#i never stopped volunteering and protesting

[luckystarchild]

I haven't touched "202!NQK" stuff in a while.

Given the current political climate, however, it's almost inevitable I start thinking about that Lucky Child AU again.

I confess part of the reason for returning to LC when I did was because LC helped get me through the last period of political turmoil. I couldn't fathom entering the next four years without being in better contact with all of you.

In fiction we find respite.

In community we find comfort and support.

Through communication we can spread vital information in critical moments.

We're in this together, and I'm not going anywhere.

[hickeygender]

why do liberals talk about the simple act of voting like they're the last defenders of some besieged trenches in ww1...

[sometimescharlolette]

JOEL MILLER X F!READER (BRAT TAMING)

Synopsis: You disobey Joel, putting your life at risk once again, his patience runs out, and he teaches you a lesson.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: +18, age gap, p in v, rough sex, punish sex, dirty talk, possessive behavior, degradate, orgasm denial, age gap not explicit

A/N: Hello pretty people, valentine's day is coming, and I thought I'd write a few things to celebrate this special day. There will be five in total, starting today and ending on the 14th. I hope you enjoy this idea as much as I do. In any case, comments and feedback always motivate me to keep writing and trying to improve. Kisses 💜💜

How many times would Joel have to repeat himself until your stubborn little head got it through your thick skull? Keeping you within the perimeter wasn’t some arbitrary punishment—it was survival. He wasn’t the bad guy for trying to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed. Or worse, turned. The thought alone made his stomach churn, a bitter taste rising in the back of his throat. He had already lost too many people. He wasn’t about to lose you, even if it meant keeping you under lock and key.

And yet, there you were. Again.

He found you near the HQ containment zone, cigarette dangling from your lips, laughing at something some idiot had whispered in your ear. Smoke curled from your mouth, slipping between soft, pink lips as though the world wasn’t on fire around you. As if you had no care at all.

Joel never wanted this job. Never wanted to be responsible for you. But Tess, of course, had volunteered to keep an eye on you, which meant he’d been dragged into this mess, forced to play babysitter to a reckless brat who didn’t seem to give a damn about how dangerous things were outside those gates.

“Let’s go.”

His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument, the crunch of his heavy boots against the gravel matching the unwavering determination in his eyes. He didn’t slow as he approached, didn’t hesitate as he wrapped his fingers around your wrist, yanking you away from the wall you were leaning against.

“Wait—” you whined, twisting in his grip, but he didn’t stop. The cigarette slipped from your lips, embers snuffing out against the cold ground. You cast a glance at the others, as if hoping one of them might step in. But no one did. No one ever did. Not when it came to Joel.

With a frustrated growl, he had enough. In one swift motion, he hauled you over his shoulder, one arm locking around your thighs as you yelped in protest. You kicked, fists thudding against his back, hair falling over your face as the blood rushed to your head.

“Joel, put me down! You caveman—”

He ignored you, jaw clenched tight, stride unwavering as he carried you back to the apartment. Your struggles were useless against his iron grip, every squirm and protest met with nothing more than a gruff sigh. Only once he crossed the threshold, locking the door behind him, did he finally let you go—unceremoniously dropping you onto the worn couch.

You landed with a huff, limbs sprawled in a graceless heap. “What the hell was that?” you snapped, glaring up at him. “I’m not a damn child.”

Joel exhaled sharply, running a rough hand down his face. His patience was gone, his body taut with frustration. His dark eyes locked onto yours, voice low and edged with exhaustion.

“No. But you sure as hell act like one.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your breath hitching as his gaze pinned you in place. He was tired—tired of chasing after you, tired of dragging you back from the edge when you so eagerly danced on it.

Joel stepped closer, looming over your sprawled form on the couch. He could see the defiance in your eyes, the stubborn set of your jaw. It was infuriating, but it also stirred something primal in him. He had to put an end to this reckless behavior, one way or another.

"Listen up, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once," he growled, voice rough and low. "You can't keep pullin' this shit, darlin'. It ain't safe out there."

He grabbed your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. His calloused thumb brushed over your bottom lip, a rough caress that felt a jolt through you. "You're playin' with fire, and you're gonna get yourself burned. I won't let that happen."

Joel leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Maybe it's time I taught you a lesson about listening in' to your elders." His other hand slid down your side, coming to rest on your hip. He squeezed, fingers digging into the soft flesh.

"Wh-what are you doing?" you stammered, a flush creeping up your neck. You tried to pull away, but he held you firm.

"Shh, just relax," he murmured, voice a low rumble. "I'm gonna make you understand, one way or another." His hand slid higher, brushing over the curve of your breast. He could feel your nipple stiffen beneath the thin fabric of your shirt.

Joel captured your mouth in a demanding kiss, swallowing any protests. His tongue delved past your lips, claiming your mouth with a hunger that stole your breath. He kissed you until you were dizzy, until you could only cling to him for support.

When he finally pulled back, your lips were red and swollen, his chest heaving. "You're not leaving this house until I say so," he declared, voice rough with desire. "And if you try, I'll just have to punish you again."

His hand slid under your skirt, finding the heat between your thighs. He groaned at the dampness he found there, a finger tracing your slit through the fabric of your panties. "Fuck, you're already so wet," he muttered. "Guess you like bein' manhandled like this, don't you?"

He ripped your panties away, tossing them carelessly to the side. Then his fingers were on your bare flesh, stroking through your slick folds. He circled your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips buck up against his hand.

"Joel..." you whimpered, head thrown back in ecstasy. "Please..."

"Please what, baby?" he taunted, fingers delving deeper. "Please stop? Or please don't stop?" He pumped two fingers in and out of you, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot inside.

You could only moan in response, lost in the pleasure he was giving you. He worked you closer and closer to the edge, until your thighs were trembling and your walls were clenching around his fingers.

"Please, Joel, keep it up, I'm, I'm gonna cum," you moaned breathlessly, your head thrown back on the arm of the couch, your chest rising and falling with the scorching heat building in your pelvis, but before you could get caught up in the sensation of pleasure, he pulled his fingers out.

Joel smirked at the confused, frustrated look on your face as he abruptly pulled his fingers from your aching, desperate cunt. He could see the need written all over you, the way your body trembled and your chest heaved with each ragged breath. It was a delicious sight, seeing you so wound up and wanting. He planned to take his time with you, to make you beg for release like the needy little thing you were.

"Please, Joel, I can't-- ah!" Your protests turned into a yelp as his palm cracked against your sensitive pussy, the sharp sting only adding to the fire burning under your skin. He could feel your slick coating his hand, your arousal dripping down your thighs.

"Listen up, you brat," he growled, voice low and dominant. "You don't get to cum until I say so. This is your punishment for being such a reckless little fool."

Joel grabbed your ankles, pushing your legs up and back towards your shoulders. He held you in a tight hold, folding you nearly in half as he loomed over your exposed, dripping cunt. His cock strained against his jeans, rock hard and aching to be buried inside you. But he had other plans first.

Leaning down, he ran his tongue along your slit, tasting your essence. "Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured against your flesh. "Sweet as honey." He delved deeper, tongue plunging into your entrance as he ate you out with eager.

Your moans filled the room, back arching as much as his grip would allow. He could feel your walls fluttering around his invading tongue, desperate for more. But he pulled back, leaving you wanting once again.

"No, please Joel, I need-- I need to cum," you whined, voice high and needy. Your hips bucked, trying to grind against his face, but he held you still.

"Not yet, you don't," he chided, giving your clit a sharp nip. "You don't get to cum until I say so. Until I've had my fill of you."

Joel released your legs, letting them fall to the couch. He undid his belt and jeans with quick, rough movements, freeing his hard cock. It sprang up, long and thick, the swollen head already leaking with need.

Joel fisted a hand in your hair, gripping it tight as he rubbed the leaking head of his cock along your cheek. The scent of his arousal filled your nose, making your mouth water with anticipation. You could feel the heat radiating off his thick shaft, the weight of it as he painted your lips with his pre-cum.

"Open up, baby," he ordered, voice rough with lust. "If you do a good job sucking my cock, maybe I'll let you cum. Would you like that?"

He pressed the tip against your lips, demanding entrance. Your gaze flicked up to meet his, seeing the dark hunger in his eyes. He wanted to use your mouth, to fuck your face until he spilled his load down your throat. The thought sent a thrill of excitement through you.

Reaching up, you wrapped your small hand around the base of his thick cock, feeling it throb against your palm. Slowly, you parted your lips, letting the head slip past them. Your tongue darted out, lapping at the slit, tasting the salty essence leaking from the tip.

"Fuck," Joel groaned, hips jerking forward slightly as your tongue caressed his sensitive flesh. "That's it, baby. Take it deeper."

He pushed more of his length into your mouth, the thick head hitting the back of your throat. You had to relax your jaw, letting him slide in further. He was so big, stretching your lips wide around his girth. You could only take about half of him before you started to gag, throat convulsing around his shaft.

"That's enough," Joel growled, pulling out abruptly. Strings of saliva connected your mouth to his cock, dripping down your chin. He wiped the head of his cock across your cheek, smearing your spit mixed with his pre-cum across your skin.

"On your knees," he commanded, voice rough and demanding. "I want to fuck your face properly."

You quickly complied, slipping off the couch to kneel before him. The hardwood floor was cold against your knees, but the heat of his body was warm against your face. You looked up at him, waiting for his next instruction, ready and eager to please him.

Joel gripped your hair tighter, fisting it like a handle as he began to thrust into your mouth. His cock pushed past your stretched lips, hitting the back of your throat with each pump of his hips. Drool leaked from the corners of your mouth, dribbling down your chin and onto your heaving chest as he used your face.

"Take it, you cock-hungry slut," he grunted, eyes dark with lust as he watched your lips stretch obscenely around his shaft. "Fuck, your mouth feels so good."

He set a brutal pace, fucking your face with long, deep strokes. The head of his cock slammed against your throat again and again, making you gag and choke around him. But he didn't let up, too lost in his own pleasure to care about your discomfort.

"Touch yourself," he ordered, voice strained. "Play with that needy cunt while I use your mouth."

You quickly slid a hand between your thighs, fingers delving into your soaked folds. You circled your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles as Joel continued to pound into your throat. The dual stimulation was almost too much to bear, pleasure and pain blurring together until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

Joel could feel his release approaching, balls drawing up tight against his body. He thrust harder, chasing his end with single-minded focus. With a guttural groan, he buried himself deep in your throat and held himself there, spurting jet after jet of hot, thick cum directly down your gullet.

You swallowed convulsively around him, trying to gulp down every drop of his release. Some of it leaked out, dribbling down your chin and onto your heaving tits. When he finally pulled out, you gasped for air, coughing and sputtering, face flushed and eyes watering.

"Good girl," Joel praised, tucking himself back into his jeans. He hauled you up by your hair, crashing his mouth against yours in a filthy kiss. He could taste himself on your tongue, the salty flavor of his cum mingling with the sweet taste of your own saliva.

"Now, beg for it," he demanded, hand drifting down to rub your clit hard and fast. "Beg me to let you cum, you dirty little brat. Beg me to give you the release you so desperately need."

Joel smirked down at your lascivious state, taking in the way your face was flushed and smeared with the evidence of your debauchery. He could feel your hips writhing against his fingers, desperate for more friction, more stimulation, more of anything that would bring you the release you so desperately craved.

"Please, Joel, please let me cum," you whimpered, voice high and thready with need. "I'll do anything, I'll be so good, just please let me cum!"

He could feel your pussy clenching around his fingers, greedy and hungry for more. He rubbed your clit harder, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with rough, calloused fingers. His other hand slid up your body to grope at your tits, squeezing the soft mounds roughly.

"Beg harder," he demanded, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. "Convince me of how badly you need it. Tell me how much you want to cum all over my fingers like the desperate little slut you are."

He pumped his fingers faster, plunging them in and out of your soaked cunt. The obscene sound of your arousal filled the room as he fingered you hard and fast, the wet squelch of your pussy echoing off the walls.

"Please, oh god please!" you cried out, head thrown back in ecstasy. "I need it so fucking bad, Joel. I'm so close, I can't-- ah! I can't take it anymore!"

He could feel your body tensing, your walls starting to flutter around his invading digits. He knew you were on the verge of cumming, teetering on the razor's edge of the most intense orgasm of your young life.

"Cum for me, you filthy girl," he growled, rubbing your clit with quick, rough circles. "Cum all over my fingers like the vicious brat you are. Show me how badly you craved it."

With a scream of pure pleasure, your body convulsed, back arching as your orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami. Your pussy clamped down on his fingers, rippling and squeezing as you gushed all over his hand, soaking his palm and dripping down onto the couch.

Joel worked you through it, fingers pumping and rubbing, drawing out your pleasure for as long as possible. He could feel your juices flooding out of you, your body shaking and trembling as the aftershocks rolled through you.

Finally, as your orgasm started to subsid, he pulled his fingers out of your dripping cunt. He brought them up to his mouth, sucking your delicious essence from the digits and groaning at the taste.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured, eyes dark with renewed lust. "I think I'm going to keep you, baby. Keep you here, so you won't put your pretty ass in danger"

He pulled you close, crashing his mouth against yours in a esurient kiss. He could taste himself on your lips, the flavor of your shared pleasure mingling together. His cock was already hardening again, straining against his jeans and pressing insistently against your hip.

"You will take seriously what I say," he declared, voice rough and low. "If I tell you not to leave the perimeter, you don't, if I forbid you from going out alone, you obey. Understand?"

You could only nod, still dazed and pliant in his arms, your body humming with satisfaction. You knew that no one would ever make you feel as good as he did. And god help you, but you couldn't wait.

"Good," Joel mused softly, pulling your limp body closer to him, holding you affectionately, "cause I don't want to chase you around to save your ass anymore."

[skyahri]

I'll Take You In |Naruto Men X Reader| HC

Characters: Kakashi Hatake, Sasuke Uchiha, Shikamaru Nara, Naruto Uzumaki, and Gaara

Summary: They bring home a baby.

Warnings: Implications of child abandonment.

Masterlist Ko-fi

- - - - -

Kakashi Hatake

It was late at night, and he'd just returned home from a mission.

You immediately noticed the little bundle in his arms. Without a second thought, you'd plucked the little one out of his arms and made your way to the couch for cuddles.

"Who's this?"

He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and took the spot next to you.

"A little girl we found alone in the woods on the way back. No one in the area claimed her, so we brought her back here."

"She's beautiful."

"I offered to take her in."

You were shocked by that. Kakashi had never shown any interest in kids, so for him to offer to take one in was unexpected.

"I know, I should've talked to you first, I just," he sighed, "I got kind of attached."

You shook your head at him, worried he'd taken your shock as disappointment.

"I get why. She definitely fits the baby sized hole I've suddenly acquired in my heart."

The next morning, you'd taken the little girl to Sakura for a checkup and to the records hall for a birth certificate.

Meanwhile, Kakashi had recruited a Gai to assist him with the nursery.

By end of day, you had a fully built and stocked bedroom for your daughter.

It hadn't even been 24 hours, and yet you'd already perfectly filled out as a family.

Sasuke Uchiha

You'd just returned home from grocery shopping when you found Sasuke and Kakashi talking in the living room.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until Sasuke turned around holding a baby.

You dropped the bags in your hand and immediately made your way over to them.

"Who's the cutie?"

You combed your fingers through the baby's hair and fought the urge to kiss their face.

"Naruto and I found him in the woods on the way back from Suna. We asked around, but no one seemed to be missing a baby."

Sasuke passed the baby to you, knowing you would most definitely want to cuddle.

He made eye contact with Kakashi, a silent way of telling him to leave. He did without protest, knowing exactly why he was no longer welcome.

"I actually wanted to discuss something with you."

You hummed, too busy playing peekaboo to pay your husband any mind.

"I would like to... keep the baby."

Your eyes snapped up at him. Who was this and where was your husband?

"You want to keep a random baby you found?"

He blushed, not really liking the forwardness of your words.

"He's a good baby. He'd make a great addition to the clan."

You didn't need any further convincing. You loved kids and wanted plenty of them. This would just be a head start of sorts.

You hugged and kissed Sasuke, thankful you had a wonderful husband.

Shikamaru Nara

Oh boy.

When Shikamaru came home with a baby, you knew something was up.

He never volunteered for work, so you knew something unfortunate had to have happened.

You'd made your way over to him to see the baby, but stopped when you didn't recognize them.

Sakura and Hinata had recently had their babies, so you expected it'd be one of them, but no. This baby didn't look like anyone you knew.

"They found her in one of Orochimaru's old hideouts. Sakura checked her out, and she seems okay, but..."

"But?"

"She needs a home."

You nodded. Obviously, she needed a home. Then it dawned on you.

"You want us to keep her?"

He nodded and looked away.

You smiled.

"She must be something special if you wanna take her in."

"Kakashi asked me specifically, and I don't know, there's just something about her..."

You stopped him before he started talking himself into a hole. You understood, and were more than happy to bring the little one into your family.

Naruto Uzumaki

When Sakura told you that your husbands had found a baby on their way home from Suna, you weren't very surprised that Naruto had come home with them.

He looked a bit sheepish, like a kid who got caught by his mom.

Neither of you had to say anything. You already knew what he was going to ask, and he already knew that you knew.

"Look, I know what the orphanage is like, and he's so little, and-"

"It's okay, Naruto. I understand."

He felt a flood of relief wash through him.

"So we can keep him?"

You laughed and took the baby from him.

He really was so little, probably less than a week old. You felt a sense of obligation, not just because of Naruto. It felt like that baby was supposed to be yours.

"Yeah, I think I'd like to take him in."

Gaara

Since he had taken over the role of Kazekage, the sand village had been striving. Poverty was at an all time low, shinobi had higher success rates due to higher moral, and the economy had been booming.

The orphanage had, thankfully, been empty for quite some time, so when a baby was suddenly in need of a home, they came to him first.

He thought about reopening the orphanage for this one child, but he had a better idea.

Which is why he had come home from his regular work day with a baby.

To say you were shocked would be an understatement. You never imagined Gaara would be the one to bring home a child, that was much more yout Forte.

"I should have discussed this with you prior. I can always make alternate arrangements if you-"

You shut him up instantly.

This baby was now yours. A little girl, a daughter, just as you had always imagined.

"She's perfect."

[itsoutrageouss]

Part five of Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley seeing reader cry for the first time; this one made me fucking giddy. This time it’s Simon being soft and vulnerable with you for the first time after a mission…

It’s been three days since you’ve seen him. Simon went on a solo mission and you swear you’ve never felt time go by so slowly, feeling so sluggish with each passing hour. When he volunteered for it, you had to bite your tongue to stop from protesting. You had absolutely zero entitlement to say anything, and even less arguments for why he shouldn’t be the one to do it when he was the most capable.

The day before was when he had drawn you that bath for your pain, respectfully looked away as you undressed, his ears perking at the sound of each soft thud of clothes to the floor, the water singing as you lowered yourself into it. His hands were digging into his thighs in his pockets.

It was a foamy bath because he’d found one of your products that smelled nice. You had your back to him and beckoned him to turn around. He had stared at you and felt his hands shake as he ran a cloth over the expanse of frail skin.

Then the very next day he was gone like he’d never been there at all. You even - to your own deep, mortifying embarrassment - snuck into his barracks and stole a t-shirt. Because you had none left yourself and he didn’t exactly need them right now, you tell anyone if they made notice.

Then on the fourth night, you felt like you were going insane. Because what if that was it? What if he never came back and you only ever got so close to whatever had started blooming between you as a knuckle kiss? The thought that he might never know how much space he had made for himself inside of your head was one you had to force out of your mind as you sat with the others in the rec room. It was a quiet Friday. You had an untouched beer in front of you.

Then the door was pushed open somewhere and you stood up in a heartbeat because for some reason that you didn’t have time to analyse, you recognised his footsteps. You ran.

Then you stopped as you saw him, nearly fallling over your own feet. He looked dangerous at first, chest expanded and heaving heavily. There was a dark crimson staining parts of his clothes and mask and it was dripping to the floor. He looked like a wounded lion and you were simultaneously frightened and so so relieved.

He was scowling the same way he had found himself doing the last four days, a dark veil, a black lens over his eyes. Then he saw you.

You in his shirt and a pair of sweatpants, hair tucked away, eyes a little too tired.

He fell to his knees.

A heartbeat passed, flinching at the movement before you were right there with him. His hands were slightly painful where they grabbed your waist, your hips and your shoulders, clawing and pawing to make sure you were real and here and that everything was okay. He made a sound like a groan and a whine as his head awkwardly bumped into you when he tried to nuzzle your neck and inhale. You couldn’t move, eyes wide at the way he was basically just falling apart for you, acting like some needy cat.

“You’re hurt,” you insist.

“You’re here,” he responds.

It’s like something bursts inside him. He had almost died out there and when all he found himself worrying about was who might help you with your cramps now, he knew he was fucking done for.

“M’ here Simon” you confirm softly, trying to cradle his jaw to make him look at you, but he didn’t budge from where he had somehow managed to press his face into the delicate skin of your neck.

His hands kept you under lock and it started to burn in your muscles from the position you were in, but you didn’t make a single sound, not even as you felt his shoulders tremble slightly, chest hiccuping.

“You okay, lovie?” He asks after a solid five minutes of maybe crying into your neck a little.

You almost laugh, choking on a little sound of amusement as your eyes crinkle. But you hid it well enough. He was asking if you were okay? You?

“I am now. Are you?” You pulled your head back slightly to look down, hoping he’d reveal himself from the shadows. Slowly he peeled himself away, gear shading his face. There were streaks from his eyes in that black, dried war pant that revealed slivers of his pale skin, his lashes sticking together. He just looked at you for a long moment.

“No.” He confessed, sounding like it took all his reserves of strength to admit to such a thing and he looked ready enough to bolt now that he’d finally said it. You only nodded in understanding, wary of how to treat him now, how to do this right.

You stood up and he clawed at your legs, his brute strength making you stumble. “I’m just gonna draw you a bath. Come.”

It took him a while before he wordlessly got up and slumped after you. You went into your own room, and he didn’t comment on it. Not even as he sat down on the little stool and watched you pour one of your good smelling soaps into the tub as the water streamed, creating a white noise that filled the mutual comfortable silence you had created.

“Are you hurt?”

“A little” he said, once again wincing at his own admission of vulnerability. You slowly walked over until you stood in between his legs, looking down at him with a gentle head tilt.

Then you unstrapped his headgear. Left the mask alone, his eyes tracing every move of your hands with both apprehension and affection. You undid his vest before slowly going to your knees, caged between his thighs and blinking up at him. He swore he died, something inside of him jolting at the visual. His jaw ticked. You slowly put his guns away. Peeled his layers one by one, barely touching him and he watched wordlessly.

He even lifted his hips for you until he only wore his boxers. You saw his chest rising and falling a bit rapidly. “I’ll take care of you.” You pulled on his neck as your hands met his cold skin, dragging him down and his heart stopped when your lips were closing up on his, but you angled your chin and met his forehead instead. He was relieved. Disappointed?

The soft press sent shivers down his spine and he felt deliciously awful at this vulnerable disposition he had. His shoulders slumped and he watched you clean his wound, muscles tensing at the sting.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He mumbled.

“Never said you had to.” You respond, turning off the faucet before turning back to him. “Do you want me to leav-“

“-no.” He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even care anymore, he told himself; if he was embarrassing himself, if you found him pathetic. Each time that fear clutched him this last half hour, he looked up and saw an odd sense of assurance and calmness in your eyes. Like you knew this was the natural next step for both of you and it calmed his nerves like a balm.

“Do you want me to look away?” You ask, breaking his train of thought. He looks up at you. Then he slowly shakes his head.

“…no.”

You breathe in a little sharper than usual as nervous excitement bubbles up your spine. You nod in a way that lets him know you don’t really want to look away either. He stands up and strips himself of his boxers. You take an appreciative glance over his now bare body, lingering on his stomach, instead of where he might think you’d look. He subconsciously flexes.

“Beautiful.”

He downright blushes and therefore hurriedly lowered himself into the tub with a groan. The water melted away the worst of the grime, tickling his chest as his eyes closed with a deep sigh. You smiled as you sat on the lip or the tub. He cracked an eye open.

“Come” he said and nudged his head to the tub, not managing to say anything else, his eyes selfishly looking at your neck again. It felt primal, almost not even… sexual as you stand up, hands possessing a slight tremble as you undress before him. He watches and you let him.

The water is a bit dirty, but bubbles foam at the top as you lower yourself in front of him, facing his front as your legs tangle under the surface. The water stops at the dip of your waist. He watches it, the dangerous waver of it that caressed your skin and he wished it was him. You lathered some soap on the cloth he had used for you before. Mind you he still had the mask on, only finally taking it off and breathing in. You gently use the cloth on his face, around his eyes, down his neck, humming softly.

“I missed you. Is that… is that fucked up?” He asks, his voice hoarse. This mission, its horrors, the loneliness; it wasn’t supposed to all just go away when he saw you. So why had he suddenly forgotten these last four days?

“I don’t know. But I’m glad that you did. I was going mad.” You tell him, a soft crinkle to your eyes as you dip the cloth in the water. His stomach tenses as the material scrapes down the hard planes of muscle. He groans softly.

“Just don’t tell anyone about this, yeah?” He mumbled as he leaned his head back, eyes closed in a bliss he hadn’t known before now. You bit your lip.

“Never. God forbid Simon Riley enjoyed himself.” You shook your head with a faux stern expression and his lips hinted at a smile, eyes barely open.

“Shut up and touch me some more.”

series masterlist

[docholligay]

You can't act like the game is lost before it is. This is, in fact, what they want you to do. They would love you to believe that nothing matters. Every time you roll over and do nothing, you are playing into what they would like you to do. They want you scared. They want you thinking it's already lost. You are giving them so much power.

If you want to live in your own doom slop, do. But scroll on past this and for the love of god shut the fuck up about it. Don't discourage people who are trying to do something.

And, know fucking what? I don't think that the ability to be won is the whole of the merit of the fight. The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising was unwinnable--was it stupid to fight? Did the guy in Tienanmen, standing in front of a row of tanks, fucking fix China? No! But I still think they were worth it, and that the people who did those things were better than those who didn't.

At the very least, you can give someone trying to ruin your fucking life a really bad day. Why would you not? I am happy to light up some intern on the phone every single day, and I hope they can't fucking sleep at night.

Screw your courage to the sticking place. It's been two fucking weeks. This is all a bunch of shock and awe bullshit, and we we CAN fight back, but we have to fucking do something. Internet activism, INCLUDING WHAT I AM DOING RIGHT NOW, is mostly useless. like 5% useful. Write a letter. Make a call. Go to a protest. Actually, you want to know what works really well? Learn what reps look like and if you see them in public, bully them. I just told a local government rep Tuesday I was 'real annoyed about this culture-war bullshit that i've never personally experienced, i gotta say, that you're wasting your time on while young people are fleeing the state. You grew up here. i grew up here. I do not think a net increase of Texans and East Coaster rhinestone cowboys are improving the place, do you? Focus on jobs and parks, jesus christ." And you know what? HE HATED IT. It was EMBARRASSING*. He just had to shrug and mutter that he did care about jobs but we go to the same gym! I didn't even yell! I said it with my usual flat "I'm unimpressed' affect.

Volunteer for the things you believe in! Run for fucking dogcatcher! Stop looking for an adult to do something. WE ARE THE ADULTS WHO HAVE TO DO SOMETHING, NOW.

*Some of this is you can't yell at a 5'3'' 125 pound women who's dressed like a tradwife. But you know how much YOU hate to be confronted in public? THEY DO TOO, GIRLIEPOP.

[queertranshappiness]

There will always be more to this world than the people who want us dead. Somewhere on this world today, someone accepted themselves. Someone found a new name that finally speaks to them, someone came out to a friend, or a family member, or a partner. Someone found love, whether that be platonic, romantic, queerplatonic or beyond.

Someone found representation today. Someone saw a supportive post, or comment, or sticker, and it made their day. Someone chose to keep living despite it all, and that choice has helped someone realise they, too, can find hope.

It is... so overwhelming at the moment, we know, but take your time with it all. Keep on fighting in all the ways you can: be yourself, volunteer, be as unapologetically you as you can be, get involved in mutual aid, write to your representatives at local/devolved/national levels, donate, protest, and most of all... check on those you love, especially if you're an ally, and never stop finding joy where you can. That's how we made it through Thatcher, Reagan, and the hate of the 80s, and fascism before that. In the words of Erin Reed/Erin In The Morning: 'When future generations look back at these times, I want them to see what I see in those old photographs... people who despite everything, found joy and connection in the midst of struggle.'

[randomshyperson]

Hello fav writer 🤭 saw the game so here my request!!

Wanda + touch + number 2 ! Pretty please ♡♡

Hope you're okay if not I send you a lot of love :)

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Drabbles

prompt: calloused hands in soft hands | words: 1183 | warnings: brief mentions of self-harming and violence, unhealthy coping mechanisms, winter soldier reader, takes place around civil war, fluff, kinda friends to lovers (unspecified).

A/N-> I wrote most of those on my phone, so I’m sorry if there are typos.

challenge masterlist | general masterlist

-&-

Nine hundred and ninety-eight.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine.

One thousand.

Start again.

One.

Two.

A drop of blood felt at your feet. The pain makes you flinch but you push again.

Three.

The bag makes a noise.

Four.

There's another crack and then the sand is mixing up with your blood.

You stop, panting. The destroyed bag is pushed off the holder so you can carry it away with the other ruined ones. 

The gym is empty because they only have two clients. Super soldiers from the 40s who got frozen in time and struggled to trust anything, even gyms, from the new century. But unlike you, Steve Rogers is getting better at training in public. He even goes running with some of the other veterans, you heard he even made a friend there.

You're not Steve. You never were. He was the good Rogers, you, well, let's just say Hydra didn't need to say much to charm you into the quickest way to find your brother again. A couple of lies later, and you found yourself in chains, losing the memories of your brother that were the reason why you accepted their bargain in the first place. Before you could protest, years were wasted as the Winter Soldier. 

Well, that's past now. Yet, you destroyed another pushing bag while remembering your past.

There isn't much to do when you ruin them all - you are left for some push-ups before Steve calls again. He's insistent on your presence in the tower tonight, someone's birthday whatever. You're not the party type. You cannot be his Bucky.

What's left of the bags are discarded in the community trash, and you make sure to lock the place as the old Mrs.Johnson - the son, not the father, as that man died before you got unfrozen by Hydra a fourth time - asked you to. 

But just as you're about to lock the old administration room, someone comes in.

Wanda is dressed in casual attire and they always make her look so not Avenger that it never fails to bring a smile to your face. She corresponds immediately, and you're not sure what good you've done in your life to deserve such sweetness but you're not complaining.

“Hey, you.” You greet her, keys in the lock but eyes on her. She repeats your words and you notice how shy she looks with her little anxious jump and hands safe in her pockets. “I thought you would be at the party tonight.”

She shrugs, a smile playing on her lips.

“I ran away.” She tells with a complicity you two have shared from the second you first met. Maybe being Hydra volunteers does bring people together. “I know you work out here so I thought… I don't know…”

She struggles to justify her presence but that just makes you smile.

“That watching me sweat was funnier? You're a flirt, Maximoff.” You tease her, enjoying the pink of her cheeks that she tries to hide with a chuckle. 

She mutters “very funny” but you don't push your teasing further as you lock the door and tug the keys away. Grabbing your old army jacket from the coat stand by the entrance, you hold the door open for Wanda to go out again.

“Let's grab something to eat. And you're paying Avenger.”

She laughs, retorting that technically you're an Avenger too and you're sure not contradicting a pretty girl today.

The place you two go for is a local diner. It is not full but it's not empty, at least not enough to go unnoticed. Especially with a Winter Soldier physic or the face of everybody's favorite little witch. So when you and Wanda manage to get to one of the last tables without anyone bothering for an autograph, you're sure she used her powers for that.

“You're getting better at this.” You tell her proudly which surprises her. While the Avengers often tell her to control her Hydra impulses such as manipulation of will, you don't seem to mind about the moral issues of it. You're just glad she's getting more confident in her own abilities, instead of blatantly embarrassing her for something opportunely useful like her team does. She smiles shyly in appreciation and you busy yourself with the menu.

But the second your bruised fingers are noticed, Wanda's mood changes. 

The waitress who is coming to the table suddenly has the will to turn back to the kitchen.

You watch as she moves the menu away from you to reach for your hands.

The softest fingers of the earth trace the lines of your calloused, over-abused hands. Every scar is touched before she looks up.

“Why would you hurt yourself like that?” 

You sign, not pulling away from her touch but struggling to stare into her eyes.

“Not all of it was me.” You try to joke, but the weak chuckle that escapes you turns into a nervous laugh as she doesn't smile. “ I did fight for one hundred years, you know?”

She shakes her head, the eyes scanning your face then looks down where your fingers are dancing together. 

“Steve said you were frozen for most of it.” She recalls with a strange hurt in her voice that makes you swallow hard. “And you're also a shooter. That wasn't that much of fighting back in the day.”

You smirk, one of your hands enveloping hers. Touch to touch warms your skin so tenderly that you barely feel the autumn cold coming from the windows.

“If I didn't know you, I would say you care about me.”

Wanda frowns and looks up, a serious look on her face.

“You do know me.” she says. “And you know I care.”

You're not surprised but you're speechless. You don't know how to do this. Whatever is between you and this charming woman.

So you just try your best to do what Steve always says you should: be honest.

Wanda watches as you sigh, hands still on the table, playing with hers.

It takes a moment, but finally, you add:

“The pain anchors me.” You start, risking taking a glance at her worried frown. “It just makes me feel I'm here instead of frozen again. It helps.”

It's her turn to sigh. When her hands move away you're worried you shared too much. You swallow, ready to push down your emotions when Wanda shifts in the bend to slide closer to you.

You tense, like a frightened animal but she doesn't make any sudden moves. Her actions are slow, the lift of her hand to your cheek, the tender smile before she leans in. 

For a whole moment, the world does freeze. But unlike any of the other times, you feel warmer than ever.

She pulls away just enough for you to look at her eyes again, nose to nose.

“Would this anchor you enough?”

You smile at her, your hands finding hers again on her lap. One of them, you lift to your mouth level just to kiss her soft skin.

“I wouldn't be able to be anywhere else, witchy.” 

[suugarbabe]

Softer Side

Pairing: Mattheo Ridde x Ravenclaw y/n

Warning: Fluff

When others asked, you told them you weren’t sure when it happened. You weren’t sure when you stopped thinking Mattheo was just an ignorant prick and instead started defending him when others brought up his name in conversation. But you knew exactly when it happened, and you wanted to keep it to yourself. You liked being one of the only ones to see the soft side of Mattheo.

You’d seen him straighten up the Slytherin table after the rest of his friends left for class, stacking plates and straightening goblets when he thought no one else was paying attention. You saw him help Madam Pince in the library a few times as well. You swore it was a detention until you heard her thanking him for volunteering his time again at the end of the week. However your favorite soft Mattheo moment was the first time you witnessed it. Whether it was his actions in the moment, or your interaction with him afterwards was an internal debate you continued to have with yourself to this day.

The first was purely on accident. You were cutting through the courtyard to get to transfiguration on time. You were already running late and McGonagall was not going to go easy on you if you showed up after her again. You noticed two students in the corner of the courtyard, a male seemingly having a female pinned against one of the pillars.

As you got closer, you noticed none other than Adrian Pucey trapping a poor third year, whispering in her ear. Her face was contorted in disgust as she tried to squirm away from him. You were about to shout at him to leave her alone when he was suddenly shoved to the ground. You stopped dead in your tracks and watched as Mattheo knelt down next to Pucey, a hand on his throat as he threatened the boy through gritted teeth. “Guys like you are the scum of the fucking earth, Pucey,” he spat. “If I ever see you trap another girl like that again, you’re fucking done for, ya hear me?”

Pucey nodded his head the best he could as Mattheo’s hand was still around his neck, holding him to the ground. Mattheo released him and Pucey quickly got up and scurried away down the nearest corridor. Mattheo stood up, straightening his robes before turning back to the young girl. “Are you okay, darling, did he hurt you?” You had never seen him speak so softly and reassuring to someone before. You had to blink a few times to make sure you were still seeing the same man before you. The girl shook her head no in response before Mattheo patted her shoulder and encouraged her to head to class.

“Well, that was interesting,” you spoke up, slight smirk on your face. Mattheo’s head whipped around at your voice, you could’ve sworn his cheeks were slightly pink as well. He stood still as you walked closer to him. “Who knew big bad Mattheo Riddle would save strangers like a knight in shining armor,” you said, patting his chest mockingly. Mattheo rolled his eyes, “Pucey is walking dragon shit, everyone knows it.” You laughed lightly, nodding in agreement, starting to walk past him but he followed, quickly keeping pace with you as you walked down the corridor.

“Were you at least impressed by my heroic efforts, y/n?” He threw his arm around your shoulder as he walked. It was your turn to roll your eyes, “Oh, yes, Mattheo, I just loved watching you choke out the slimiest member of your house.” You playfully pushed his arm off you as you turned the corner leading to your classroom. He quickly grabbed your hand, spinning you back around to face him, your chests a mere few inches apart.

As you opened your mouth to protest, Mattheo leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Yannow I never pegged Ravenclaws to be into choking, but if you wanna explore that fantasy I can give you my common room password.” Your breath hitched in your throat for a moment before pushing him back. Mattheo just chucked lightly before giving you a wink and a Cheshire grin, disappearing behind the corner.

[sundrop-writes]

She Keeps Me Up

Dom!Jennifer Jareau x Sub!Fem!Reader

I'd fall to pieces if I went anywhere without her

Summary:

JJ is protective of you. When you offer yourself up as 'bait' to lure in an UnSub who is killing women of your type, she protests endlessly about it - but ultimately she can't stop you.

She can, however, possessively lay her claim on you when you get back from the ordeal with nothing more than a tiny scratch.

Dom!Jennifer Jareau x Sub!Fem!Reader. Established Dom/Sub Relationship. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 3,100

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: This is pretty much pure smut (with very little plot); this is older/milf JJ and younger reader - the specific age difference is not stated, but the reader is mentioned to be the youngest person on the team; JJ is dominant and the reader is submissive; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; in the very minimal plot, the reader volunteers herself as 'bait' to lure an UnSub (that UnSub is hunting women with similar looks to the reader, but the reader's looks are not described in any way); (passing mention of rape - the UnSub rapes his victims); the reader ends up with a very small cut on her neck from the UnSub but doesn't get any other injuries from the incident; JJ is very protective of the reader; JJ is very possessive of the reader; lots of praise kink - JJ calls the reader 'good girl'; JJ calls the reader 'baby', and 'babygirl'; thigh riding (the reader rides JJ's thigh); JJ is fully clothed and the reader is naked; Mommy kink - the reader refers to JJ as Mommy; very slight manhandling (nothing beyond JJ's realistic strength/nothing to suggest the reader can't be plus sized); oral sex - reader receiving; edging (once - because JJ likes to play with her food); slight spit kink; undertones of humiliation kink; fingering - reader receiving; a lot of begging; implications toward overstimulation; and I think that's it?

A/N: I feel like I have to give credit to this amazing edit - this inspired the general vibe of this fic and inspired the song choice for the title. Dom Milf JJ got stuck in my head and I needed to write about her, and when someone requested thigh riding with Dom JJ, it all came together perfectly in my brain. This could be viewed as a version of JJ who never married Will, or this could be viewed as a situation where Will and JJ are poly and Will is totally okay with JJ and the reader's relationship (which is what's happening in my head, even though I didn't mention Will in the fic). Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!!

...

“You did so good. Hey, shh. It’s okay. You did so good. You’re okay.” 

It was still echoing in your mind - JJ’s firm, soothing voice speaking the words, along with the way she held you tight as you collapsed into her arms after the long, hectic night. 

You had been the perfect bait to a killer that the BAU had been struggling to catch - a young, pretty face, exactly like all the other girls he had killed thus far. You were the youngest member of the team, a fresh face that perfectly matched the man’s type in a string of young girls that he had murdered and dismembered after brutally raping them. 

Even though you had volunteered to help lure the killer out, JJ had been stiff-jawed and glaring at the mere suggestion of you in the presence of such a sick man. You saw it as a way to help, but all she saw was horrible flashes in her mind, images of you merging with the crime scene photos on the board, turning into one of the dead girls who had been killed so brutally. It kept flashing through her mind on a loop, taunting her. She was deeply against it, and spent the better part of the day trying to talk Emily out of it, trying to convince the team that there was some other way. 

But you wouldn’t risk the lives of any more women. You trusted the team to have your back. 

And even when the horrible man had held the knife to your throat, just barely cutting into your skin with it while the team rushed to capture him, you still didn’t regret it. So many more people would be safe because of what you had done. JJ had been there for you - holding onto you tight, and assuring you that you had done well while your chest racked with sobs and you struggled for breath. 

There was a lot of paperwork to be done and technically they wanted you to visit the hospital to be fully medically cleared, but all you wanted was JJ. You needed some time alone in a quiet room instead of all the flashing lights, people bustling around, asking you questions, crowding into your personal space. She stayed tight by your side, her hand never leaving yours. 

She barked at them in her authoritative voice when you gave her a sad-eyed look that told her you didn’t want to go to the hospital. The small cut on the side of your neck that had been inflicted by the man’s large knife was bandaged up with you sitting on the back of the ambulance and then JJ whisked you away from it all. 

With you still shaking lightly, your muscles quivering with anxiety and your chest threatening more sobs - she knew that you wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not with your mind replaying it all, over and over again. 

She knew exactly what you needed. (She always did.) 

It wasn’t long before she had you alone in her hotel room, stripped completely naked while she was still fully clothed. She guided you to sit on her lap as she sat on the edge of the bed, the roughness of her clothes so perfect against your sensitive skin. 

The lights were dim - only the lamp of the side table turned on, creating the perfect quiet atmosphere, making it feel like the two of you were the only people in the world. She had a firm, commanding grip on your hips with both hands, guiding you to sit with your thighs bracketed around her leg. You were soon sitting with the firmness of her athletic, muscled thigh stiff between your legs; nestled up against your hot, needy pussy as she firmly pulled you to sit on the fabric of her gray slacks. 

You let out a loud whimper as she pulled you to fully sit and forced her thigh fully between your legs. She forced the muscled firmness right up against the naked, swollen lips of your cunt. You weren’t completely wet (yet), but you found yourself clenching down hard at the pure rawness of the fabric rubbing against you, the feeling of her nails digging into the flesh of your hips. 

Upon instinct, your hands moved to sit on her shoulders, tangling into the mess of blonde curls there. You whimpered even harder at the feeling of her lips skimming along your cheek as she gently hushed you. 

“Shh, shh.” She said, entirely confident and firm. “Good girl. You’re so good for me.” 

Her nose brushed down toward your neck and her thigh flexed - you unconsciously bucked forward, scraping your pussy against her leg, creating a raw, perfect burning friction. A needy heat easily grew within you at a very fast rate, easily pushing out any fear or anxiety that you had about being attacked by that man, about coming so close to having your jugular sliced. All of it melted away from you with her grounding touch on you, with her breath fanning across your skin, with her familiar scent in your lungs. 

“We’re gonna take it slow, okay baby?” JJ said, her soothing voice petting across you - like being wrapped in velvet. 

Slow. 

That word was usually your enemy. 

But you knew that JJ set the pace, no matter what. She was the one in charge. If she ripped your pants down and demanded that you cum within a minute - then you were just a puppet for her pleasure. If she laid you out on the bed naked and played with you, teased you for hours and only let you cum for the first time when the sun was starting to rise - then all you could do was lay there, a sweaty mess, and let her have her way with you. 

She was the commander, and you were nothing but her humble follower. 

You felt hollow without her - always waiting for her command, waiting for her touch. And you could do nothing but accept what she had to give you. 

“Yes, Mommy.” You squeaked out, sliding your palms from her shoulders, deeper into the softness of her hair, seeking more of that touch - more comfort. 

“Good girl.” 

It was that firm praise coming from the velvet of her voice that had wetness truly leaking from you now. You didn’t think that she could feel it through the fabric of her pants, not yet. But she knew you well enough, and she could see the tense of your thighs, the way your stomach quivered. She knew how to play you like a fiddle. And she was good. 

So it was then that JJ dug her fingers into your hips once again, and began rocking you across her thigh - forcing you to move. She wanted you to begin riding her thigh in order to get off. 

“Come on, baby.” She encouraged you, lifting her face from your neck to look you in the eyes - sharp, icy blue piercing through the dim lighting of the room at you, instantly making your gut twist. “Move your hips. Be a good girl for me. Come on.” 

You couldn’t help but to follow the instructions, encouraged by her words. You moved your hips along as she guided you - already feeling pleasant warmth and tingling creeping up your spine, pooling in your stomach and between your thighs. With your swollen pussy rubbing against the fabric of her pants, it was creating a hot friction that was already driving you crazy. Your legs unconsciously widened, your body grinding downward, trying to get more attention on your throbbing clit. 

“Patience, needy girl.” JJ growled, digging her thumbs firmly into your hips, making you moan out in pain at the sharp touch. 

She guided you along in wide, languid strokes. She was forcing your hips to stroke back toward her knee, forcing your back to arch harshly before she brought you back to sit more upright, bringing your body closer to hers once again. It was a motion that put tingling heat through you - but it was a slow burn, rather than the fast, mindless pounding that your body was begging for. She was keeping you on a low simmer, forcing your body to warm up so slowly. 

It was just like she wanted - slow. 

You whined out with impatience, your hand grasping at her shirt while you bit your lip harshly. You were deeply resisting the urge to fight against her grasp in order to fuck yourself against her. 

“Please.” You begged quietly. “Please, Mommy. I need it.” 

“I know what you need, babygirl.” JJ told you, leaning in to kiss your forehead. 

You let out another pathetic whine, but conceded to her whims. 

You closed your eyes to simply feel it, wondering how you would be able to cum like this. (Thinking that you wouldn’t.) 

JJ continued to guide you across her thigh with determination and force. 

You were getting wetter with each stroke, your body boiling in that slow burn, your thighs shaking every single time you were guided back enough for the stiffness of her muscles to graze your swollen clit. You continued on, your hips pushing deeper - knowing she wouldn’t let you break pace, pushing yourself down harder. You were simply enjoying the presence of her hands on you and the pure burn of her thigh between your legs as you bucked across her in those long, deep strokes. 

“Please.” You started begging again. “Please, Mommy, please-” 

“Such a needy girl.” JJ sighed - the tone of her voice almost bored - so light and airy, with none of her own lust showing through at all. 

Though if you could have pried your eyes open for a second, you would have seen her icy irises almost completely chased out by her lust-blown pupils. You would have seen her looking at you with nothing but pure hunger - absolutely loving the show you were putting on for her as you became more desperate, as you stained her pants wetter and wetter as you went on.

“Mommy’s precious girl.” She hummed to herself.  

You would have instantly seen through her calm facade. But you were far too distracted for that. 

You were too caught up in your own head, too busy keeping up the long strokes of your hips for some friction on your cunt. You didn’t catch the wistful tone of her voice; you were too distracted to truly feel the way her thumb just barely brushed against the bandage sitting on your neck. You missed the way her eyes lingered on it - half glaring at the bandage, half glossy with unshed tears. 

She was still burning with deep anger at the thought that anyone would be allowed to bring even the smallest amount of harm to something that belonged to her and still live. But she was also thankful to the high heavens that you had come out of the incident safe. So thankful that you were back in her arms. 

“Mommy-” You croaked out again, your voice cracking with pure need, pulling JJ from her thoughts. 

She shouldn’t be thinking of the filthy man who had almost hurt you. She should be thinking of ways she could bring you pleasure now - ways she could be thankful that you were still here, unharmed. 

“Where do you need it, huh? Right here?” JJ replied, moving one of her hands to slot between your legs, just barely brushing her fingers against your clit. 

This made your hips stutter, pushing toward her touch even more. 

“Yes!” You breathed out desperately. “Yes, there! Please!” 

JJ let out a gentle laugh, and this made you downright dizzy. 

Before you could even comprehend it, you had been flipped onto your back - JJ taking advantage of the fact that your body was limp, lust-weakened and distracted. You were breathless as you looked up at her, now towering over you, so damn powerful with her hair billowing around her in a beautiful golden curtain. Her hands slid up your sides firmly while she leaned into you, pressing her knee into the naked rawness of your cunt - something that made you moan and clench your thighs tighter around her leg. 

“Gonna give you just what you need, pretty girl.” 

JJ rocked her knee against you a few times, enough to make you moan out brokenly. Before you could get any real friction from it, she moved away completely, leaving you breathless and even more needy. 

And then, leaving your stomach flipping with anticipation - she descended downward, using a hair tie that she had around her wrist to put her hair into a messy bun before she positioned herself between your thighs. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she had in mind. 

She took a hold of you by the backs of your knees and shoved your legs up toward your chest, bending you to her will. This made you vulnerable and open to anything she wanted from you as she dove in eagerly. The moment that her tongue made contact with your clit, you knew that you were done for. 

(Like you always were exactly when she wanted you to be.) 

“Mommy!” You cried out desperately. 

Your back arched hard as you fisted the comforter of the still-made bed underneath you, quivering under her touch but unable to move as she kept you concretely in place. Her lips suctioning tightly around your clit and sucking for dear life, determined to make you cum as hard as possible now that she had teased you to this point. 

“Fuck, Mommy! Oh, oh god!” 

Your hip muscles quivered and you gasped hard, struggling to get air into your lungs as she furiously worked her tongue over you. The movements of her talented tongue causing sharp, hard shocks of pleasure to emanate out from that precious little point. It was all so perfect - the filthy slide of her spit mixing with your wetness, dripping down between your pussy lips, even gathering and dripping down along your asshole and lingering in a small puddle on the bed. 

You were a mess - just as JJ wanted. 

She dug her nails into the flesh on the backs of your thighs, making the muscles in your legs burn from holding the position. But you had nowhere to go, you could do nothing but sit there and take it as she sucked on your clit and tongued against you with vigor - giving you exactly what you had been begging for, making you mindless and dizzy as the pleasure became near painful in the most beautiful way. 

“Mommy!” You gasped. “Mommy, fuck! Gonna-” 

She cut off your words just as you were on the edge, pulling back with a wicked grin and just barely cutting off your orgasm. It made your whole body tense up in shock and caused your lungs to let out a shocked, disappointed whine. You bit your lip to keep from swearing or letting out any complaints - which you knew would only lead to a prolonged time before cumming with JJ in charge. 

Instead, you stared at her with your best sad eyes, hoping she would take pity on you. She gathered a large glob of spit on her tongue and heaved it onto your clit, and the touch of this alone had your legs quivering harshly and caused you to let out another sharp moan. 

“Please!” You began begging again, knowing that your voice was completely choked by desperation. “Please, please, please, please-” You didn’t breathe between the words, chanting with pure need until JJ shut you up. 

“Shh, shh.” She hushed you, running her cheek along your inner thigh. “You need it that bad, huh?” She mocked you gently, and you echoed back a moan. 

“Yes.” You confirmed, your voice warbling. 

“Hey, look at me.” She hummed quietly. 

Your head snapped toward her automatically, and then you were staring down those powerful eyes once again - greeted by her chin glistening with your juices, her messy hair half fallen out of the haste bun. Of course, she looked more gorgeous than ever. 

JJ crept back up your body, letting go of one of your thighs and letting it relax, but keeping the other leg pinned up. She put her body weight against it now, putting your knee over her shoulder while she snuck her hand between your thighs as she leaned in to kiss you firmly. The taste of yourself on her lips was beautifully tangy, and you couldn’t help but to suck that taste off her tongue as she forced it between your lips. 

She pulled away after a moment, pulling a moan from between your lips. 

“Tell me that you’re never gonna do that again.” JJ whispered against your lips. 

In your lust-wrecked state, you were confused. 

“Huh?” You mumbled back. 

“Tell me that you’re never going to volunteer as bait ever again.” JJ said, grinding out the word harshly. “You belong to me. And you need to be safe. So what I say - goes.” 

Your pussy clenched at her words. You hadn’t realized how much you had truly worried her - how much you had upset her. 

“I won’t do it again.” You murmured back, your voice partially lost in your throat. “I promise, Mommy. I won’t. I’m yours.” 

JJ showed her satisfaction with your declaration by shoving two fingers into your well-slicked, wanting pussy. With no warning, she began pounding the digits in and out at a furious pace, sending your body into overdrive. 

Still pinning your leg into place with her body, she moved her other hand down so that she could rub your clit in fast, hard strokes to make it all more intense. 

In seconds, your pussy was once again throbbing, lit up and burning from the sensations while she fucked you hard and quick - driving you towards an orgasm at an intense, rapid pace. 

You let out harsh pants against her mouth and her lips formed into a sharp smile, clearly pleased with herself for turning you into such a mess so quickly. She crooked her elbow so that she could fuck her fingers into you at a sharper angle - and it was only moments before you felt your stomach clenching up again, that telltale heat drawing across your thighs as your clit downright burned underneath her fingers. 

“Please. Please, Mommy!” You begged, your throat scraping against the word now. “I need, I need - oh!” 

She was actually feeling merciful this time, and continued to fuck you through it, finally bringing you to the orgasm that your body had been begging for all night. 

But of course, she didn’t let up. She wasn’t going to stop there. 

She leaned in and kissed you on the forehead, and you knew that you had a very long night ahead of you.

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a standalone oneshot, and I will not be writing a follow up or a 'part 2'. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written. Also, please consider reblogging, because supporting fanfiction writers is important to keep fandoms going! If you liked this and you want to see more, definitely check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist for more of my work.

[quixotickoi]

Knockout Round!!

boxer!sukuna x drummer!reader

Synopsis: You and Ryomen have never had the most cordial of relationships; however, something deep, deep inside your heart burned with a carnal desire to learn the landscape of his body. Your band sets you up for a dangerous rendezvous, and you learned a lot more than you thought you would.

Warnings: Implied sex, hickeys, biting, fingering

word count: 3.7k

------

The amps buzzed angrily, a deafening hornets’ nest of rage and defiance. The sound crackled out, leaving the faint rumble of inactive electricity. Yuji set his guitar against his amp, wringing his hands out. Maki rolled her shoulders out, and you set down your drumsticks. In front of you three, on the couch in the basement of Gojo Hall, Choso had set up a camcorder; Nobara was typing away intently on her phone, and Megumi was playing something on his raggedy PC. Even with his disgustingly loaded godfather, he never let that go. 

“Kamo, cut that,” said Maki. She tweaked her tuning pegs, frowning slightly.

“I thought you sounded good.” shrugged Choso. “Guess I don’t have the ear.” Megumi frowned at the computer, then at the man next to him.

“They sounded like a swamp. I couldn’t hear the bass from the guitar.”

“Hey!” Yuji shouted indignantly. “If Soundgarden did it, why can’t we?”

“You think you’re Chris Cornell?” 

“I assume you think you’re Pharrell; even your producer tag does the beat thing.” 

You and Maki exchanged glances at their bickering. Exasperatedly, you threw a drumstick at Yuji’s head; it bounced off before hitting the ground with a thunk. Nobara looked up, giggling behind her phone as Yuji threw it back ferociously. Catching it, you twirl it in your limber fingers. “We have to get our shit together, guys. It’s not our first gig, but it’s gonna be our last if Yuji won’t start singing worth a damn.”

“I’d like to see you try playing an instrument and singing at the same time.”

“Drums are actually hard, Yuji. Ya gotta use a thing called skill.”

“Didn’t know you used it. Our drumlines are so impossibly easy a million monkeys could do them by accident.” He messed with his dials, strumming over any retaliation. “Besides, we play in a week or so. We’ll have it down by then.”

“We could always play something old,” volunteered Maki. “It’s not like we’re popular enough to get people wanting more.”

“I’ll have you know a girl stopped me to tell me she knows our band!” said Yuji indignantly. 

“Likely from the ear-shattering music under the basement. I doubt she can tell us from the other bands that practice here.” Maki unplugged her bass, packing it into her coffin case, along with her pedal and wire. “I have to go now. Phys project in the works.” She shuffled up the stairs, strong-arming her bass on the way up. The door creaked behind her slightly. You stuffed your drumsticks in a ridiculously large pocket, stretching out your back. Yuji looked mildly disappointed. Smiling sympathetically, you help Nobara off the couch, and Choso turns off the camcorder.

“It’s, like, 2 A.M. right now,” Nobara mentioned callously. She had come with a full face and now was leaving fresh-faced, if you don’t count the smudging on her cheeks. “We should turn in anyway. Lord knows the dark circles I’m getting from these late nights.” She faked a yawn before resting her cheek on your shoulder, stroking your waist tenderly.

“You don’t even have to be here,” Megumi blurted, still working furiously. “All you do is use your TikTok and eat our DoorDash.” He slammed his computer down, to which it protested.

“I’m just here to steal some fame for when you guys get popular or whatever,” she smirked. “And it’s worth it for a chance to see Papa Fushiguro.” Megumi groaned. “Ain’t that right?” She tapped your cheek. Grinning, you look away.

“He is double our age. And then some.”

“Speak for yourself,” you snark.

“You’re barely a year older than us.” Megumi stuffed his computer in his backpack, stalking toward the door. “You guys comin’?” You shake your head at him. Grabbing your keys from your jacket pocket, you dangle them off your middle finger while Nobara follows you out. Choso and Yuji hang back, getting ready to go home on their own.

“If you’re going to be in a bitch mood,” The three of you walk toward your SUV. “At least get your license. Nothing more pathetic than waiting for the person you’re mad at.” You drive off-campus and into town, the path to Megumi’s shared apartment with his father clear in your mind. You park down the street, accompanying him, along with Nobara, to Room 408. 

Knocking on the door, Mr. Toji Fushiguro scans the three college kids at his doorstep. He had no shirt on and looked like he could barely keep his eyes open. “There’s my son,” he says groggily, yanking Megumi by the shoulder back into his apartment. Grunting his gratitude, he closes the door. On the way back to the car, Nobara is fully awake, fully excited. 

“Ugh, he wears being a hobo so well. It’s kinda insane he’s still single. Guess he still loves his wife,” she blurts when you start the engine. “All that man gotta be in there somewhere, waiting for me to find it. Do you think Megumi would be mad if I hooked up with his dad?”

You chuckled, gazing at the blurry lights in front of you. Blinking again, you persevere through the tiredness. Nobara’s now talking on the phone, tapping your shoulder. “Huh?”

“Choso’s car got towed. D’you think we can give them a ride?” she said. Apologetically, she added, “I know you’re tired, but I doubt you want them paying a 60 dollar Über at 3 A.M.” 

“It’s fine, I guess. But they owe me big time.” Turning around, you return to the barren parking lot by Gojo Hall. Choso and Yuji ran toward your car; more accurately, to your headlights. Inside they squeezed next to Nobara, and Yuji began his yammering about the towing.

“I swear Choso parked right! We don’t even know why it was towed. Sure, he sucks at parallel parking,” Choso coughed indignantly. “But that can’t be illegal, right? He didn’t even park in disabled parking or anything, they just took it!” He peered through the gap between the passenger seat and its headrest. “By the way, we need to get Ryomen.”

“Is his car towed too?”

“Nah, in the shop.” Yuji shrugged. “He loves his fender benders. Shocking, for a guy who loves his car more than his family.”

“I think he moonlights as a drag racer,” Choso added. You smiled despite the tiredness. “Also, I’ve sent you the address for where he told me he’d be. Chances are it’s a seedy ass place.” You followed the GPS instructions, passing by a handful of smoke shops, a nightclub, and a crowd of foul-smelling people, all clad in thick clothes, however unidentifiable they were from the darkness and the smog surrounding them. The GPS stopped in front of a stairwell, leading to whatever Sukuna partook in at night.

“Where is he?” you scanned the front, but no hulking, pink-haired man showed. “Can’t you text him or something?”

“Sukuna responds half a year later; we gotta find him ourselves.” 

“Nose goes!” shouted Yuji; he and Nobara held their nose, Choso following suit. You frowned at him. “Sorry babe, too slow.” he jested. You turned to Choso directly behind you, pleading silently.

“I’ll go with you, don’t worry about it.” Smiling gratefully, you hopped out of the car, with the help of Choso, who trailed behind you when you trodded down the stairwell. 

Inside, a rudimentary boxing ring surrounded by all kinds of people carrying drinks or doobies overwhelmed your senses. In the ring, a fight was well on its way to its conclusion; in one corner, a man with a zigzagging pattern in his hair sat, receiving water and getting patted down by an older man you assumed to be his coach. The other corner, the one facing the entrance, facing you, held Ryomen, or “Sukuna” in the circles he ran in. His onyx irises locked onto you, but by the time they had, you were talking to Choso. You didn’t particularly care for boxing, preferring the equally, if not more, chaotic world of underground music.

Choso bent his head down to your ear. “I think I see some friends; get me back when Ryomen’s all done.” Your eyes widened in response.

“The fuck? Choso, no. I don’t know anyone here!” But by then, he had moseyed his way toward a group of men, all tattooed and pierced. You were no stranger to the hardcore, but you preferred the stage, where the distance felt safer. While as a teen, you indulged in the scene, you never liked the people that it came with. You watched the people around you talk, receiving a couple inquisitive looks in response. No doubt you looked out of place; the conservative manner in which you bundled yourself up lended no air of confidence. 

Tentatively, you stepped through the crowd to sidle up to the boxing ring, where Ryomen and his opponent had resumed their fight. A rivulet of blood carved its way down his temple, and his opponent had a bruise blossoming on his eye. Next to you, a wave of men chanted, “S’kuna! S’kuna! S’kuna!” while booing at the other man’s jabs. Fascinated, you watched the men tussle, before you felt a hand slither around your shoulder. A man, sporting a hockey jersey and a row of ear piercings, leered at you.

“Have I seen you here before?” he smiled, barely concealing his sliminess. Stiffly, you tried to escape his grasp, which only became more vicelike the more you struggled. “Aw, hey, don’t be like that,” His scolding read like a veiled threat. A woman in front of you looked at you, sparing a glance at the man who closely resembled a deshelled hermit crab. Turning around, she pulled the man off you.

“I’m gonna need you to let her go, kid.” she warned. In the ring, meanwhile, Ryomen had totaled his opponent, earning a shout of glee from the supporting crowd. The harasser scampered off, and the woman smiled at you before turning to cheer at Ryomen.

 After the ref had confirmed the K.O, he raised Ryomen’s arm in triumph. Cajoling filled the stuffy room, and you scanned the state his body was in. His thick waist and chest heaved, bare and glistening. He tied his boxer shorts low, leaving the slightest prick of hair visible. His meaty thighs and calves flexed to support the sheer mass Ryomen boasted. When you had quite finished ogling the body of your bandmate’s older brother, his handsome, fear-inducing face was the dessert that crowned your eyes’ meal. His long, surprisingly straight nose and furrowed, bushy eyebrows gave him the appearance of a bird of prey. His cheekbones, while high-set, were still filled out with fat, preventing a skeletal appearance. His lips, while not plump, were full and parted by his maroon mouthguard, glistening with sweat. His eyes glowed in the flickering light, while still absorbing the energy around them, as if his gaze was an inescapable black hole.

You barely registered that those eyes were boring into you while you essentially feasted upon him with a desirous gaze. His head tilted up, and then you saw the warlike mind which consumed his being, which was reaching toward you with a need to conquer, to take. Even when he stopped to be led to the locker room, you felt his want burn your stomach, and you felt the unquestionable desire to vomit. But still, you trailed after him, along with his other fans. You fiddled with your phone, when Yuji had called you, asking when he would finish up. You sighed, told him five more minutes, and waited for Ryomen’s reemergence. 

When he came back, he clutched an envelope and towel around his neck, along with a duffle bag. He stopped in front of you, surveying you with an unreadable expression. “All alone, are we?” he grinned, and his oddly sharp canines winked at you. Your mouth immediately felt like it was stuffed with cotton.  “It’s rare to see you so scared, girl.” he teased. “You my driver?”

Behind you, Choso leaned an arm on your head. “Hey…Ryomen.” He gave him a dap before steering you to the exit/entrance. “We’re taking you home.”

“Sweet.” He pushed past you, dragging his shoulder deliberately. This somehow shook you out of your trance, and you tramped in front of them, trying not to appear as vulnerable as you felt.

In the car, Ryomen had parked his ass in the passenger seat before you could say a word about it. “Smelly hoes stay in the back, Ryomen.”

“Sukuna to you, baby.”

“Suck-on-a my dick.” you bit. Swerving off the avenue, you stopped at the Itadori brothers’ complex. All three hopped out; rather, Choso dragged a sleeping Yuji and hoisted him over his shoulder along with his guitar, and Ryomen hauled his gear and gloves to their home. With a parting grin, he slammed the car door shut. Nobara had fallen asleep in the backseat as well, and you silently drove home, snapping her awake to get inside.

***

We’re meeting at my house for a band meeting today :DD show up by 5pm pls and thank youuu.  Your phone buzzed as Yuji texted. It was Saturday morning, and you had barely opened your crusted-over eyes a quarter past two. Rays of late winter sunshine seared into your eyes; you didn’t even get under your covers, opting instead to scrunch the neatly laid out blankets between your fingers. Groggily, you peeled your eyes open and clambered to the kitchen, where Nobara had written a note: At mall. You toss it back on the counter and make yourself a late breakfast: two eggs and a slice of gouda in a bread roll. Squinting again, you checked your microwave clock.

 As you blinked, the two morphed into a five. It was 5:30? Shit! You cursed as you ran to your bathroom, quickly rubbing your full-body deodorant over yourself. You splashed your face with water before tugging on a bra you didn’t even look at and the first pair of panties you found in your drawers. A slip of your jeans past your hips, a tug of your shirt over your neck, and a slide into your slides led you out the door and speeding toward the Itadori brothers’ (and Choso’s) apartment. You chewed gum ravenously on your way there; you’d be damned if you let morning breath near your bandmates. You reached under the cactus that had the spare key for the home. Barging in, you braced yourself for the welcoming, although teasing yells. 

Instead, you saw a vacant couch, loveseat, and ottoman. The kitchen held no rumble of life, and everything was less sloppy than usual. Furiously, you text the group. Sorry!! Went to get food, hope you dont mind :P -Yuji. It’s not OUR fault you were late -Maki. Muttering indignancies under your breath, you plop onto the couch, picking at your nail beds. You felt bad for missing the time, but you were so tired from last night. Who’s even up that late, anyway? The 15-hour nap was well-needed. During the weekdays, you spent late nights trying to squeeze in band practice and the elephant-sized pile of work that graced your cheap IKEA desk. A lady needs her sleep, after all, and moonlighting (daylighting?) as a raccoon did nothing to help your confidence.

Sighing, you traipsed to the kitchen, doubting if the gang would bring you something to eat. While Nobara was usually your saving grace, she was off spending her next findom scheme victim’s couple grand. The fridge was unsurprisingly chock-full of leftovers; an old box of half-eaten chow mein, a lone bag of fries, cold pizza…a bum’s heaven. You doubted any actual ingredients existed in the house. The brothers cooked on occasion, likely so infrequently that they could run out of flour and not bat an eye. You settle for the chow mein, knowing you didn’t give a rat’s ass if it was Choso’s or Yuji’s. They frequently raided your fridge anyway. No, it was Ryomen you were worried about. However, a 66% chance of it not being his was all you cared about. Tossing it in the microwave for half a minute, you poured yourself a glass of water before standing at the counter, twirling the saucy noodles between the fork prongs. The chow mein wasn’t particularly hot, but it was suitable.

Behind you, a man loomed in the kitchen entryway. All six and a half feet of him. You ate happily, until you turned to see the presence you dreaded most. Swallowing thickly, you set the takeout down, hiding it from view. Ryomen stared you down, his heartstopping eyes pierced straight through yours and slid their effect through your body, straight to your stomach. You felt it drop, and your grip on the floor slid. His lip curled when he saw your eyebrows knit together in cowardice, before you shakily regain your composure. “You surprised me,” you blurted. 

“Likewise.” He motioned to the living room behind him. “Where’re your little friends?” Ryomen stepped closer; you stepped away. You tried not to gaze at the strong arm that pushed an island chair out of his way; the loose tee he wore did next to nothing to hide the contours of his bicep. He looked past you, at the opened chow mein container.

“They’re on their way here,” you bluffed; in actuality, you had no idea when they’d end their little excursion. Ryomen tilted his head in mockery. He had been inching closer every second, and he had finally gotten within arm’s reach. You, on the other hand, had nowhere else to go, unless you desired to become one with the countertop. “They’re getting food,” you muttered. The enclosing space made your stomach fall to the floor, surprisingly managing to be more anxious than you thought the human body could survive. Ryomen’s eyes gleamed predatorily; he had dreamt of cornering your cowering body. In a swift motion, he hooked a thick-knuckled finger through your belt loop, whisking you into his body. With an oomph! you felt your brow ridge hit his collarbone.

“Is that so?” Ryomen leered. His smooth rumble let you know you were so fucked. “Then you’d care to explain where my food went, I assume.” His hand snaked around your waist, sliding up and feeling the curve of your spine. It reached your jaw, where he tilted your face up to meet his.

“I only had a bite or two,” you say, wriggling in his grasp. He held your head firm, grinning devilishly when he squeezed your cheeks. 

“I’ll take a ‘bite or two’ outta you.” His hand let your face go. “It’s only fair.”

“Bite my dick, Ryomen,” you sneer, enjoying your burst of egoism. “I doubt an overlarge slob like you knows the first thing about being with women.” For that one, he squeezed your ass hard. You refused to break the stoicism you set yourself to five minutes ago. 

“Oh, woman, you have no clue what's going to happen to you.”

“A dog-and-pony show and a failed orgasm, I suppose.” Your eyes narrow. Ryomen’s expression shifts into something dangerous, a desire so primal, so base.

“Your friends can’t save you now, doll.” With nary a deep breath, Ryomen hoists you over his shoulder, bearing your weight like a sandbag. He opens the door to his bedroom, unceremoniously flinging you onto his messy bed sheets. You land near its edge, and you can’t take a breath before he’s upon you like a whirlwind, ramming his lips into yours and shoving his hands under your shirt. You screwed your eyes shut, trying to keep up with Ryomen’s neediness. You backed up onto the bed, hurriedly followed by Ryomen. Screaming internally, you watch his trail of kisses slide from your lips to your cheek, down your neck, and straight to your collarbone. His eyes lock onto your t-shirt. 

You hear a seam, or four, tear as he wrests it off of you and onto the waiting floor. Ryomen scrutinizes the bra you barely registered choosing; lucky you, the brute liked the lacy detailing on the pearly fabric. However, it comes off, along with half of your dignity. Ryomen kneads your nipple between his fingers slyly, watching them harden from contact. Before you can blink, he returns to sucking on your neck, working an obscene hickey onto your nape. Sharp canines meet your shoulder blade as he bites down. Hard. Your groan of pleasure gives him leeway to taunt you.

“Am I not a slob?” He ruts his clothed, extremely painful boner into your crotch. “Wasn’t I so unskilled? Answer me woman, or are you dumb from a little kiss?” Ryomen’s voice strained. You whimper and grab at his hair, tugging the black roots. Grinding and sucking his way down,  His starving demeanor sent a shot of pleasure through your veins. Oh, you were so fucked.

***

It hadn’t been more than a few hours. Ryomen, who you regrettably called Sukuna (while being fingered into oblivion), was dozing away on top of you, a comforting weight. The analog clock above his door frame read 7:38. Struggling, you push off him and hobble down to the living room, hastily putting on the first pair of pants you saw and your shirt; you had no clue how incredibly disheveled you looked, so covered in blotchy red hickeys and nail marks you appeared to have been pelted with overripe cherries. What a sight it was, then, when you ran into Yuji and Choso lounging in their own home.

“I always took him as a rough guy, but jeez. I’m surprised you got away,” Choso said between bites of his chicken wing. Blearily, you grunt an idea of a retort before stealing a wing. “Glad I didn’t have to hear the…yeah,” he finished lamely as you ate.

“Whuh? Choso,” you mumbled, mouth full. “Y’all knew?”

They both looked incredibly guilty. 

Right then, Ryomen walked in behind you, in his boxers. Before you asked where his pants were, you looked at yours, realizing they were hanging off your hips; you should’ve noticed when the fabric dragged against your ankle as you navigated the apartment. “Got any left for me? I’ve just been,” he glanced your way cheekily. “...exercising.” 

[queer-little-demigod]

Hi lea!!!! Can you write about an clarisse la true x apollo!reader

Clarisse got in trouble for something (what's new tho) and got a punishment of helping out with the little demigods art class for 2 weeks (or however long) the volunteer teacher is reader. At first Clarisse did NOT wanna be there she acted like a baby for the first few days but after she got more involved and started to understand she enjoyed it (she would never admit it), she started talking to the kids more (she totally has favorites, reader has to constantly tell her dont be so obvious about her favorites 😭) it got to a point where the kids would start talking to her outside of class. Also Clarisse definitely doesn't develop a crush on reader. AT ALL. SHE DEFINITELY HATES HOW PASSIONATE SHE IS ABOUT THE KIDS AND ART AND HOW GOOD SHE IS WITH KIDS SHE DOESN'T THINK ITS CUTE AT ALL. SHE DOESNT THINK OF THAT CLASS AS ONE BIG FAMILY. I mean what???? Who said that???

Anyways when it's time for her to go reader takes some of the kids to make a goodbye sign for clarisse; clarisse takes her 100% not favorite kid on a secret mission to make an 'I'm staying' sign. Then reader and Clarisse present them at the same time and it's all cutesy!! After class, reader asks clarisse on a date via showing her a pain she drew of them on a date and hopes she gets the message!

Thank you! :)

you got an artist inside you - clarisse la rue

summary where clarisse finds herself falling in love with a girl over paintbrushes and a punishment

fic type fluff

pairing clarisse la rue x fem!apollo!reader

word count 1.8k

warnings none

The camp was usually sleepy, quiet, and mostly empty apart from a few stray campers training here and there. But with summer already beating down with a burning force, it was full of kids running around, training left right and center, and all-in-all just general chaos.

So with the burning heat came grumpy older campers, which meant fights.

And a fight at lunch is what led to Clarissa having to help the younger campers with art class, with the co-teacher being none other than you, Y/n L/n, counsellor of the Apollo cabin. Additionally and otherwise known as the girl Clarisse was smitten with.

"Clarisse La Rue if you don't stop whining like that right now, I am going to smack you," you grumbled in utter frustration for the fifth time that hour, when she complained to you about some kid not cutting the paper the way it was supposed to be cut.

For a child of the god of war, she was such a wuss sometimes.

"But they're not following-" she began to protest, but a smack upside the head with a roll of wrapping paper shut her up.

"They're seven year olds in a summer camp art class," you emphasised on those facts. "They're gonna do their own thing!"

This was how the first few days went. She complained, you disciplined both her and the kids. But once she got used to the whole routine of you both giving instructions and the final products having irritatingly distinct variations, she cooled down.

If this was going to be a punishment for the next two weeks, she might as well enjoy it.

The art room, as usual, was a mess. Glitter was everywhere, coloured pencils were strewn around, papers were on the floor, blackened and trampled on. The strong scent of glue made everyone a bit woozy, and there was enough shouting for supplies across the table to give even the calmest camper a sensory overload.

Clarisse sat in the danger zone where the most glitter was being thrown around and spilled, and her soft skin was already glimmering with purple and red glitter as she tried restoring order. However, instead of yelling as usual she was laughing along with the little kids.

One kid in particular, you noticed, she helped far more than the others. A Hephaestus kid named Dennis, who was the sweetest little thing with big, round glasses and bronze hearing aids that you had Charlie customise so they looked like metal elf ear tips.

You pulled Clarissa aside and scolded her with a smile, “Clar, you cannot pick favourites!”

Clarissa loved your smile with everything she had. So naturally, she was so captivated by it that she didn't hear you the first time. Nor did she register the scolding.

"Excuse me, but Dennis deserves special treatment--" She began, but you cut her off.

"No, he's just like the other kids, okay? Just make sure you don't pick favourites, please," you sighed and walked away, going back to showing the kids how to make paper butterflies.

But you're my favourite, she thought to herself. She wished she had the courage to say it out loud, admit her feelings for you, but she couldn't.

Later, as time went by, as days of standing in clouds of glitter and glue fumes began and ended, Clarisse found that she was apparently likeable. After classes, during training, during dinner, she'd have little kids pulling her sleeve to talk to her, she'd have kids randomly hugging her at odd times of the day, or giving her small artworks like a wonky bird or a odd-looking Cerebrus. It shocked the campers beyond belief.

But for you it just made your love for her grow.

One day during class, a Demeter kid named Flora started to cry because glitter went into her eye. You rushed over immediately and helped her up, holding her in your arms as you took her to the basin to clean her up.

"Shh, don't cry, baby, it's okay, I'm gonna wash it out, alright?" You said softly.

"Guys, focus on your work, Flo's fine," Clarisse said, clapping her hands to direct the staring kids back to work, her eyes fixed on you as you washed Flora's eyes with water gently, telling her that she should not to go so close to the page when blowing glitter off in the softest voice the child of war had ever heard.

You were so gentle, like the softest summer breeze which didn't make the leaves rustle, but cooled one's warming skin. You were so precious, with your soft smile and loving words. Your voice was sweet like honey, no matter who you talked to or how.

If your voice was bottled, she swore to the gods that she'd get drunk on it every night.

"You okay, champ?" She asked, gently ruffling Flora's soft brown hair as the girl sat down. "You're a strong girl, aren't you? Showed that stupid glitter it's place."

You giggled at the way she spoke, covering your mouth with your hand to hide it. It was ridiculously obvious that Clarisse thought the kids in the art class were like family, and it was genuinely so adorable.

Seeing her like this, curly hair pulled back in her red bandanna, arms splattered with paint here and there, with glitter shining off her smooth caramel skin with every movement she made into the light, lit up something inside of you. Seeing her without her usual scowl, pulling funny faces with the kids as she showed them how to draw a monster, made your heart beat twice as fast.

However, two weeks went by with heartbreaking speed, and before she knew it, she was in Chiron's office, listening to him gleefully say she was officially un-grounded.

But honestly? She didn't share his happiness.

Nor did you.

"What?! Already!?" You exclaimed that evening as you sat in your cabin at your desk, which had plans put out for what to make for the next art class.

"Yeah," she grumbled, lounging on your bed. "I hate it."

"That's rough, but it's okay, you can always hop in to volunteer,"

"What do we tell the little ones?"

"The truth?"

"You're fucking crazy if you think they'll go with it,"

"I'm out of options, Clar," you leaned back in your chair and put your hands over your eyes. "I love that class, and I love teaching art."

"I know, and as much as I hate to admit it," she sat up. "So do I."

The very next day, Clarisse rushed to Chiron and begged him to let her stay for that class. Even going to lengths that she told him how she felt for you.

"Fine," he relented. "You can stay with the class for as long as you'd like,"

She'd never run to the forges to find a kid so fast.

"Beckendorf!" She exclaimed, looking at the cabin counselor. "Hey, where's Dennis?"

The boy looked around, and his eyes landed on Dennis, who was inquisitively watching one of his half-sisters mold a few practice swords, helping occasionally with putting the swords in water.

"Dennis!" Beckendorf exclaimed, "Clarisse wants to talk to you!"

Dennis immediately ran over, grinning broadly, showing his gap-toothed smile. "Hi, Clarisse!" He said, excitedly.

"Hey there, big boy!" She smiled back, giving him a high five. "So listen, I'm going to need your insane artistic skills and your help..."

While you did help the other kids make a 'goodbye' sign for Clarisse, on the side you decided to confront your feelings.

You knew you liked her from the beginning, from when you first saw her infectious smile, from when you heard her deep laugh reverberating through the empty Apollo cabin on days where you both would plan lessons.

She held the key to your heart, she knew her way past your walls. She clearly also knew how to remain in your thoughts, subconscious and conscious, to the point where you found yourself in the art studio, canvas on an easel before you.

Thoughts of her, of feeling her coarse, battle-worn hands on your skin, of gazing into those deep brown eyes which were like the colour of the rain-kissed earth, and when she fought were like the evening sun, golden enough to put the wings of Icarus to shame, made your paintbrush move. It made your colours flow like the blood in your veins, made each stroke perfect enough to create the scene you most desired on the canvas in front of you.

You stepped back once you felt the need to express yourself flow away, gazing at the canvas. A scene it held, and what a scene indeed. The sky was cornflower blue, a cloudless day, with the sun’s rays shining down on a big oak tree. The leaves were paler as the golden light kissed the surface, casting sharp shadows on the pillowy grass.

But then there was vivid orange and red, a flash of bronze. In the foreground there sat both you and Clarisse, the latter having more detail than any part of the drawing.

Then the dreaded day came where you all had to say goodbye to her.

The little ones were devastated, not letting Clarisse go anywhere without following her around like baby ducklings, making her explain to them that she's not going away from camp, she's just not going to teach them anymore.

At the end of the final class, just as everyone unveiled the 'we'll miss you' poster, she and Dennis revealed their 'I'm Staying' poster, causing a loud, thunderous cheer to erupt from all of you.

Later, you pulled her aside to give her your canvas painting.

Nerves wracked your body, your palms began to sweat.

When was the last time you had felt this nervous? It was probably your cello recital the day you had come to camp...

"Holy shit, Y/n this looks absolutely amazing!" Clarisse exclaimed, taking the painting in her hands.

She didn't miss the detail you had given her, drawing her angelically, despite her thinking she was the opposite. It was so well done that the brush strokes weren't even visible.

Please get the message, you blockheaded, oblivious fool...you thought.

Deciding to act against your nerves, you asked her in a shaky voice, "That's a painting of us on a date...would you like to go on one with me sometime?"

Clarisse's heart stopped. Had you just asked her out on a date?

She was at a loss for words, they didn't touch her tongue, nor did they pass her lips. She stood there, speechless, gaping at you for a moment too long.

"I mean, I get it, you're probably not even a les--" you began, but a pair of gentle lips on yours silenced your words.

Sparks flew, butterflies went haywire, your brain short-circuited. You didn't know what to doo, just stood there frozen with shock. Kissing the girl you had liked for the last few months now.

Clarisse, however, was ecstatic. Her mind was a burst of colour, her body was ablaze. She felt like she had wings, and her heart was taking her up, up, up.

Once she pulled away, she winked at your blushing face and dopey grin.

"It's a date, L/n."

hi, it's me! lea! i hope you enjoyed this long overdue oneshot <3 requests are open via dms or asks!

[sorcerersseestars]

synopsis: Gojo blames you for the first-years' disaster that the higher-ups caused.

pairing: Gojo Satoru x gn! reader

genre: hurt/comfort, angst to fluff

warnings: mention of death/a corpse, yelling, heavy feelings of self-blame, stuttering (it makes sense here tho I promise), emotionally constipated Gojo, mention of not eating for an extended period of time/being hungry (due to the situation), manga spoilers!! (star plasma vessel arc), indirect confessions

word count: 5.2k

notes: There are some slightly non-canon details. I’m pretty sure that Nanami and Yuji don’t know each other at this point, but let’s pretend they do. Also, I’m insinuating a more seasoned bond between Gojo and Yuji/reader and Yuji - let’s also pretend that they’ve been teaching Yuji for longer at this point, for more angst potential. :) LAST THING - you used to be a very mediocre child/adolescent actor in a few small/bad films. Only relevant for one detail.

Also, Gojo may be a bit ooc here - possibly overdramatic in his wordings - but I really wanted to write a Gojo that loses control of his emotions, since I think it'd be difficult to elicit such a reaction from him. I hope it suits him okay!!

GOJO HAS ALWAYS had a soft spot for you. In high school, he would regularly volunteer himself to take your blame, even though you never asked him to do it and would practically begged him not to. But, he was frustratingly persistent and would do it despite your many protests. If you ever cheated on an assignment, Gojo would claim he copied yours. If you fumbled during a mission, Gojo would lie in the report. If you both snuck out and got caught, Gojo would say he dragged you out with force. Whenever you would have an argument with someone, Gojo would comfort you afterwards, insisting the other person was in the wrong even when they obviously weren’t.

Although he has eventually ramped down this ridiculous treatment over the years, you will never forget this boyish idiosyncrasy from your younger days.

Today, however, it’s like those days never even existed. You don't recognize the person standing in front of you. You can’t blame him for his reaction – it's wholly natural – but it still jars you.

Today, you fucked up. You fucked up so badly that there's a very permanent, unchangeable consequence to your actions – or rather, your lack thereof. The consequence of your stupidity, the result of your thoughtlessness, lies unmoving in this room. The body of Itadori Yuji, separated from reality only by the thin plastic covering of a body bag, rests on a table only feet from where you stand.

His mentor, one sworn to protecting his students, sworn to delaying his impending execution as much as possible, stands before you. His signature blindfold obscures his eyes, and you can only imagine the wild, swirling gaze you would be faced with in its absence.

Yuji’s mentor – your long time close friend, who has never blamed you in any great capacity for anything through the entirety of your friendship – now looks at you scathingly.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He spits, tone icy.

He's not looking at you as he rigidly hovers over the operating table, but you can feel the intensity of his emotions despite the distance. Words fall out of your brain, and you struggle to string together a cohesive thought.

“I-" You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “The higher-ups told me not to go with them, I don’t know wh–"

He barks out a harsh laugh, cutting off your pathetic excuse. His head is in his hands, fingers roughly carding through his disheveled hair. He pauses in his ministrations to face you: he is suddenly towering over you, broad frame filling even the corners of your vision.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” He growls. “Did you stop to think for even a second? Why would they ever ask a teacher to stay behind?”

Tears begin to slide down you cheeks. You quickly wipe them away and will your building urge to break down to go away.

He sighs, his breath leaving him loudly and aggressively. “I don’t understand how this happened. You know how this works, (Y/N)! You know how the higher-ups are!”

“I’m sorry,” You choke out quietly, voice stretched and thin. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t bring him back, (Y/N)!” Gojo shouts.

Shoko and Ijichi are silent. Shoko is looking at the ground, her stony expression difficult to determine. Shoko, your friend who always sticks up for you no matter what, especially when dealing with Gojo. Shoko, who hasn’t spoken a single word to you since you arrived. For once, she agrees with him.

Your eyes land on the black body bag laying on the operating table, and you can’t hold it back any longer. Your legs weaken underneath you and you begin to shake. The sobs you’ve been suppressing rip out of your throat. Ugly, choking sobs.

Nobody moves to comfort you. If anything, Gojo’s scowl deepens, and Shoko turns away at your display of emotion.

“I know,” You sob. “I know it doesn’t. I know it's my fault.”

You take a few shaky breaths. “I didn’t know- I didn’t mean for it to happen- I- it’s my fault.”

He slides his blindfold down, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. You are about to blurt something else out, but before the words can leave your tongue, you catch his gaze and you’re immediately frozen. His boiling blue irises steal your breath and leave you rooted to the spot. Never in your life have you seen him this angry or even display this much emotion.

“If you keep standing there and crying, I think I’m going to kill something,” He says lowly.

“Gojo,” Shoko interjects in a warning tone.

Gojo bites back, “Why not? We all want the higher-ups gone. It’d be so easy. Shit like this wouldn’t happen anymore.”

Ijichi pales. Shoko roughly says, “Are you crazy?”

He doesn’t answer, and the determined look on his face isn’t necessarily comforting. It seems a storm is brewing – the most powerful sorcerer is being driven to a point.

You’re reaching a point, too – your breaking point. You feel like you can’t breathe. When you inhale, your lungs refuse to inflate past the shallowest of breaths. It’s all hitting you now, clear thoughts rising past the fog of adrenaline that overwhelmed your mind. The reality is that you fucked up, and it’s not fixable.

You fucked up, and there’s no going back in time to change your decision, to go against orders to stay with your students. There’s no way to bring Yuji back.

“Why are you still here?” Gojo says with an exasperated huff, addressing you directly. “Seeing you only adds to my anger.”

You say nothing, your mind occupied only with your regrets. He frowns and tries again.

"Unless you want to dive further into this preventable death," He says coldly. "Leave. There's still a job to be done.”

You barely hear his words. Your brain doesn’t have the energy to collect them, to interpret them, as it hyper-fixates on the horrible hole forming in your heart. Your eyes are wide, pupils enlarged, and you are visibly quivering.

“Didn’t you hear me? You need to leave!” Gojo growls, frustrated at your lack of reaction, believing it to be indifference.

“They must be in shock, Gojo,” Shoko murmurs. “They’re shutting down.”

Shoko’s diagnosis is indeed correct. You don’t hear a single word that comes out of their mouths; your shoulders and heart have grown heavy, leaden, from knowing the fate you led your students to. One deceased, two severely injured. All because of a risk you did not take, an order you did not disobey.

Yuji’s bright smile burns into the back of your eyes, a reminder of what you’ve lost, of the ultimate mistake.

One second, your eyes are on the black body bag, and the next second you can’t see anything, your vision blurred by tears and by speed. You’re running, you realize, legs pumping as fast as they can. Your lungs ache and your legs cramp up, but you can’t will yourself to stop. You can’t think. You can’t catch your breath.

When you inevitably collapse, you don’t know where you are or how much time has passed. It’s just a patch of grass damp with dew, a few maple trees dotting the banks of a small neighboring stream. You’re laying under one of these trees, your arms outstretched so your fingers can comb through the cool, wet blades of grass. You’re vaguely aware the the sun set at some point after you left. Maybe it’s been a hour, or a few more. You have no idea.

You want to scream, you want to cry, but you don’t. You can’t; it won’t come. When his grinning face and determined smile taunt you, reminding you of your sins, you can only screw your eyes shut, willing the torture to end.

Wetness finally runs down your face, and you taste salt. It is oddly comforting. Your hands repeatedly grab the gentle grass, numbing your mind until exhaustion eventually overtakes you.

There’s a buzzing filling your brain. You groan and roll over, reaching out to your bedside table to grab the offending object. You startle at the feeling of sharp gravel under your fingertips – it’s unpleasantly damp, as well, leaving muddy residue on your hands.

The buzzing starts again, and this time you clearly feel the vibrations through your leg. You sit up, scooting back until your back firmly hits the tree trunk behind you, and force your tired eyelids to part. You have to squint, as the sun has already risen and has crossed the sky a fair amount – it must be approaching noon already.

When the buzzing persists, you grumpily rip the phone out of your pocket. It’s not an alarm, as you had expected. In fact, you startle at the caller ID: Gojo Satoru.

You stare at your phone blankly, your brain buffering. You ultimately let it ring out, although your finger hovers over the answer button. Once the screen fades to your usual background, your throat goes dry. Missed calls from Shoko, Nanami, and Gojo fill your screen. You quickly skim the accompanying texts and wince.

Shoko <3: I know we’re all upset, but we shouldn’t have taken it out on you…just let me know you’re alright, okay? (10:43 pm)

‘Nanamin’: I heard what happened. It isn’t your fault, (Y/N), no matter what anyone says. Call me if you need anything. (6:26 am)

Satoru: Where are you? (11:34 pm)

Satoru: Pick up (11:59 pm)

Satoru: please (12:03 am)

Satoru: I fucked up. I need to talk to you, please let me (12:05 am)

Satoru: I understand if you don’t want to talk to me, but let someone, anyone, know you’re alright… (7:12 am)

Satoru: Megumi just told me he tried to visit you but you still weren’t home. (Y/N), please…say anything…I need to know that you’re okay (11:17 am)

It all rushes back to you: your lethal mistake, the deserved reaction you received from your two best friends, how you shamefully ran away. Fuck. There’s no way you can face any of them, especially not Megumi.

You wish this never happened. Hot tears burn your cheeks again; your eyes flood with regret. Shame quickly floods through you, making you feel hot all over. How can you feel sorry for yourself when it was your fault in the first place?

You roughly wipe your face with your sleeve and stick your phone back into your pocket. There’s no way you can respond right now. It’s bound to die soon, anyway, so there’s no point in trying.

You don’t want to move from where you sit. You want to sink into the ground and stay there until the horrible feeling inside you goes away. But…

“What if it doesn’t?” You whisper those words out into the universe, a sinking feeling in your gut telling you the answer.

You want to cry more, allow yourself to shed more tears, but you don’t. You wobbly stand up, and are surprised at how weak you are. When was the last time you ate – yesterday morning, before the disastrous mission?

You have to go home. You can’t stay here, in the middle of nowhere, neglecting yourself. It’s a thought that rings in your head and won’t leave you alone until you decide to listen. Okay. You will go home. You can manage that.

It takes a while, but you find your way back to your apartment. Last night, you had apparently meandered into an expanse of empty land neighboring the school, as you pass by Jujutsu Tech on your way back. It is a bit off the beaten path – you doubt anyone has ever intentionally gone where you ended up last night.

During your journey home, you have to reference your Google Maps app a few times, but you somehow successfully get back home, despite your directional challenges and weakened state.

Until you step into your apartment, you don’t realize how cold you are. Your feet are numb from being cold and wet, your toes icy when you peel the damp socks off. You cringe at how unaware you have been at your body for the past 24 hours: your mental state ignored all physical needs.

Your stumble to your bedroom, aching body screaming for a rest. You relent easily, collapsing on your bed face first. You’re so grimy and covered in remnants of the dirt bed you laid in last night, evidence of your outside stay covering your clothing. Bits of twigs and leaves invite themselves into your sheets – you couldn’t care less right now, though. You don’t even think about it.

On instinct, you plug your dead phone in without even looking. There’s silence for a minute or two before it whirs back to life, the screen flashing at your tired eyes.

There’s another message waiting to be opened.

Megumi: Come back soon, sensei. He’s getting unsufferable

Megumi:…more than usual

A hoarse chuckle leaves your throat, the first laugh that’s left you since the whole incident. You sigh immediately after though, as you begin to wonder how Megumi has been dealing with everything. If you hadn’t run away, then…

Your head is in your hands again. No matter what path your thinking strays down, you keep returning to your immense guilt over what happened.

You wish you were mad at someone. You wish that you felt angry at Gojo, but you aren’t – you can’t be. In your eyes, he wasn’t wrong; how could you be mad at him when you agree?

You’re not mad, but there’s this other unpleasant feeling. It feels like one of Nobara’s nails has been lodged in your chest, and every time you think about his reaction, the nail twists a little deeper into your heart. He’s never yelled at you before. That hurt.

It’s understandable, but it still hurts.

Gojo…You don’t think you can face him yet, but he may come to you if your radio silence continues. Maybe you should just get it over with and call him. You can just tell him you’re alive and hang up. That should suffice.

Without thinking further on it, you grab your phone and dial his number. Within two rings, the line connects.

“Yo, (Y/N)! Long time no hear!” His chirpy voice booms through your speakers. He’s back to his usual self – overly casual and full of mirth. He sounds way too cheerful; it throws you off guard.

A sharp inhale leaves you as you’re about to tell him that you’re fine and to not worry, so that you can hang up and avoid him. But, nothing comes out. Everything you thought of saying flies out of your brain. You’re left wordless, mouth hanging open.

“You there? (Y/N)?”

You shake your head, coming to your senses.

“Yes,” The single word that leaves you is weak and breathy.

“You good? Are you home now?”

“Yeah. Home now. I’m alive, so no need to bother checking in on me,” You say thoughtlessly.

God, that was lame. You can’t help but cringe at what you just said. It’s what you intended to convey, yes, but that’s not how you wanted to say it.

“Just alive? Sounds real peppy over there!” He chuckles. “I was going to come over anyway, but you’ve really pushed it over the edge.”

“Ah,” You say somewhat panicked, searching for a way out of this. “There’s really no need. I just need rest so there’s no need. I’ll see you later, then.”

“You mean soon!” He chirps before you can hang up. You groan into your pillow; this is exactly what you had been trying to avoid. How are you even going to look at him?

You’ve just put your phone back on your nightstand when there’s sudden footsteps approaching your bedroom. Before you can think further, the door is flung upon and a familiar figure appears before you.

“Ultimate best friend Gojo Satoru has arrived! Everyone applaud!”

A series of small claps ensues, while you just stare on in silence and disgruntlement. A wide smile stretches across his face at your displeased expression.

“C’mon angel, not even a single clap? That’s cold.”

You roll your eyes, but only half-heartedly. The gesture is so pathetically slight that Gojo’s smile falls a fraction. You don’t have much emotional energy to expend on humoring him, it seems. Because of him.

It’s then that he fully takes in your appearance. Tear stained cheeks, dirt caking your clothes and body, scraps of organic material matted in your hair and clinging to all parts of you. There’s even smudges of dirt around your eyes where you’ve attempted to wipe away tears.

He questions your appearance, trying to appear lighthearted, “Was the forest calling you? You really didn’t sleep here?”

You immediately feel self-conscious of your appearance and cross your arms. You manage out a quiet, “Something like that.”

“No, seriously…where did you sleep?” He probes, this time lacking the lightheaded tone.

A weak, sheepish smile appears on your lips, “Ah…the ground? You were right, I guess.”

He blinks. You rub the back of your head and avoid eye contact, softly laughing an awkward little chuckle.

“Seriously?” He asks, but it lacks any judgment. He is truly just in disbelief.

You just nod.

“Hey, are you…are you sure you’re okay?”

You weren’t expecting that. You wish he would stay in his childish mindset – these real questions are worse.

You breathe out slowly, “I mean…yeah. I’m fine.”

It’s not a very convincing delivery, but it was the best you could manage. The corners of his lips turn down slightly, almost unnoticeably, but he doesn’t comment on your answer. He knows he should question you further, dig a little deeper, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he excuses himself, “I’ll be right back. Just stay put! I’ll know if you move, so you better not move an inch.”

He raises two fingers to his eyes, then directs them to you, clearly saying ‘I have my eyes on you!’

It’s amusing - he’s always amusing - but when you try to smile, your lips just flatline. You can’t tell if he notices, since he has already turned away and walked into the bathroom, but you hope he couldn’t tell.

When he returns, he’s holding a dampened washcloth.

“Bath time!” He says, shaking the cloth excitedly in front of you. You flinch a little as a few stray drops of water unexpectedly land on you, which he lightly laughs at.

And then he begins swiping away the dirt that has accumulated on your body. He starts with your face. He’s on his knees, one elbow resting on the space neighboring your right thigh, leaning in to have more control with the cloth. You close your eyes when his face comes within inches of yours - too close. Even when you feel as horrible as you do now, your heart won’t stop thumping quickly against your ribs, as if it cannot deny those deeply hidden feelings you harbor.

He hums while he works, gently dabbing all the places where you have visible dirt. It’s comforting, or at least it should be. You heart begins to clench tightly, and you so badly want a hole to appear in the ground to swallow you up.

“Gojo, why are you being so nice now?” You ask, voice small. “I don’t really deserve it. I’d…prefer the alternative. This feels wrong right now.”

He sets down the cloth, wincing at your pitiful words. Is that how you really feel?

He pauses. He’s not good at this sort of thing – acknowledging other people’s vulnerability, lowering his own walls to empathize with others, any of it. He hates it. He hates how emotionally he acted yesterday, he hates how it has affected you.

“No,” He sighs. He speaks slowly as he carefully chooses his words, “I…shouldn’t have acted like that yesterday. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Your bottom lip trembles, but you force yourself not to cry, “It’s okay. I don’t blame you for it. Everyone was thinking it.”

He tries to catch your eye, but your gaze is downcast. He ducks, lowering himself to the ground even more, to enter your field of vision.

“Hey,” He says softly. “Do you trust me?”

Your brow furrows; you don’t understand why he’s asking you that. You feel yourself nodding, though.

“Everything I said yesterday,” He starts, but then shakes his head at himself. “No, everything I yelled at you yesterday – it was misdirected. What happened wasn’t your fault. There was no way of knowing what was about to happen.”

“But now, it’s obvious,” You mumble. “I should have known.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty. You were following orders. The ones assigning the orders are at fault, not you.”

You grab your sheets with tight fists. You turn your head to the side, away from his invisible gaze, “Orders that were obviously suspect. It’s still my fault as an experienced sorcerer.”

Gojo’s chest constricts. You sound exactly like he did yesterday; the consequences of his actions echo back to him from your mouth.

“I promise it’s not,” He insists, but it falls on deaf ears. “I’ve made mistakes too. I’ve made mistakes, but you never treated me like I treated you yesterday.”

Gojo clenches his teeth. This is hard. He hates bringing up this side of the past, but he’ll do it for you.

“You never judged me for what happened during the Star Plasma Vessel mission. Even though you wanted to leave that night, and I ignored you, you never blamed me.”

“You were seventeen,” You say quietly, shakily. “We were all kids. That was over a decade ago.”

“But you knew how to make it better,” He says breathlessly. “And you never even once insinuated that it was my fault.”

You smile sadly at him, and your next words are sure and immediate, “Because it wasn’t.”

Gojo’s mouth hangs open for a second, still amazed at the understanding and kindness that so easily shine through you even in the darkest moments.

He reaches out for your hands, unsure, and squeezes them when he finds them. “Can I…can I start over ? From yesterday?”

You blink blankly, not completely understanding, but give a hesitant nod anyway.

He exhales deeply and lowers his head to your hands until his forehead brushes your fingertips. It’s completely unexpected, and you freeze upon contact. His head is bowed to you – embarrassment and confusion flood you.

You are relieved when he raises his head to speak.

“What happened with our students isn’t your fault,” He says quietly but with conviction. “It’s the work of the higher ups - it’s their fault, nobody else’s. I’m…”

He pauses. Words he never says need to come out.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that this happened while you were here and I was away, I’m sorry that I blamed you for things out of your control. This was never your fault.”

You are silent. You say nothing. You don’t move. Your expression stays blank.

He panics. He takes your silence as a sign of not being forgiven – which is not what he fears, in fact he doesn’t want to be forgiven. But he doesn’t want to lose you, and that’s exactly what he thinks has happened. Did he completely sever the bond spanning more than a decade?

“I understand if you can’t forgive me, but,” He swallows thickly, the anxious feeling rising. “But I hope this doesn’t…”

He tries again, “I hope our friendship…I hope you- I don’t want to lose you after all we-”

“Satoru – it’s not that,” You say quickly. “You haven’t, I promise. I have already forgiven you. I forgave you from the moment it started.”

You close your eyes, clenching them shut. You don’t want to cry again. “It’s just that…even if I’m not directly at fault, Yuji is still dead. Our student is dead. Despite anything that can be said of the situation, that fact will not change.”

He really shouldn’t tell you this. He needs to, but he shouldn’t.

“Do you trust me?” He says again, voice only a whisper. He’s even closer now, only inches away. A hand raises to ease his blindfold down so that it rests loosely around his neck.

Your eyes on his are so clear, and reveal so much – surprised by his bare gaze, confusion clear in your beautiful eyes he finally can see so clearly up close.

“Of course,” You whisper breathlessly. “Always have.”

“Close your eyes, and hold on,” He says. “Don’t want you getting lost again, angel.”

You know what that means. Teleportation. But where could he be taking you that is so important right now? Maybe somewhere he knows you like to calm you down?

You’re taken aback by the rush of air around you even though you’ve traveled like this many times.

The few uncomfortable moments in the strange vortex allow you to question where be could be possibly be taking you. Before you can decide on an answer, however, the roar in your ears subsides, and you are steadied by his grip around your shoulders. He's so close again, wisps of his soft hair tickling your neck. One of his large hands drops down to clutch yours. You’re ashamed about now nice it all feels in such a situation.

Then all that slips away and you're immediately on guard - there's another cursed presence nearby.

“Gojo-sensei, you’re back? That movie was kind of weird and bad, but I swear that one character was (L/N)-sensei. Do they have a twin or something?”

Your eyes pop open. Your hand falls out of Gojo’s as your grip completely goes slack. That voice…Youthful, full of energy and a kind innocence. It could only be...

Gojo responds ecstatically, dramatically, “Ah, but of course not! I have brought an honored guest! An old time Hollywood star whose home was the red carpet! The famed, the budding talent, (Y/N)-”

He’s cut off by a shriek. He blinks twice, and you’re already far from his side, rushing to the secret he has to keep - the secret he couldn’t possibly keep from you.

You crash into Yuji, binding him in a crushing hug. He's open mouthed and spluttering in surprise, but you don't have it in you to be embarrassed right now. You have no idea how, but he is standing before you, living and breathing. As seemingly endless tears pour down your face, you miss now the confusion on his face morphs into a look of grim understanding. He doesn't know what you went through, but he can guess.

And then you're laughing. Crying and laughing. Heaving breaths to accommodate your almost hysterical laughter, standing back to wipe away your tears before hugging Yuji again.

The sight of you hugging your student so tightly, healing with just this action, coaxes a half smile out of Gojo. Only half because he is in danger of faltering himself, bottom lip wavering as a wave of emotion flows over him.

The abandoned blindfold is clenched tightly in his hand as he tries to hold back the emotions welling in his brilliant eyes. He almost wants to put it back on to hide the emotions underneath, but he can’t, not when the whole reason he took it off was to see this with his own eyes.

No words are exchanged for a long while. They don't need to be, and even Gojo can see that.

By the time he is taking you home, your dynamic has shifted back to something more normal. It's raining, but you insist on walking back, citing the fact that his teleportation makes you horribly dizzy. (Or maybe, just maybe, you want a little more time with him. But you'd never admit that to yourself.)

The constant overhead drizzle is a bit annoying, but is bearable despite Gojo's claims of it tainting his very existence. He’s clearly back to his overdramatics - it's comforting.

The streets are dark, with only muted warm yellow lights lining the sidewalks, creating only vague halos of light due to the misty air. Gojo walks close to your side, an arm wrapping protectively around your shoulders. At some point through your chatting, it slips down to your waist. You don't notice it right away, but once you do, all you can do is wonder if he's done that before - if it's normal for friends.

You notice something else strange. His blindfold is still loosely hanging from his body, his baby blues on display. It's hard to look at him like this - you feel too exposed - even though you desperately want to get lost in his eyes. Yes, your deep affection for him still rings true, even if he yelled at you, even if he did expose your horrible, cringey child acting.

“I can’t believe you put on that movie!” You exclaim, miming exasperation.

Gojo chuckles, “Scolding me again, that’s a good sign. Even if it’s for an illogical reason – c’mon, ‘Painters in Paris’ is a classic!”

You can’t hold back your wide, devious smile, “I guess you would think that since you literally look like a fucking paint brush!”

His jaw drops, and he looks at you faux-offended as you practically double over in laughter.

“Angel! No, I really should be calling you devil! You- get over here!”

Although you run from him, he quickly catches up to you and you’re in his grasp. He immediately overwhelms you with vicious tickles.

“Gojo!! Satoru, you– stop that!” You say between bouts of laughter. You’re off balance, and his relentless attack isn’t helping. “Hey, stop, I’m gonna–!”

You stumble and begin to topple to the cold cement, but you’re scooped up before you meet your demise.

A small gasp escapes you at your proximity, and at his eyes so clearly looking deeply into yours, yearning burning through them. He's never looked at you like this - has he?

“Woah! That was close, huh, angel?” He smiles, tone nonchalant and voice steady. He seems unaffected by your closeness, but his eyes tell a different story. You don't know what to trust - him or his eyes. But they say that the eyes are the windows into the soul – what answer does that leave you with?

And what answer do you have? Right now, with his strong arms around you, those beautiful eyes glittering as if they hold a sea of stars, that sweet smile that never fails to give you butterflies, those lips you can’t help but glance at for too long–

You know.

Without thinking, you give in to your instinct to keep leaning in, and your lips meet his. It's not a passionate crash, but more of a gentle whisper to the soul. A soft brush to his lips, all the sweetness he brings to you returned.

Then, you pull away slowly, almost in confusion. Did you just do that?

You’re horrified. What did you just do without a single thought behind your action?

A gentle chuckle brings you out of your momentary horror.

“So what, you’re a paint brush kisser now?” He chuckles softly, his thumb gently brushing against your lower lip.

You take in his expression - flushed cheeks, a soft smile, eyes full of a softness you've never imagined they could have.

"Yes,” You agree, your mouth stretching widely from the excitement and happiness you can’t hold back, “ l proudly am.”

He pulls you closer and kisses you deeply, again and again and again until you're both out of breath. You both stay in that moment, feelings that lay hidden for years finally spilling out, until you're completely engulfed by the rain.

note part 2: I have a tendency to be over-detailed about boring/fluff details, so I tried to do that less here. First one shot in a while !! I hope the flow is still okay…I also couldn't decide how to do the ending, so l hope this works?

Also wow I can’t stop writing hurt/comfort and Gojo being an ass! I have another story drafted that’s also Gojo x reader and hurt/comfort as well…

Here’s a hint about that one: 🌸🩸

If you’re looking for more hurt/comfort, here’s my gojo hurt/comfort series: here (more action-y than this though)

Thanks for reading !! :)

[qqueenofhades]

I don't know why I thought it was a good idea to argue with people about the worthlessness of voting third party. They just keep insisting that the influence is worth it, and that I was a coward for daring to suggest that we don't HAVE any other options than Democratic. I even cited how voting third party likely played a part in Al Gore losing ffs.

There's no "likely" about it, Ralph Nader DID directly cost Gore the election. He ran explicitly on the same "both parties are the same, so leftists/liberals should vote for me instead" rhetoric that we are still seeing among the Online Left, and it was successful: he got, for example, over 97,000 votes in Florida. Bush won Florida (and thus the presidency) by a miniscule 537 votes, after the fuckery of Bush v. Gore and SCOTUS ordering the recount stopped in Bush's favor. If the tiniest percentage of those Nader voters had gone for Gore, we would have had a president who was arguing in favor of tackling climate change in the year 2000. We would have been incredibly ahead of the curve. We would, in all likelihood, have a president who took the CIA's warnings of an impending al-Qaeda attack in the US seriously. We would not have had the disastrous Afghanistan and Iraq invasions and the "War on Terror," the rampant Islamophobia, "No Child Left Behind," the 2008 economic crash, and everything else that Dubya and his band of bloodthirsty neocons inflicted on us in the early aughties. Look, I try not to look back too much, but having Gore instead of Bush as president would have reshaped the entire timeline we're living in to such an unfathomably better degree that every moron thinking of voting third party For The Protest should be sat down and forced to learn this history intimately. Of course, they already saw it happen in real time in 2016, but they didn't care about that either.

The good news is: there are plenty of persuadable voters out there, and you can do work to reach them and convince them to vote for Democrats! They're just not online, because all the Online Leftists are terminally brain-poisoned against voting anyway and trying to argue with them is generally a waste of time. Instead, what you should do is take a gander at the following links:

This is the one-stop shop page for volunteering to get Democrats elected. You can do in-person and remote work, there are tons of different ways to get involved (i.e. you don't have to go directly out and knock doors if that's not something you're comfortable with), and your local Democratic party will welcome the volunteer help. There is also a page for finding your state party website:

I went there, clicked on my state, opened the webpage, and there was a "Volunteer" link right in the header, with an easy and quick form to fill out to register your interest and explain the kinds of work you would be interested in doing. You can canvass directly, you can manage data on the back end, you can phone bank, you can send texts and postcards to voters who may need an extra nudge, you can otherwise work with your state party in lots of ways, and it will be so much more productive and make you feel so much better than arguing with online idiots who will never, ever change their minds. What you can do is reach out to voters in your own community, in your own state, and have conversations with people who actually ARE willing to listen, but might need a little more educating on the facts, what's at stake, the truth about this election, and the danger that Trump poses. All of this will convert into critically important Democratic votes, and you can actually put your desire to make a difference into action. So yeah. I would 100% suggest you do it this way instead. Good luck.

[ama0310]

The President's Daughter

Character: Finnick Odair

Requested: No

Type: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Arianna Flemings-Snow, the adopted daughter of Coriolanus Snow, bravely volunteers for the 75th Annual Hunger Games. Yet, her courage comes at the cost of confronting not only the repercussions of re-entering the deadly arena but also the profound challenge of sharing it with the man she passionately loves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Finnick Odair, right?” 

Haymitch nods points towards the screen, “ Yes, he won his games at fourteen. Youngest ever. Extremely humble.” 

“You’re kidding right?” He looked like the most narcissistic show off known to man. His stance. His waves. His stupid smirk. He looked as if he were happy to be returning. 

“Yes I’m kidding. He’s a...” Haymitch dramatically flips his hair” …peacock. A total preener but he’s the Capitol darling. They love him here. Charming , smart, and very skilled at combat—especially in water.”

Peta leans forward glancing at the screen, “What about weaknesses?” 

“Well two. First Mags.” A frail looking wrinkly woman pops on the screen. “ She volunteered for Annie. Mags was his mentor and basically raised him. If he’s trying to protect her in any way it exposes him.” 

Katniss stares at the screen seeing the women bravely volunteer for the young girl in hysterics, “A guy like that has to know she’s not going to make it. I bet when it really comes down to it, he won’t protect her. 

Sadness flashes through Haymitch’s eyes, “Well Katniss,  I just hope when she goes…she goes quickly. She’s actually a wonderful lady.” 

The silence fills the room before Peta asks, “And his other weakness?” 

Haymitch lightly smirks before passing  to the next district when a beautiful girl with hair as white as snow comes up. “ District 5. Arianna Flemings. Mostly known as...”

“President Snow’s daughter?” Katniss snaps her head to Haymitch. Eyes widened. 

He tilts his head a bit. “Adopted. She won her games at fifteen. Everyone and I mean everyone fell in love with her. She was the purest of the pure. The cutest of the cute. And the most dangerous of the danger. After one of the tributes killed her district partner all hell broke loose and she murdered the last seven remaining tributes within two hours with one. singular. knife.”

Peta shook his head in disbelief, “If he adopted her then that means he has to have some sort of heart. And he’s letting her go back to the games?” 

Haymitch holds out his hand signaling for the kid to stop talking, “Well, there were rumors about Snow not really adding Arianna’s name into the reaping; however, when her childhood friend was reaped she immediately volunteered. Flabbergasted everyone.” The video shows Arianna immediately protesting and volunteering the moment her friend’s name dropped. The horror on everyone’s face was telling how much the district loved her. 

He cleared his throat and continued, “ I imagined Snow wasn't really happy about that. That’s what he gets for adopting a victor when he’s the leader of these games." He shrugs. "Arianna is very captivating. Even Snow’s heart had to have melt for that young girl. Took her right under his wing. Obviously she was treated like a victor but most importantly she was treated like a Capitol.” 

“If his daughter is that important wouldn’t he know that during the games people will be targeting his daughter. Who wouldn’t if his daughter means that much to him.” 

That’s when Haymtich shook his head, “ Because my dear little Katniss… A) he calls the shots. If you haven’t realized everything in the games are controlled by him and people that love her. He’ll be hovering over you all the entire time. B) She’s a skilled competitor. Again seven tributes dead in two hours by the hands of a 110 pound fifteen year old, hello people keep up. Since then she’s never eased on her training. Obviously she’s bound to have enemies because of her father so she never stopped. Really good using her resources, excellent with knives, basically insanely dangerous. C) Finnick Odair. Both basically spent the last nine years together. Everyone thinks they’re together, but are keeping it hidden because of her father. I’m sure the President feels a lot better having Finnick with her knowing that he would risk his entire life for her. However don’t think it’ll make it easy to kill them. While you two are faking it. They—“ He points to the screen. “Are real. You hurt her and not only will you have Snow on your asses, but a trident in your chest. You hurt him and you’d have knives shoved up every hole in your body. They’re each other’s weaknesses but also strengths. They are who you want to be allies with. I’m serious Katniss don’t mess this up.” 

~~~~~~~

Arianna couldn’t breathe in her dress. It’s not that it’s too tight (which it actually is), but more-so that she’s again back to where she was those many years ago. 

“Breathe. Breathe. Breathe” She lightly whispers under her breath while entering to where all the other Victors were.  She was wearing a beautiful white gown with red lace at the top. Her red make-up contrasting her snow-white features. 

“Isn’t it Snow’s precious girl. Miss Flemings never thought I would have to see you back in the games.” She turns around and sees Gloss from Tribute 1. 

“You and me both. Don’t you look as charming as ever.” She smiles graciously wrapping her arms around her friend. “Where’s Cash?” 

He smiles and points behind him, “Getting the gang back together. Should we be expecting you to join us?” 

Her eyes immediately try to find the one person she truly wanted to ally with. “Gloss I would love to, but I have to check with Finnick. You know wherever he goes I go.”

He nods understanding completely, “And I admire your loyalty. Please try to get him on our side. We really don’t want to have to go against either of you.” 

She nods smiling softly at the man, “Speaking of Finnick do you know where he might be. He wasn’t with Mags.” 

The guy pointed behind her making her turn, “I guess he’s already trying to get the Girl on Fire on his side…without telling you?” 

Arianna lightly hit him, “Glossy I love you, but I hope you weren’t trying to turn me against Finnick. Like you said before I am extremely loyal.” 

He chuckles before backing away, “ Didn’t hurt to try. Now go to lover boy, but please remember what I said.” 

She watches him go back to the Career pack and lightly waves at them before heading towards the duo. 

“Then how do people pay for the pleasure of your company?” If only she knew the truth. 

She sees him lean forward, making the Girl on Fire look uncomfortable  “With secrets” 

Arianna thought it was the perfect time to break the tension especially since she wanted to talk to the golden boy before they had to parade themselves. “Nicky, we went over this so many times, you should never try to get with an engaged woman. Very inappropriate.” She wraps her arm his waist looking up at him. His smirk turned into a genuine smile. 

He immediately looked down at the young girl smirking, “Arianna, you know I’d never try to get with anyone else but you.” 

She lightly smacks his chest before looking over the girl staring curiously at the duo, “ Arianna Flemings.” She sticks her hand out smiling as Katniss took it. “ My niece absolutely loves you. She always wanted to meet you, my father never really introduced us, but you know how he is. You look absolutely beautiful by the way.”  

Katniss couldn’t help but like the girl in front of her. Though the fact that she is someone that Snow cares about keeps nagging at her, the girl alone seems genuine. “I’m Katniss. I saw your games. Very impressive.” Her curt response made Arianna look at Finnick then back at the girl.

“Thank you and your game was also very impressive.” She smiles and then turns her attention to the man next to her. “Nicky, can I talk to you over there please?” 

His gaze went to his angel and then to the girl who’s staring at them, “I’ll be there in a second need to wrap up my introduction to the Girl on Fire.” 

Arianna rolled her eyes playfully before turning to Katniss, “It was really nice to meet you.”

The two stared as Arianna glides away elegantly. Finnick leans towards the girl with a smile, “She is off limits. You hurt her and I’ll gladly pay back the favor with your fiancé while you watch and die an agonizing death. Got that? ” Before she can answer he backs away going to find his girl. 

He finally sees her talking to her district partner and then shoos him away. "Nicky? Did you really had to use that name? "

Her gaze filled with mischief yet care had him wrapped around her finger, "There's Nick, Nickey, Finnley, Finnerson, Fin-"

"Okay we get it, but there's only one name I like hearing you call me." He leans closer.

"Mon amour" She smirks before lightly pushing him back. "That's only reserved when we aren't about to dive head first into our deaths."

His smile drops, " You are not dying. Snow will not allow it and neither will I."

She caresses his face, "Finnick these are how the games are. Though my father cares for me he wants to destroy the girl even more."

He lightly glares at the girl, gripping her waist a bit tighter. " Why did you have to volunteer dammit. Everything was going to be fine, but you just had to volunteer. Why on earth did you even do that?"

She glances around noticing that people are getting on their carriage to start the parade. " I had to, love. But it's okay. I promise you, it will be okay."

The sincerity in her eyes truly made him believe it was all going to be fine even though his heart knew it wasn't.

They finally break eye contact when her partner tells her that the parade is about to start. "Better get on your carriage Snow White looks like Prince Charming needs you."

She kisses him on the cheek, "I'm not into Princes, I prefer fishermen" winking and getting on her carriage.

They both know that no matter what happens in the ring. Capitol be dam. Districts be dam. Both their goal is to protect one another no matter what the cost is.

[this-is-chaos-magick]

Sorry for rambling but I can't just thinking about this and I need people to listen to me I see Wanda smut fics all the time but I can't find post about analyzing and appreciating her character ( I see other fandoms do it with their fav characters I want one with Wanda too) Everything about Wanda's character is making me so freaking sad like i hate that half of her fans only care about her powers and that she's hot... she's more than that..I know it's fiction and it's not that serious but she makes me insane

She has every reason to be angry and be a Villain. because she didn't ask to suffer she didn't ask to be powerful and when she try to do something good and she did, the government put her in the raft everyone acts like she throws the bomb on the building on purpose when it's the only way to save Captain America and everyone around them. People blamed her for her own suffering and blamed her for a tragedy she didn't even cause, She can never come home because the house where all of her happy memories is made doesn't exist. She tried do everything to prove to everyone that she is good and it's not enough. The girl who only wanted people to accept her, the girl who only wanted to be love, the girl who wanted to be good, wasn't good enough

Her and Pietro is trapped under the rubbles of her own house for 2 days, no cause I can't imagine what that must be like? They know their parents are dead. They don't know if they are going to survive. They don't know if someone is going to come rescue them. And when they got rescued. They probably did not have given the chance to grieve their parents. Her parents body are probably unrecognizable and were buried in a mass grave, They are force to grow up too quickly and they have no choice but to accept it.

The reason she ends up so checked out of reality is probably that horrible things keep happening to her, and she has no choice but to go "ok" and move on from that. The moment she first appeared, the way she behave and act it's obvious she have aggression issues and emotional maturity. She used to go to rallies and protests because the government of her country sucks, (shown in aou) and she grew up with her brother, who probably tried to do everything to stop both of them from starving to death. She joined Hydra because she thought she'd be doing something that would help her and her brother, she didn't join them because she agreed with them. ( It's literally implied that hydra is pretending to be shield and is recruiting volunteers)

She did not throw that bomb on that building on purpose; she's trying to save Steve and the people around her. She literally saved a lot of people's lives there, but people keep focusing on her mistake.

Wanda had done so many good things because she was good despite every reason not to. If she is "evil" from the beginning she would have not side with the avengers and just run away after learning Ultron's real plan

She would have not tried so hard to stop the bombs in Lagos if she did not care about other people's life. she save Natasha's and okoye's life, She did everything she could to stop thanos, she did everything the team ordered her to do.

She doesn't want to kill vision because she's afraid of being alone. Westview happened because she couldn't take it anymore. If She is evil she would have not the of people of that town go

"Why didn't she go to therapy?"

Girl, I don't think therapists in the "M*rvel" can help her. You know how people there react to her. If she goes to a therapist, it will probably make her worse. She wants Vision back because he's the only one who understands and truly loves her, and he treats her better than most people there.

She wants her sons back because they make her feel normal and human.They probably reminds her of her life when she is young before everything went horrible. And I don't want to her that "ThEy ArE nOt rEaL" bullshit, They are real to her, she gave birth them. She feels them kicking in her stomach, she touch them she cooks for them, change their diapers, made memories with them, they are not just objects or toys to her, they are her children, she gave life to them, they have souls, they just don't have a physical body

No cause Wanda is happy in Edinburg with vision, those are probably the times where she feels real happiness and thanos ruined everything.

If thanos didn't come, Wanda and vision will be have a real marriage and probably have adopted real children.

Wanda only want people to accept her, she only wanted to be treated like a human being, she doesn't care about being powerful. All of the crimes she committed happened because ever since she's a little she suffered, and I don't care if there are other people who suffers than her, people process trauma differently.

the way Wanda is influenced with something dark and evil and all of she ever wanted is to hug her sons again, she did not want to rule the entire universe she didn't want anything all she ever wanted is to be with her family

Wanda realize she have the power to do everything she wants (darkhold influ.)

that she has a will and that she can make her self happy and I love her for trying.b and I do think she makes stupid and horrible decisions, but so do I, and that's okay;

She's been a hero, a victim, and a villain. because the writers and the shitty universe she's in, don't know what to make of her they accidentally created a character with so many potential and they don't know what to do next and they just killed her off because they think she's not as important like the rest, and majority of her fans just cares about her powers, they only care that she can "solo" people hated Wanda's character because of that. People won't look deeper into her character because the people that claimed to love her also weaponized her. She is doomed by the narrative, ruined by her some of her "fans" and we might not see her again because the universe she's in sucks.

rahhh I am losing it over a fictional woman who has been dead for (?)2 years :(

sorry again for yapping to much I just love this woman so much, my English is not that great sorry if some words are use incorrectly and I am half asleep while typing this so sorry for typos... goodnight