’t need to face it ever again.

“I never want to see these little scraps of misery again. The world doesn’t need to know my shame.” – Act 3, about the children

And yes, this partly rings true. He’s probably ashamed and doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s done. But it’s also very clear that he himself simply doesn’t want to face his own actions, something that is just  underlined by his extreme willingness to red rid of the other spawn.

As mentioned by Astarion himself, he’s big on manipulation. I mean, I don’t think there is much explaining necessary. The guy is willing to do a whole lot in order to get what he desires – which mostly revolves around safety and survival, to be honest – and he’s not really shy about it either. And that’s despite the fact that he doesn’t really like intimacy – especially in form of sex.

It’s not a secret that Astarion is not big on sex and anything surrounding it. This goes far enough for people to consider him either ace or ace coded.

A claim that, personally, I’m not super in line with.

Now, it’s not entirely wrong and if this is your head cannon I’m surely not going to stand in your way – but on a larger spectrum, I think he’s more traumatised than ace. And while those go hand in hand sometimes, it’s a bit difficult for the ace community if you attach traumatised characters to them because it can fuel a whole lot of stigma that is honestly neither needed nor wanted. But I digress!

If it comes to his own behaviour, he’s great at minimising his mistakes. Honestly, he’s a master of minimisation. A very obvious and famous example would be:

“’Killed’ feels like a…strong word. Not many corpses have your vigour.” – Act 1, after killing Tav

Astarion. You literally sucked poor Tav dry and left them flopping around, cold, and dead. Killed is exactly the right word and we all know it.

“Quite the deviation from my usual routine. Capture, not lure. I didn’t bring them in with sweet rolls or anything.” – Act 3, Gur Children

This is another attempt at minimising what he did, if a bit less obvious because at this point there isn’t much he can say. But at least he didn’t sexualise the gur children, right? They’re still spawn but whoo, at least that didn’t happen.  

The next point would be dissociation, which is extremely common in abuse victims – of all forms of abuse.

Astarion himself mentioned certain moments that could be classified as dissociation over course of the story, which is probably the coping mechanism I personally expected the most.

The pale elf has a penchant for violence, but he’s not entirely shameless or abhorrently vile, which gets clearer the more the story progresses. So, two hundred years of forced prostitution, torture and doing whatever other horrible things? Yeah, I’d be more surprised if he didn’t dissociate.

Examples of that would be:

“A moment of disgust to push myself through and then I could’ve carried on, just like before.” – Act 2, after Araj

“I felt nothing the moment I handed them over.” – Act 3, Gur Children

“Did you enjoy it? It felt like you weren’t fully there.” – Act 1, Tav after Sex

The latter is generally more of an assumption than actual prove, but with context it does make sense.

The last common sign of abuse we find in our boyfriend would be his low self-worth. It’s a consistent trait that stays over the course of all three acts, noticeable in many different conversations.

We can see it in his reaction to wanting to break up before finishing his story. We can see it in his genuine surprise when Tav picks him over any of the other characters. We see it in his insecurity whenever Tav asks to sleep with another character. He’s fine with it, but he still worries their decision to sleep with someone else is based on something he did.

It eases up ever so slightly after Cazador is dead, but even then he’s still struggling which is once again perfectly illustrated if you try to break up with him.

“Oh shit. I- Did I do something wrong?”

That is the first thing he asks and I think it speaks for itself. He genuinely doesn’t believe he has much to offer and for Astarion, it’s likely that Astarion will always be the problem.

4. "Oh, I tried them all none of them answered.”

Another big thing that’s important to note, is that Astarion was never saved. No one came to save him from Cazador. There was no darling boy on a white steed riding into that castle to rescue him and princess carry him away. Not even the gods answered his desperate calls.

So, he never received any kindness or luck. To him, the world seems as cruel and horrid as before because he didn’t have the chance to experience goodness in two centuries.

But worse than that, he didn’t even get to save himself. Astarion didn’t stand up to Cazador, he didn’t run out of his own might.

He was beaten to near death and ‘saved’ by Cazador, who would become his abuser.

He tried to save someone and, in turn, was locked up and starved for an entire year.

He was abducted by mind flayers, i.e., saved from Cazador, only to end up tadpoled and on the cusp of getting a fancy, squiddy beard.

Anything that’s good, any kindness, any selfless action…it all came with a ginormous price tag.

5. Over the Course of the Story

Astarions behaviour changes a whole lot over the course of three acts – which is important once we talk about his quests climax – so let’s review what we’re working with!

Act 1 Astarion is guarded as fuck. The man has walls around him that are so high, even the gods can touch them.

A lot of his behaviour in act 1 revolves around staying save and staying liked. He lies, manipulates, and flutters his lashes in order to get what he wants and needs. Instead of asking, like Wyll, Karlach and Gale do, Astarion uses all he has to offer to get by. He is still very much in survival mode and tries to weasel his way through an unfamiliar situation with familiar methods.

On top of that, and most notably, he’s absolutely not fond of kindness or selflessness.

#I saved a child and now my boyfriend is mad

Here, we are most likely to gain disapproval for doing the decent thing – unless you sent him outside for a minute whenever you’re being a good person.

And I’d assume that this is because of two things.

First: The very traditional ‘Why not me?’

As I mentioned before, Astarion wasn’t saved. He hasn’t experienced kindness in a very long time so seeing that the world is literally filled with kind people is hurtful. Why didn’t anyone save him? Why was he left to his own devices for so long? Why should he care about others when it’s so clear that no one ever cared about him? No, dead to all of them. If he didn’t get it, neither will they.

“And what am I owed? What about the injustices I suffered? Am I not entitled to anything?” – Act 3, Crypt

“I was in the prime of my life when I was turned. Everything was taken from me too.” – Act 3, Crypt

And secondly is the fact that, as I mentioned, goodness always has a price. And it’s one most people won’t be willing to pay. That’s how his life has been, so why would theirs be different?

This is precisely why Astarion may disapprove of kind actions, but he mostly neither approves nor disapproves if Tav asks for payment. That’s just how the world works.

Once you venture out into act 2, after getting to know him a whole lot more, he starts to mellow a bit – if only towards Tav.

“He’s afraid, so afraid, of everyone but you, who she should fear the most.” – Sceleritas about Astarion

His approval is a lot easier to gain – or at least keep! – and he tends to approve of some more proper actions. He doesn’t throw a fit if you promise to find Mol, he approves of Tav being kind to His Majesty, of saving Aylin and he even approves of Durge apologising to Isobel after threatening to rip her to pieces.

He's slowly starting to open up, allowing Tav to see some parts of him he previously kept hidden. He accepts their offer to help, if hesitantly and, by god, the man starts experimenting with boundaries.

The social worker in me is shedding tears at this. It’s my favourite thing to see in my clients and it’s no different here. Yay to saying no!

Of course, it’s still a bit hit or miss. If Tav urges him to bite Araj, for example, he will only to later notice that he didn’t fucking have to. He recognises this on his own and he calls Tav out on it. Just like he calls them out on not helping him with his Orthon quest.

Good job, chap. Good fucking job.

And the growth-train won’t stop going even as we reach act 3.

In act 3, there’s not many things he disapproves as of right now – those he does, mostly have to do with how Tav treats him and not with anyone else. In fact, he’s more likely to approve good behaviour now, like giving Yenna food or money.

And yes, we need to consider that this could simply be because he gets used to Tav’s behaviour and just learns to roll with it. But it’s also highly likely that he notices that there’s truly good people around. At least one person. And that person is not only good, no, they’re in the process of helping him break free once and for all.

They’re helping him save himself.

By act 3, he has learned that he can absolutely say his piece where Tav is concerned and he’s more likely to disagree with them on certain things. It’s seen during a lot of small dialogue that he’s no longer terribly afraid to be honest with them, willing to listen and talk and he’ll ask for help if he needs it.

“I can do this. But I need your help.” – Act 3, Crypt

Something that can be viewed both positively and negatively is that he’s definitely loyal to a fault. He will stick by Tav’s side, no matter what.

“I really hoped we could avoid being pawns for a dark god, but here we are, I suppose. I’m with you, my dear, wherever this might lead.” – Act 3, After Jaheira confronts durge

As I said, this can be both positive and negative. On one count, it’s a recipe for disaster, seeing as he could be waltzing into a really bad situation for Tav alone.

But on the other side…this is a man who only cared about himself because that is the only person he could afford to care about. He needed to survive. He now has enough room to breathe and the capacity to care for someone else and I’d be inclined to count that as a good thing.

6. The Crypt

All the progress he made in act 2 and 3 is nearly tossed into the wind as soon as the crew enters Cazadors castle.

It’s not an immediate thing, of course.

At first, Astarion tries to stay light and simple and he hides behind flippant tones and relaxed faces. The way he recounts this is almost comically disinterested and the façade is actually quite good.

It’s start’s cracking after we meet Godie, one of the people who tortured him on more than one account, but he mostly manages to remain as upbeat as one can honestly expect for the first half of the journey.

All that, however, is done for the very moment we meet Sebastian. His mask not only slips, no, it full on shatters and there’s none of his apparent lightness left.

Which, of course it does.

The man is suddenly faced with years and years and years of victims. Innocent, unlucky people he lured back to his master over two centuries. People he liked, people he pitied.

“It’s sickening, seeing them again.”

It’s basically a room filled with guilt, exclusively for Astarion. And, as we mentioned before…Astarion is not great with guilt.

The guilt, however, is not where it ends.

No, he’s also faced with reflections of his own past. The spawn pose as reminders of what he did, sure, but also as reminders of what he was.

Weak, desperate, hungry.

There’s an abundance of images of his worst moments, reflected back at him in the thousands. It’s probably like staring into a funhouse mirror, but instead of seeing yourself in a funky way he just sees everything he so desperately doesn’t want to be.

“It should be [who I am]! I don’t want to be like them. They’re pathetic, horrible…”

He’s forcefully made aware of how darn weak he can be, which claws at all the wounds he’s barely had time to close. Something, he of course won’t admit if asked.

“THEY DO NOT [remind me of myself]. That weakness in me is dead, IT’S DEAD. I have a higher purpose.”

The high pressure of the moment brings out all of his act 1 traits in but a few moments. You can pretty much watch how he starts to shut down mid conversation, one of his old walls snapping back into place to remove himself from the situation.

Thing is though, walls usually become a bit brittle after disuse. Especially when talking to a person you don’t usually want to wall out.

Or, in his case, when talking to Tav.

After meeting Sebastian, Astarion shows extreme reactions to Tav nudging any of his weak spots. His reaction varies on whatever choice you make, but it ranges from aggression to defensiveness, to denial and even to downright begging Tav.

“Don’t hate me. I just did what I had to. I swear I did what I had to.”

This probably the most shocking out of all of them, since that is not something we got to witness before. The begging is likely a mixture of intense fear of losing Tav, his low self-esteem and pre-Tav behaviour, since we can assume that Cazador made him beg more than once.

Another old coat he puts back on would also be the least surprising of them all.

Manipulation.

He falls right back into it, using Tav’s affection to get what he want if we trigger the right action.

“If they die and I ascend, I won't have to rely on the parasite to walk in the sun. I'll be free. Truly completely free. Isn't that what you want?”

This, to me, was probably the biggest tell that Astarion was back in survival mode. He’s panicking, for fucks sake, and who can blame the guy? He’s back. He’s about to face down his abuser.

Of course he’s fucking panicking.

Panic leads to an increased craving for safety and, in his case, power. This is why he clings to Tav, why he begs them to love him still. And this is why he jumps head first into the rationalisation pool.

“I will need to sacrifice them all if I want to perform the ritual. - [You can save them.] – What’s the point? They're as good as dead! I thought they were dead. If they are unleashed, they will cause incredible carnage. […] They must die. Better they serve a purpose.”

Another textbook example.

They must die anyway. They’re basically dead. No need to save them now. They’re dangerous, I’m doing the right thing by sacrificing them. I already thought they were dead, so it’s not changing anything for me. They’re a lost cause and I deserve  all this power. I deserve it, because I suffered and nothing will change if they die.

So, seeing as we already spoke about his usual behaviour in act 3 – behaviour he showed after we allowed him to breathe and be himself for a while – I think we can fairly easily conclude he’s not thinking straight.

Astarion is right back in survival mode, where all that matters is he himself. If it weren’t for the seven thousand spawns, he might have moved through this more gracefully, but seeing those tipped the scales and Astarion is absolutely losing it.

Remember that for the last section, per favore.

7. The Ascension

“Astarion wants to ascend and Tav manipulates him into doing what they want.”

That is basically the essence of what people often claim and I can’t help but shake my head at such a blatant disregard of everything he has become. This is completely ignoring the change and growth he has gone through over the course of their journey.

Astarion wants to be free. He wants to be safe. That does not mean he wants to ascend.

And the claim that Tav manipulates him into doing anything is even more baffling. We are all aware that Tav is not manipulative by nature, yes? That is entirely on you. You decide who your Tav is.

And then let’s remember: Astarion is panicked. He’s afraid and he’s not thinking straight. His abuser is on his knees before him and he still feels so weak. And there’s seven thousand spawns that need handling.

Astarion is very much not okay right now.

In fact, reading his thoughts just proves this theory.

“You can see the fear in his eyes but also the hunger. The thick smell of blood in the air and the promise of power being so close is intoxicating to him. All he can see is the power of the ritual and the freedom that power brings. The freedom to do anything. To be anything.”

Tav, however, has none of those problems. They can actually see beyond the current situation and they are fully aware what the consequences are. Astarion is not. As we previously established, Astarion is a doer. Not a thinker. He didn’t think this through, not at all.

The only thing Tav is doing – the persuasion roll – is reminding him of the very real consequences he is facing. The consequences he hasn’t thought about before.

"I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

And that is the kindest thing Tav could do in this situation. They’re not bodily dragging him away from Cazador. They’re not even telling him to not do it. They’re just offering him the truth. He can do with that information whatever he desires.

“Astarion cries when he doesn’t ascend, that just shows that it was the wrong choice.”

A hare-brained point that I thankfully have only seen once so far.

That crying? That is healthy crying.

That is him, crumbling under the stress that suddenly dissipates. That is him mourning two hundred years of torment. That’s him letting out feelings he hasn’t been able to for centuries.

And, for the love of god, try to put yourself in his shoes.

Two hundred years of torment, ended in but a moment.

Astarion was abused and tortured for so long, afraid for so long only to see his tormentor die just like that.

Cazador died within a moment and all Astarion needed was a darn blade. Of course he fucking cries.

Seeing how pathetic a being the very core of your life’s misery actually is hurts. It hurts like hell because not only are you finally free – free! – no, you’re faced with the fact that this pile of nothing, the thing that’s bleeding out right in front of you…this was what tortured for so long.

This thing hurt you so much. That guy took everything from you, everything you once were, and broke it again and again and again over years.

You were so scared of this thing.

And yet he has the gall and the gumption to die just like that.

It was so easy.

And yet you suffered for so long.

8. Evil Playthrough?

An evil playthrough is really a different setting altogether.

All of this, as you can probably tell, is really only applicable on a good playthrough. Realistically speaking. I’m not sure how the game mechanics handle it.

On an evil path, Astarion never really gets to experience kindness and goodness. Evil Tav will just prove him right in his believe that the world is a vile and cold place, meaning that he realistically would be more inclined to actually want to ascend.

9. Final Conclusion

I think all of this should be enough to make it clear that no, ascended Astarion is not the best ending for the guy. In fact, it is probably the worst. Because it’s just him, running away. He’s running into a lonely and cold state of being, where cruelty and power lord over everything else and he’s running because he’s terrified of being hurt again. He’s running despite desperately wanting to stop running.

“I'll spend the rest of my life running watching the shadows, never feeling safe…no, this has to happen. Here and now.”

And, the worst part is: Nothing about Astarion is left after he ascends. Even his tone of speaking gradually changes, his theatrics fading. He’s slowly losing himself, until there’s nothing but an evil caricature left.

So, in the end, ascension will have proven him right.

That version of him is dead.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally Getting Help (prt 6)

Masterpost

The Wayne family gathered in the family room once Alfred was done setting up the projector, somehow there was also a plate of cookies and a couple pots of tea on the coffee table. How he’d found the time they didn’t know, he always seemed to be doing just a little more than should be possible but they didn’t question it. 

Jazz seemed nervous as she plugged in her USB and accessed the power point on Ghosts and Liminality. The tidal page had a picture of Danny in his Phantom form standing with a group of others, a boy with gray skin and blond hair, a girl with green hair and skin, and a goth with purple eyes and a dark skinned boy who looked around Danny’s age, and Jazz with the title “Ghosts and Liminals!” 

The next slide had simple text: “What are they and How are they made?”

With each slide she read the text on the screen allowed and then added any context or anecdotes she thought of, or had prepared. 

(Next slide)

Ghosts:

Made of ectoplasmic energy and obsession

Made either:

when someone dies with strong enough desires

An idea gains enough traction to take on a life of its own

Immutable concepts and gods

Must be allowed to indulge in obsessions or they will cease to exist

All have basic abilities such as flight, intangibility, invisibility, and minor shape shifting

On top of basic abilities most will have additional powers based on their obsessions

Immortal unless killed 

Love to fight

Liminals

Made when a human is exposed to high levels of ectoplasm for prolonged periods of time

Have some ghostly traits 

Ghostly traits vary person to person

Less susceptible to human illness and injury

“The ghosts on the picture are Kitty and Johnny, we’ve had problems with them but would consider them friends now. They’re the ghosts of two humans who died, but there are others, Vortext for instance is the ghost of Storms. Those ghosts who come from ideas are called ‘neverborns’. There seem to be almost an infinite number of ghosts, however not all of them are interested in having anything to do with us so we tend to get the same faces showing up a lot in Amity.

“I don’t know how many liminals there are. I thought they might be new with my parents' research but as I look into it more I think there are more natural sources of ectoplasm then my parents thought.” Jazz explained before going to transition to the next slide.

“I have a question-” Bruce started before Jazz hushed him. 

“Wait till the end please! I might answer it without you having to ask,” She scolded, and he felt very much like a schoolboy again as his children snickered.

(Next slide including a image of the glowing green viles in the Fenton’s lab and a glowing green crystal)

Ghost biology 

Ghosts do not have any recognizable organs or bones

The only solid part of their being is their Core which is the source of their ectoplasm 

Any injury to a ghosts form not done directly to their core is considered minor and will heal

A healthy ghost is fully capable of mending any damage including removed limbs in a matter of hours or days depending on extent of the injury

All injuries not including the Core are considered minor 

Ghosts are considered young for at least the first hundred years of their existence and are often not considered adults until nearly 500

A caveat to this is ghosts are heavily driven by emotion and will often be the age they feel they are allowing ghosts to mature much more quickly, or more slowly

When this is the case ghosts are treated as the age they present and behave

Ghosts reproduce by shaping ectoplasm and Wanting a child badly enough

“Believe me it was incredibly scary the first time I saw Danny in his ghost form have something go right through his stomach. It took him a long time to convince me it wasn’t a big deal and it barely hurt. He does have to make sure he repairs the damage Before turning human again though or the damage can transfer over and I don’t need to tell you a hole in the gut is a lot more serious for humans!

“If I’m honest I only know ghosts that have stayed younger then they really are, for instance Youngblood who’s a few hundred years old and could be well on his way to adulthood if he wanted but has remained a child. I assume it can go the other way though, if a ghost is very mature for their age.”

Ectoplasm 

Ectoplasm is the energy that makes up all ghosts and the Ghost Zone itself. All ghosts can feed on the ectoplasm around them as well as produce their own by indulging in obsessions. The ghosts Cores produce the ectoplasm like a brain produces neurochemicals when exposed to the right stimulation.

Ectoplasm is a powerful source of energy but unstable. When it is stabilized into an ecto-crystal it is more stable and can be used as a power source safely by ghosts and liminals.

“Most ectoplasm is green like you see in the pictures. But it isn’t the only colour, some other ghosts produce different colours and it is highly tied to what emotion drives them. When it’s pure it usually smells like petracore but it can get pretty foul.”

(next slide)

What are Obsessions

Every ghost has one or more obsessions

They can be very literal things such as boxes, or ideas and emotions such as Love

In rarer cases they may have dual obsessions

Unlike for humans obsessions are very healthy for ghosts

Ghosts need to indulge their obsessions

Sometimes the way ghosts indulge their obsessions might seem evil, however it is almost always just amoral 

Obsessions shape every part of a ghost from their powers to thier physical appearance, to befriend a ghost you Must understand and aid their obsession

In very extreme circumstances a ghosts obsession may shift, sometimes this is healthy, more often it is a result of extreme trauma

“With my interest in psychology this was sort of hard for me to accept. From the outside the way ghosts obsess seems really unhealthy but it’s what gives them life. When not allowed to indulge in their obsessions ghosts will dysregulate and go to extreme lengths to try and get their obsession, if that doesn’t work they either go dormant if their core is still healthy enough or they will melt. 

“Ghosts change their obsessions very rarely, I’ve heard of it happening as they heal. For instance once a ghost has gotten revenge for themselves, if that was their obsession, their obsession might shift to avenging other people, or even protecting them so they don’t need to be avenged.”

(Next Slide)

Ghost Culture

The Ghosts have a monarchy

The title of the Ghost King is not hereditary but passed through trial by combat

Under the monarch is a council of being known as Observants, and powerful and old ghosts called Ancients 

Ghosts respect strength and value power and cunning in combat a lot

Ghosts bond with each other through combat and play fight with family and friends often

“I have down that the ghosts are a monarchy, and technically that is true but the current Ghost King was a tyrant who was locked away thousands of years ago. I’m sure as soon as someone shows up who’s powerful enough to beat him his court will be happy to pick up where they left off with a better King, or queen, though I don’t think the title has to change based on gender.

“I really can’t stress enough how violent ghosts are! Because nothing short of having their cores shattered can kill them, play fighting for them can look Very Much like a murder attempt to a human. A lot of the issues we’ve had with ghosts have come from them just not understanding quite how fragile humans, and for most of them they feel really bad once they know they actually Hurt someone by shooting them. It’s really best for everyone when they’re kept separate and Ghosts can happily tear each other apart in peace.”

Liminals

The result of long term low level exposure to ectoplasm, sudden high doses are almost always deadly

Liminals Can have almost every trait a ghost can, usually having a combination of a few

Commonalities between liminals include

Minor cosmetic changes such as: glowing eyes, pointed ears, and/or sharp teeth 

Increased stamina, strength, and aggression

Increased obsessive behaviour

Liminals sometimes develop powers shaped by the strength and type of obsession 

“Most of the people Danny and I know are liminals. I don’t want to talk about them in case they don’t want to be outed so I’ll talk about myself and my parents. We all had prolonged exposure after all. My ears are pointed,” She said brushing her hair back so they could see them, “And Danny is a little more then liminal but even in human form he has fangs. 

“My parents didn’t realize it but they could to the point they could subsist on their obsession without needing to eat or sleep as often as a regular human would. About a year ago I started developing the ability to tap into and feel other peoples emotions, I can feed on them a little too but I try not to because the Worst ghost we met did that and I don’t want to be anything like her.”

(Next Slide)

In conclusion

Ghosts are not evil even though sometimes their actions are hard to understand

Never get between ghosts when they’re fighting each other but it’s usually safe to yell at them to remind them not to break anything

Never get between a ghost and their obsession

Don’t drink ectoplasm unless you know you’re already liminal

“I have a feeling the section about liminals will be familiar to a bunch of you. I know Damian is liminal though I don’t know how he was exposed to ectoplasm and some of you,” Her eyes skirted across Tim and Bruce. “Are toeing the line. You’ll probably notice Damian and Danny getting really close, and they might get in some really vicious looking fights. I promise Danny is playing at least.”

The family was left silent for a moment, Bruce knew he was thinking about Jason. Who had died, been exposed to.. What certainly seemed to be something like Lazarus water and come back, obsessive, aggressive, and emotional. He wished he’d had this powerpoint a long time ago. It helped understand Damian too but mostly he was thinking about Jason. He needed to reach out again, maybe meeting Danny would be good for Jason?

“So uhhh, ya, that’s the end of the powerpoint?” Jazz said, shifting from foot to foot in the awkward silence. “Any questions?”

Next

[lucysarah-c]

Mounting Spring Ch. 2

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21.Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.) Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it. From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another. Masterlist to the previous parts! Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there!

Teeth sank into the reddening pulp, grimacing as she swallowed its overly sweet pulp. She’d had more than her fill of them by now. Her hands gripped her hips as her mother tugged at the back of her dress, tightening it with relentless precision. 

“How many more of these do I have to eat?” she muttered, her mouth half-full. 

“Do not touch the dress,” her mother insisted, exasperated. “Figs stain like crazy.” 

Her grandmother, seated by the intricately decorated vanity, glanced up. “As many as it takes. Don’t you want your chest to be pump for the wedding?” 

With shallow, uneven breaths, she turned to face herself in the triple-panelled mirror with its gilded frame. The multiple angles revealed the full grandeur of the white dress she wore. She, somehow, seemed tiny compared to the size of the grown. “Isn’t it... perhaps, a little much?” 

Doubt settled into her mind as a servant pinned her hair in an elaborate updo. This was the third fitting, just three days before the big day; any change now would be nearly impossible. 

“Nonsense!” her mother chided, fussing with the train to ensure it cascaded perfectly. “You only marry once.” Noticing the way her daughter’s leg tapped nervously, she gave her a sharp slap on the arm. “Stop it. Calm yourself, or you’ll faint before you even reach the cathedral.” 

“Ouch!” she pouted. “I can’t help it—I’m so nervous. I want him to think I’m beautiful. I want him to think I’m... perfect.” 

“He should count himself lucky,” her grandmother muttered with a groan, “You could do so much better than some Military Police officer, high-ranking or not.” 

“Grandma,” she replied, weary of the topic, “Dietrich is an angel... he even worked extra hours so we could have the wedding at the main cathedral, just like I dreamed.” 

Her voice softened, eyes shining with a blush on her cheeks, visibly lovestruck. Her little sister, tugging at her own flower girl dress, looked up and grinned, “You’re getting married where princesses do!” 

“Yes,” Y/N beamed, crouching with a rustle of fabric, “and we’ll both look like princesses.” 

“What if... what if my heat comes early? Or late?” Her breathing turned shallow. “We’ve been planning this for years—” 

“Goodness, calm down!” her mother scolded, sounding weary. “You’ll get it next week as planned, and by then, you’ll already be bonded.” 

Her grandmother sat at the table, grumbling to herself. The room around them was awash in white and gold, with intricate floral patterns adorning the walls and hidden doors blending with the decor. The house was full of energy as five children dashed about, all at different ages. The two eldest—a pair of identical teenage boys—moved with a synchronized mischief, while the remaining three, two boys and a girl, looked close enough in age to practically be triplets. The girl, rapidly growing taller than the other two. The three of them in that state of childhood that they can’t kept still. 

But the simplest conclusion was that she was the oldest. “Oh, say what you like, Grandma, but without Dietrich and father’s connections, we’d all still be waiting at the military tower, just like after the uprising.” 

She turned, smiling warmly at another woman standing quietly in the corner. That woman’s facial features had no resemblance to the rest of the people in the room. “And thanks to Mrs. Irma, who’s so generously taken us in,” she said, offering a small bow of respect. 

“Oh, think nothing of it,” Mrs. Irma replied. “In times like these, traditional families need to stand together.” Her expression darkened as she glanced at the clock. “It’s absurd that they’re keeping Anthony at the board this late. Can you imagine? These are family hours! 

One of the older boys, recently old enough to entertain more adult conversations, muttered, “Well... it’s not like the Scouts have any family to go back to.” 

“Arthur,” Y/N snapped, her voice severe, “don’t say that.” He shrugged, but she held his gaze firmly. “What if someone hears you? Don’t be foolish, especially while Father is still imprisoned.” 

Unfazed, the boy rolled his eyes. “You’re not my mother,” he muttered, looking toward their actual mother for backup. 

“Listen to your sister,” she replied, more out of habit than strictness. 

She smirked at Arthur, satisfied. Despite him recently presenting as an alpha, she remained firmly in charge. 

Just then, the front door swung open so loudly it echoed through the house, drawing everyone’s attention. 

Her head snapped up, her nose catching a familiar scent. Gathering the skirts of her dress, she hurried down the hall. Two older men stood in the entryway, and her heart leaped. “Dad!” she cried with excitement, 

Her exclamation raised the family that quickly moved behind her. “I knew they’d let you out for the wedding,” she said, her voice shaking with joy as her father lifted her off the ground in a tight embrace. 

When she withdrew her arms around her father’s neck and he set her down, he looked at her with an unfamiliar intensity, almost prideful. “Oh, darling, aren’t you a blessing?” 

She blinked, caught off guard by the expression. But before she could question it, the rest of the family surrounded him, eagerly pulling him into their midst. The owner of the house still cladded in his military uniform moved to his wife, Irma, and whispered something in her ear. Whatever he had said made the colours from her face drain and her eyes flicked toward Y/N, filled with an unsettling mix of shock and pity. 

‘...What is going on?’ The bride-to-be began to sense the tension in the air. Her confused eyes moved to her father, who was still talking to the children. Her confusion was only slightly veiled as she heard him declare, “We are going back to the house!” 

“To the country manor and all?” one of the teens asked excitedly. 

“Yes, all of it. The Crown is returning the territories.” 

Y/N smiled, but a shadow of confusion crossed her face. The news seemed almost too good. Had her fiancé put in a word with the military board? But then, ‘One thing is him being free, another is having our lands returned.’ 

None of her friends with family under military trial had gotten their properties back after the uprising. Most nobles still waiting for military trail at the tower, begging to not be executed. As she mulled this over, the scene repeated in front of her eyes. Her father bent down to whisper something to her mother, and both turned to glance at her. 

The younger children ran around, cheering, the teens celebrating the prospect of leaving the borrowed home. Y/N, however, watched the four adults as they slipped into the study. 

The sound of the double doors sliding shut with a finality that stirred her nerves was hard to forget. She could swear she felt the wind of air that the action produced slamming against her face. Just like her, her grandmother didn’t share the enthusiasm. Perhaps, Y/N was no longer a little girl to be easily tricked as her siblings.  

While they conferred in private, she changed out of her dress into something more comfortable, scooped up her large white Persian cat, and settled in with her grandmother for tea. But neither took a sip. It felt like the eye of the hurricane, with a silence that gnawed sanity.  

‘Calm down... it’s just nerves,’ she reminded herself, clinging to her mother’s earlier words. 

But minutes passed like hours, and hours passed like days.  When the adults finally emerged, she stood quickly, meeting her father with a hopeful smile. “Dad, you’ll be able to walk me down the aisle!” 

But the man placed both hands on her forearms, giving them a gentle squeeze before he spoke. As he did, her smile slowly faded, replaced by a torrent of messy tears. She couldn’t quite recall how he delivered the news, having dissociated in the moment. 

“No...” she whispered as tears ran down her cheeks, her head shaking slowly in disbelief. “Don’t do this to me...” 

“Dad,” she cried, her voice like a frightened child’s, pleading against the monsters of the night. 

He simply cupped her head with one hand, lowered it gently to plant a kiss on her crown, and said softly, “Make him happy, alright?” 

— 

Perhaps it wasn’t the time or place to think about it, but his mind kept drifting back. Maybe it was the season—spring—that stirred his body’s instincts with an eager pull toward mating. There was no rut, no nearby omega to trigger one, yet his body reacted to the shift in weather, sensing that if he wasn’t so stubborn, it might be the perfect timing for breeding. 

Maybe it was because he’d been informed that everything was settled and that the wedding was set to happen as soon as possible. He had no say in it; within three days, it had been arranged. He absentmindedly spun a small red velvet box with a single ring on the wooden table. He had asked for the most common ring size and bought the only one he could afford—the cheapest, hoping blindly that it would fit her. 

Or maybe it was Hange’s idea of ‘lifting his spirits’ with a bachelorette party, despite his protests. But his mind kept circling back to one persistent question: ‘Have I ever... actually slept with an omega in heat?’ 

The answer was clear: no. In his days in the Underground, he’d had encounters with a few omegas, but they were rare, and none had been in heat. Omegas hid during their heat. Understandably so, since an omega in heat risked being claimed by any alpha nearby.  Any decent alpha in rut would do the same, locking themselves away to avoid the instinct to claim someone they didn’t even know. 

‘The closest... was that time her roommate went into heat. and she smelled faintly like an omega in heat,’ Levi mused, trying to dig up memories.  ‘I remember thinking it was the best fuck I ever had...’ And it had only been a faint trace of pheromones, not even the real thing. Neither of them was a ‘high-bred omega’ or anything like that, yet the curiosity of what it might truly feel like lingered in his mind. 

Especially after they’d informed him two days ago that his fiancée—his future wife—was expected to go into heat by the end of the week. The wedding had been fast-tracked to ensure he could claim her once they were married. 

‘I shouldn’t be thinking about this—it’s creepy, to say the least,’ he reprimanded himself, ‘It’s just because it’s spring,’ he reasoned. 

The season was clearly affecting him, sparking memories of times he’d been with betas or even alpha women. He’d never cared much about it, aside from the frustration of having to squeeze his own knot. He’d always assumed there was no difference, though he had no experience to confirm it. Attempting to knot a beta or alpha wasn’t just difficult; it was painful for them. All these thoughts spun around in his head, mirroring the ring box as it spun under his fingers on the polished table. 

The day was annoyingly warm; his jacket hung on the back of his chair. The previous day, he hadn’t brought it and nearly froze; now he had, and it felt like he was boiling. ‘Damn spring,’ Levi cursed, clicking his tongue and glancing from the open door to the end of the hall, where Zackly had left the meeting for an emergency. The cadet he’d been grumbling to looked visibly nervous, though his expression read, ‘It’s not my fault, don’t yell at me.’ 

Then he saw Zackly returning, visibly tense, trying to mask his irritation. ‘What’s got him so riled up now?’ 

The three men sat down across from Levi, one slapping a stack of papers onto the table. The gray-haired man rolled up his sleeves, pushed his glasses up, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then looked straight into Levi’s dead-set eyes. 

“There’s been a last-minute issue,” he grunted. “Would you consider choosing another girl?” 

“What?” Levi scowled. “Hell no. We already agreed on this.” 

“I know, but—” 

“No.” Levi crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. “What’s the problem?” 

“Lady Y/N is feeling unwell—” began the youngest cadet timidly on Zackly left side, only to be interrupted by a brash MP on the other side of the higher in rank. “She’s bleeding. The chick missed her heat.” 

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room, and Levi raised an eyebrow, grunting, “Huh?” 

“Her heat’s gone. Her mother said it was stress-related. Doesn’t matter; the point is, she won’t go into heat this spring,” Zackly clarified, clearly annoyed. “So, pick someone who can still be bred this season.” 

Levi didn’t respond right away, sitting in silence and letting his annoyance simmer as he waited, half-hoping that a sliver of humanity might surface among these men. “What’s the problem? Everything’s set—let’s carry on.” 

“Didn’t you hear me?” Zackly insisted, his patience thin. “She won’t be fertile—possibly for an entire year.” 

“Yeah, I heard you. I’m not an idiot. And?” Levi replied, his tone making it clear he found their point absurd. “There’s a chance of omegas going into heat in autumn too,” he added dismissively. 

“The odds are too low, and a year’s too long. Who knows what fate this island faces in that time? We need a child now,” Zackly jabbed a fat finger against the table for emphasis. “Choose another.” 

Levi snorted, letting out a mocking chuckle. “The arrangement was marriage, and I agreed to that. The rest of this is your own twisted, old-man wet dreams. Whether I knock her up next week or next year—that’s my problem.” 

Zackly sighed in frustration, resting his face in his hand. Levi, unbothered, shrugged. “Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. I’ll get the chance to learn her name before I’m a father.” 

The MP, that Levi could tell he was an alpha by the scent, sneered under his breath, muttering, “She had one job and couldn’t handle it—the little hysterical chick. What’s she stressed about, eating cake? And omegas wonder why we call them the weaker sex.” 

Levi’s sharp gaze pinned the soldier, who straightened in defiance. In the standoff that followed, it became clear: the first to look away would concede dominance. “Watch your mouth,” Levi warned, “or pray I don’t hear that crap again—ever.” 

Scoffing, the soldier held his ground, teeth slightly bared as if it would grant him authority. “You don’t even know her,” 

 But Levi, humanity’s strongest, didn’t need to bare teeth. “I don’t care. If she’s an inconvenience and a pain in the ass, she’s my pain in the ass now. So, the rest of you better shut up.” 

The room grew tense, and the youngest cadet shrank in his seat, barely fifteen and newly presented, terrified of being caught up in an alpha standoff. At last, the MP turned away in frustration, shifting into a submissive posture, acknowledging defeat. 

Levi snorted, settling back into a relaxed stance. It was typical alpha posturing—territorial nonsense. Or perhaps, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my ally,’ he mused, because whether they liked it or not, she had managed to annoy them all. Levi took that as a personal win. 

‘See...we already have something in common,’ he mused, a bittersweet smile flickering across his face at the thought. 

— 

“You! Last night as a single man! How do you feel?” Hange shouted, downing an entire pint. 

Levi sat with his drink clutched between his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. “Like shit,” he muttered. 

“Nah, that’s just your usual mood,” Hange joked. “Thought bachelor parties were supposed to be fun? Where’s everyone else?” 

Levi glanced up; his gaze heavy. “Dead.” 

Hange’s smile faded; their lips pressed together as the realization sank in. They were the only ones left. The night shifted from bittersweet to just bitter. 

“If eyebrows were here… he’d put a stop to all this nonsense,” Levi added, sounding defeated, like he’d grown addicted to ‘if onlys’ as the days passed. Hange raised an eyebrow, eyes scanning Levi’s words as if trying to make them fit, but only managed a grimace, like someone watching a mismatched eulogy at a funeral. 

“Who am I kidding? That jerk would’ve planned everything behind my back and dragged me to church without explaining why,” Levi muttered, chuckling softly. 

Hange burst into laughter. “Honestly! We miss Erwin, but let’s not kid ourselves,” they said, refilling Levi’s glass before slumping back into the couch. “Come on, you’ve got to face marriage like an alpha!” 

Levi looked at them, puzzled. “Heavily drunk?” 

Reluctantly, Levi raised the glass to his lips. Just then, a flash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by the rumble of thunder. 

— 

‘It’ll stop eventually.’ 

But it didn’t. The storm only worsened. By midday, it was as dark as night inside the chapel. 

“Can I leave?” the priest asked, breaking the silence. The small-town chapel was empty—not just because it was a workday, but because the Church had lost much of its influence under the new government. But, to Levi’s annoyance, they still upheld the entire marriage ritual as if nothing had changed. 

“You’re a priest. What else have you got to do but wait with us?” Hange replied, leaning back in the uncomfortable wooden pew. Turning to Levi, they whispered, “Are you sure she said today?” 

At first, both had sat upright, coats adjusted for the formality of the occasion. But after four hours of waiting, with no sign of the bride, both Scouts had slouched against the benches, waiting for a miracle or release from this silent punishment. 

Levi, resting his head back, hands in his pockets as the storm turned colder, shrugged “Maybe I read it wrong,” he said, his eyes fixed on the chapel floor, utterly devoid of expression. 

“What?!” Hange exclaimed. “Does that mean I got drunk last night for nothing?” 

“Nobody forced you to.” 

“Well, what kind of bachelor party would it be if someone didn’t get drunk?” It was obvious Hange was trying to lighten the mood with a joke or two. 

Levi, though, was too wrapped up in his thoughts to appreciate it. “It wasn’t a bachelor party, Hange. It was just you and me.” 

“Sorry for annoying you with my friendship,” Hange replied, feigning offense. After a moment of silence, they continued, “Maybe she ran away…” 

“Maybe she threw herself from the Walls, as I should have.” 

Hange chuckled. “You’re being a bit overdramatic.” They could tell Levi was beyond stressed; his leg bounced restlessly, pacing each second with the beat of his boot against the floor. 

As the storm worsened and time dragged on, Levi turned to Hange. “Go back to the Scouts.” 

“What?” the newly appointed Commander asked, visibly confused. “No way, I’m staying! My baby is getting married!” they joked, earning an eye roll from Levi. 

“I’m older than you, idiot.” 

Hange slung an arm around Levi, grinning. “Yeah, but you’re shorter, so age doesn’t count.” 

“Tch. Just go. We left the brats alone, and the sky’s falling. They’ll need help with the horses, and someone has to check on the coastal supplies. Without proper squad leaders, someone’s got to be there giving orders.” 

Though Hange had taken up the Commander’s role, Levi’s support had often provided the final push they needed to take full responsibility. Most of the time, the captain could tell that the brunette felt like the role was too big for them. Levi seemed to feel that push was necessary now, especially in the storm’s chaos. 

Hange, however, hesitated, reluctant to leave a friend who’d seen better days. “But—” 

“Go,” Levi said, resigned but not angry. “I’m a big boy, Four-Eyes. I’ll be fine.” 

Using their old teasing nicknames was the closest they came to camaraderie now. “Who’s going to sign as your witness, then?” Hange asked, rising reluctantly. 

“If” —Levi stressed the word— “if she shows up, we’ll improvise. Now go. The cadets need you.” 

Levi shifted uncomfortably, glancing once more toward the doors, his patience worn thin as the storm outside seemed only to grow angrier. The priest fidgeted, muttering under his breath while Hange’s retreating footsteps had already faded, leaving Levi alone with his swirling thoughts. 

The hours dragged on; the storm’s fury unrelenting. Levi, alone now in the dim chapel, had nearly let go of the thought that she would show at all. His head rested against the back of the pew, eyes half-closed, the rhythmic pounding of the rain on the roof above almost hypnotic. 

He felt himself drifting off, exhaustion creeping in after he didn’t sleep a wink the previous night. He couldn’t decide which he preferred—her not showing up at all or going through with it. If she didn’t come, he’d have to endure this ordeal all over again. If she did, it would finally bring this chapter to a close, forcing him to confront a new way of life. 

For a split second, he found himself comparing it to waiting for an execution. ‘No... let’s not turn into those bitter old men who think of marriage as a prison; the poor kid’s done nothing wrong.’ 

And just when Levi resigned to leave, a loud creak of the chapel doors shattered the stillness. Levi sat up abruptly, and two soldiers, rifles in hand and soaked through, marched into the aisle, flanking a lone figure in a drenched, greyish-white cloak. The hood hung low, obscuring her face entirely. Her face was obscured beneath the soaked hood, and the dress beneath the cloak—if it could be called a wedding gown at all—was stained with mud up to her knees. It looked far more like an ordinary dress than something intended for marriage, its hem torn and splattered with the earth she’d trudged through. 

The two soldiers from Zackly’s meeting earlier that week were here, and Levi quickly understood why—they must be trusted to carry out the job of escorting her. When she finally stepped into the chapel, an unexpected aroma hit him like a punch. He couldn’t tell if it was the lingering aroma from the lost heat, adjusting to the sudden shift in plans and hormones. But she smelled— 

‘Divine, for fuck’s sake,’ he thought, feeling ashamed at how quickly his own body reacted. 

The soldiers stepped forward, both offering quick, sharp salutes. One spoke in a low, weary voice. “Captain, apologies for the delay. The main road’s flooded out. We lost the cart about a mile back—it’s stuck deep. We had to finish the journey on foot.” 

Levi gave a curt nod, his gaze fixed on the figure between them. Levi could only see her hands—pale, trembling slightly. She didn’t move, her posture utterly still, almost as if she were an apparition more than a bride. The cloak’s edges trembled with each tremor from the cold. Levi had to fight the urge to bend lower and see if he could catch a glimpse of her face. 

The priest, seizing the moment, gestured toward the altar. “Well, no use delaying further. Let us proceed.” 

Levi remained still for a beat. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, his boots echoing on the stone floor as he approached the altar. But before he could locate her fully, the priest’s voice rang out, “Bring her forward.” 

He glanced over his shoulder. 

The same MP from before took hold of her arm, pushing her forward with an irritating smirk. “Come on, sweetheart. We don’t have all day.” 

Levi almost stepped in to object; there was no need to shove her around like a rag doll. He shot a deadly glare at the soldier. ‘That’s strike two, asshole.’ 

Perhaps he was too focused on expressing his disapproval to notice at first, but she raised her head slightly, her delicate fingers reaching up to push back her hood, finally revealing her face as she turned toward him. 

Levi froze. ‘Holy shit... maybe I should start choosing blindly.’ His reaction must have been obvious, as he could hear the two soldiers chuckling behind him. 

“Look at how the bastard’s face changed,” one MP muttered, his companion nudging him in an attempt to avoid further reprimand. 

Her hair was styled in a simple half-up, half-down braid, woven with white laces in an attempt to add a touch of glamour. Perhaps it had looked better when it was first done; now, it clung to her head, and the small, loose locks meant to lend an ethereal appearance were now plastered to her damp face. Her eyelashes, soaked from the rain, mimicked the look of mascara—though most of it had already smudged around her eyes. Despite it all, Levi thought she looked gorgeous. 

As the ceremony began, the priest asked, “Are both of you here of your own free will?” It was standard procedure.  

Levi, completely fed up with the situation, glanced at the man in the black robe, ‘You gotta be kidding me,’ he thought. 

“Yeah,” he bit out. 

On the other hand, she muttered as quietly as a mouse, “... yes.” 

As the ceremony resumed, the priest’s voice echoed softly in the empty chapel, only slightly drowned by the relentless rain. Levi stood with his hands stiffly at his sides, listening to the murmured words without taking them in fully, his gaze repeatedly drifting to the shivering figure beside him. 

When the priest finally motioned for the rings, Levi reached into his pocket and pulled out the plain, golden band. His hands were steady as he took hers, but he felt her flinch slightly, the coldness of her skin seeping through his fingers as he held her trembling hand. Her fingers, nearly numb from the chill, barely closed around his. He slipped the ring onto her finger, only to notice it was too large; the band slid loosely over her knuckle. 

If it weren’t for Levi’s ability to keep his composure, he swore anyone else would have either cursed in the middle of this holy place or broken down in tears. It was just one more detail that seemed off-kilter, and he felt his jaw clench. 

‘Come on, just one damn thing has to turn out right.’ 

A brief pause followed, broken only by the priest’s voice. “And now, the witness,” he announced, glancing around the empty space and catching Levi’s eye. Levi cursed inwardly, remembering that Hange had left at his urging. 

‘For fucks sake.’ 

One of the soldiers caught on quickly. With a muttered, “I’ll find someone,” he strode down the aisle, pushing open the chapel doors and stepping into the storm. The silence grew heavy as they waited, the soldier’s footsteps echoing away and leaving only the rain in their place. 

After a few tense moments, the soldier returned, ushering in a grizzled farmer who looked every bit as baffled as he was drenched. The MP walked the man to the altar and said confidently, “Problem solve," 

Second hand embarrassment run through his body as the farmer approached the altar with a respectful nod, casting Levi and the bride a curious look before taking the pen offered to him. With a swift scratch of ink on the paper, the witness line was signed. 

Levi took a quick check on the bride and she seemed completely dissociated. The priest completed the ceremony with a "By the power vested in me by law I, now, pronounce you man and wife." 

He took a loud sigh of relief, at least it was over. Turning to his right to look at her and perhaps attempt to say something for the first time. He even tried to force himself to do a subtle side smile to ease out the situation, much unlike him but he wished with all his heart that he knew how to be outgoing enough to bring some easiness into the situation. 

—A soft, broken sniffle. She lifted her hand to her face, half-covering her expression and lowered her head. Her shoulders trembled just a little, the strands of damp hair falling forward, hiding her face. Her cries began to echo in the chapel. 

Levi’s throat tightened, and he swallowed, a pang of guilt pressing on him. He glanced at the priest, who seemed as serene as ever, his hands hidden inside the long sleeves of his gown. 

With a peaceful smile, the priest offered Levi a reassuring look, seeing his obvious discomfort. “Tears of happiness, I’m sure,” he replied softly. 

Before Levi could even shoot him a deadpan glance, the situation had become so awkward that the youngest cadet tried to lighten the mood by tossing a handful of rice at them. 

“Congrats…” he muttered with the least enthusiasm possible. 

But as the rice landed on her, she began to wipe her face, where most of the grains had stuck to her wet skin. Spitting a little as the water made them cling to her, she cried, “It’s in my eyes,” a small sob escaping her. 

The two cadets froze, glancing at each other before mumbling, “We should get going.” “Yeah,” they muttered, then made a hasty exit. 

Seeing her struggling, Levi quickly realized the problem and pulled out a handkerchief. “Here, wait,” he said, brushing the cloth over her face, then patting her shoulders and hair to clear away the grains of rice. 

When she finally opened her eyes—red either from the tears or the rice—she looked at him. ‘Say something,’ he thought, clenching his teeth against the uncomfortable silence. 

“We should get going; you’re soaked,” Levi finally broke the tension, noticing they were completely alone in the chapel. “Maybe you can take a shower or something.” 

“Is your house close by, sir?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Levi hesitated, feeling strangely at a loss. He lived at headquarters, of course, not in a proper household, but something about her question held an unspoken hope. “Not exactly. I stay at the Scout facility… it’s inside the forest. I was going to rent a cart, but in this weather, it wouldn’t make it through,” he explained. 

She didn’t respond, just stared out at the heavy rain pouring beyond the chapel doors. Her expression made her thoughts clear. ‘Nothing could make this day worse,’ Levi thought with a quiet huff, scratching the back of his head. “Tch.” 

She absently fiddled with the loose ring on her finger, holding it with her other hand to keep it from slipping off. Disappointment and resignation were etched across her face—until she straightened up, surprised, as something heavy draped over her shoulders. 

“There,” Levi said, pulling the green military trench coat snugly over her head. “It’s not much, but at least it’s waterproof. The last thing I need is you catching the flu less than a week into this arrangement.” 

A subtle blush rose to her cheeks, bringing a hint of colour back to her pallid face. She lifted the coat’s collar to her nose, breathing in his scent, which sent an unexpected shiver through her. She pressed her lips together, feeling strangely affected. ‘So strong,’ she thought. Though the arrangement itself felt far from ideal, her body seemed to be very glad. 

“Thank you, sir,” she murmured. 

“Levi,” he corrected her, sounding tired. 

“Huh?” 

“My name is Levi,” he repeated. “If we’re going to do this, let’s at least start by using our names.” 

“Y/N, then.” 

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hannieslovebot @flxrartsstuff @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @searriously @blackdxggr @storiesofsung @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-angel @galactict3a @lemonsupernova @hyuckwon-my-husbands @heyitsd1yaa @sydneyyuu @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @mandaax @sugacor3 @r0ckst4rjk @vegetasgirl2799 @catiwinky @pinksaiyans @sparklykeylime Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[misstycloud]

Haunted House

Ghost yan x ghost reader

TW: suicide mention

——————

It was with curiosity you stared out the window. A car had pulled up in the drive way. Through the car windows you sa two adults and three children in the backseat. Well, it was definitely not a maintenance company then. It always bothered you so when they came and meddled with your house; though it technically didn’t belong to you anymore you still considered the building as you home, and prison.

You watched as the kids ran out of the vehicle to inspect the house. You had to admit, they were rather cute. Before you hadn’t really thought about having kids and weren’t sure if you ever would, but now you found yourself wondering if you would have made a good mother. One always ponder about the choices out of one’s reach.

They seemed happy, the family of five. Perhaps you would be fine with them around.

“What are you thinking about, dear?” A voice interrupted your dazed thoughtfulness as your mood instantly soured.

“Nothing so you can leave.”

The man behind you sighed. “Do you always have to act like this whenever I’m around?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look back at him, fearing that the sight of him would send you into a frenzy. “I do when you’re the one who ruined my life.”

“Ruined your life? We were happy together, in fact, I remember you telling me ‘I promise to love you even in death’ but I guess that doesn’t apply, not with the way you treat me.”

You nearly gasped at his audacity. The nerve some people had!

“What? Are you actually serious right now- you can’t be? The way I treat you? You want to talk about the way I treat you? You killed me!” You shouted.

You had turned around now. Your eyes took in the handsome man you had once called the love of your life. Despite the hatred for true actions and pain he caused you, a small part of you still felt something when you looked at him. Maybe it was affection? Maybe it was the anguished feelings of a happy life that could have been? You weren’t sure.

He stilled for a moment before speaking again. “I know, and I am sorry it had to go that way-“

“Had to? You weren’t forced to do anything. At least take responsibility for your actions!”

“I wouldn’t have had to do it if you had just stopped flirting with those other men.” It seemed like it was his turn to become angry. “Don’t think I didn’t see how you looked at them, how your eyes lit up when you saw someone you very clearly fancied.”

“Oh my- we’ve been over this a hundred times, they were just coworkers nothing more. Besides, they have wives and kids of their own!”

It didn’t matter how much you insisted, your (ex)husband did not relent in his accusations.

“That doesn’t mean they’ll be loyal. You have no idea what a treasure you are, many would do anything to get to have you.” The man twirled a strand of your hair around his finger, entranced by your beauty.

“Oh, like you, you mean?” You fired back.

“Stop that.” He said. “I don’t want to fight with you, we’ve already done enough of that. I did what I had to do and nothing will ever change that. Now we’ll be together for ever, even in death, just like we promised each other at the altar. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I hope that one day you will understand how deep my feelings for you go and see things from my perspective. I love you, I really do.” He turned to leave you to your lonesome. Before he left, he told you one final thing, “No one else will adore you as much as I, especially now considering no man will ever see you besides me. You’re nothing more than a ghost after all.”

The tear threatening to escape earlier finally welled up. You cried and wiped your eyes with you cold, dead hand.

——————

Just as you had imagined, the family did bring you a new sense of happiness. Whilst not exactly ideal, watching over(spyin on) the parents and the children made your days more fulfilled. They brought laughter and fun back into your undead life.

Unfortunately you weren’t able to look out for them unless they stayed in the house. It was a real pain in the ass, not being able to leave the building. If you could, you would have left decades ago- much to your (ex)husband/ dismay. You suspected he was relieved to find that you were both confined to your place of death. It meant you couldn’t leave him, which was his goal the entire time. He got what he wanted in the end.

After stabbing you out of jealousy, you died in his arms, crying and demanding answers to why he would hurt you. When you (surprisingly) woke up again, you were in the same position you had been when your life drained out of you. Your man was clutching you tight to his chest and he was stroking you hair. At first you had believed it was all a dream, then you thought you survived the whole thing. He was still petting your hair and rambling on how he loved you and how he would rather die than be separated from you. You hadn’t expected him to be so literal.

You were shocked when you had pulled away from him, only to discover a second version of him lying unmovingly on the floor next to you. Then you noticed the pool of blood spilling out from his neck, and the knife he stabbed you with in his hand. With disbelief you glanced back at the ‘living’ version of him. He smiled somewhat solemnly at you as you took in his too-pale skin and the large scar he had on his throat.

You tried not to think about it too much. No matter what he did, you would never forgive him for taking your life away from you because of his irrational fear of you cheating on him. Well, it was impossible for you to leave or cheat on him now. You were the only ghosts in the house and didn’t have the ability to take even a small step outside the front door.

Instead of spending your days avoiding him as usual, you now followed the family around the house. Mostly the children of course. They had the habit of getting into trouble whenever their parents weren’t around. You had forgotten how many times you had saved them from tripping or bumping their heads. You were lucky you could touch things in the real world for a short second. You couldn’t before so you assumed it was because you were a young and weak ghost back then.

The whole babysitting act also appeared to bother your husband, which you relished in. You remembered one day when he approached you after the family had left for the grocery store.

“Don’t you think you’re spending an awful lot of time with those children?”

“I like them so I don’t mind.” You answered and continued staring at the drawings they made that afternoon, right before begging called to get dressed and meet by the car.

“Well, I don’t think it’s right for you to do the parents job.” He sneered.

Rolling your eyes, you said, “Like I said, I don’t mind.” Your wanted to leave it at that but your (ex)husband had other plans.

“Sweetie, I will be honest; I believe your getting too attached to this family, it’s not good.”

You sent a glare in his direction. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What I mean is I think you should let them be. They’ll eventually move on whilst you’ll be stuck here. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You scoffed at the audacity he had again. “A little late for that, don’t you think? This is the only source of happiness I have, don’t take anything more from me, please.”

“I don’t make you happy, then?” He asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

You could look him in the eye, choosing silence. He grumbled something incoherent. After another long minute of silence, he sighed. He did that a lot these days, you thought.

“Alright, my love. Continue to look after these living people if it brings you joy, but remember, it won’t last forever. I will be here when you’re done.”

Once more he left you alone to look out the window. Despite your will to disagree, you knew he was right. These people- this family- they were all still alive. You were not. Your time was over, your life stolen from you. It was only a question of when they’d leave. Until then, you’d be their guardian in this haunted house.