#this is always her response to everything

[crossdressingdeath]

Ah, I think what we're getting into here is the difference between Andrastianism and the Chantry. There were a lot of different Andrastian sects(? Cults? Not entirely sure what the right word is, but I'm gonna go with sects) when the Chantry was first founded; most of them aren't around anymore (at least some of them gone because of the Chantry and its habit of wiping out every other religious group it can, see the codex entry on the Daughters of Song for an example; that one's especially nasty since they were pacifists and the Chantry steamrolled over them anyway), but even in the games' time period there's still a couple, most notably Chantry Andrastianism and Tevinter Andrastianism. Orlais chose a very warlike sect to follow right from the start, which might just have been because that's how Orlesians are but it's still a thing to keep in mind: the sect the Chantry came out of was already one that glorified war above most other things. How convenient for an expansionist empire! The Chantry itself was absolutely created from that initial sect with propping Orlais up in mind, and it has stuck to that mandate pretty consistently throughout Thedas's history (even up to the occupation of Ferelden, the Orlesian king put in charge had a Chantry advisor; as far as I'm aware there was no significant Chantry presence among the rebels, at least not in any official capacity). It's also important to me to keep in mind that in the games there is a vague acknowledgement of how Andrastians don't necessarily follow the Chantry and many don't agree with it; Anders is a devout Andrastian, and he understandably despises the organization. Varric is Andrastian, and Cassandra comments he wouldn't be caught dead in a Chantry. Basically the Chantry as an institution and Andrastianism as a religion are not the same thing, the Chantry was created with a specific goal that Andrastianism did not share, and after a point they have to be discussed as separate entities.

I sort of agree with the "institutions are at their heart the people" thing? But also that only goes so far when we're talking about an institution that is fundamentally not in it to do good, or at least not for anyone who isn't already wealthy and in a position of power. I think the best example is Mother Giselle; she was working in Jader during a famine, and she demanded the Chantry step up and offer aid to the people who were starving. She's the epitome of someone determined to do good within the Chantry and fulfill their supposed mandate of charity. And... the Chantry refused to help. Just straight up refused to send aid no matter how many times she entreated them to help these desperate people. Eventually Mother Giselle fell back on a hunger strike, and that worked (although the Chantry insisted she feed herself and her fellow sisters first, which they merrily refused to do; I have issues with Mother Giselle but this is very good, gotta respect the determination). But the Chantry was so furious with her for "shaming" them and forcing their hand that by breaking that famine she ensured she would never be able to move any higher in the institution than she was already. Mother Giselle was fighting the Chantry the whole way and was punished for succeeding. That's kind of the running theme in the Chantry; there are a lot of genuinely good people who are genuinely determined to help! But outside of the individual level they consistently find themselves stymied and slapped down by the organization they serve, because the Chantry does not actually exist to help and does not actually want to. There comes a point where you can't take the intentions of people who join up as the true purpose of the institution, because the institution absolutely does not agree with those intentions and will do everything in its power to shut them down. (Also I mean there comes a point where it's like... hey if you people are in this to help people why aren't you quitting when it becomes clear the organization is going to demand you hurt people at every turn, Keran DA2 you will always be famous to me.)

FINALLY SOMEONE SAID IT. Thank you Dorian for being the best once again and pointing out that hey maybe if the Chantry didn't treat their mages like shit and traumatize all of them they'd get possessed less often.

[here-for-fanart]

JINX REMEMBERS THE TIME LOOPS!

I'm probably gonna get a lot of nay sayers on this, but I don't care. I believe Jinx was fully aware of Ekko rewinding time. Here's why:

We know Jinx is medically enhanced with Shimmer. It has become fully integrated into her system, as we've seen her use it multiple times to move at super fast speeds (especially during a fight).

But it gets even better: She appears to actually glitch through time, when using it. She's THAT fast. Here's a few screenshots that show her partially glitching through time. In a few of them, she almost disappears entirely.

Now, I'm not saying she's physically travelling through time (yet). This isn't teleportation or rewinding; this is simply acceleration. But remember, Ekko himself said he was playing "with inversions on Jayce's acceleration rune", when he discovered the Z-drive. So, Jinx and Ekko's powers are connected, as they are complete opposites of what the other is doing.

So, how does Jinx manage to negate Ekko's travel backwards when she's travelling forward? Well, Shimmer is a substance made for adaptation and survivability during transitions. Hextech (which Ekko's Z-drive and her monkey bomb both use) has been known to have unpredictable results when combined with Shimmer. It's possible the shimmer in her system counteracts the Z-drive naturally, or it adapted to it to prolong Jinx's survivability during the first explosion.

The first time Ekko rewinds Jinx's explosion, she is zipped backwards just like the first time the Z-drive was used. But in the aftermath of this rewind, Jinx looks somewhat confused (indicating she has at least a noticeable case of deja vu, even if she does not fully remember the events).

One might think this is surprise in response to Ekko calling her name. But we know it's not, because she quickly dismisses his presence and goes back to blowing herself up. This is her way of saying, "Okay, my mind is doing a weird thing again but back to business."

NOTE: We don't get to see her initial reaction to the second explosion, but I think the second explosion is where she finally understood something was seriously off.

Because the next time we see her,

She's in experimentation mode. And the fact that she's watching Ekko, means she suspects he's the cause.

If you watch her micro expressions, during the third explosion, you'll see: default curiosity; a narrowing of the eyes, indicating suspicion (right before she pulls the pin); she keeps her eyes open and on Ekko during the explosion and does not blink; then when everything is set back, there's a slight widening of the eyes; her eyebrows raise; then her eyes narrow; before they dart downwards, noticing Ekko's blood and charred state.

[Before you start berating me for "reading too much into it", this is animation. Every single twitch is purposely added.]

After she sees the condition he's in, she knows this is his doing but that he can't keep it up forever. That's why she says "You're too late, Ekko" and goes again. It's too late for talking out her problems anymore. She's just gonna weedle him down, until he gives up.

But then, he says, "It's always a dance with you". Well, now, she's just curious about what the heck THAT means. So, she gives him a second to see if he'll tell her.

That's when Ekko says he's gonna sit there a minute, to see if he can talk an old friend out of blowing them up. And when it's clear he's waiting for her to say something, her mind focuses back on dying. "I'm tired of talking." But! She tries something new again. If he can stop an explosion, maybe he can't stop something else. She falls over the edge.

After this reset, we don't see her expression, but I can only imagine she's thinking through her slowly dwindling options. Then, he says, "Ya know, I learned from someone..." and suddenly, she's back to curiosity. How is Ekko doing it? Is he finally going to tell her?

"No matter what happened in the past, it's never too late to build something new". And that's when she notices the Z-drive and the monkeys. That's not Ekko's style. It's hers.

The next sentence actually doesn't make sense, grammatically, unless you follow it up with the previous sentence. "[It's not too late to build] Someone worth building it for."

And having just been given evidence that there is a good version of her, [There's no good version of me.] one who did fix things [It was something I could fix.], and who made it possible for Ekko to save her [big fat hero], she decides to try one last time.

It's curiosity that keeps her pausing over and over again. Even trapped in depression and suicidal ideation, she's still the girl with a brilliant mind and an inventive spirit.

It's my opinion that Ekko would not have been able to save Jinx, if she was not aware of the time loop situation. It was her curiosity of Ekko's new toy, combined with the realization that she helped build it, that led to her giving life another chance.

Lastly, remember when I said she's not capable of physically travelling through time yet?

Unless Warwick let go of her before the explosion, yes, yes she is. Or at least, she's come as close to it as she's physically able to. Either way, our girl is alive and on her way to a new life.

############################

[Thanks for reading, but don't take this too seriously. It was just some thoughts in my head I needed to get out.]

[thesecondhandwoman]

Can u do Vi x Reader. Where Vi was coming home from hanging out with her sister. She saw her girlfriend laying on their shared bed and she was holding Vi’s jacket cutely in her arms and she was cuddling with it with a cute face expression. Vi stared in awe and she said adorable. She came over and try to take it out of her hands but no use. So vi worker her up and she yawned cutely and saw her girlfriend and quickly grabbed Vi’s arm and hugged her and kissed her.

JACKET THEIF

Vi x f!reader

Summary: After a visit with Jinx and Ekko, Vi comes back home, expecting a big welcoming as always from you. But when she doesn��t, she remains confused, looking around and finding you cuddled up with her jacket.

Request: Anon 🤍

Vi trudged up the creaky staircase to her apartment, the worn steps groaning under her boots. The visit with Jinx and Ekko had been… eventful, as usual. Jinx was her usual chaotic self, and Ekko had been quick to remind her how overdue she was on catching up with other stuff the two have done. It was good to see them, but as much as Vi loved her family, especially after everything that has happened, nothing beats coming home to you after a long day.

Pushing the door open, Vi stepped inside and let it close behind her with a quiet click. She kicked off her boots and shrugged off the weight of the day.

“Babe?” she called, her raspy voice breaking the quiet.

No response.

Vi frowned. You were usually quick to greet her, a ball of energy running into her arms, peppering her face with kisses. She scanned the room, her eyes softening when she saw the faint glow from the bedroom.

Noting this, she padded quietly toward the door.

And there you were.

Curled up in a cocoon of blankets on the bed, you were the picture of peace. Your face was partially hidden by the thick folds of fabric, your expression serene as you slept. But what really made Vi stop in her tracks was the leather jacket clutched tightly in your arms.

Her leather jacket.

Vi’s heart melted on the spot. The sight of you cuddling her jacket like a child with a teddy bear, your face nuzzled into the worn material, sent a warmth through her chest that nothing else could.

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You’re gonna drool on it,” she murmured under her breath, stepping closer.

The floor creaked faintly beneath her as she approached the bed. Carefully, Vi knelt down and reached for the jacket, her fingers brushing against your hands as she tried to ease it free.

But you stirred.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the moment they met hers, your entire face lit up.

“Vi!” you squealed, tossing the jacket aside in favor of launching yourself at her.

Vi let out a surprised laugh as you wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her down onto the bed with you. She stumbled, but the sound of your laughter and the feel of your lips pressing excited kisses to her cheek made her forget everything else.

“You’re back!” you said, your voice muffled as you buried your face in her neck.

“Yeah, I’m back,” Vi chuckled, wrapping her arms around you. “But you’re supposed to be sleeping, not stealing my jacket, ya little thief.”

“It smells like you,” you mumbled, pouting slightly as you leaned back to look at her. “And I missed you.”

Vi’s grin softened, her thumb brushing over your cheek as she pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Missed you too, babe. But that’s no excuse to drool on my stuff.”

You gasped in mock outrage, lightly swatting her shoulder. “I don’t drool!”

Vi smirked. “Mm-hmm, sure you don’t.”

Before you could argue, she tackled you back onto the bed, her laughter mingling with yours as the two of you wrestled for a moment, the jacket forgotten on the floor.

When the laughter finally died down, you lay curled up in her arms, her heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

“Welcome home,” you whispered sleepily.

Vi tightened her hold on you, her lips brushing against your hair. “Mm, glad to be home when you are in it...”

“Likewise, baby.” You cooed as you both tangled up in eachothers’ warmth, relaxing until you two drifted back asleep.

Note: Sorry that this is a bit short, it was kinda rushed, but I hope y’all like it!

[covenofagatha]

Saw you're taking requests and decided to toss one your way!

Agatha x reader, reader has had a really tough day and Agatha helps put her into subspace to relax. Some soft!dom Agatha with a splash of praise, degradation, mommy and maybe some size kink? And of course some fluffy aftercare after reader has been thoroughly fucked out of her mind❤

Hope you enjoy! (Disclaimer: I've never written subspace before so hopefully I did it justice, along with everything else you wanted)

Bad day

When Agatha comes home to find that you had a bad day, she takes it upon herself to make you feel better

Word count: 2600

Warnings: praise kink, degradation kink, subspace, size kink, mommy kink, oral, strap-on, aftercare, smut, and fluff (I may have missed one)

You’re on your last nerve when you get to your afternoon class on Wednesday. 

Your car didn’t start in the morning so your girlfriend, Agatha, had to drop you off at work, which you’d never complain about, except she had still been asleep when this happened so you were almost late because she had to get ready. 

And then work was awful. You had a shift at the popular retail store in town and it seemed like every customer who came in was on a mission to personally ruin your day. 

From dissatisfaction with the prices to vomit all over the restroom floor, it seemed like nothing could go right. 

Agatha had been at work herself so you had to call one of your college friends to give you a ride after. 

And now you had to sit in a class on Personality Theory for the next three hours and listen to your professor drone off on tangents. You would be getting your tests back from last week though, and you were hoping you had done well. 

“Alright, before we get started, I’ll go ahead and pass out your exams. Once I call your name, you can come up and look at it,” your professor says and you anxiously tap your fingers on the desk while you wait for your turn. 

Finally, he says your name. Butterflies in your stomach, you walk to the front to look and it’s like you’ve been punched in the gut. 

There must be something wrong, you don’t understand how you missed this many. 

Red ink stains the page and you have to clench your jaw together to keep your composure. Tears prick at your eyes as you hand the exam back to your professor and head back to your seat, burning with shame. 

It seems like it’s just one thing after another. 

You barely pay attention for the rest of class, head spinning with thoughts of how bad you did, how everything sucks, how you just want to go home. 

Agatha texts you a few times during the three hour time span, just checking in on you, but you don’t even respond. She always says that you get too wrapped up in your own brain and you know she’s right. You do let her know that you won’t need a ride home, not sure you could take the older woman’s softness right now. 

You just want to take a shower and lie in bed. 

Class finally ends and you order an Uber instead of asking a friend to take you home. When you get in these moods, you don’t want to talk to anyone. 

You grunt in response to the driver’s question of asking how you are and then the rest of the ride is spent in silence. It’s not often you get in such a foul mood, but when it does, it’s tough. 

When you make it through the front door of Agatha’s home, you immediately collapse on the couch and breathe in the blanket that still has her scent. She’ll be home soon and now you just want her to give you a big hug and tell you that everything will be alright. 

You hear keys jingle in the front door maybe ten minutes later and you sit up on the couch expectantly, heartbeat picking up. You’ve been with Agatha for six months now and she still managed to have the same effect on you that she had at the beginning. 

“Hey, baby,” she calls out, seeing the lights on, and she makes her way to the living room to find you swaddled in her favorite blanket on the couch. She frowns, instantly able to tell something is wrong. Usually you get up to give her a kiss. “You okay?” 

And then it’s like a dam breaks. You start sobbing and telling her all the things that have gone wrong that day and she instantly sits down next to you, engulfing you into a hug and whispering that everything will be okay. 

She lets you cry for a bit, hand stroking your hair, making soothing sounds. Eventually, you calm down enough to take slow, shaky breaths. 

“I’m sorry, doll. Sounds like you had a rough day,” she says, pressing a kiss to your head and wiping the tears off your cheeks. You nod in agreement. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

You shrug while you think about it. And then you lean in and chastely kiss her lips. 

When you pull back, she’s smirking. 

“You want mommy to help you?” She coos and instantly, a fire awakens in your belly at the use of your favorite name for her. Your head bobs up and down eagerly but she tuts and grabs your jaw to hold it still. “Words, baby.” 

“Yes please, mommy,” you whisper. No one can make you feel as good as Agatha can. 

“Good girl,” Agatha hums and the fire gets worse. “What do you want?” 

You squirm on the couch, just looking at her, begging with wide eyes. 

“Why don’t you show me what you want?” You whine and grab her hand and bring it down to your shorts. “Oh, do you want me to touch you?” 

“Please,” you force out again. “Touch me, mommy.” 

Her grin is wicked as she lays you back down on the couch, positioning herself so she’s holding her weight above you. Your noses are almost close enough to touch. 

“Does my little baby want me to reward her like the perfect little angel that she is?” Agatha purrs and you gasp, feeling your head start to get fuzzy. She plays with the waistband of your shorts and your hips buck up involuntarily. You make a sort of strangled noise from your throat – all you can do, really – and she shushes you. “Just relax, doll. Let mommy take care of you.” You whimper as she kisses your nose and moves down your body to undress you. 

You feel like you’re on a different planet when Agatha pats your waist so you can lift yourself up for her to take your shorts and underwear off. 

“There we go, so good for me,” she says, leaving kisses against your thighs. You moan, senses heightened. You babble something incoherently and you can hear her chuckling at you. “Baby, you’re absolutely dripping for me.” 

Her fingers move up and down your slit, collecting wetness, and sounds are pulled out of your mouth by her administration. 

“Does that feel good, hon?” 

Your head lulls back on the couch and you try to say something to affirm her question. 

“Aw, is my little baby in subspace right now?” Something in the back of your mind tells you that you must be, but you’re too blissed out to answer. 

And then her tongue is on your pussy and you couldn’t say a word even if you tried. If you didn’t already feel like you were floating then, you sure do now. Your back arches off the couch as she sucks on your clit but her hands come up to hold you down. 

“Be a good girl for me and let mommy do all the work.” 

Your moans get louder as she keeps eating you out and you’ve never felt this good before. It’s like all your worries and stress and frustration that built up over the day are melting away to leave you in a puddle of pleasure. 

“Mommy, so close,” you slur, hands digging into the couch beneath you. Her teeth scrape against your clit and she moans into you and it sends you into an explosive orgasm. 

You’re not sure you’ve ever cum that hard. 

She licks you through it and you have to pull her away after a while because you become sensitive. 

Agatha comes up to kiss you, long and hard, and you can taste yourself on her tongue. 

“Do you want to try something new tonight, baby?” She asks once she pulls away and you nod eagerly before even asking what it is. You trust her more than anyone. “I’ll be right back.” She gives you one last parting kiss and quickly runs upstairs. 

She’s up there for a few minutes while you lay on the couch, still in a trance-like haze. 

And then she comes back down and your mouth falls open. 

Attached to her hips is the biggest strap-on you’ve ever seen. She must have just bought it. You had gotten to where you could take the toys you had pretty easily, but you are certain that this will stretch you out so much more than them. 

“Mommy,” you whisper, eyes widening as she comes back over to the couch. You can see that she’s holding lube in one hand. 

“Mommy wants to see if your tiny, little pussy can fit her big cock,” she says and a thrill runs through you despite yourself. “Might have to work you up to it.” 

Your legs part without thinking and she laughs. 

“So desperate for me, aren’t you? My perfect, little slut.” You gasp at the words, feeling yourself get even more wet. 

While you loved the praise from her, degradation almost turned you on more. 

“You have to relax, baby,” she reminds you, moving to kneel on the couch between your legs and pushing them even more open. She rubs your clit and slides two fingers in easily. You grind up on her fingers, trying to pull them in more. “Look at how well you take my fingers. So good for mommy. You can’t get enough of them, can you?” 

You shake your head and groan when she curls them just right. 

“Such a good whore for mommy,” she sighs. “Can you take another?” 

“Please,” you gasp out, walls clenching around the two already inside you. She pulls them and you feel empty, but that feeling is quickly gone when she pushes three in you. The stretch feels so good and your hips meet her every thrust, the pleasure in you already growing. 

And then it’s gone. Your head flies up to look at her wrapping the hand wet with you around her strap and coating it. And then she opens the bottle of lube and pours a hefty amount in her other hand to also stroke the toy with. 

“Are you ready, baby?” 

“Go slow, mommy,” you tell her, even though you know that she will. “You’re so big.” 

“You’re going to look so pretty, sweetheart, stretched around my big cock,” she says and positions the tip at your entrance. “Like a little, perfect slut. 

The first push steals all the air from your lungs. 

“Fuck,” you groan. You’ve never been so full in your life and you barely have any of it inside you. Agatha doesn’t move, just rubs small circles on your thighs and waits for you to tell her you’re okay. 

It takes a few moments for you to adjust. It’s definitely easier in the headspace that you’re in right now. 

“Okay,” you say and Agatha obeys, slowly moving forward inside you. She stops when your breathing gets strangled and doesn’t move again until you’re back to normal. 

“God, your little pussy looks so good taking my big cock so well,” she grunts once she finally bottoms out. If your mind was clearer, you’d tease her about the size kink she so clearly has. “How are you doing, baby? Can I move?” 

“Please, mommy,” you beg, still feeling euphoric. Every drag of her cock against your walls now feels like heaven. She smirks and starts to move.

She starts slow at first, just short, slow strokes to make sure that you’re still comfortable, and then she starts to really fuck you. 

The pace Agatha sets is rough and bruising and you can hear the wet, squelching sounds that the toy makes as it pushes back inside you every thrust, a mix of your wetness and lube. 

“Mommy,” is all you can pant as she fucks into you over and over again, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on her. 

“So fucking good, sweetheart, you’re taking my cock so well, such a perfect slut for mommy,” Agatha mutters, never slowing down once. If you were already in subspace before, you’re not sure you have a word for what state you’re in right now. There are not even semblances of thoughts in your head, there is only Agatha and the pleasure she is giving you. You can’t even remember what you were in such a bad mood about earlier. 

She reaches down to rub your clit again and you hear someone moan obscenely loudly. 

You think it might have been you. 

All you know is that you’re getting so close again you can taste it. She seems like she can tell because she somehow speeds up, which you didn’t think was possible. Little gasps are forced out of your mouth with every push and your walls are tightening so much around her that it makes it hard for her to thrust. 

“So good, baby, you’re taking me so well,” Agatha chants, a hand reaching up to play with your nipple under your shirt. “So perfect, such a perfect slut, my perfect good girl. Cum for mommy, cum all over mommy’s big cock.” 

She angles her hips just right and rubs your clit hard and you spasm, back bowing off the couch. You’ve never felt pleasure this extreme; it feels like you’re having an out-of-body experience. All the tension in your body is gone and you pant heavily as Agatha pulls out of you. 

“You okay, baby?” She asks and you wheeze a laugh. 

“M’okay,” you say happily, a slow smile spreading onto your face. You can feel your head clearing with the loss of her touch. 

“Let me get a washcloth, alright? I’ll be right back, I promise.” She gives you a kiss on your head and she’s back in what seems like seconds with a warm towel. You wince at the feeling of it between her legs but it helps. “Do you want to move to bed?” 

You nod, but you’re not actually sure if you can stand up based on the jelly feeling in your legs. Agatha seems to understand this without you saying anything and she scoops you off the couch bridal style and carries you up the stairs. 

You giggle and burrow your head into the crook of her neck, breathing her in and feeling her against you. 

“You did so good, baby,” she whispers. 

“Thank you, Agatha. I really needed that.” 

She pauses for a second in the hallway to peck your lips. “I know you did. I’m happy to help, sweetheart. Whatever you need.” 

Once in the bedroom, Agatha helps you into some comfy pajamas and makes you take sips of water from the bottle on her nightstand. You lay down and she pulls the covers over you both, pulling you close to her so she can wrap an arm around you. 

“You’re so perfect, baby, you know that?” She murmurs. “I love you so much.” She kisses you softly, bringing a hand up to stroke your hair. 

“I love you too,” you mumble in-between kisses. No one has ever made you feel more loved than Agatha. 

“I’m so proud of you,” she continues and you blush. “I know you had a hard day today, but tomorrow will be better. You’re so strong. You’re my perfect girl. I love you.” 

And she keeps whispering the sweetest things into your ear, and you drift off to sleep in her arms, feeling like nothing was ever wrong. 

[evashogouki-01]

I like to imagine an alternate universe where everything is basically the same as the normal Star Trek universe except that Odo is a supreme prankster. He uses his ability to shapeshift to play all sorts of pranks on the occupants of DS9. Relentlessly.

Sisko taking a shower goes to pick up his shampoo bottle but, despite its full feeling weight, nothing comes out. He peers inside the cap to see an eye peering back at him. He screams, startled, at Odo who waddles ridiculously out of the shower as a shampoo bottle with two wacky feet.

The complaints about Odo are constant. Kira always plays the responsible friend who will go "talk" to Odo on behalf of the aggrieved, to convince him to be more respectful of others. In reality it's simply an excuse to visit Odo during duty hours and hear the tales from her deviously mischievous friend in person. Odo's office is fortunately soundproofed otherwise everyone on DS9 would hear Kira and Odo laughing themselves breathless.

Then there's Lwaxana, a dear friend to Odo, and when she visits the shenanigans reach proportions so epic that entire quadrant is often brought to near chaos...

i want them to be haters together

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (4 - The Assistant)

Chapter Summary: Wanda is worried that you're being distant and unhappy. She tries to get to the bottom of it without using her powers, but ends up discovering something else entirely. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3.1k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: Mentions of smut

A/N: Because it's my birthday today, you guys are getting another chapter tonight. // More author's notes here.

You’ve been awfully quiet since the Harvest Festival. Wanda can feel it—the suspicion you’re ruminating on—simmering just beneath the surface. It gets under her skin, that urge to use her magic, to just pull the truth out of you. She’s done it before. She could do it again.

But she doesn’t.

Wanda stays put, waiting for you to crack, for something to slip. Her fingers itch to do what’s easy, but she forces herself to stop. Instead, she gives you space. If she can’t fix this, if she can’t make you talk, the least she can do is give you room to figure it out on your own. It’s not much, but it’s all she’s got. And for her, holding back like this is harder than anything else—not when she’s already gone to such lengths for your happiness together.

Eventually, Wanda reaches her breaking point. She’s on the verge of using her powers on you again when, one morning, she wakes to find her panties slipped down to her ankles and your head nestled between her thighs. ​​Judging by the way her body feels and the shiver that runs through her, you’ve been at it for a while. Her breath hitches as the pleasure builds higher and higher, and when it crests, she comes with a soft cry, her fingers tangling tightly in your hair. You rise up to kiss her sweetly, and she hums softly against your mouth, tasting herself there.

“Good morning,” you murmur, nuzzling her cheek and down the length of her neck. Her skin is soft and faintly flushed, and you breathe in the faint scent of her—sweet, comforting, intoxicating.

Wanda’s chest rises and falls, her breaths still uneven. She manages a veiled, almost dazed response. “Good morning, indeed.”

You kiss her temple before sitting up slightly, meeting her eyes. Even though you’ve just woken her up with an orgasm and you're staying close, affectionate even, there’s something distant in your eyes—something that only appeared after the festival.

“Can I return the favor?” she asks, her voice still shaky, hoping making you feel good will make her feel better about this whole thing.

You shake your head slightly, “No, you don't have to.”

“But I want to,” she insists softly, reaching out to caress your jaw lovingly.

You turn your head slightly and press a kiss against her palm. “It might be a while before I get there, Wanda. I just took an Adderall,” you say.

Wanda’s disappointed but she nods slowly, trying not to read too much into you calling her Wanda instead of the affectionate nicknames you usually have for her.

“I gotta wake the kids,” you say, slipping out of bed. “Bath time, then school prep.”

You leave the room, your footsteps fading as Wanda lies back, wrapped in the unsatisfying afterglow.

–

When you're with the twins, you're back to your usual, goofy self.

Wanda watches you with a soft smile as you take care of the kids—keeping them entertained enough to get them bathed, dressed, and making sure they finish their oatmeal. She was right—she always knew you’d make a great mother. Now, she’s living in a world where it’s undeniable. You handle everything with such ease, like you were meant for this.

She doesn’t even have to do much beyond cooking and keeping the house tidy. Even with your busy work schedule, you still manage to help out on the weekends and always take care of the dishes after dinner.

This life, the simplicity of it, is everything she’s ever wanted. A home, a family—with you at the center of it all.

It certainly doesn't hurt that you look incredibly appealing in the loose white, open button-down shirt you're wearing, neatly tucked into navy slacks that hug your hips so perfectly. Wanda can't help but wonder if it's even fair for you to wear that to work, considering how good it looks on you.

“Hey, boys, before we head out, what do we say to Mama?” you call out, rounding up Billy and Tommy with their backpacks slung over their shoulders.

“Bye, Mama!” they chorus, but you give them a pointed look.

“Uh, and?” you prompt, eyebrows raised.

The twins exchange a quick glance before racing over to Wanda, each planting a sloppy, hurried kiss on her cheek. 

As they attempt to sprint away, Wanda wraps her arms around them, pulling them back into a longer embrace. “Hold on, not so fast,” she murmurs, holding them close. 

The boys giggle and hug her back. “Love you, Mama,” they say.

“Love you more,” Wanda replies, her heart swelling as she finally lets them go. 

They dash for the car, their feet barely touching the ground in their excitement. Wanda then turns to you, expecting a quick goodbye kiss, but you're already by the door, keys in hand.

“I might be late tonight, got some extra work. Don't wait up, okay?” you call over your shoulder.

Her smile falters, and her heart tightens painfully in her chest. 

You've never left without asking for a goodbye kiss before.

“Okay, love. Be safe,” she says. 

Although she’s vigilant in not using her powers on you this time,  it doesn't mean she's out of ways to find out what's going on with you.

–

When Agnes first started trying to befriend her, Wanda wasn’t exactly welcoming. Agnes was never invited—she always invited herself over. Wanda didn’t bring over homemade dishes like most neighbors; instead, it was always Agnes showing up with pies or other sweets for no particular reason. Over time, the guilt of constantly being on the receiving end of Agnes’s attention and gifts nudged Wanda into softening, eventually opening up enough to call her a friend, even if it felt strange at first.

Wanda can count on one hand the people she’s considered her friend in her lifetime. And that already includes you. Aside from you (though you didn’t like her very much at first, in fact, you distrusted her for months before things started to develop in a positive direction), she only really felt cared for by Clint, Steve, and Vision.

Pietro was her best friend. And even after you came into her life, she missed his presence, the way he was protective but also her greatest critic. The way he called her out on her bullshit, and the way he supported her ambitions and motivations, even if they were morally ambiguous just to keep her safe. That Pietro-shaped hole was never filled by anyone, not even you. You just happened to occupy a bigger area in her heart that losing Pietro didn’t hurt as much as it did before you.

So, she’s surprised at how her connection with Agnes has grown into something resembling friendship—a relationship that none of her old friends, or you, would ever approve of. Agnes is everything her other friends were not. She’s not kind or selfless, doesn’t share that good-hearted nature that Wanda’s always been drawn to.

And that's exactly how Wanda ends up riding shotgun in Agnes’s car, tailing you as you drop off the twins and head to work.

Wanda nervously glances over at her friend. “Are you sure she won't notice us?” she asks, biting her lower lip.

Agnes smirks, eyes on the road. “Relax, sweetheart. I know what I'm doing. She won't have a clue.”

Wanda fiddles with the edge of her sleeve. “I just... I've never done anything like this before,” she says.

“There’s always a first for everything,” Agnes winks at her. “Though I never pegged you for the snooping type. Imagine my surprise when you asked me for help. I thought you were very…goody-goody.”

Wanda sighs. “I am. It's just—” She hesitates, almost saying more than she should. “Back home, we always shared our locations on our phones. We always knew where the other was.”

Agnes wonders where home is, because Wanda doesn’t seem to be referring to Westview. 

“Really? Sounds a bit... invasive,” Agnes snarks. “Though, I can't say I’d blame you for wanting to keep your wife on a short leash.”

Wanda furrows her brow. “What do you mean?”

Agnes gives a dismissive roll of her eyes. “Come on, Y/N is gorgeous. You must see that.”

Wanda is about to launch into a whole rant about how much she sees it, how fully aware she is that everyone else sees it too, when your car finally pulls up to the school's driveway. She watches as you step out to walk the twins to the entrance. You give the boys a quick hug before they run inside. 

But as soon as you turn back toward the car, heading off to work, Wanda tenses up again.

“She might notice us,” Wanda whispers, sinking lower in her seat.

Agnes chuckles. “Trust me, with all these cars around, we're just another pair of morning commuters.”

“I just don't want her to think I don't trust her.”

“Then why are we following her?” Agnes asks pointedly.

Wanda looks down at her hands. “Because something's changed. And I need to know why.”

Agnes wonders why Wanda won't just ask you directly what's wrong. Though something tells her that this isn't a typical marriage issue. Maybe if she plays her cards right, she might get Wanda to open up just a little bit more—enough to fully let her in.

“You know,” Agnes continues carefully, “if something's bothering you, talking about it might help.”

“It's just... I feel like she's slipping away from me,” Wanda murmurs. She knows she can't confide in anyone about this—especially not Agnes—but she feels like she might burst from all the secrets she's been keeping lately.

Agnes glances sideways at her. “People don't just drift for no reason. Any idea what's causing it?”

Wanda shrugs, avoiding eye contact. “Work has been... demanding lately.”

“Has it?” Agnes presses. “Or is there something else?”

Wanda swallows hard. “I don't know. Sometimes I think she might've figured out that—” She cuts herself off, biting her lip.

Hook, line, and sinker, Agnes thinks to herself. Just a little bit more.

“Figured out what?” Agnes asks, her tone deceptively casual.

“Nothing,” Wanda says quickly. “Just that maybe she's unhappy.”

Agnes bites the inside of her cheek, her smile faltering for a split second. Inside, she’s bristling. It’s maddening how slippery Wanda can be, how carefully she guards her words. The effort it takes to keep up the charade, to play the concerned, clueless neighbor, is starting to wear thin.

But she didn’t get this far just to get this far. 

“Oh, Wanda, if she’s unhappy, maybe there’s something I can do. You know, a friendly ear can work wonders,” Agnes suggests through gritted teeth.

“I appreciate that, but it's personal,” Wanda replies, her voice tight.

Agnes sighs theatrically. “Fine, keep your secrets. But remember, I'm a good listener.” 

Another time then. She is nothing if not patient.

Before Wanda can respond, she spots your car turning into the parking lot of your office building. “There she is,” she says.

They watch as you park and step out, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. You pause for a moment, looking around as if sensing something, then head inside.

Wanda falls back into her seat with a defeated sigh. “She seems... normal.”

Agnes arches an eyebrow. “Isn't that a good thing?”

“I suppose,” Wanda murmurs, though her eyes remain fixed on the entrance where you just disappeared.

Agnes impatiently taps her fingers on the steering wheel. “So, where to now? The salon? Or maybe you want to grab a Margarita to go with lunch?”

Wanda doesn't respond, still staring at the building's entrance. 

“Wanda?” 

At that, Wanda suddenly snaps out of her reverie and unbuckles her seatbelt. Agnes does the same, prompted by Wanda’s sudden haste. 

“What are you doing? You're not going to make a scene, are you?” Agnes.

“I think there might be someone who can give me answers,” Wanda mumbles distractedly.

“And who might that be?”

“Her.”

Agnes follows Wanda’s line of sight and spots Geraldine, your assistant, emerging from the building. Geraldine, who is still wearing the same clothes from when Wanda first met her, starts walking down the sidewalk, oblivious to the two women watching her every move.

“Geraldine?” Agnes lets out a soft, incredulous scoff. “And what do you think she’s going to tell you?”

Wanda is already reaching for the door handle. “She works with her every day. If anyone knows what's going on, it's her.”

“What? But Wanda, that’s—”

But Wanda is out of the car before Agnes can finish, her focus entirely on your unsuspecting assistant. 

Agnes groans inwardly as she watches Wanda’s purposeful strides. “Fine,” she mutters under her breath, her talon-like fingernails scratching the leather cover of her steering wheel. “I’ll let you be this time. But all roads lead to me, Wanda, darling.” Despite her curiosity, she doesn’t stick around. She shifts into reverse, pulls onto the main street, and speeds off.

Wanda steps right into Geraldine's path, causing the other woman to halt abruptly to avoid a collision. Geraldine blinks in surprise but quickly recovers with a warm smile. “Oh! Wanda, hi! Didn't expect to see you here. Are you looking for Y/N? I can take you up to her office if you'd—”

“Hi,” Wanda says, giving a short wave that's more of a hand signal to stop her from talking. “Uh, Geraldine, right? Actually, I was hoping to talk to you.”

Geraldine’s smile dims only a bit. “M-Me?”

–

Wanda doesn’t have to put in much effort to get Geraldine alone for sandwiches at a nearby deli. In truth, it’s more like she tags along after Geraldine casually mentions that you’d be expecting your lunch at your desk within the hour. Though you’re known for being a patient boss—and Geraldine never misses an opportunity to sing your praises, much to Wanda’s irritation—Geraldine is firm about her own punctuality. She cuts her lunch breaks to a strict thirty minutes, ensuring she has time to deliver your meal early.

That doesn’t leave Wanda much time to extract the answers she’s after, but she’s determined to make the most of it.

Still, it’s not in her nature to jump straight to the point. Skipping the pleasantries feels too abrupt, too conspicuous.

“How are you doing?” Wanda asks, trying to match Geraldine’s upbeat energy. It comes out more like a squeak than the breezy tone she was going for. She takes a small sip of her drink before adding, “Good?”

Geraldine’s smile is sunny as ever. “Oh, it got pretty hectic lately at work, as I’m sure you know. But I'm good. How about you?”

Wanda stirs her tea, watching the leaves swirl. “Doing alright. Keeping busy with the boys.”

“They must be growing like weeds,” Geraldine says warmly.

Wanda forces a small smile. “Yeah, they keep us on our toes.” She had hoped to stretch out the introductions, build some rapport first, but her mind is frustratingly blank when it comes to small talk. Conversation has never been her strong suit.

Taking a deep breath, she prepares to dive right into the real purpose of this meeting. “Has everything been okay at work? With Y/N, I mean,” she says. 

Geraldine gives it a thought or two, before answering, “As far as I know. She's been a bit more focused lately, but that's just the board pushing those quarterly quotas.”

“Quotas?”

“Yeah, they're really piling on the pressure this quarter. But you know her—she handles it like a champ,” Geraldine says with a dismissive shrug. “I've been making sure she eats well, though. Only the most nutritious lunches to keep her going.”

“That's thoughtful of you,” Wanda murmurs. Her fingers tighten imperceptibly around her cup, the way Geraldine speaks about you striking a nerve she doesn’t fully understand. Geraldine pretends not to notice anything, just as she’s supposed to.

“You know,” Geraldine says after a beat, “when she’s not working, her mind is always on you and the twins.”

“She talks about us?”

“Absolutely,” Geraldine continues enthusiastically. “Just yesterday, she was showing me Tommy's drawings and Billy's latest test papers. You have a beautiful family, Wanda. Your boys are something special. I can only hope to raise my own kids as well as you do someday.”

“They are,” Wanda agrees, momentarily forgetting about her worries about you. Hearing about the twins always lifts her spirits.

Geraldine sighs happily and takes a bite of her Reuben.

“I'm a twin myself,” Wanda says quietly. “I had a brother. His name was... Pietro.”

“He was killed by Ultron, wasn’t he?”

Wanda doesn’t react right away. The words sink in slowly, like quicksand pulling her under.

“W-What did you say?” Her voice is quiet but carries a dangerous tremor, like a storm cloud about to burst.

Geraldine blinks slowly. “I... I don't know why I said that,” she stammers. 

Wanda's voice takes on a dangerous edge. “How do you know about Ultron?”

“I-I don’t know,” Geraldine insists. “It just came out.”

Wanda slowly tilts her head to the side, her eyes growing cold as it narrows on Geraldine. “Who are you?”

It’s devoid of any warmth—only suspicion and a seething edge that makes Geraldine recoil slightly.

“I'm—” Geraldine stammers, her voice catching. She looks around the shop, desperate for a way out. But there’s no one. The staff who had been behind the counter this whole time is suddenly nowhere to be found. “Wanda, I swear, I don't know. I didn't mean—”

“I think you should leave,” Wanda says finally. The tone of her voice carries the warning itself.

Geraldine stares at her, wide-eyed and trembling. “Wanda, please—”

“Leave.”

In the next second, Geraldine—or rather, Monica—learns the hard way that it’s not a suggestion; it’s a command.

–

“W-Wait,” Darcy stammers, her nose practically touching the television screen from how close she’s peering at it. “Where did Monica go?”

“I think it glitched or something,” Jimmy suggests, peering over her shoulder. 

“That doesn't make sense,” Darcy mutters, frantically rewinding the footage. “She was just there.”

They both stare at the screen showing Wanda sitting alone in the deli, sipping her tea like nothing happened. Darcy wants to bang her head against the monitor. It's the first time any of the characters in Wanda's show has referenced a real-world event, and now they're having technical difficulties? Unbelievable.

Before they can process what's happening, a commotion erupts outside the tent. 

One of Hayward’s envoys bursts in, breathless and wide-eyed. “You guys need to see this!”

Darcy and Jimmy exchange a quick, worried glance before rushing out. Whatever just happened to Monica can't be good, and the situation seems to be spiraling out of control—fast.

[goldfades]

thanksgiving | JOE BURROW [009]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3.6k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your first thanksgiving with hayes!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | domestic!joe + family. playful arguing, joe being the husband-est hubby ever, one cup of wine, nothing else! just a sweet, thanksgiving fic for the series!

The drive to the Burrow family home was picturesque in that cozy, Midwestern kind of way—all open fields, wooden fences, and the occasional rusty mailbox at the end of a long gravel drive. The trees lining the road were just barely clinging to the last of their autumnal colors, leaves blowing in the cool November breeze and scattering across the asphalt like a final hurrah before winter set in.

You weren’t sure why you were nervous. It wasn’t like this was your first Thanksgiving with Joe’s family. Far from it. But something about this year felt different—maybe it was the fact that Hayes was here now, his first big family holiday, and you wanted everything to be perfect.

"You’re quiet," Joe remarked, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting lazily on the console between you.

You glanced over, snapping out of your thoughts. "Just thinking," you replied, trying to keep your tone light.

He gave you a sideways look, the corners of his mouth quirking up. "About what? How Jamie’s gonna try to give me shit the second we walk in the door?"

You laughed, because he was right. Jamie Burrow was the king of light-hearted roasts, and you knew Joe was gearing up for it. But you shrugged in response, keeping your act casual. "Maybe. Or about how your mom is gonna sneak Hayes away and spoil him with who knows how much pie before dinner."

"Definitely pie," Joe agreed with a chuckle. His smile made your chest warm, even though the nerves were still lingering.

Hayes was making little coos from his car seat in the back, and you turned to check on him. His chubby cheeks were flushed from the heater, and he was clutching his favorite stuffed bear in one hand while kicking his feet. It was hard to believe that this little human was yours—yours and Joe’s.

"He’s ready for all the attention," you said, more to yourself than to Joe, but he heard you.

"Good. They’ve been talking about seeing him for weeks," he replied. "I think my mom’s got a whole picture board made up just from the five photos I sent her."

"Robin would," you said with a smile, your shoulders relaxing a little. The Burrow family had a way of doing that—making you feel like you belonged, like you were just as much a part of them as Joe was. It was one of the many things you loved about them.

As the car slowed down to turn into the long driveway, you sat up a little straighter, taking in the sight of the house. It looked exactly the same as it always did—a warm, welcoming mix of red brick and wood, with a wide front porch that was already decorated with pumpkins and a “Gather” sign leaning next to the door.

"Here we go," Joe said, putting the car in park and flashing you a reassuring smile.

You took a deep breath, your hands fidgeting with the straps of your bag. "Here we go," you repeated, and even though you still felt a little nervous, you couldn’t help but smile as you opened the door.

Joe was already climbing out of the driver’s seat, opening the back door to unbuckle Hayes. You stood there for a moment, watching the way his broad frame seemed to soften as he scooped up your son, cradling him with a gentleness that never failed to make your heart skip.

"Alright, buddy," Joe murmured to Hayes, who blinked sleepily at him. "Time to meet the chaos."

You grabbed the diaper bag from the backseat and slung it over your shoulder, walking up to meet them as Joe waited for you. The two of you exchanged a quick look, a little smile passing between you like an unspoken promise: whatever the day held, you’d tackle it together.

The crunch of gravel under your boots was loud in the stillness of the late November morning. Joe walked a step ahead of you, Hayes nestled snugly against his chest in his thick little jacket, looking adorably rumpled from the car ride. The baby let out a soft coo, still half-asleep, and Joe’s hand instinctively rubbed gentle circles on his back, soothing him like it was second nature.

The air was cold but not biting, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke and dried leaves. A light breeze tugged at your scarf, and you pulled it tighter around your neck as you glanced up at the Burrows’ house. There were already signs of life inside—the flicker of movement behind the curtains, the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen. A plume of smoke curled lazily from the chimney, promising warmth and something delicious cooking inside.

You couldn’t help but smile as you approached the steps. Robin had clearly been busy, her festive touch everywhere. The pumpkins on the porch were arranged in perfect, symmetrical groups, with a few gourds tossed in for good measure. The handmade wreath on the door was adorned with tiny pinecones, sprigs of holly, and a big orange bow that somehow managed to look charming instead of tacky. A set of hay bales sat off to the side, topped with more pumpkins and a scarecrow that was a little worse for wear after years of use.

"You think they went all out just for Hayes?" you asked, half-teasing as you nudged Joe with your shoulder.

Joe glanced back at you, his lips quirking up into a smirk. "Probably. He’s already their favorite."

"Not hard to believe," you said, tilting your head toward Hayes, who was now fully awake and blinking up at Joe with wide, curious eyes.

Joe stopped at the front door, shifting Hayes so he was perched comfortably on one arm while he knocked lightly with the other. The sound barely had time to echo before the door flew open, and Robin’s face appeared, flushed and glowing with excitement.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she immediately zeroed in on Hayes. "Oh, give him to me. Come here, my sweet boy!"

Joe chuckled, handing Hayes over with a kind of resigned fondness. "Barely even a ‘hello’ for me, huh?"

Robin waved him off, already cooing at Hayes, who rewarded her with a gummy smile. "You I can see anytime. This little one, though—look at him! He’s gotten so big!"

You laughed as Robin disappeared further into the house, bouncing Hayes gently and muttering about how he looked just like his daddy. Joe sighed but smiled, holding the door open for you as you stepped inside.

The warmth of the house hit you immediately, along with the unmistakable smell of Thanksgiving—roasting turkey, spiced apple cider, and the faintly sweet aroma of whatever pie Robin had undoubtedly baked that morning. The living room was cozy and inviting, with a fire crackling in the stone fireplace and a few throw blankets draped over the couch.

"Mom, don’t hog him," came a voice from the kitchen, and a second later, Jamie appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel. His face split into a grin when he saw you. "Hey! There’s my favorite sister-in-law."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling as Jamie pulled you into a quick, one-armed hug.

"Favorite by default," you teased.

"Still counts," Jamie shot back before turning his attention to Joe. "What took you so long? You get lost?"

Joe shrugged, unbothered as he dropped the diaper bag by the couch. "Traffic."

Jamie snorted. "Sure. Anyway, Dan’s in the kitchen pretending he knows how to cook. You should go make sure he doesn’t burn the gravy again."

Joe raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, patting your back lightly before heading toward the kitchen. That left you standing in the living room with Jamie, who was now peering over Robin’s shoulder at Hayes.

"Man," Jamie said, shaking his head in mock awe, "he really does look like Joe. Poor kid."

"Watch it," you said, swatting his arm lightly, though you were smiling.

Robin just rolled her eyes. "You boys always have something to say. Ignore them, sweetheart," she added, planting a kiss on Hayes’s cheek. "You’re perfect, aren’t you?"

Hayes gurgled happily in response, and you felt a swell of gratitude as you watched the scene unfold. It was moments like this that made all the chaos and exhaustion of parenting worthwhile.

"Alright," Jamie said, clapping his hands together. "Who’s ready to eat too much and regret it later?"

You laughed, shaking your head as Robin led the way toward the kitchen, still doting on Hayes. You lingered for a moment, soaking in the warmth and the laughter, feeling, for the first time in a while, like you could actually relax.

The warmth of the house felt almost like a physical thing, wrapping around you in layers of comfort and familiarity. You sat curled up on the armchair in the corner of the living room, legs tucked beneath you, holding a glass of wine that was just the right balance of fruity and rich. The first sip had melted the tension in your shoulders, and now, halfway through the glass, you felt completely at ease.

Across the room, Joe was sprawled on the couch, one arm thrown over the back as he laughed at something Jamie said. Dan was perched on the other side, gesturing animatedly as he told some elaborate story about a coworker, complete with ridiculous voices and exaggerated facial expressions. Joe’s laugh came easily, a sound that always made you smile, deep and genuine, the kind of laugh he didn’t always let out when the weight of everything was on his shoulders. But here, with his brothers, he was relaxed, his guard down in a way that made you love him even more.

Robin bustled in and out of the room, keeping herself busy but always finding a way to linger near Hayes. The baby was content in Joe’s dad’s lap, looking up at his grandfather with wide, curious eyes as they played a gentle game of pat-a-cake. Hayes giggled at the clumsy movements of his grandfather’s hands, a soft, tinkling sound that had the whole room glancing over every few moments to smile. Robin kept stopping to coo at him, her face lighting up every time Hayes smiled back at her.

"You’re spoiling him already," you teased, setting your glass down on the side table.

Robin glanced over, not looking the least bit guilty. "That’s what grandmas are for, sweetheart. Besides, look at him! He’s an angel."

"Yeah, until bedtime," Joe muttered, earning a laugh from Dan.

"Don’t listen to your daddy," Robin said to Hayes in a sing-song voice, tickling his chubby cheek. "You’re perfect."

"Perfectly spoiled," Jamie chimed in from the couch.

"You’re one to talk," Robin shot back, narrowing her eyes at him. "I remember a certain little boy who used to demand two desserts at Thanksgiving."

"Still do," Jamie said with a grin, leaning back against the couch.

You laughed softly, watching the easy banter unfold around you. It was such a stark contrast to the usual chaos of your day-to-day life. The house felt alive but not overwhelming, full but not stifling. There was a rhythm to it, a comfort in the way everyone seemed to fall into their roles so seamlessly.

Joe caught your eye from across the room, his lips quirking into a small smile that made your heart flutter. He tilted his head slightly, silently asking if you were okay, and you gave him a reassuring nod.

"Hey," Dan said suddenly, sitting up straighter and looking between you and Joe. "You two never answered—who was Hayes’s first word gonna be for? Mom or Dad?"

You raised an eyebrow, already amused. "Isn’t it a little early for that? He’s barely babbling."

"It’s never too early to start betting," Dan said, leaning forward like he was ready to instigate. "I’m putting my money on Mom."

"Obviously," Jamie cut in. "Look at how much time Joe spends at practice. This one’s got all the one-on-one time with him." He gestured toward you with a smirk.

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence," Joe said, though he didn’t sound the least bit offended.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and unrestrained. "I think we’re all underestimating Robin here," you said, nodding toward her. "If anyone’s going to win, it’s going to be Grandma."

Robin looked up, clearly pleased. "Now, that’s what I like to hear," she said, lifting Hayes into her arms. "Tell them, sweetheart. Your first word is going to be ‘Grandma,’ isn’t it?"

Hayes let out a happy squeal, and the room erupted into laughter.

"See?" Dan said, pointing. "The kid’s already choosing sides."

It was moments like these that felt so profoundly domestic, so deeply rooted in love and connection, that you couldn’t help but feel a pang of gratitude. This was what life was supposed to feel like, you thought. The laughter, the teasing, the small moments that weren’t flashy or grand but were filled with warmth and belonging.

As the conversation shifted to old family stories—Jamie reliving his disastrous high school football days, Dan reminding Joe of his most embarrassing childhood moment—you leaned back in your chair, letting the sound of their voices wash over you.

Joe’s laugh, Hayes’s soft coos, the crackling of the fire—it all blended together into something that felt sacred. And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself fully relax, the wine warming you from the inside out as you soaked in the feeling of being surrounded by love.

It wasn’t long before the front door opened again, ushering in the kind of joyful chaos that only a late arrival of more family could bring. Dan’s wife, Emily, walked in first, balancing a casserole dish in one hand and wrangling their two kids with the other. Their little girl, Claire, darted into the house immediately, a whirlwind of energy as she flung herself into Robin’s arms, shouting, “Grandma!” Her younger brother, Ethan, clung shyly to Emily’s leg, his face half-buried in her coat, though his eyes sparkled with curiosity.

The house shifted in an instant, going from comfortably bustling to vibrantly alive. Jamie, who had been halfway through a story about Joe getting tackled during a backyard football game as a kid, was cut off mid-sentence by Claire’s shriek of delight when she spotted Hayes.

“Is that the baby?!” Claire exclaimed, rushing over to you so quickly you barely had time to laugh.

“Yes, this is Hayes,” you said, scooping him into your arms just as she reached you. “Want to say hi?”

Her eyes went wide as she nodded, standing on tiptoe to get a better look. “He’s so tiny!” she whispered, her voice full of awe. “Can I hold him?”

“Maybe in a little bit,” Emily said, swooping in to kiss Claire’s forehead before gently redirecting her. “Let’s give Auntie a little space first, okay?”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Emily said to you warmly, pulling you into a one-armed hug. “You look amazing. I don’t know how you do it with a newborn.”

“Oh, I don’t,” you said with a laugh, glancing at Joe, who was now helping Ethan out of his coat. “It’s definitely a team effort.”

Joe glanced up at you, catching your eye with a soft smile, before looking down at Ethan and saying, “All right, buddy, what do you say we find a snack?”

Ethan nodded eagerly, finally warming up to the environment as Joe led him toward the kitchen, leaving you with a heart-melting view of your husband holding a tiny hand in his much larger one.

Robin, meanwhile, had taken Claire under her wing, walking her over to show her some toys she’d dug out of storage for the grandkids. Jamie and Dan were now animatedly talking over each other in the kitchen, their voices growing louder as they debated which team was better this season.

The dining table was already set for dinner, though the plates were still empty, and the smell of roasted turkey and fresh-baked rolls wafted through the air. The kids’ laughter mingled with the low hum of conversation, creating a symphony of family life that felt utterly perfect.

You leaned back against the armrest of the couch, Hayes nestled against your chest, his tiny fist curled into your sweater. The warmth of the moment settled over you like a blanket. For years, Thanksgiving had always been a holiday you loved, but this year, it felt entirely different.

This year, it wasn’t just about stepping into Joe’s family dynamic—it was about being part of it. Fully, completely.

Hayes stirred in your arms, letting out a tiny yawn, and you pressed a kiss to his soft cheek. The sounds of the house swirled around you: Jamie shouting at Dan about a botched play from years ago, Robin gently scolding Claire for nearly toppling a lamp, Joe’s deep laugh ringing out from the kitchen as he handed Ethan a cookie before dinner.

It was chaotic, yes, but it was also yours.

For the first time, you realized just how much your life had changed—and how much fuller it had become. You weren’t just visiting anymore. You were here, firmly planted in this family, and now you had your own little addition in Hayes to make it even more complete.

You took a deep breath, soaking in the moment, and when Joe reappeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a soft look on his face, you couldn’t help but smile.

“You good?” he asked quietly, nodding toward you and Hayes.

“Better than good,” you replied, your voice soft but full of meaning.

And as Joe crossed the room to press a kiss to the top of your head, the sounds of family and love filling the space around you, you couldn’t imagine life feeling any better than this.

As the remnants of Thanksgiving dinner were finally cleared away, the house slowly shifted into that post-meal lull, the kind that only happens after too much food and a full day of laughter. The dishes were stacked, the leftovers tucked neatly into the fridge, and the smell of pumpkin pie and cranberry lingered faintly in the air.

True to form, Joe and Jamie were in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and good-naturedly bickering over who was doing more work as they washed and dried dishes.

"You're just rinsing! That doesn't count as actual cleaning," Jamie quipped, flicking a soapy sponge at Joe, who dodged it easily, his laugh echoing through the house.

"I'm faster, though," Joe shot back, grinning. "If you were in charge, we'd still be on the first plate."

From your spot on the couch, you watched the exchange with a small smile, feeling the warmth of the moment settle in your chest. It was always like this—Robin ran the kitchen like clockwork, and the boys cleaned up after, bickering and laughing the whole way through. It was a system that worked, one steeped in years of tradition and familiarity, and now you were part of it.

Hayes had been fed and changed, and after a day full of passing from one adoring family member to another, he was finally fast asleep, his little cheek resting against Joe’s shoulder as he cradled him gently. Joe had scooped him up the moment he was done cleaning, murmuring something about "making sure he settles down" when in reality, you knew he just wanted to hold him a little longer.

The game was on in the background—a close one, judging by the animated way Dan and Jamie were arguing from their spots on the other side of the living room. Robin sat in her favorite chair, knitting something that looked suspiciously like a baby blanket while quietly enjoying the chaos. Claire was nestled beside her, yawning but refusing to go to bed just yet, her eyes glued to the game.

Joe finally sank down beside you, careful not to jostle Hayes, who let out a tiny sigh before burrowing further into his dad’s chest.

“You okay?” he asked softly, leaning close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

You nodded, your heart swelling as you took in the scene around you. “Yeah. This is... really nice.”

Joe smiled, his gaze flickering to the screen where the game was heating up. “It’s the perfect ending. Well, almost.”

“Almost?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Almost. If Jamie would stop yelling about bad play calls, it’d be perfect,” he joked, his grin widening as Jamie shot him a glare from across the room.

The sounds of the game blended with the laughter, the clink of glasses, and the occasional hum of Robin’s knitting needles. It was perfectly chaotic, just as it had been all day, but now there was a softness to it, a sense of winding down and simply being.

Joe’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you closer as Hayes snuggled deeper into him. “I think this is my favorite Thanksgiving yet,” he murmured, his voice low and full of contentment.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, letting the warmth of his words and the moment wash over you. There was nothing extraordinary about it—no grand gestures, no flashy celebrations—just family, love, and a feeling of belonging so deep it made your chest ache in the best way.

And as the night wore on, the game eventually fading to background noise, you thought about how lucky you were to call this your life, your family. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours, and it was more than enough.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[bakukags]

hiii i luv your blog!! honestly the 'more then enough' fanfic had my crying lol :)) so i saw your requests were open and was wondering if you could do a bakugou x reader were y/n is bakugou's and deku's childhood friend and they have a lot of trauma bc of their dad who is an ex pro hero becoming a villian when shes in ua and bakugou has always had feelings for her and comforts her when class 1-a sees it on the news. make any changes youd like :))

the 3 things bakugou taught you (bakugou x reader)

summary: As a childhood friend of Bakugou and Deku, you had always dreamed of attending U.A. to train and become heroes together. However, everything turns upside down when Class 1-A discovers that your father, once a former Pro-Hero, has now become a Villain. In the chaos of it all, you find that Bakugou is full of surprises and that there may be more to him than what meets the eye.

pairing: bakugou x female! reader

genre: fluffy angst 

warnings: slight swearing 

word count: 4,176

a/n: thank you so much for all of your kindness and support <3 my request box is open!! please let me know if y'all would be interested in a part 2 or how I can improve my writing :)

Growing up with Bakugou Katsuki had taught you three things:

Bakugou Katsuki had a temper like a firework - explosive, loud, and colorful. 

His bark was somehow worse than his bite.

No matter how grumpy he was, you couldn’t stop smiling around him.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Bakugou grimaced, as you jogged to catch up, an extra bounce in your step. However, he slowed down slightly, allowing you to fall into step with him. 

“My dad’s coming home today.” Your grin widened. “I’m going to visit home later today to see him.” 

Your father was the pro-hero Aeris, who was known for his air-like attibutes and unique speed. You had also inherited his abilities, and his day-to-day heroism was what first motivated you to enroll into UA alongside Bakugou. Growing up, he had encouraged you to become a hero that not only helps the world, but changes the world for the better. 

“Happy are those who dream dreams and are ready to pay the price to make them come true.” Whenever he came home from work, he always reminded you of his life motto with a warm smile lighting up his face. “And you my dear, have the most beautiful dream. But you must also be ready to have the strength to pay the price when it comes to fruition.” 

From then on, you had resolved that you would do anything to become a hero. You father’s words had inspired you to become someone who would willingly sacrifice yourself in order to fulfill your dreams of saving the world; just like your father. As he rarely came home, you were especially elated on the days he did, today being one of those days.

Bakugou grunted in response, eyeing your chipper expression with thinly veiled annoyance. 

“Well stop it. It makes you look stupider than normal.” He grumbled, looking away from your bright smile.

“Mhmm,” You hummed noncommittally, not really listening. The walk back from class had become your guys’ unspoken routine. Ever since the two of you had moved into the dorms, Bakugou always waited after class for you to pack your bag so that the two of you could walk back together. Of course, he’d rather die than admit to you that he was waiting, often making up excuses such as finishing up an assignment or perfectly timing the speed at which he placed his books back into his bag. 

“I’ll go with you. To see your father." His tone indicated that it was a non-negotiable statement. You tilted your head, slightly confused. He had never accompanied you before. 

“I can’t have an idiot like you wandering around at night.” He clarified, clearing his throat. “You’d be too easy of a target for Villains. It’s almost like you want to get attacked.” 

You opened your mouth to point out that you were one of the top 5 students of Class 1-A and that you could handle yourself, thank you very much. However, the words died on your tongue when you caught sight of how his fingers twitched restlessly at his side, at how he was intentionally looking everywhere but at you. Many people wouldn’t pick up on it, but you knew him better than anyone. The signs were were clear - Bakugou Katsuki, of all people, was worried. For you. Your smile widened.

“If you wanted to spend more time with me Katsu, you could’ve just asked.” You teased, laughter bubbling in your voice. 

“That’s not, I don’t- stop making things up crazy woman!” He spluttered in response, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Much to Bakugou’s dismay, you continued laughing, causing you to almost miss Izuku falling into step alongside you. 

“Hey guys! Good training today, huh?” Izuku exclaimed, smiling at you. You grinned back, nodding excitedly in agreement. Your spirits were still high from your previous conversation with Bakugou. However, upon spotting the freckled boy, Bakugou’s face immediately morphed into a deep scowl. His eyebrows furrowed irritably, but he remained silent.

“Izu!” You grabbed onto his arm, just like you had growing up. “Training was amazing! Did you get a chance to see my practice match? I could hardly believe it - Shoto and I tied!” You chattered incessantly, easily falling into natural conversation with him. The three of you used to always hang out together and you found yourself suddenly missing the green-haired boy’s presence. 

“It’s been a while since we’ve hung out!” You continued. “You should join us more often - it’ll be just like old times!" 

A pink flush spread across Izuku’s cheeks, trailing down his neck.

“Of-of course, I’d love to!” Izuku stuttered, eyes glancing down at your arms that were still wrapped around his. A faint crackling popping sound, along with the smell of smoked caramel filled the air, causing the both of you to glance at Bakugou. He now had his hands curled into fists, jaw tightly clenched. 

“He’s not invited.” Bakugou spat out, eyeing the two of you murderously. Growing up with Bakugou however, made you immune to his violent tendencies. You smiled sweetly in return, letting go of Izuku in favor of placatingly rubbing Bakugou’s arm. 

“You’re always invited,” You said to Izuku before raising an eyebrow at Bakugou, daring him to argue. He hissed like a cat baring his teeth, but didn’t protest.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind!” Izuku nodded, eyes flickering between you and Bakugou hesitantly. “You guys must be pretty close now - almost inseperable huh?”

“We’re not.” Bakugou snarled at the same time you chirped “Yup!” The two of you looked at each other for a moment before you let out a laugh, shrugging nonchalantly.

“It’s funny because you guys are total… opposites.” Izuku spoke carefully, glancing at Bakugou as if he was a ticking time bomb ready to explode at any moment. The green-haired boy’s words were true - Bakugou oozed aggression and abrasiveness, while you were all cheerfulness and tact. While Bakugou burned intensely like the sun, you were constant like the moon. Just as bright, but in a different way. After the blonde boy had been kidnapped by Villains, he had refused to talk about the situation to anyone. Everyone had pestered him with countless opinions and questions - except for you. He didn’t need to speak in order for you to know how he felt or understand what he needed. You had spent your whole life learning him, and now, all you had to do was merely stay by his side as an unwavering source of support. The two of you had been attached by the hip ever since. 

“His grumpiness adds to the appeal.” You giggled. “Right?” You turned to look up at Bakugou, ready for a classic snarky remark, but your eyes met molten embers instead. Taken by surprise, you tripped, stumbling over your own foot. Two hands immediately reached out to steady you: one belonging to Izuku and the other belonging to Bakugou. The blonde boy let go of you just as quickly as he had touched you, as if your skin had scorched him. However, Izuku’s hand remained, steadying you. You shot him a grateful look. 

“Thanks.” You regained your balance with a sheepish smile. 

Bakugou’s face darkened as his gaze shifted from yours to Izuku’s hand, which still lingered on your arm. A low growl left his lips as his eyes burned holes into Izuku, who instantly let go.

“So-Sorry! I’m glad you’re okay! I mean-are you okay?” He sputtered, eyes wide.

“She’ll be fine once you leave.” Bakugou spat venomously, a vein bulging out of his forehead. Izuku chuckled uncomfortably while your gaze darted nervously between the two boys, unsettled by the sudden escalation of emotions. The air suddenly felt a little too warm, too tense. In a second Bakugou was moving, stopping only when he stood between you and Izuku, effectively separating the two of you.

“What kind of idiot can’t even get back to the dorms without falling?” Bakugou sharply retorted, nostrils flaring. “Hurry up, I’m hungry.” He stalked away, leaving you to direct an apologetic glance at Izuku before following close behind. 

“That was rude.” You glanced towards the blonde boy as you struggled to catch up to him.

“Not my fault Deku pissed me off.” He grunted in response. 

“And it’s not his fault that you have a short fuse.” You rolled your eyes in annoyance.

If those words had come out of anyone else, you probably would be slammed against the wall and blasted into oblivion. But you were always the exception. He growled, the sound low and dangerous.

“Not right now, sunshine.” He barked your nickname out like it was a curse, but you knew better than to take him seriously. Your words had struck a little too close to home, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He angrily slammed the door to the dorms open, uncharacteristically propping it open for you.

“Move it. I don’t have all day.” He practically yelled in your ear, causing you to wince. He at least had the decency to look back at you half-apologetically, before lowering his voice to a more suitable volume. “Well? Why aren’t you walking idiot?”

“Thanks, I think?” You shrugged, hesitantly walking through the door. “But you really got to tone it down Katsu, I me-”

The words caught in your throat. You froze, causing Bakugou to ram right into you.

“What the hell sunshine? What kind of idiot stands in the middle of the doorway?” He barked, but you didn’t respond. Your eyes were glued to the television, trained on the newscaster Miyagi who imparted the breaking headlines for today.

“Breaking news - A Pro-Hero has turned out to be a Villain? You heard it here folks, Ex Pro-Hero Aeris was found injuring several innocent children just this afternoon. It appears he has been secretly working alongside the League of Villains as an undercover agent.”

The screen cut, and suddenly, footage of a man filled the TV screen. His grin looked borderline crazed, an unknown murderous glint flooding his eyes. Two heros held him down as he struggled against them, handcuffs digging into his wrists.

Your legs gave out, and you stumbled backwards. Somebody immediately caught you, muttering something into your ear, but you couldn’t tear your eyes from the screen. All you could see was your father’s deranged expression flooding the screen. 

“No.” You whispered, eyes peeled on the TV, arms trembling. “No. This can’t be real.”

"How could you do this?” A civilian yelled at the ex Pro-hero, angry tears blurring her features. “Don’t you have a child too? A daughter?”

All eyes turned to you, the dorm falling impossibly silent. This couldn’t be happening. Your whole world was collapsing, right in front of your eyes. Your arm reached outwards in attempts to grab onto something, anything, that could ground you. A warm hand enveloped yours immediately. You latched onto it, squeezing tightly. Something deep inside of you knew that you should look tear your eyes from the screen, but you for some twisted reason, you couldn’t. You needed to know more. You needed to know why.

Your father stopped struggling, finally allowing the heros to usher him into a police car. 

“So?” Your father shrugged. His posture suddenly looked eerily calm and nonchalant, but his eyes remained dark. Frenzied, yet disturbedly content. He looked stared right into the camera. At you. “Why would I care? I never considered her to be my daughter anyways.”

Those words were all it took to send you spiraling. The walls closed in on you, trapping you, until suddenly, it was impossible to breathe. Your whole life was a lie. The person you had always looked up to in life, the person responsible for your existence, had just revealed that he never truly cared if you existed. You thought back to your childhood. He had taught you how to ride a bike, how to cook chicken marsala, how to use your powers for good. He had been your sole role model, had shaped you into the person you were today, and now he was-

Happy are those who dream dreams and are ready to pay the price to make them come true.

Your dad’s life motto rang in your mind unbidden, yet it no longer sounded like encouragement. It sounded like a threat. 

Are you happy? You wanted to ask him. Was the price worth it? Was betaying me, betraying the world worth it? Even though the questions screamed inside your head, you knew you didn’t want to hear their answers. A part of you knew what his response would be and hated it. 

“It’s a trick.” You whispered, still in denial. A tear tricked down your cheek; you barely felt it. Your voice grew louder, more insistent. 

“They’re lying. They have to be lying!” The words rang in the room, sharp and empty. A gust of wind rushed surrounded you as your face twisted with fury. Your classmates stared back at you, speechless. You had always been the calm and collected one, the one to rein Bakugou in whenever he exploded. But the roles had suddenly reversed, and suddenly you were the one bubbling over, about to explode. They had never seen you like this before - all seething, abrasive, aggressive. Even you had never felt this way before. 

“It’s really a shame,” Mineta was the first to speak up. “that your father is a criminal. I mean, you’d think even criminals love their daughters-”

Before anyone could even blink, you were across the room, slamming Mineta hard against the wall. 

“Say it again.” You growled dangerously, hands wrapped around his throat. A couple classmates tried to intervene, only to be blown back by a harsh gust of wind. 

“It’s a pity. You’re so pretty, but I guess even you have violent tendencies.” Mineta sneered, wheezing when you tightened your grip around his neck. “It makes sense though. Like father, like daughter. ” 

His words crawled along your skin and you instantly dropped him. He spluttered, leering as you backed away. All your life, you had been proud to be called your father’s daughter. But now, you felt nothing but a wave of shame and disgust. You looked up at your classmates. They all stared back with stiff postures and raised defenses. As if they too, thought that you would become a Villain. Blinking back tears, you did the only thing you could do. You ran.

You ran until your lungs nearly gave out, until nausea overwhelmed you. Gripping the edges of a nearby trash can, you emptied out all of the contents of today’s lunch. Your body trembled as you fell to the floor, pulling your knees in. The sound of stomping echoed in the halls, loud and harsh. Bakugou. Your stomach churned; he was the last person you wanted to see.

“Go away.” You growled, torn between wanting to be left alone and being too drained to run away. He ignored you, like he usually did, but this time it made you furious. Why couldn’t he just listen to you, just take you seriously for once? 

“I told you to go away Bakugou Katsuki!” The words were icy cold and you heard the stomping pause for a moment. All your life, even when you both got into disagreements, you had never once called him by his full name before. Yet for some reason, you couldn’t let him see you like this - embarassingly weak and pathetic. 

“What are you, my mother?” He retorted. The footsteps continued again, until he was soon towering over you. “Don’t call me that - shit’s weird.” 

“I mean it.” Your words were coated with venom. You refused to look at him. “Leave me alone.”

Bakugou ignored you again, choosing instead to take a seat next to you. 

“When have I ever listened to you?” He scoffed. “Don’t expect me to start now.” 

You didn’t reply, curling deeper into a ball instead. The two of you sat in silence for several moments. The longer you sat, the more it all sank in. Your whole life had been a sick and twisted lie - how could you even start to separate the fiction from reality? Your breathing started to grow more ragged as you spiraled further, your throat tightening. You watched as your vision grew more and more blurry, until a choked sob ripped free from your chest. Hiding your head in your knees, you finally let the tears pour down your cheeks, let your shoulders shake from the sobs. 

You felt a hand grab yours, the same hand that had wrapped around yours earlier in the dorms. Bakugou silently pulled you towards him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders in a tentative hug. Immediately you burrowed yourself into his broad chest, finding comfort in the way he held you closer to him, as if his arms could protect you from reality. 

“I don’t even know,” You murmured, breath hitching. “what to believe anymore. If he raised me to be like him, then maybe I’m-” A villain too. You swallowed the words back into your throat, but they still hung in the air, unspoken. Another sob wracked through your chest, causing Bakugou’s grip on you to tighten. You stayed like that for a while, seconds passing into minutes. As the blonde boy tentatively rubbed soothing circles into your back, you couldn’t help the incredulous laugh bubbling alongside your sobs - Bakugou being calm and soothing? Your life was definitely falling apart. 

“Don’t be an idiot. You’re obviously not a villain.” He spoke with absolute certainty, as if he was merely stating a fact, like how the sky was blue or the grass green.

“You can’t know that.” You murmured, remembering the way you had nearly strangled Mineta, the way your classmates had all stared at you afterwards. “Mineta-”

“Is taken care of.” Bakugou’s chest rumbled as he cut you off, tone menacing. “He’ll no longer have the audacity to look at you, let alone even speak to you. Neither will the others. I’ve made damn sure of it myself.”

Warmth spread throughout your stomach, rising up into your chest and onto your cheeks. You hid your flushed face further into his shirt. You opened your mouth to protest-

“Don’t even start sunshine.” Bakugou interjected, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You were upset and Mineta had a shitty attitude. If anything, he deserved it.” 

You let out a watery chuckle. Only Bakugou would justify nearly strangling someone. As if sensing your upcoming retort, he spoke again. 

“You didn’t hurt anyone. And you never will because…” He paused, eyes trained at the wall above your head. The following words sounded like they were being ripped from him against his will. “you’re one of the good ones, alright? Why else would I spend so much time with you? It’d be embarassing, ya know?”

You understood what he was trying to say. Bakugou always needed the best of the best, in every aspect. Which meant that whatever he chose to do or whoever he chose to spend time with, all of it had to be good. The best, in every sense of the word. After all, it’d be embarassing to him if it wasn’t. He’d view it as an unforgiveable slight towards his perfectionistic tendencies. 

“Thank you Katsu.” You breathed in deeply, his signature smell of ashy caramel and fresh pine filling your nose, relaxing your limbs. You weren’t quite sure how you had gotten here, how you had somehow managed to slip in between the cracks of his impossibly high standards. You certainly didn’t feel like the best and you weren’t even sure if you believed his words, but they somehow still brought you comfort. At least you knew that someone in your life was raw and real. It had always been that way with Bakugou - what you saw was what you got. 

"It’s nothing.” He huffed, but you caught a hint of a smile on his lips. Moving his hands upwards, he started playing with your hair, his touch oddly gentle. 

It wasn’t nothing, but you didn’t have the strength to argue. Instead, you silently accepted the bottle of water he was offering to you. After muttering a soft thanks, you allowed the liquid to coat your dry tongue while matching the sounds of his even breathing with your own. And as the two of you sat in comfortable silence, you felt something in the air shift. For the first time, you noticed the fluttering in your stomach; the racing of your heart. You wondered if Bakugou felt it too.

The blonde boy eyed the window, watching as the rain started to pour down, droplets splattering across the glass. The sound was soothing, melding perfectly with the melody of our matched breaths. 

“I like the rain.” You said, tilting your face slightly toward the window. 

He snorted. “Of course you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You like everything.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s annoying.”

“Not everything.” You protested, shifting your body.

“Well, you like me.” He joked, all bravado. You stilled. One moment passed, then two. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Bakugou paused. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was flustered. A faint crackling pop echoed in the hallway. “I only meant who wouldn’t like m-”

“I do.” The confession blurts out of your mouth before you can even think. “Like you I mean.”

Maybe your defenses were lowered because of the constant crying. Or maybe it was because of the way he was gazing at you now - like you were something precious, something so beautiful that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, even for a second. 

“Took you long enough to catch on.” He swallowed, nonchalance forced into his voice. Another pop echoed in the hall. You stifled a grin as he forcefully stuffed his sparking palms into his pockets to hide them. A moment passed before your eyes widened as you connected the dots.

“For how long?” You breathed, voice catching in your throat.

“Too long.” He said gruffly, keeping it vague. “A snail moves at a faster pace than you.”

A laugh made it’s way out of your throat. “You could’ve said something!”

“That’s lame,” He huffed. “and you know it. But since we’re already on this topic, Deku better stay the hell away from you now that-”

You kissed the edge of his lips, partly to shut him up and partly because you could. He instantly froze, a shade of red rising up his neck. 

“If you’re gonna do that.” He whispered, the sound deep and husky. “Then do it right.”

He yanked you towards him, the move rugged and harsh, pulling your mouths together. Kissing him was like a smoldering fire - hot, burning, and intense. His arms pulled you closer, and you wanted more of this, more of him. He kissed you like a starving man tasting bread for the first time, and when you pulled away, he groaned reluctantly, chest gasping for air. You caught his gaze and held it, a brief moment of understanding passing between the two of you. And for the first time, you knew that despite everything, you were going to be okay.

A smile crept it’s way onto your face, the way it always tended to whenever Bakugou was present. In your head, you found yourself unconsciously amending the list of things you had learned about Bakugou over the years: 

Bakugou Katsuki had a temper like a firework - explosive, loud, and colorful. But when the time called for it, he could also be gentle, quiet, and fiercely protective. 

Although his bark was somehow worse than his bite, when it came to you, he had no problems following through with his bite. After all, he was an excellent kisser. 

No matter how grumpy he was, you couldn’t stop smiling around him. You still weren’t quite sure why yet, but you did know one thing for certain. 

Through thick and thin, through the lies and the villains, Bakugou Katuski would always be there for you. He might be abrasive and biting. He might be aggressive and impulsive. But he was also solid and real. He was true to his word and below all those layers, he was inconceivably, irrevocably good. And of course, most importantly - he was most definitely all yours. 

[gothsoyl]

"my little kitten" (18+) agatha harkness x reader word count: 1208 summary: you're her familiar. and what good familiars do when their mistress is tired? warnings: cursing, reader is giving, dom!agatha note: no thoughts

you've been agatha's familiar for as long as you can remember. you had doubts whether you were even there before agatha summoned you. you just appeared in front of her in the form of a black cat and that's how all your memories began.

you followed her closely, listened attentively to her sarcastic monologues and quietly watched her steal powers from witches. you barely moved your tail when she stepped over lifeless bodies and said something to them if they could understand her. it was always such a strange phrase that if someone else had said it, it would’ve looked as awkward as possible. but agatha always managed to broadcast without any awkwardness, and it didn't matter whether she was serious or did it just for fun. 

“how exhausting it all is,” she sits down in an armchair and closes her eyes, a heavy sigh escapes her lips, which sounded so theatrical, “it's hard to be the greatest witch, isn't it?”

you’re silent – you sit on the floor in front of her and only tilt your head slightly to the side, carefully watching her actions. she looks tired today, even more than usual, and the sarcasm that leaves her mouth doesn’t seem familiar.

“this silence annoys me,” she whispers softly and looks around the room as if hoping to hear at least someone's voice, but nothing in response, as always, “come here.”

you lower your gaze and twitch your ear, as if you're thinking about something, but it all stays in your mind. you get up from your seat and take a step towards her – the next moment she clicks her fingers loudly, once again turning you into a human being.

you stop and already want to reach for the blanket on the couch to cover your sudden nakedness, but she shakes her head, beckoning you to her.

“I'm tired,” she says with a small grin and you immediately understand what she's getting at. her voice is firm, leaving no room for questions “you'll get dressed later.”

“as you wish, my witch,” you nod, the corners of your lips lift slightly. you could never refuse her, and you didn't want to. what's the point if everything was fine with you?

you approach her slowly and kneels in front of her. agatha spreads her legs automatically, giving you more space and you involuntarily lick your lower lip under her attentive gaze. your hands slide up her waist to the buttons of her shirt, unbuttoning slowly, as if testing her patience, to which she just shakes her head.

“teaser,” she whispers when you take off her shirt. your lips immediately find her collarbone, gently kissing and going down to her bra, which she helps you take off so that you don't get too distracted from your direct duties.

the bra falls to the floor and you pull away from her hot skin for a couple of seconds, examining her plump breasts, as if for the first time. and who wouldn't want to prolong such a pleasure? 

you lick your lips again and take her nipple in your mouth, greedily sucking and nibbling. agatha's soft sighs reach your ears that make your own stomach flips in warmth. the witch immediately sinks to the back of the chair and tilts her head back. you know she's pleased. you had a long time to understand how to work so that your mistress can relax.

you pull away again just to do the same with her other breast – you want to feel her nipple harden under your tongue, you want to feel her chest rise while you work so hard.

it's already difficult for you to delay pleasure and act slowly. your hands go under her skirt and you feel the waistband of her panties, immediately pulling them down. agatha spreads her legs even wider and moans faintly when your fingers touch her clit.

“you're wet,” you notice with a grin and shove your fingers between her folds, feeling how they pass through her crotch right to her entrance without any problems, “are you so tired, mistress?”

“one more word and you'll become a cat,” she grumbles, but it's enough for you to bite your tongue and continue to take her nipple in your mouth. 

the last thing you wanted was to watch from the sidelines as agatha relaxes herself on her own. It was annoying, infuriating, and made you feel unnecessary. but agatha needed you, didn't she?

you frown a little at her threat – you want to do something, you want to show her that you’re brave enough to do something she wouldn’t like, but you’re not. you slowly push your finger inside of her, feeling her walls envelop it, and her body tenses for a moment, just to relax finally. you swallow and carefully begin to move inside her, pushing further and deeper, your lips moving to her neck, leaving barely noticeable hickeys. you know she'll be mad at you later, but right now all you want to do is feel like she's really yours.

agatha breathes heavily, her hand strokes your back roughly and she whispers words of praise to you, forcing you to add another finger, and the rhythm becomes faster. you can feel her back arching and she instinctively moves her hips towards you.

“you feel so good, mistress”, you feel so needy of her as you whisper it, but you can’t hold back even after she threatens you. 

“be quite for me,” she groans and grabs your chin with her free hand and pulls you closer. she kisses you greedily, scratching your lips with her teeth, and her tongue intertwines with yours. you don't even notice how you start moaning into her lips, as if her long fingers are stretching you now, and not the other way around.

she abruptly pushes you away from her and nods down, her cheeks are red, and her breath is knocked out when she whispers “down", and you don't ask questions. you nod intensely, lower yourself down, leaving ragged kisses on her stomach when you drastically and even nervously lift her skirt even higher.

a strangled moan escapes from her lips when you finally bury yourself in her crotch, your tongue quickly caresses her clit and you feel her salty juice remaining on your chin. 

“bitch,” she hisses through her teeth and you start to work faster with your tongue, feeling her body begin to tremble. she grabs you by the hair with force and pulls you closer to her, “don’t you dare to stop…”

and then you feel how she starts to tremble, and her nails scratch your scalp, forcing you to squint in pain. a hoarse moan fills the room as she bites her lip and you feel like you get dizzy, but it feels so good to the point where you can’t stop. she's panting heavily while you keep kissing her clit, your hands caress her thighs, scratching her pale skin slightly.

“my little kitten...” she finally says with some strange warmth and pats you on the head. you slowly pull away from her, her sly gaze is still fixed on you and she casually wipes your chin from her sticky juice, “what would I do without you, huh?”

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! I'm back with another au! Enjoy! :)

This au picks up at the battle of Camlann, where Morgana uses a spell to deactivate Merlin's aging spell. All of Camelot's forces look on in horror as the old sorcerer on the ridge turns out to be Merlin. Merlin himself looks devastated by this.

Morgana then begins goading Merlin by loudly revealing all his secrets to Arthur, Gwen, and all the knights on the battlefield, intending to make sure that he could never return to Camelot. She reveals that he is Emrys, all-powerful, magic incarnate, the son of the Triple Goddess, and a god of the Old Religion in human form. He is the the most feared creature in all of Camelot, and they never even knew it.

Merlin, enraged by this, viciously fights Morgana with his magic. Mordred abandons his goal of battling Arthur to rush over to Morgana's side, trying to defend her from Emrys's wrath.

Merlin, still carving a path of destruction and death through the battlefield, doesn't hesitate to strike Mordred down with lightning. While Morgana was too busy being stunned and horrified by what just happened, Merlin takes Mordred's fallen dragon-forged blade and runs Morgana through with it, ending her for good.

The remaining soldiers in Morgana's Saxon army, now decimated and seeing that their leader is dead, killed by a force far more powerful than she herself, turn around and flee, desperate to avoid being slaughtered at the hands of a god.

With the Saxons gone, the battlefield of Camlann goes quiet, with the only sounds being the quiet whistling of the wind blowing through the valley. Camelot's knights are frozen in fear and shock, looking at Arthur for guidance for what to do next.

However, Arthur himself is frozen still too, unable to tear his eyes away from Merlin, the man who he trusted more than anyone, who was never even a man to begin with. His manservant, who was secretly a god the entire time!

But Merlin has his back turned to Arthur, and is simply gazing out into the distance. He turns around though, and he meets Arthur's eyes for a split second, before vanishing into thin air.

A second later, Arthur could swear that he heard Merlin's voice whisper along with the wind, "I'm sorry."

Staring out across the now empty battlefield, Arthur had no choice but to shakily order the knights to pack up and return to Camelot. There was nothing left for them here.

They returned to camp and started the journey back to Camelot in silence, everyone's minds reeling from what had just happened. The sudden revelation of Merlin's true nature had left Arthur, Gwen, and the knights terrified and unsure of everything.

Once back in the safety of Camelot, Arthur has a huge breakdown, wondering how the hell he's even alive if the man he's bossed around for the past ten years was actually capable of brutally destroying an entire army with a wave of his hand the entire time. How had he survived if he had been humiliating a god every day for years, a god whose followers had been slaughtered by his hand!

Their return to Camelot had been stressful to say the least, all of them on edge despite their victory. Yes, Merlin Emrys had ensured their victory, but who knew what plans the god had for Camelot now that his true nature was revealed?! What revenge would he enact on the kingdom responsible for the purge?!

These thoughts haunted Arthur even as he returned to his chambers, changed himself into his nightclothes (and ignoring the fact that the god of magic had been dressing him for the past decade), and fell into a fitful sleep.

Arthur was shocked and terrified when, in the morning, he was awoken with a very familiar "Rise and shine, dollophead! You have a full schedule today!"

His heart stuttered with terror as his eyes shot open and beheld the sight of Merlin, smiling and looking as he always did, as if nothing had changed. His heart pounded with sudden fear as he leapt out of bed, scrambling for something, anything to defend himself with against the man who had once been his closest friend. But, Arthur's mind hissed at him, what good would any sword do against a god?! He was as good as dead already!

Merlin Emrys, to Arthur's shock, didn't even bat an eye at Arthur pulling a blade on him and set the tray full of breakfast on the table, completely unphased.

"Come on, we don't have time for this, Arthur! Just sit down and eat your breakfast while I pick out your clothes for the day."

Arthur's however, didn't move from his place against the wall. Did he really think Arthur was stupid enough to fall for something like that?

Well, Arthur's mind hissed again, you were stupid enough to mistake a god for an manservant for ten years.

Emrys simply rolled his eyes, his impatience now showing, and Arthur braced himself to be hit with the full force of divine wrath.

Something in the air shifted, and Arthur suddenly found himself sitting at the table without having moved a muscle, with the breakfast tray in front of him.

"There we go! Now, please hurry up and eat. I didn't even steal one of your sausages this time! So, for today, do you want to wear your training gambeson or your more formal set?"

Arthur said nothing in response, too busy staring, petrified by fear and bewildered beyond words, at the god of magic lay out his clothes for the day.

The rest of the day goes on like this, with Merlin pretending like everything's normal while Arthur, and everyone else in the castle, is completely terrified by Merlin's presence alone. But, they can't really make him to leave.

Knights who draw their swords at the sight of Merlin find that their blades turn to dust as soon as he looks at them. The servants who see him, who have no doubt heard the disturbing news about his true nature as Emrys, scream in terror and run away at the sight of him.

Even Guinevere, who was sitting on her throne next to Arthur when she saw Merlin out of the corner of her eye, holding a pitcher of watered down wine like it was an ordinary day, tensed up with fright, her hands gripping the arms of her throne and her breathing picking up as her mind replayed memories of Merlin, her dearest friend, raining death down upon Camlann.

Eventually, Arthur gathers enough courage to ask Merlin why he's still here, what he wants from Camelot, and what it will take to have him spare Arthur's people.

And Merlin's response is to simply smile and tell Arthur that he will not leave. He is Arthur's servant, and there's nothing Arthur can do about that other than accept it.

TL;DR:

Arthur, fearing for his entire kingdom: Please, Emrys, just tell me what you want! I'm sorry about treating you like a servant! I'll do anything, just please spare my people!

Merlin, doing laundry and desperate to avoid his life changing in any way: I'm :) your :) servant :)

[at0m-b0mb-baby]

The unspoken truth

viktor x mage!reader

| part of a series, angsty in this chapter but it will get better I promise

re-uploaded

part 2: (wip)

2.5k words

The dim glow of Hextech light flickered in Viktor’s workshop, painting the room in a soft, golden hue. You leaned against a workbench piled with scattered blueprints and tools, your gaze fixed on Viktor as he moved through the space. His cane tapped against the floor in an uneven rhythm, the sound mingling with the faint hum of machinery.

It was always mesmerizing to watch him work. His hands were steady and precise, moving with an almost mechanical efficiency. But tonight, something was different.

He seemed distracted.

You noticed the way his fingers lingered too long on the edges of the device he was repairing. The subtle tension in his shoulders. The way his eyes flicked toward you every few minutes, only to dart back to his work when he caught you looking.

“Viktor?” you asked gently, breaking the silence.

He froze for a moment, his back to you. Then, he sighed and set the tool in his hand down with more care than usual. When he turned, his amber eyes met yours, and you could see the hesitation in them—a rare sight. Viktor was a man of conviction, always sure of his thoughts, his words, his actions. But now, he looked… uncertain.

“Miláček,” he said softly, his voice laced with his thick accent, though it lacked its usual confidence. “There is something I must tell you.”

The way he said it made your heart tighten. You straightened, a faint hum of wild magic stirring under your skin in response to the unease settling in your chest. “What is it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitated again, his fingers curling around the head of his cane for support. “It is… difficult to say,” he admitted, his brows furrowing deeply. “But I have waited long enough. I owe you the truth.”

Your stomach churned, but you nodded, urging him to continue.

He exhaled sharply, like a man prepared to be shot. “I am dying.”

The words hit you like a physical force, stealing the breath from your lungs. For a moment, you could only stare at him, waiting for some sign that he was joking, that this was some cruel misunderstanding. But Viktor didn’t look away. He held your gaze, his expression resigned and heavy with the weight of his admission.

“No…” you breathed, shaking your head. “No… you can’t you’re not-” She couldn’t even get her words out properly a stammering and stuttering mess.

“I am.” His voice was quiet, but firm. He reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “I have known for some time. My condition… It has progressed beyond what science can repair.”

Tears stung your eyes as his words sunk in. You grabbed his hand, gripping it like he’s going to fade away, as. “Viktor,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

His gaze softened, and for the first time, you saw something you almost never saw in him—fear. “Because I did not want to burden you,” he admitted. “You are… everything to me. The thought of leaving you-” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I could not bear with it.”

“Well, too late for that!” you snapped, though your voice cracked with emotion. “Viktor, you’re the one who’s dying, and you were worried about me? And please… please don’t call yourself a burden, you are nothing of the sort!.”

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a faint, bittersweet smile. “Yes,” he said simply.

The raw honesty of his answer left you momentarily speechless.

But then, something shifted inside youaa surge of determination that burned hot and wild, like the magic in your veins. You stood straighter, letting go of his hand to wipe at your tears. “No,” you said firmly. “This isn’t over. I won’t let you just-just give up!”

His brow furrowed. “This is not something you can fix, miláček.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” you shot back. “If science can’t save you, then I’ll find something that can. Magic. I have read about ancient mages that can heal sickness. If they can do it, I can learn.”

He shook his head, his expression pained. “You cannot fix everything with magic, my love.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted. “But I can still try even if it’s the death of me.”

The next day, you ventured onward. Your path was set, even as doubt gnawed at you. If there was even the faintest hope of saving Viktor, you had to try. The thought of him—his soft voice calling you sweet names, his careful hands brushing yours in quiet moments, his unyielding determination to improve the world gave you the strength to leave. But it didn’t silence the fear that churned in your chest.

The ship was weathered and cramped, its crew brusque and disinterested in your presence. They ushered you into a small cabin that smelled of salt and mildew, barely large enough to hold the narrow bed and a rickety table pushed against the wall. The grime-streaked window offered little light, and the faint creak of the ship settling in the water was the only sound.

You dropped your bag onto the bed, your shoulders heavy. Your eyes caught on a small vase atop the table, holding what might once have been a bouquet of flowers. Their petals hung lifeless, browned and curled, the stems brittle and drooping over the rim.

Something about their frailty twisted in your chest.

You reached out, brushing a withered petal with your fingertips. It crumbled under your touch, scattering into tiny flakes.

Without thinking, your magic stirred. Purple light glimmered faintly around your hand, the energy coiling through your fingers like smoke. It flowed into the flowers, weaving through the decay and coaxing it away.

In moments, the transformation was complete. The bouquet stood tall and vibrant once more, soft pink peonies blooming as if they had just been plucked from a garden. The sight was beautiful, almost painfully so.

For a brief moment, you smiled. But the smile faltered as reality crashed back over you.

Your hand hovered above the flowers, trembling. “I can heal this,” you murmured, your voice shaking. “I can heal flowers. I can mend scratches and cuts. I can close wounds.”

The words grew louder, tumbling from your lips faster than you could stop them.

“But I can’t fix him!”

The last word broke into a sob. You stumbled back, your knees hitting the edge of the bed as your breathing hitched. Tears blurred your vision as you pressed your hands to your face.

“Why? Why can’t I fix him?”

The question echoed in your mind, over and over, growing louder with each repetition. Your breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps, your chest heaving as the room seemed to tilt and blur around you.

Your magic flared uncontrollably, sparking from your fingers and racing through the air like wild lightning. The ship groaned beneath you, the wood trembling as though responding to your anguish. The table rattled, its legs scraping against the floor, and the window shattered outward with a deafening crash.

“Stop,” you whispered, clutching your head as the sound of your own voice became too much. “Stop. Stop. Stop!”

But it wouldn’t stop. The pressure in your chest built until it felt like you couldn’t breathe, the air clawing at your lungs but refusing to fill them. Your hands trembled violently, and your magic surged, making the room ripple with an unnatural hum.

“I can’t, I-….” you choked out, the words barely audible. “I can’t do this!”

Your breath came in short, desperate gasps, each one cutting through you like a knife. The pounding of your heartbeat filled your ears, drowning out the creaks and groans of the ship.

You curled into yourself, pulling your knees to your chest and pressing your forehead against them. “Please,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure who you were begging—yourself, the universe, or some unknown force that might be listening. “Please, just let me breathe.”

The ship rocked violently beneath you, the waves slamming against its hull as if matching the storm inside you.

And then, finally, it stopped.

Your magic fizzled out, the purple light dissipating into nothingness. The shaking ceased, leaving the room eerily still. Shards of glass glittered on the floor, reflecting the dim light from the broken window.

You forced yourself to breathe—slow, measured breaths that felt like they scraped against raw wounds. The air was too thick, too heavy, but you forced it into your lungs anyway.

Tears still streamed down your face as you stared at the shattered window, the bouquet of flowers untouched amidst the wreckage.

“What good is this magic?” you whispered hoarsely, your voice shaking. “What good is it if I can’t save him?”

The words echoed in the silence, their weight sinking into your chest.

You crawled into the bed, wrapping your arms around yourself into a fetal position as the exhaustion of the day finally caught up with you. The sound of the waves outside lulled you into an uneasy sleep, but even in your dreams, the pain of your helplessness lingered.

[schemmentigfs]

Sweetening The Deal. (part 6.)

Summary: Things between you and Melissa are working out on their own complicated way. And you start to feel comfortable with your new life while questioning if the redhead really cares about you.

tags: @lifeismomentsyoucannotunderstand @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @greencurlyhair @dopenightmaretyphoon @schmentisgf @pitstopsapphic @jeridandridge @aliensuperst4rr

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5.

Melissa’s green eyes were fixated on you, a flicker of mischief dancing behind them as she studied your every movement. The intensity of her gaze was enough to make your heart race, a rush of warmth flooding through your chest. There was a quiet power in those eyes, a hypnotic pull that made the air around you heavy. A depth you could never quite comprehend, but it made you crave her in ways you didn’t think it was possible.

She wasn’t just looking at you; she was seeing you, all the parts of you that you never let anyone else touch. And in that moment, you realized she could always read you, knew exactly what was going on inside your head without a word from you. It was both comforting and terrifying in equal measure.

“You’re too quiet, baby,” the redhead murmured, her thumb brushing over the sensitive skin of your mound before pitching gently, making you flinch and moan in response. “What’s going on? Did Mommy left you speechless?”

The way she said everything was soft, different from the teasing and raw degradation that you grow used to and learned to enjoy it. But there was an edge to it—an urgency that tugged at something deep inside you. You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. Your mouth was dry, and you couldn’t seem to form the words that were desperate to escape.

The truth was still clawing at you, fighting to be heard. It wasn’t just about the way she touched you, or how her presence made everything else fade into the background. It was bigger than that. Melissa had become everything to you. She wasn’t just your sugar mommy anymore—she was your world, anchor, everything to you. And the realization hit you like a wave again, crashing over you, pulling you under before you even knew what was happening.

But you couldn’t say it to the older woman about your true feelings, not yet. Not when you were so wrapped up in her touch, in the way her eyes held you captive, in the way she made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered. You couldn’t say it because it felt too real, too raw. Too dangerous.

You wanted to say it. God, how badly you wanted to say it. The words bubbled up in your throat, desperate to escape, to make themselves known to the one person who despite the conditions—made everything feel like it had meaning again. But every time you opened your mouth, they got stuck. You couldn’t do it. No. Not now.

Not when you were so consumed by her touch—the way her fingers brushed against your skin with a tenderness that left you breathless. The way her lips found yours moments earlier with quite intensity, her kisses both soft and demanding all at once. The way her eyes, those deep, searching eyes, seemed to hold you captive, drawing you in with every lingering glance.

The redhead had no idea of the depth of your feelings, of course. She had no idea how deeply you felt, how you burned for her in a way that scared you. She didn’t know that when she smiled at you, when she laughed, or when she looked at you with that unspoken understanding in her gaze, you were drowning in a sea of emotion you didn’t know how to navigate.

It wasn’t just the physical connection that had you tangled up. No. It was the way Melissa made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered. It was the way her presence filled the space around you, making everything else fade into the background. It was the way she made you feel safe—vulnerable, even—but safe.

But how could you tell her? How could you admit to the intensity of what was growing inside of you when you weren’t even sure if she felt the same way?

Hell, you weren’t even sure if she saw you as anything more than a passing sugar baby, a warm body to fill her loneliness and blow off some steam when she needed it. The uncertainty gnawed at you like a hunger you couldn’t satisfy. You wondered—did she use you? Was this just another game to her, another brief entanglement to pass the time until she moved on to someone else? You had no way of knowing. She had never given you any reason to think otherwise, but the thought lingered, uninvited and persistent.

Sometimes you thought she might be just playing with you—testing boundaries, seeing how much you’d let her get away with. The Schemmenti woman wasn’t cruel, but she was careful, and her intentions remained shrouded in mystery. You couldn’t read her the way she seemed to read you, and that left you with an unsettling sense of insecurity. The fear that you were only a toy in her hands, a distraction when she needed one, and nothing more.

You promised to yourself that you would never ask. You would never confront her, never would ask for more that you were receiving because you were too terrified of the answer. Terrified of what it would mean if she told you that all of this—that connection, that spark, those moments that felt so real—was just something fleeting, a brief affair in the grand scheme of things.

Although, you couldn’t help but wish, just for a second, that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to this. That Melissa Schemmenti wasn’t just using you, that you meant something to her the way she meant everything to you.

The fear of the unknown gripped you, but the desire to be with her—to be more to her than a sugar baby—was stronger than the silence that kept you from speaking your truth. So you held it in, buried it deep where it couldn’t escape. Not yet. Not until you were sure she felt the same.

Because if you said it now, if you told her how much you needed her, how much you liked her, you might just break your own heart. The thoughts raced through your mind, a jumble of confusion, fear, and longing. Could you let yourself be vulnerable like this? Could you trust her with all the pieces of your heart you were so desperate to give, but terrified to lose?

But just as the question swirled in your head, you felt her right hand—warm, sure, and gentle—glide over your back, her fingers brushing the hooks of your purple lacy bra from the lingerie she bought you with an almost practiced ease. A shiver ran down your spine as her touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, the sensation so intimate that it knocked every stray thought from your mind.

You hadn't even realized how close she’d gotten, how her arm stretched and reached towards your chest and squeezed your sensitive breasts, making your pink nipples harden at the contact.

“Fuck, Schemmenti,” you forced your eyes shut. You were suddenly hyper aware of every inch of her, of the way she touched the bud between her fingers, twisting and pinching.

There was no hiding from her. Not when Melissa was looking at you like this, her gaze stripping away every defense you’d ever built. Her other thumb from her left hand moved in lazy circles against your lower skin, her touch both teasing and commanding.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” she coaxed, leaning in closer until her lips brushed against your knee. “You know you can tell me anything. You’re mine now. I can feel it. Tell me, what’s going on?”

“I- nothing,” you stammered, breathing fast while covering your face with sweaty hands. “Just- keep going. Please, Mommy.”

Her green eyes locked onto yours, darker now, full of hunger. She moved lower again, her breath hot against your inner thighs. Then, with an ease that made your breath catch in your throat, she buried her face between your shaky legs that were already spread for the only Melissa Schemmenti, you couldn’t speak properly, couldn’t answer anything. Your heart thundered in your chest as her touch edged you closer to surrender. She tilted her head, auburn hair spilling over her shoulder like a cascade of silk, and lowered herself further between your thighs. Her swollen lips brushed your dripping folds as she parted them gently with her firm fingers.

You tried to form words, but all that came out was a broken stutter, your tone trembling. “M-Mel... I… I can’t… I c-can’t… I... oh, God.” The rest was lost in a breathless moan, your eyes rolling to the back of your head with the lightest touch.

“You’re drenched like a freakin’ waterfall, hun. That’s perfect ‘cause I’m ready to eat you out,” she purred, voice heavy with intent. You gasped, your body arching instinctively, craving more of her touch, craving her fingers inside you. But just as you thought you were going to lose yourself in her, just as her lips were about to press against your sweet pussy, the sound of something—or better, someone echoed through the entire room, loud and clear enough for both of you to hear.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Missy, sweetheart? It’s Pearl,” the voice of her longtime retired housekeeper and confidante echoed through the penthouse. “I need a moment of your time downstairs! It’s urgent.”

The sound reached further through the bedroom, breaking the moment entirely. You froze, heart racing in panic, your entire body tensing at the unexpected interruption. The thought of being caught in such a vulnerable position sent waves of embarrassment through you. You tried to cover yourself instinctively, pulling the blanket over your naked form as Melissa let out a frustrated curse under her breath.

The older woman gruffed, pushing herself off the messy bed with a frustrated sigh. “What the fuck,” she muttered, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. She shot you an apologetic look, but it only made you feel more exposed. Your body was still trembling from the tension, and you could feel your face flushing with embarrassment.

“W-What if she comes in?” you prompted, the words slipping out with fear and vulnerability, your pulse still racing from the sudden interruption.

Melissa, still adjusting the collar of her shirt, glared toward the closed door, her brow furrowed in irritation. “She won’t,” she muttered firmly, smoothing the fabric of her trousers. She turned back toward you, and for a brief moment, her gaze softened.

You swallowed hard, your breath shaky as you watched her pull herself together, her every movement deliberate, trying to mask the way the tension hung in the air between you two.

“You’re sure?” you asked, your voice small, almost pleading.

“Yeah,” the redhead replied, her tone much steadier now. She wasn’t looking at you as she adjusted her sleeves, but you could see her lips press into a tight line, the frustration giving way to something else—a quiet possessiveness, like she was trying to calm you without admitting how much this was bothering her. She then stopped, turning to face you directly, her posture shifting.

“I’ll be right back,” she said softly, low but confident. She took a few steps toward you, pausing right in front of where you lay.

You looked up at her, the blanket still clutched to your chest, unsure of what she was going to do next. Olive eyes locked with yours, and she lowered herself just enough to be within arm’s reach. Without breaking her gaze, she cupped your chin gently, tilting your head back a little, her fingers cool against your skin.

“Open your mouth,” she commands, but it wasn’t harsh—just quiet, almost tender.

You blinked, your heart fluttering as her gaze intensified. There was something in the way she said it that made your body obey before your mind could question it. Your lips parted, and almost immediately, you felt her finger still wet with your scent slide past them, resting lightly against the inside of your mouth.

You stared up at her and whined, your wide eyes full of that familiar mix of longing and uncertainty, the sensation of her finger so close to you filling you with both warmth and vulnerability. And you couldn’t help but suck on her digits like it was your job.

“Good girl. It looks like someone has a oral fixation, good to know,” she murmured, her thumb brushing lightly across your lower lip before she pulled away, her expression softening ever so slightly. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, her touch lingering a little longer than necessary, as if memorizing the feel of you under her fingertips.

You kept quiet, processing Melissa’s features aching adoration. She let out a breath, almost like she was trying to steady herself before turning toward the door, but not before casting one last look over her shoulder.

The moment the door clicked shut, you exhaled a shaky breath, your heart still racing as you tried to compose yourself. The silence that followed was deafening, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted—something that neither of you had fully acknowledged yet.

In the stillness of the house, you heard the faint hum of voices coming from downstairs. Melissa and Pearl. Their voices were muffled, but you could make out the tension in their tone, the words they were whispering between themselves too faint to catch, but heavy with unspoken truths. You curled further into the bed, the sheets pulling tighter around you as you pressed your face into the pillow, trying to drown out the faint sounds.

The low rumble of a car engine, starting and then fading as it pulled away from the driveway, filled the air. Your hand tightened around the blanket as reality began to settle in. Melissa was gone. She promised to you that she would be back quickly. It wasn’t just the absence of her presence in the house—it was the absence of her warmth, her voice, the life she brought.

Minutes ago. The last time you had seen her, you had been so sure that nothing would have interrupted your almost tentative of sex.

But now, it was just you. And her sudden absence felt louder than anything. Frustrating, even.

You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling as a bitter laugh escaped your lips. “Well, this is fantastic,” you muttered sarcastically to the empty room. “Who knew it could turn into this?” You buried your face in your hands, the ache in your chest growing. Your own bitterness mixed with the hollow space she left behind, and you couldn’t tell which hurt more—the nonchalant way she left, her absence or the way the world seemed to spin on without her.

You spent the next hours wandering through the redhead’s penthouse, marveling at the sheer opulence of it all. The sleek, modern furniture, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city, and the art that adorned the walls—it was all so far removed from your cramped, old dingy apartment.

Your eyes wide with awe, as your fingers brushed lightly against the polished wood and cold marble that adorned the space. The grandeur was overwhelming—a stark contrast to your own previous home, where cramped spaces and peeling wallpaper made up the bulk of your existence. The penthouse was like a dream, all glass windows that looked out over the city and surfaces that gleamed, untouched and pristine.

With a quiet sigh, you turned back to the bathroom, and that's when you noticed the tub—a massive marble thing that looked more like a small pool than anything you’d ever seen before. The sight of it made your heart flutter. You had to try it. The thought of the bubbling water pulling you in like a soothing embrace was more than enough to sway you. The whole penthouse felt like an oasis compared to the clutter and grime of your own place.

You moved closer to it, slowly running your fingers along the smooth marble edges. A bottle of champagne sat on the counter beside it, glinting in the soft light, its gold foil catching your eye like a beacon. It felt almost surreal—like something out of a movie.

You chuckled softly at yourself, half-laughing, half-giddy. The idea of indulging like this, something you’d never thought you’d do, felt like a small rebellion against everything in your life. You uncorked the champagne, the satisfying pop echoing in the bathroom. The bubbles inside danced like tiny stars, and you poured yourself a glass, the cool liquid an instant contrast to the humid heat of the water.

Slipping into the tub, the water engulfed you, its warmth wrapping around you like a blanket, relaxing every muscle in your body. You sank deeper, feeling the bubbles fizz around you, the steam rising and swirling in the air like a cloud. You took a deep breath, letting it all go, letting the warmth of the water take over and clear your mind of the mess of your life.

The glass of champagne rested comfortably in your hand as you leaned back, the tension that had built up over the past few weeks melting away. You could feel your body starting to relax—something you hadn’t been able to do for so long. You closed your eyes for a moment, imagining yourself as someone new, someone who was leaving the dirty, cramped world of your apartment behind and live like this every day. The thought made you smile.

But that smell, the scent of old clothes, garbage, and the stagnant air of your apartment, still clung to you. You could almost taste it on your tongue, but it was fading away with each passing second. Here, in the luxurious warmth of the bath, you felt different. Clean. Free.

You took another sip of champagne and sighed, your thoughts drifting, your body swaying with the ripples of the water. This moment felt so far removed from the cluttered, stale reality that awaits you.

After your bath, you padded back to the main area, more specifically on the closet, wrapping yourself in one of Melissa’s robes. The fabric was luxuriously soft against your skin, and its scent—cigarettes, expensive perfume, and something distinctly her–wrapped around you like a quiet, fleeting embrace. You buried your face in the collar, inhaling deeply, feeling a pang of longing settle heavy in your chest.

You could feel the weight of the silence in the room, the penthouse too quiet without the older woman’s presence. Unable to resist, you reached for your phone, fingers trembling slightly as you typed out a simple text.

Hey, are you okay? :(

It wasn’t long before the message buzzed back with a curt response.

Busy. Be home late.

You stared at the cold words for a moment, the disappointment settling in your gut, an unshakable knot of worry that twisted tighter with each passing second. You set the phone down, heading to her bedroom to lay on her expensive bed—not caring about going to the spare bedroom, staring at the ceiling as the hours dragged on.

Finally, the front door creaked open well after nightfall. You heard the soft thud of her heels against the marble floor and got up, the sound stopping abruptly at the doorway. The rhythm of her footsteps—always so sure, so in control—was different tonight. More tired.

When she appeared in the doorway, she looked… broken. Her green eyes were red, streaked with the traces of exhaustion and something deeper—something unspoken. Melissa Schemmenti’s usually perfect, poised demeanor was replaced with something that felt more fragile, more human. She didn’t say a word, just kicked off her heels with a quiet sigh and padded into the room.

Her movements were slow, almost languid, as she stripped off her clothes, shedding her ‘armor’ piece by piece until she was left in nothing but a simple white shirt, the fabric loose against her skin. She didn’t even bother to look at you as or question about you being there without permission as she climbed into the bed.

The moment her cigarette touched her red lips and the first drag of smoke slid from between them, you could feel the tension in the air. It was as though she was trying to calm something inside her, and yet, it only made her seem more distant.

Still, the urge to be near Melissa was undeniable. You crossed the room with quiet steps, your heart racing, and sat beside her on the bed. You didn’t speak, unsure what to say, what to do. The silence between you was thick, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. It felt… like a shared space of unvoiced understanding.

Melissa didn’t look at you, but after a long moment, her hand reached out—her fingers brushing against your wrist before wrapping gently around it. The gesture was so tender, so soft, that it sent a shiver down your soul.

Without saying anything, she pulled you down, guiding you to rest your head against her chest, the warmth of her body seeping into yours. You could hear her heartbeat, erratic at first, but gradually steadying as you settled into the crook of her shoulder. The heat of her skin, the softness of her shirt against your cheek—it was like being wrapped in a sanctuary.

The Italian redhead still didn’t speak, but her other hand came up to cradle your head, her fingers threading gently through your hair. You pressed a kiss to the side of her chest, right over her heart. The cigarette smoke lingered in the air, but it was no longer the thing that filled your senses. It was the warmth of her, the rise and fall of her breath, and the quiet, steady rhythm beneath your ear.

“Stay with me tonight. We talk more in the morning,” she whispered, barely above a breath. The words held so much weight, an invitation wrapped in vulnerability, as though she needed you more than she was willing to admit.

“Okay,” you nodded without hesitation, your lips brushing against her skin, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke all the things you couldn’t put into words.

Her arms tightened around you then, pulling you closer, her body against yours, as if she feared you might slip away if she let go. There was a tension in her, something coiled tight beneath the surface, but the longer you stayed there, the more it unraveled. She breathed in, deeply, and then out again, and you felt her begin to relax. The weight of her exhaustion settled deeper, her movements slowing until they stilled entirely.

You pressed another kiss to Melissa’s chest, lingering there, your lips warm against her skin, feeling the subtle shift of her breath as she started to drift. Her body melted into the bed, her grip on you loosening, and the space between you felt infinite—no longer heavy with the unspoken words of the night, but soft with the weight of shared silence.

Her breathing became slower, more even, and you knew that she was falling asleep, her body surrendering to the warmth and comfort of your touch.

You stayed there for a while, watching the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the steady rhythm that grounded you both. Your fingers lightly traced the outline of her shirt, brushing against her skin where it peeked out from the collar. Your lips found her chest again, a soft kiss that promised to stay as long as she needed.

And as she slept, curled around you, her warmth and presence surrounding you like a quiet haven, you knew you’d stay with her. No matter what happens.

[spookwriter-xo]

Coppélia

Chapter 7 - The Lion's Den

Chapter Summary - Y/N Is urged to meet with some of the other women involved in high society to gain some close friends and she decides to drag Mia with her. Y/N starts to realize the boys may not be as friendly as they seem.

warnings: mentions of murder, Seonghwa injures reader (MDNI)

Series Masterlist

It had been almost two weeks since I had started living with the boys. Yunho and Jongho were still pretty stand-offish, not really bothering to make conversation unless absolutely necessary. Yeosang however, had gotten better.

I figured he was shy from the start, but after I thanked him for filling my wardrobe he started asking simple questions like how my day was. It wasn't a lot, but it was progress.

Hongjoong and San had backed off a little, not actively seeking me out like the remaining three. Mingi, Seonghwa, and Wooyoung were a lot more social, Wooyoung would come and find me the second they'd come home during the workweek to tell me everything before I left for the Society, at least what he could tell me anyway.

Seonghwa's gifts hadn't stopped, however, they had broadened from simple Gardenias (Though he kept fresh ones on the dresser in my room for me). Mingi often played piano after dinner, sometimes, he'd play something from the show or past shows just to see me dance.

He always smiled so brightly when I would.

Seonghwa was the one who suggested I go to a ladies brunch over dinner. I'd glance around at the others who made no objection.

"Ladies Brunch?" I ask.

"All the women that our allies are involved with get together once a month for a ladies brunch. You should go." Seonghwa explains, bringing his fork to his mouth.

"Are there many?" I ask.

"Normally there's around 10 or 11, depending on who's available," Seonghwa says. "You could bring a friend if you like, maybe Mia?"

I nod at the mention of Mia. It would be good to see her again and catch her up on everything in person. Besides meeting other women, hopefully around my age, would probably do me some good. Maybe some of them could explain what the men actually did.

And that's why I agreed.

"You think any of them are like... Murderers?" Mia asks me as we sit in her family's limousine. "I mean, they're involved in families known to be involved in the mafia so.."

She wasn't wrong. After I had invited her, Mia had one of Marks's friends dig up some information about some of the women we'd be meeting. Jeno Lee was always pretty good at that.

Kazuko Takanashi was the fiancé to the CEO of the SVT Association, Choi Seungcheol. A large modeling and fashion company much like the one my father owned, their rival if you will. She was beautiful and worked as a model for their more expensive pieces. I assumed her husband-to-be would only allow it as such.

Park Minji was born into high society, her father running a car company. She was dating one of the leaders of SKZ Foundation, a military company, Seo Changbin. She didn't do much, but there were rumors that she was an excellent hacker.

Those were the only ones I could remember from the list, but I knew there were so many more. I recognized some of the companies, a little surprised some of them were still running.

We arrived at the club we were to meet at, one owned by the husband of one of the women we were to meet, Nari.

"Mia, don't say anything rude," I warn, getting out of the car.

"I'm not promising anything." She quips, following me.

We head inside, it's empty aside from the small group of maybe six women sitting at a long table, laughing and drinking already. I glance at Mia who looks back at me, gesturing with her head to go towards them.

I hesitate before approaching slowly. Kazuko was there, and Minji too. They looked so much friendlier in person. I clear my throat, causing one I didn't recognize to look up. She offers me a kind smile before standing.

"You must be Y/N!" She says, approaching the two of us. "And you're Mia Hua right?" Mia nods in response.

"I'm Kate. Come sit." She says, gesturing to some empty seats. "It's just us today, the others couldn't make it."

I take a seat beside Minji, her dyed blonde hair shimmering in the overhead light. Mia sits on my other side, shifting in her seat. Kate starts to introduce everyone, and my memory comes back to me; Minji, Jaehwa, Asami, Kazuko, Liv, and Kate herself. Easy enough.

I knew Asami was the oldest based on what I remembered. She was born into high society much like Minji however, she runs her own company, a tech company alongside a friend of hers, Taeyong.

Jaehwa was the younger sister of Nari, I knew she had joined the military for two years because she 'wanted to scratch an itch'. I could tell it paid off, her tan skin and muscular frame seemed oddly attractive.

Liv was a part of the TBZ Association, a law firm. I could tell she was studying me the minute I sat down, her eyes unmoving and unblinking as they stared me down. Like a predator hunting prey.

"So, ATZ Corp chose you huh?" Jaehwa asks, her voice deep. "I heard you're a dancer."

"Ballerina." I correct, noticing the quirk of Asami's eyebrow. "I'm a Ballerina for the Ballet Society."

Kazuko takes a sip of her drink. "I went to one of your shows, you're quite good." She says, glancing at me. There was something comforting about her words, yet I kept my guard up.

"What's the show?" Minji asks, her Australian accent thick.

"Coppèlia I'm pretty sure." Kazuko answers, leaning back in her seat.

"Never heard of it." Jaehwa says, elbow now propped up on the table.

I listen to the women talk. They seem friendly enough, and at least three of them are anyway. Asami looks at me before finally speaking.

"Something you wanna say?" She asks, her eyes boaring into mine. "If you have questions you can ask."

A part of me felt relieved she'd said that, opening a door for all the questions I'd had piled up to spill out. Kate gave me a reassuring look, nodding slightly for me to speak.

"I'm... It's been a long time since I've been in this life." I start. "It's all so different now.. And they guys won't tell me anything no matter how much I ask."

"It was like that for me too." Kazuko says. "I was born in the bronx. When I met Seungcheol, none of his friends or even him would tell me anything about what they did even though I grew up on the other end of it all."

I listened to her. These women had come from all different parts of society. Some are working their way up, and some are fighting to survive even now. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea.

"When Seungcheol asked me to marry him, I told him no unless he told me everything." Kazuko continues. "Eventually, he caved when he realised I was serious."

"So I threaten them?" I ask.

"Definitely don't do that!" Liv laughs, finally speaking. Her voice was sweet. Maybe she was just shy. "ATZ don't take nicely to threats."

"So what do I do?" I ask.

"Ask us." Kate says, reaching a hand over. "We won't hide anything from you."

I nod, taking a deep breath before glancing at Mia, who seems a little too invested now.

"Be honest with me. Do they hurt people?"

"Obviously, it's the mafia." Asami says. "We have to kill to keep those close to us safe. Greed is evil, and those who let it consume them will always try to take what isn't theirs."

I stare at Asami, and the bluntness in her tone causes goosebumps to coat my skin.

"The boys kill, yes, but most of the time it's business or for protection reasons. There's some corrupt companies out there, ones that kill the weak for sport. Like Belluxe." Kazuko spits, my head snaps to her hefore quickly composing myself. My fathers company? Killing for sport?

"After everything that happened with Aurora, I'm surprised they decided to let another one in." Jaehwa says, causing me to perk up at the name.

"You knew her?" I ask.

"Of course we did." Liv says, her eyes softening slightly. "I miss her sometimes... She was always a voice of reason."

"She was a fool." Asami says. "Stuck her nose in something she shouldn't have. That's what got her killed."

My blood ran cold at Asami's words. Her tone was so indifferent, like she was angry.

Aurora was killed? Because she was investigating something? But what?

"Asami!" Kate scolds.

"It's the truth!" Asami barks. "Nothing would have happened if she'd just-" Asami stops herself and lets out a sigh before standing. "Excuse me." She mutters, heading off in the direction of the bathroom.

"You'll have to excuse her." Minji says quietly to me. "She cares a lot more then she lets on."

"Aurora was killed?" Mia asks. I'd spoken to her about Aurora the night of my first day living with ATZ. She was just as curious as I was.

"She was investigating some suspicious activity even when Hongjoong told her not to." Jaehwa says. "She got too far in and ended up getting herself killed."

"What was the suspicious activity?" I ask, glancing at Kazuko.

"Do you remember the Cobra?" She asks us. Mia and I nod. The Cobra was a serial killer who caused some grief to a lot of businesses years back. He'd kill runners, undercover workers, and sometimes even leaders in gruesome ways to get his message across. His tell; all of his victims were found with poison in their system.

"But The Cobra disappeared when we were kids?" Mia questions.

"He came back. Briefly." Kate says.

"Well, there were rumours." Liv corrects. "That's what Aurora was investigating."

Aurora was trying to catch a serial killer and was killed when she got too close? Why didn't the boys tell me this? Was there more to it?

"Enough about Aurora." Jaehwa murmers as Asami returns.

The topic shifted rather quickly.

It was almost 6pm when I returned back to the estate. Seonghwa was sitting in the living room, waiting for my return.

"How was it?" He asks, not looking up from the book he was reading, Frankenstein.

"Enlightening," I answer, my tone indifferent. I was upset at them. I'd learned more from women I'd just met in a few hours than the 8 men I had been living with for almost 2 weeks.

The girls had told me all about their work, giving me some idea of what was going on in the basement as well as outside of the house that I probably would never see.

Seonghwa recognizes my tone and sighs, marking his page in his book before setting it down on the coffee table. He stands, moving in front of me now, staring down at me with a cold look.

"How much do you know?"

"Enough," I answer, staring back up at him, I hear footsteps thud to a stop behind me, whoever it was listening closely. "Funny how I can trust complete strangers more than the men I'm supposed to be with."

"If you don't trust us, why did you come back?" The voice, Hongjoong, says from behind me. I don't jump at his voice, only turning to look at him. I had nowhere else to go. The answer was as simple as that.

On the second day of my stay, I woke up to all my things from my old apartment tucked away in the corner of my room. Wooyoung had gone to collect my things and speak to my landlord that night, at least that's what he said.

"You know why," I say, my blood boiling at the teasing grin on his face. Here we go again, being laughed at. Maybe I should have stayed at Mia's tonight.

"Dinners ready!" Wooyoung calls out from the other room. "Is Y/N home?" He asks, poking his head out from behind the connecting archway.

"You could have told me she was killed." I blurt out, my gaze on Wooyoung but my words are aimed at all of them. "Did you think I couldn't handle it?" I say, looking up at Seonghwa once again.

"They told you?" Seonghwa asks, his voice low.

"Yes, because unlike you they recognize that I can handle myself." I snap, poking his chest. Big mistake. He snatches my wrist, gripping it tightly. My eyes widen and I try and pull away, Hongjoong and Wooyoung make no move to step in.

"You listen to me," Seonghwa says, his voice coming out as a growl. The gentleman I knew was long gone now. There was something sinister in his eyes as he looked down at me, the size difference suddenly feeling a lot larger the tighter he held my wrist. "You won't ask any more questions about what happened. You will not go investigating it yourself and you certainly will not ask others. That includes our housekeepers." He says quietly, his voice low and threatening.

I glance at Wooyoung, his face void of emotion as he watches from the archway. Shit.

"If I find out you have, you'll never step foot from this house ever again. Say goodbye to Mia, the Society, everything." He warns.

"Seonghwa." Hongjoong finally speaks up. Seonghwa's knuckles are white from how tightly he was gripping my wrist. "Let her go. She's gotten the hint." Hongjoong says, taking a step forward.

Seonghwa lets go and I pull back, bumping into Hongjoong. I jump away from him, backing up into the foyer. I stare back at them with wide eyes, clutching my wrist as they stare back at me. A sick feeling overcomes me as I mutter out three words before scurrying up the stairs.

"I'm not hungry."

Mingi had come upstairs to check on me a few hours later. He carried a plate of food in his hands and his expression adorned a pouty expression. Surprisingly, I let him in.

He sets the plate of food down on my dresser before taking a seat on the loveseat by the window.

"Wooyoung told us what happened." He says, holding his hand out and glancing down at my wrist. I hesitate for a moment before letting him take it. His touch was gentle as he examined the light bruise, his eyebrows furrowing. "I didn't think Seonghwa would ever hurt you.."

"Yeah, me too." I huff, looking down at the ground. "I guess I was wrong to trust you all so quickly."

"Trust is human nature, it's who we gift it to that could come with consequences." He says softly, moving his hand from my wrist and holding my hand in his. I feel some butterflies flutter in my stomach as he does. "I'll beat him up for you tomorrow if you want." He says, causing me to snort.

"There's no need." I laugh, squeezing his hand which makes his eyes sparkle. At least I still had Mingi. I let out a soft sigh, moving to sit beside him. "Why are you guys so hesitant to tell me about her?" I ask, staring at the floor.

"Some of us want to," Mingi says honestly. "But it's a sensitive topic." He adds.

"I understand that," I say. "But that doesn't mean I'm not curious. Why can't I look into her death? I know it has something to do with The Cobra." I look at him and he looks at me.

"Why do you say that like it's personal?" He asks, his deep voice breaking through the brief silence.

I hesitate again for a moment. "Because it is," I say. Maybe if I'm honest with him, he'll be honest with me. But I didn't want to tell him the whole story, it hurt too much to even think about.

Then the realization hit me.

That's why they didn't want to talk about Aurora. It was too personal. It brought feelings to the surface that they wanted to forget about. It made sense now, and a feeling of guilt settled in my stomach.

Mingi must have picked up on my conflict of emotions, as he cups my cheek to bring me back to him.

"I won't stop you from finding answers." He says softly. "But that doesn't mean the others won't try. And I can't protect you if that happens."

I nod in response. It's like he knew already, my mind went back to the night we first met. He'd known I grew up in high society, did he know what happened to Chaluai?

"Thank you," I whisper, our faces not resisting the magnetic pull.

"For what?" He murmurs, not pulling away as he glances down at my lips.

"For understanding," I say as our noses brush.

Then, our lips met. The kiss was featherlike like he was scared to hurt me any further. When we pull away, he rests his forehead on mine briefly.

"Give them time." He says softly, stroking my cheekbone with his thumb. "They'll stop taking you for granted eventually."

With that, he stands, pulling away from me slowly as if a part of him was telling him to stay.

I watch him as he heads towards the door, offering him a goodnight before he shuts the door behind him, leaving me in the silence of my thoughts once again.

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[ir-abelas-vhenan]

Something Something Yeah It's Still Solavellan Hours (Mythal is kind of here, too)

I've seen a few very beautifully articulated posts talking about the conflicted responses players are finding themselves having in regards to the decision by writers* to have Solas' atonement route possible because of his conversation with one of the remaining fragments of Mythal.

(*honestly I hesitate to put the weight of bigger game events on their shoulders because of how much I know bigger players in the company were involved, so when you read 'writers' know I just mean whoever had final say on plot)

I love reading where people are at on this, and having now breathed, re-played the scene, cried, read some more theories, and then played the scene again enough times I think I'm now able to figure out where I'm at.

TLDR: in my humble opinion, the conversation Solas has with Mythal doesn't bring him any actual closure at all. It is only the version of the atonement ending that has Lavellan in which he is actually set upon a road to redemption.

This, like everything else where I lose my mind, will be long. I tried to restrain myself and here we are, unhinged as ever.

I was unhappy at first that Mythal's incredibly brief conversation with Solas where she releases him from her service seemed to be what finally allowed him to make a decision based on his wants and not hers. My concern stemmed mostly from the fact that a lot of us are trying to be active participants in a society that recognizes patterns of abuse and seeks to establish channels through which individuals can pursue healing without the approval, consent, or demise of their abuser.

But the more I look at the scene, the more I wonder what would have happened in a world where Veilguard got just a little more time in development. Could we have gotten a scene that more elegantly conveys the theme that we cannot heal every part of our loved ones, much as we might like to?

In an imperfect world it isn't always up to us how someone finds closure, which really sucks when you'd like to ensure a loved one finds it in a way that preserves their dignity and limits exposure to the individuals who have harmed them.

And while it could be left there, I'd like to actually push back on the idea that Mythal is in any way responsible for "healing" Solas in this moment.

I went on a different tirade a few days ago about how at the end of Inquisition, Mythal says words to Solas that on their surface seem well-intentioned or placating, but they actually just serve to further bind him in guilt and a position of servitude. In Veilguard's finale, she still does not take accountability for exactly how much of a role she played in the pain that Solas, a man others have revered and feared as a god, has gone through as he cowers, actually cowers before her.

Mythal's interaction with Solas conveys exactly two things to him as far as I am concerned (I'm going to botch these quotes but my laptop is dying so please accept some paraphrase as I rush to finish this before I go cry about this analysis to my uncaring dog):

"The terrible things we did, we did together." You are forever tied to me.

"I release you from my service." But what am I releasing you to?

Because up until Lavellan joins the fray here, all I take away from the physical and unwilling emotional cues Solas gives in this scene (he is a master in trickery, for goodness' sake, the thought of so many witnesses seeing him unable to hide behind a mask has to leave him feeling anguished on top of everything else) is that Mythal has once again reminded him of everything he did in her name and telling him that all that's left for him is to go back to the fade prison and, as he as always done, endure the crushing weight of his failures alone.

To me, in my interpretation, the Solas that hears this from Mythal with no Lavellan intervention may choose to willingly step down from his original plan (and yeah, that's gonna do some damage) but he is certainly not free of his past. He's going to be reminded of it every time he turns a corner and finds more blight to try and soothe, and even the moments that he rests will be filled with more manifestations of his regret. He says it himself: where he's going? It's terrible.

Enter Lavellan. Yeah, he couldn't bring himself to listen to her at her first plea (but like damn how many times are we going to have to watch her give a heartfelt speech only for him to be like 'something something beautiful elven rejection'). But I know that you know that our clever icon knows better than to take what Solas says at face value. She tells Rook plainly that he's absolute dogshit at lies of the heart, and she says it with her whole chest.

Lavellan sees the way his shoulders slump (in resignation yes, but you can't convince me there's not a little bit of relief there, too), she hears the agony in the "vhenan" that escapes his lips (which, don't even get me started on the fact that it's been like nine years and he has no hesitation at all calling her his heart, it just spills out of him). It is not the sound of a man delighting in the steps he's about to take. They're certainly not steps he does not dislike that lead to a destination he enjoys.

And then she watches Mythal (who I can't imagine she feels any sort of fondness or respect for) pull some weird nonsense on her love one final time, and she knows it's her moment to shine.

Mythal, I would argue, pushes Solas down one more time, shames him into seeking atonement, into once again being alone.

It is the romanced Lavellan that kneels so that he cannot fail to meet her eyes. It is she who invokes their connection, not to remind him of his failures but to reaffirm his greatest strength: their love and their love alone is inevitable. Not the consequences of his past, not the regret he thinks will consume him as he seeks to mend what has been broken. It has only ever been them.

"There is no fate but the love we share". We are forever tied together.

"There is no fate but the love we share." *I* am releasing you from everything else save for this love.

Put colloquially: get absolutely fucking wrecked, Mythal.

Body language comparison to chase up the dialogue one, anyone? The way Solas shrinks before Mythal as opposed to him walking off into the fade with Lavellan at his side and standing tall, and he does not flinch when she lifts a hand to his shoulder?

Ultimately, Mythal is a part of the atonement endings no matter what. But it is only Lavellan that refuses to let him walk alone. It is only Lavellan that guarantees that his dinan'shiral ends not in a prison of regret, but a place of promise.

Mythal bends Solas until he breaks one last time. Lavellan takes each piece, claims it as hers, and uses them to build the beginnings of a future.

[brionysea]

I'm trying really hard not to just be The Complainer because that's an energy I don't want to bring here when I love (present tense; I rewatch it like 5 times a day) arcane season 1 so much but does anyone remember when powder was taken in by silco and being raised by this very utilitarian merciless 'the ends justify the means' type character made jinx turn out violent and merciless as well. and vi was horrified by her and the lanes were terrified of her and piltover was falling over itself trying to scapegoat her as the one bad apple of the undercity to kid themselves into believing that everyone else was perfectly fine with being treated as less than. and that contrasts vi after vander etc. died because she was raised by him and internalised the idea that no one wins in war and fighting back against systemic oppression isn't worth the damage it causes to your own community which is why she ended up working with cait and the council like vander worked with grayson. the people who raised them shaped them into who they are today but then in season 2 jinx has a daughter and she's suddenly completely normal and well adjusted and her attachment style isn't digging her nails in until she draws blood at all. like What. what happened. didn't things used to mean something

[turbolezgooo]

Why ya'll hate on Cait and call her a dictator?

Well-written characters often have a story deeper than what you explicitly see them do or hear them say. Just because everything is set in a fantasy world, doesn't mean that characters are not affected by tragic events and the human condition.

First of all, Cait wasn't the one who made a police state. Ambessa and the council did that. Ambessa orchestrated the whole thing. Cait went along with it because she was turned around by grief. That shit messes with your judgment, but she was still trying to do what she and Vi agreed on. To focus on the real problem and prevent hurting innocent people.

Cait tried to control an unraveling situation AND literal warlord WHILE being inexperienced in how to deal with it, having a big ol' lesbian break up, AND dying inside.

You could see that when Cait argued to Ambessa that there are innocent people and there MUST be justifiable cause to arrest anyone. In Cait and Ambessa's interactions it's implied that Cait was getting in the way of Ambessa's agenda off-screen. She tried to keep something worse from happening because she does acknowledge the historical and current oppression of Zaunites.

This mirrors the way she offered Vi the badge to give her a voice in what happens to her sister if the enforcers caught her. The enforcers coming after Jinx was going to happen regardless of Cait. She took control by volunteering and taking precautions. See- While they did use gas, Vi would never agree to something that would permanently hurt the people of Zaun. The tactic gave them fewer chances of having to physically fight Zaunites who were just trying to defend themselves. Believe it or not, it was a controlled operation until grief got the better of Cait and things looked worse than it actually was.

The way that Cait deeply believes in equality in spite of a personal vendetta is why Ambessa sent Maddie to try and control her by 'filling' her hole (no pun intended). When Maddie attempted to have Cait stop the police state situation and withdraw, she did focus on Jinx at first but the second part of not wanting to make things worse was something she had a lot more to say about before Maddie interrupted. And Cait was right. What would have happened if she hadn't taken the role and played along? A puppet councillor or Ambessa herself would have been the figure head and do so much worse. Those people don't have the same perspective and understanding as Cait.

When Cait and Vi argue about listening to a war pig oink poison in her ear, she yells "I know!" as she throws a piece of war ship used in strategizing. You can tell her role was a strategic choice to have some control over the events that unfolded. That's why Vi didn't villinize her. Vi understood that Cait never really accepted anything Ambessa said. That's why she helped Vi at the commune. Cait was a double agent taking shit from all sides to stop worse things from happening.

She had grief and really crap options, but she always chose the lesser of the evils to try and stay true to who she really was. She even resigns in her argument with Vi, that she didn't put Jinx, her own mother's killer, in jail or punish her in any way. It's another example of her faltering in decision-making when overwhelming or unexpected things happen and it also tells us what she is. She's human. She doesn't make excuses for taking on an objectively bad role and making mistakes. When she said "We can't erase our mistakes.", she's also talking about herself. She takes responsibility and tries to do good. In the end, all she wanted was closure for her grief by having Jinx accept responsibility NOT by killing or abusing her or innocent Zaunites for that matter.

Imo there's a lot in Arcane that shows Cait as a flawed but inherently good person, and Vi absolutely knows it. They see each other warts and all. If you think CaitVi's lex scene was poorly written read this: https://www.tumblr.com/turbolezgooo/768190482340773888/bro-this-outrage-about-caitvi-relationship-in-s2?source=share