#is that going to stop me from trying?....hopefully not

[reiderwriter]

The Rebound

Plot: Rossi recommends a book binding service to get Spencer to stop complaining about his broken book. Maybe you can fix more than just the broken spine of his book. Warnings: None, fluff. I will preface this with I know the bare minimum about actual book binding though, unfortunately! ㅠㅠ A/N: I'M BACK! Did you miss me? Unfortunately I lost any belief I had in love for a while there, but I found myself thinking about this little fluff idea for a while, and couldn't get it out of my head so I had to write it. It's been almost two years since I began writing, and I decided I want to put this first as a hobby at least once a week, so you will hopefully be hearing from me more often as well. I got a lot of inspiration from the request box too, so thank you to everyone who requested <3 Enjoy~

To say that Spencer had taken this book everywhere would be an understatement. The tattered heap of papers could probably be legally recognized as a member of the BAU the amount of case hours it had seen. It probably had a degree or two of its own as well. 

Spencer always justified it in one way or another. It was in Russian and he needed to practice. It was an incredible book. His mother gave it to him as a child, and she still recognized it sometimes, so he had to take it when he visited her. It was just a really good book. 

In short, over the years it had been through a lot.

It had seen gunshots, stabbings, a drug addiction, multiple spills and drops from high areas, and yes, probably some book eating insects at some point, but it still stood the test of time. 

Until, ironically, a prison sentence meant it hadn’t been cracked open in months and it had decided to disintegrate overnight. 

Spencer had spent the best part of his first week back at the BAU grumbling about it that it was beginning to disintegrate his team mates nerves. Yes, they were all sympathetic to the struggles of the newly free man, but there was really only so much Russian literature one could take before losing it. And for the members of the BAU, that was pretty much none. 

“Kid, why don’t you just go out and buy a new copy. Same words, same meaning, same book, just without the bullet holes,” Rossi sighed, trying to effectively end the same conversation he’d been having for the last 6 days straight. 

“It’s a rare copy, it was published in the 50s. You of all people should know they don’t make books the same way anymore, Rossi.” 

“Me? Of all people? How flattering, Spencer.” 

“No-” the man sighed, jogging to catch up with the still prime older man as he walked brusquely down the hallway. “I just mean that as a fellow enjoyer of literature, that you would share my appreciation for…”

“The elderly?” 

“Antiques. Come on Rossi, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Spencer sighed again. 

“I just don’t want to buy another copy.” 

Rossi stopped his march finally, letting Spencer catch up with him as he finally turned around and gave his last suggestion. 

“Then you just have to get it fixed, Spencer.” 

He shut the door to his office behind him before the open door could invite any other literary debates to his doorstop, but he did put the kid out of his misery later over text. 

“I had a collection of Joy’s articles bound by this company for Christmas last year as a gift. Local business, give them a call.”

A week later, a free enough day rolled around, and Spencer - ever willing to avoid technology at all costs - decided that going to the shop's location and hoping for an on-sight consult would work. He assumed people still talked to each other. 

You definitely still talked to people. 

When you could see them, hear them and knew they were there. But you also liked to work with a set of large headphones drowning out the world, and everyone else had gone home for the day, so to say that you screamed when you saw the 6 foot something slenderman out of the corner of your eye was an understatement. 

“FUCK!” You screamed, clutching at your heart that you thought was definitely still having an attack of its own. You weren’t sure if this was what fight or flight felt like, but you were quickly disappointed to find that your own trigger reaction was ‘fuck.’

“I’m sorry, the door was open, I assumed…” Spencer started, holding his hand up to show he wasn’t a threat, even if he’d spent the last phase of his life being just that to a lot of people. 

“Yeah..yeah… sorry, heart still racing, I’ll be with you in just a second.

You made a mental note of not listening to any more horror audiobooks while at work and pulled a smile back onto your face. 

“Welcome to The Rebound, I guess,” you said, coming around the counter to greet the man. “Are you here to pick up or deliver a package?”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably as he stood before speaking. 

“Actually neither. I was hoping for a consultation? I need a book rebound.” 

You let out a sigh so loud you almost felt bad for the man. “Okay, so thank god you’re not a serial killer.”

You tried to laugh off the joke, but the man’s eyes bugged out of his head as he scrambled for something. 

“Oh, no, sorry, I’m out of practice with this I guess,” he laughed a little, doing absolutely nothing to dissipate the awkward tension as he pulled out his FBI creds.

“Huh. FBI. Would you hold it against me if I said I feel a little bit less safe again?”

“Considering I spent that last few months in prison, not at all.” 

You laughed again and then stopped again as you saw he wasn’t laughing. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a little off-putting?” you asked, completely innocently as you grabbed your coffee mug, leaning back on your work counter. 

“Many, many times,” he smiled, finally relaxing. 

“Wonderful. So what can I do for you today, Mr….?”

“Doctor.”

“Perfect. What can I do for you today Mr. Doctor?” 

He smiled shyly again, and you finally took the lull in conversation to look him over again. He was maybe a few years older than you, but he still looked young. Every item he wore seemed like it came fresh from a copy of Grandpa’s Weekly, or whatever Vogue was doing in Men’s fashion in the 50s, which almost made it annoying how well it draped on him. His hair was brown, and curled cutely around his face in a very ‘needs a haircut’ way, but you almost appreciated that more. 

He was handsome. 

“Fuck.” you thought again, realizing that the man had been talking for the last few seconds as you’d oggled him anyway. 

“Fuck?” He repeated. “I mean, I know it’s in bad condition, but I didn’t think it’d be that hard…” His eyebrows furrowed as he stared down at the book you now only just noticed was in his hands. 

“Sorry, no that’s not what I meant!” You scrambled, combing your hair back roughly in your hands, and clipping it in place before walking back closer to him.

He even smells fucking good, you grumbled to yourself as you held out your hands for your next project. 

“I’ve had it for about 25 years now, and it was definitely second hand when I got it, so…” 

“So you want me to resuscitate it. Cool. Let me take a look at it quickly.” 

You gently pried the book from the pouting man's hands and took it back to your work station as he played with his fingers, and you found yourself bumping into pieces of furniture you’d practically grown up with. 

“So, Mr. Doctor, is there any specific damage you want us to take care of?” You asked as you forced your attention onto the book. “Missing pages, rips, that kind of- Is this in Russian?”

“It’s Dostoyevsky. There’s no missing pages, but there are a lot of tears around a third up on the pages,” he blinked, pointing a single finger at the edge of the page, where there were in fact small tears. 

Ignoring that his fingers were also somehow attractive, you grabbed your glasses from the top of your shirt and pushed them onto your face and up your nose, getting closer to take a better look. 

“These are pretty even across all the pages, how did you even manage that?” you laughed, flicking the pages as you searched for any particular mildew marks or signs of wear. 

“Gunshot,” he said with such practiced nonchalance that you almost accepted it as a regular answer. Almost.

“WHAT?” You said looking up, noticing a beat too late that Mister Doctor was also leaning over the book, as if scared to let it out of his sight.

Unfortunately for him, the only thing in his sight was now you, as you’d come up so passionately you found yourselves nose to nose, a breath the only thing between you. 

You felt the heat in your cheeks, just as you saw it in his, before you hastily looked back down to the book. 

He straightened and looked away, taking a deep breath. 

“I work for the FBI, remember.” 

“I’m sorry, I assumed you were in a paperwork-diplomacy-tax-evasion department, not a pew-pew-bang-bang department.” 

“You know I think those are the official titles, but we usually just call my team the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I’m a profiler.”

“Huh. Do I get three guesses which Dostoyevsky this is?”

“Wouldn’t most of his works fit in this scenario?”

“Touche, Mr. Doctor. Touche.” 

You finished up your consultation on the book, which, gunshot aside, wasn’t in bad shape for a book over half a century old. You carefully catalogued the book's information in your system, and then turned back to him. 

“As I assume Mr. Doctor isn’t your real name, can I try again at asking what it is? No sarcasm this time, and I promise that my hands aren’t crossed behind my back currently.” 

“Spencer Reid.” 

“And the Doctor part was real, or have I been out-maneuvered?”

“If a PhD is real, then yes. Three times over.” 

You took another look at him again and then smiled widely as his breath caught in his throat.

“Doctor Reid, you look like the exact kind of person that would have three PhD’s. Congratulations, you’ve worked hard.” 

Unable to respond to the sudden kindness, Spencer returned a tight smile of his own before taking a shaky breath to steady himself. 

“Okay, so luckily we can fix the damage on this copy for you. We can try and salvage some of the cover details as well, but it will need a new spine, which usually means a complete overhaul of the cover. Do you have any specific design in mind, or would you like something similar?” 

“As close as you can get it, please.” 

“Of course. Now about the binding. Would you like it tight, or a little looser so it reads easier, like a floppy paperback?” 

“Loose is good for me. I read it pretty regularly.” 

“I mean this in the nicest way possible: I can tell,” you said, looking up from your computer again for the minute. “Between us, these are always my favorite projects, but I’m never allowed to work on them because I always want to keep the books at the end.” 

Spencer smiled at that, picturing you pouting handing over his book finally when it was done, refusing to let it go. There was something playfully childish about you that he found endearing. 

Endearing? He cleared his throat again before he found himself in further trouble. 

“Please don’t steal my book,” he requested in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in slightly dangerously. 

“Don’t you worry about that Mr Doctor,” you said, smiling at him. “I have absolutely no impure intentions for your book whatsoever.” 

Spencer wanted to bury the disappointed feeling that popped up in the pit of his stomach at that moment. You were talking about the book, and this was a business transaction, and really he’d only just gotten out of prison, so he most likely didn’t need to feel disappointed by anything at all, whatsoever. 

“I, myself, cannot read Russian,” you smiled at him, handing him the receipt and guiding him back to the door he’d so innocently walked through about an hour earlier. 

Just as Spencer was feeling relieved - relieved? - and ready to move on from this exciting albeit distracting visit in his day, you spoke again. 

“So you’ll just have to read it to me if I get very attached.”

Clutching the receipt in his hand, and soon to realize that you’d scribbled your phone number on it in a hail mary, Spencer smiled to himself and made a mental note of thanking Rossi the next day. 

Even if the other man wouldn’t appreciate the new topic of conversation that Spencer would find himself unable to escape for a while. You.

[unkwndream]

of course mark is interrupting the pipe laying session. minors do not interact.

WC: 0.5k

pairing: haechan x fem!reader ft. mark

a/n: this is my first ever post! this was just gathering dust in my drafts so hopefully it’s not too bad. I had a bit of fun with it so enjoy plz!! ><

“Fuck~” Haechan is already gripping your hips, trying to ground himself from how tight you are. The overwatch game on the screen behind you has been completely forgotten at this point.

With your hands on his shoulders, you slowly slide yourself up and down on his cock. You can’t help but moan at the feeling of him stretching you so deeply. Haechan has his head tossed back against the gaming chair headrest, hips lifting to meet your cunt.

“You’re so good to me, baby. Fuck.” Haechan whines, his eyes squeezing shut. A loud ding echoes in the room and you falter for a second, but seeing the state of bliss Haechan is in, you choose to ignore it.

Ding.

Ding.

A huff leaves your lips at the distraction. “Hyuck, can you turn off your phone?” You stop bouncing on his cock for a moment. He whines but still gives in, “Hand it to me, then.”

Reaching behind you, you grab his phone off his desk and hand it to him but just as he went to mute it, it rings. Haechan groans at the interruption but answers the call, pulling the phone up to his ear while tapping your hip, motioning you to continue fucking him. You do what he wants and begin sliding back down onto him, giggling slightly as you watch his eyes roll back into his head.

“Mark, I’m quite literally in the middle of having sex. What do you want?” Haechan immediately speaks into the phone, his breathing heavy and uneven. You tried your best to hold in the moans that you were so desperate to release, the smallest whimpers escaping your lips.

“W-what? Are you being serious right now, Hyuck?” You faintly hear Mark ask. Haechan doesn’t even respond, just placing the phone down on the armrest and putting it on speaker and attaching his hands back on your hips. “Fuck, oh my god.” He moans, arching his back up into you.

“Dude, why the hell would you answer the phone? Oh my god.” Mark groans, clearly embarrassed to listen to what’s going on. “Not my fault you keep— m’fuck, blowing up my phone. Now, wha-what did you want?” Haechan quickly yet breathlessly replied.

“I was just gonna ask to hang out but-” Mark suddenly gets cut off by a loud moan that rips through your throat from Haechan rubbing at your clit with his thumb.

“I’m gonna hang up.” Mark speaks again, voice sounding slightly shaky. Grabbing his phone, Haechan clicks the FaceTime button, “Answer it, Mark.”

You hear the shaky sigh that leaves Mark’s mouth before hearing the sound of the FaceTime being accepted. Haechan flips the camera, showing Mark where your bodies are connected, “How about you come over instead?”

Mark gasps, watching intensely at Haechan slowly dragging his fingers down your body and attaching to your clit once more. The whimper you let out is enough to have Mark respond, voice strained, “y-you’re insane, Hyuck…”

“Wouldn’t it be fun, baby? You can take us both, can’t you?” Haechan asked, his tone teasing. You vigorously nod, and drop a hand to grab his wrist, feeling a bit overstimulated. “I-I… I’m on the way.” Mark mumbles, embarrassed at himself for even giving into Haechan’s antics.

© unkwndream 2025

[scarletwinterxx]

be the rest of your life or whatever - choi seunngcheol imagine (2)

this is waaaaay tooooo cute to stay in my drafts, also so many readers are asking for this so here you go😅 if you haven't read the first part, check it out here!

currently working on two fics i'll hopefully post for ww and sc's bday but i have lotsssss of editing to do. so here's a quick spin off?? part 2??? whatever you call this HAHA hope you like it!

you can follow me on x, niniramyeonie 😊🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

Living together came with a rhythm. a kind of dance you didn’t choreograph but somehow perfected anyway.

Like how he swears up and down the keys are missing, again, and he’s tearing the apartment apart like someone broke in and stole just that.

Did you check the pocket of your jacket? After a beat of silence... 

“…Don’t say anything.”

Or how he leaves his socks in the weirdest places on the back of the couch, the bathroom sink, once inside the microwave which he claims it was “a joke. And somehow, you're the designated sock police.

But in return?

He opens every jar for you like it’s a challenge from the gods. Like, you’ll struggle with a jar of kimchi for three seconds before dramatically setting it down and calling out,

“Choi Seungcheol, fulfill your purpose.” And he’s there instantly, chest puffed like a knight, twisting that lid with one hand like he was born for it.

“Anything for you, milady,” he says.

“...Okay but put it back in the fridge though.”

He restocks the snacks without asking, always the exact brand you like even the weird seasonal ones. You refill his protein powders and label them so he doesn’t accidentally scoop pre-workout at midnight again. He insists on doing the heavy lifting at the grocery store. You insist he buys less of everything you know he’s not actually going to eat.

You steal his hoodies. He pretends to be mad. Then buys more hoodies “accidentally” in your size.

He hogs the blanket. You retaliate by becoming a human starfish.

You always find the TV remote. He always remembers where you left your glasses.

You cook when you’re in the mood. He cooks when you’re not.

“I don’t want to cook today.”

“Great. That makes two of us. Wanna order chicken?”

“God, I love you.”

The laundry is a war zone. He folds like a human disaster. You have a system. He doesn’t get it. You stop trying to explain. He starts handing you clothes with puppy eyes. You fold everything. He brings you snacks as tribute.

And sometimes it’s quiet just brushing teeth side by side, bumping hips while folding towels, scrolling on the couch with your legs tangled, his hand absently running up and down your back.

It’s a million tiny moments. Mundane. Messy. Magical.

You live together like you’ve always been meant to.

And in the chaos of socks, jars, keys, and too many snack runs and there’s no one else you’d rather do this whole life thing with.

=

He’s pacing behind you in the kitchen like a man on a mission. Shirtless, gym shorts hanging low on his hips, towel slung around his neck and hair still damp from the shower but instead of enjoying the rare peace of post-workout bliss, he’s spiraling.

“I’m serious,” he huffs. “They’re cutting out everything. No sugar, no bread, no ramyeon. do you know what that means? That means I can’t even look at your late-night snack stash without getting side-eyed by the trainer.”

You’re barely listening. Not because you don’t car but because you’ve got a spatula in one hand, half an eye on the simmering pot, and you’re already used to the sound of him monologuing behind you

“You don’t even like bread that much,” you reply calmly

“Exactly! That’s not the point. The point is, now that I can’t have it, I want it more. I’ve never wanted toast this badly in my life. And don’t even get me started on coffee. I asked if I could just have one iced vanilla latte and the coach looked at me like I asked for a cigarette.”

You hum thoughtfully and give the stew a stir. “Okay, but… why the sudden panic? You've never cared this much before.”

“I don't know,” he grumbles, tugging the towel off his neck and flopping dramatically onto one of the stools at the counter. “It’s different now. National team stuff feels bigger. Like… all eyes on us, you know? I feel like I need to be in the best shape of my life.”

You pause mid-stir, then turn to look at him.

He’s frowning at the countertop, brows knit together, abs still annoyingly visible for someone claiming to be “out of shape.”

And you, in your oversized t-shirt and fluffy socks, holding a ladle and feeling every bit the picture of domestic chaos, tilt your head.

“Why?”

He blinks up at you. “Why what?”

You smile, soft but exasperated. “Why the pressure? You already made the team. You're already good. And… I like you like this.”

He stares.

You shrug, returning to the stove. “I like you when you're all sweaty and complaining about toast. I like your stupid grumpy post-practice face. I like when you eat three servings of dinner and then act surprised you're full.”

You glance at him over your shoulder. “I like you, period. Whether you're sculpted like a Greek god or soft like a steamed bun.”

His laugh breaks before he can stop it. “Soft like a steamed bun? That’s your bar?”

“You love steamed buns.”

“I—okay, valid.”

You grin to yourself, stirring again like it's the most casual confession in the world. Behind you, you hear the stool creak. A few seconds later, warm arms wrap around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“Do you also like me when I keep eating while I’m on a ‘diet’?”

“Do you also keep lying to your trainer about what you ate?”

He presses a kiss to your cheek. “He doesn’t need to know about the tteokbokki incident.”

You laugh, leaning back into him.

“See?” you murmur. “Perfect just like this.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“You’re easy.”

He pinches your waist and you yelp, elbowing him gently in return.

And in that tiny kitchen, with the smell of dinner in the air and the background hum of life after college settling into something real, something solid you realize neither of you would trade this for anything.

You turn around in his arms, wooden spoon still in hand, and eye him up and down like he’s your favorite guilty pleasure at 2 a.m.

“Go on,” you say, smirking. “Tell your scary trainer your girlfriend likes you like this.”

You gesture vaguely to his entire body shirtless, towel-hair, the faintest pout still on his lips from earlier.

“I dare you. Look him dead in the eye and go, ‘My girlfriend thinks I’m delicious just the way I am.’”

He throws his head back laughing. “Delicious? What am I, a snack?”

“You’ve always been a snack,” you say, poking him in the side with your spoon. “Now you’re just a full meal. Extra side dishes. Dessert included.”

He catches your wrist mid-poke, grinning. “Wow. Remember when you refused to admit I was hot?”

You scoff, dramatic. “I was protecting myself.”

“From what, exactly?”

“From the endless ego that would’ve followed!”

“Too late,” he says smugly, pressing a kiss to the side of your mouth. “I’ve got receipts now.”

You narrow your eyes. “Yeah, well… now I sleep in your bed.”

“You do,” he says proudly.

You lift a brow. “And steal all the blankets.”

“And wear my shirts.”

“And finish your fries.”

He sighs, leaning in, voice softening. “And still somehow call me the lucky one.”

You go a little quiet at that, cheeks warming, until

“Also,” you add quickly, because God forbid you let the softness linger too long, “you do snore. Loud. Like a dying vacuum.”

He gasps. “Rude.”

“And you hog the bathroom.”

“You use all the hot water!”

“Because I have longer hair!”

“Because you’re high-maintenance!”

You’re both smiling too wide to care, leaning into each other in between jabs. The stew simmers away forgotten for now as he hooks his arms tighter around your waist and rests his forehead against yours.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he murmurs.

You grin “Damn right I am.”

And right there, wrapped in each other, laughter tangled in the air you're both more than okay with the fact that this is what forever might look like.

The sun’s barely up, the soft golden light slipping through the half-closed curtains. The apartment’s quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of Seungcheol getting ready. duffel bag zipped, shoes quietly set by the door, phone and keys in their usual spot.

But before he leaves, he makes one last stop. Bck to the bedroom.

You're still tangled in the sheets, half-facedown with hair a mess, one leg kicked out and the other tucked underneath the comforter. His hoodie is slipping off one shoulder, revealing the marks he left last night, the reason you're still dead to the world this morning.

He stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, smirking like the devil himself. Damn right you're tired, he thinks. I should get a medal for that performance.

But it’s not just the pride. It’s the way your brow twitch slightly, lips parted, cheeks still pink with leftover warmth, curled up in the cocoon of their shared bed like you belong nowhere else. There’s something deeply satisfying in knowing that this—you—is what he gets to come home to.

He steps closer, gently kneels beside the bed, brushes the hair from your face.

“Still knocked out, huh?” he whispers, voice low and affectionate. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You grumble something unintelligible, barely stirring, and that just makes him smile wider.

He leans in, presses a soft kiss to your temple. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.

You shift slightly, brow scrunching.

“Cheol…” you mumble, still far from the waking world.

“I’m heading out,” he murmurs against your skin. “Eat when you wake up, okay?”

You barely nod, eyes still closed, and he can’t help but press one more kiss to your lips. He stands, adjusts the hoodie you’re wearing so it covers you properly, then heads out, casting one last glance at your sleeping figure before the door shuts softly behind him.

He never leaves without kissing you goodbye.

And no matter how early the hour or how long the day ahead—he never forgets who he's coming back to.

=

You walk into the apartment with a spring in your step and a very mischievous glint in your eyes. He’s sprawled out on the couch, fresh out of the shower, hair damp and wearing those sweatpants. The grey ones. The dangerously effective ones. 

He’s half-watching a game, half-scrolling through his phone, fully unaware of the chaos you’re about to unleash.

You drop your bag, stretch like you just ran a marathon, and casually stroll over, plopping onto the couch beside him like you’re not about to start a war.

“Hey,” you say sweetly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Hey, baby.” He doesn’t even look up. “How was your wax appointment?”

You grin. Game on.

“Oh, it was great,” you say, keeping your tone breezy. “Really smooth. He did a good job.”

There’s a pause. He blinks. “He?”

You nod, completely deadpan. “Yeah. This new guy. Super professional. Like he had the gentlest hands. Barely felt a thing.”

His head slowly turns toward you, phone now lowered in his lap. “He? Did a—wax?”

You nod again, eyes wide, innocent. “Uh-huh. Brazilians, you know? It’s delicate work. And oh my god he was so thorough. Light hands, like feathers. Kinda soothing, actually.”

He’s blinking at you like he’s buffering. Like his brain just short-circuited.

“Wait. Hold on. A guy waxed your entire—” He waves vaguely toward your lower half like his vocabulary’s given up. “Down there?!”

You shrug, completely unbothered. “Mhm. He even complimented me. Said I had very ‘cooperative skin.’ Isn’t that cute?”

Seungcheol shoots up to sit fully upright, eyes bulging. “Cooperative skin?! WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!”

You bite your lip to stop from laughing. “It means I didn’t flinch or move. He was really impressed. Very gentle. Like his hands were magical. Want me to call and get you a slot?”

Seungcheol looks personally victimized.

“You’re joking.”

You smile sweetly. “Want to see? He did such a good job—”

“NO!” he yells, lunging for a pillow and smacking it against his face. “NO, I DON’T WANT TO SEE, WHAT THE HELL, BABY—”

You finally crack, bursting into laughter so loud it makes the lamp shake.

“Oh my god—your face!” you wheeze, flopping over dramatically onto his lap as he groans into his hands. “You looked like you were about to file a police report!”

“I ALMOST DID!” he shouts. “WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BLOOD VESSELS I JUST POPPED?!”

You’re laughing so hard now you’re crying, clutching your stomach as he glares at you.

“I was this close to showing up to the salon, flipping over the reception desk like ‘WHERE’S GENTLE HANDS?!’”

“‘Where’s Gentle Hands!’” you repeat, howling. “That sounds like a mob boss!”

“You’re insane,” he grumbles, covering your face with a throw pillow as punishment. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Still giggling, you peek out. “Love me enough to help me moisturize my cooperative skin?”

He groans, gets up, grabs another pillow, and throws it at you.

“You’re banned. No more waxing appointments without adult supervision.”

He’s still glaring at you, pillow abandoned somewhere on the floor, his arms crossed and jaw clenched like he’s fighting the urge to combust.

“Oh, it’s so funny, huh?” he bites out

You wipe a tear from the corner of your eye, your grin stretching ear to ear. “I mean… a little. Just a teeny bit.”

He narrows his eyes like he’s trying to calculate whether he’s mad or just irrevocably in love with you. “I endured years of you arguing with me about everything under the sun,” he starts, pacing now like he’s testifying in court. “Before we even dated. Before I could kiss you to shut you up. Before I could call you mine when you were out here being stubborn for sport.”

You snort. “I was not stubborn for sport.”

He ignores you. “You’d correct my essays, roast my fashion, roll your eyes at me so hard I could feel the breeze—”

“Because you wore neon socks to an actual class presentation.”

He whirls around, ignoring the interruption like a true professional. “—and I endured it all. You know why?”

You blink, smile faltering just a little. “…Why?”

He points at himself with both hands. “So no other guy gets to just—” and then he pauses, looking utterly offended as he motions vaguely in your direction like your entire existence is too holy to even describe, “—all of this. Absolutely not.”

You burst out laughing again, nearly falling off the couch. “So you’re telling me… you suffered through my sass just so one day you’d have exclusive rights to my bikini waxes?”

He stops pacing. Blinks. Tilts his head. “…Yes.”

You’re on the floor now, actually wheezing. “That is the dumbest, most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

He huffs, hands on his hips. “You think I was gonna let gentle hands the rsthetician waltz in and touch what I’ve literally bled on the soccer field for?! My prize?!”

You gasp between giggles. “Your prize?!”

He crosses the room in two long strides, grabs a blanket, and tosses it over your head like he’s done with your chaos. “Court is adjourned. You’re in timeout.”

You peek out, still laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

He sits beside you, smug and slightly red in the ears, arm slung over the back of the couch. “You love me.”

You nudge him with your foot. “Unfortunately.”

He turns, eyes gleaming. “So… there was no Gentle Hands?”

You grin, leaning close. “No Gentle Hands.”

He exhales in relief, then squints. “It was a woman, right?”

You pause. Then smirk. “Nope. It was a robot. Future tech. Laser hands. Very gentle. Super efficient.”

His mouth opens. Closes.

“…You’re sleeping on the floor.”

“Still worth it.”

=

Like most couples, you do get into arguments. Like today, it started with something dumb. Most of your fights do.

Something about the laundry. Or his wet towel being on the bed again. Or you leaving your half-full coffee mugs in random corners of the apartment. 

The kind of thing that escalates not because it matters, but because you’re both Leos. Two overly dramatic, overly expressive, overly passionate fire signs locked in a tiny apartment with too much pride and not enough chill.

So when voices rise, hands get flaily, and the “Oh, you’re really doing this right now?”s start flying you know it’s about to be one of those nights.

And true to form, neither of you backs down.

You huffed, “Fine,” and grabbed your blanket and stormed off to the couch like you were doing him a favor.

He stood in the kitchen, jaw clenched, arms crossed, mumbling under his breath like a sitcom husband—“Unbelievable. All this over a towel. A damn towel. I dried my hair with it, not set the apartment on fire—”

You waited, expecting the usual rhythm: you cool off, he cools off, one of you mumbles something semi-sincere and the other reluctantly folds.

But tonight? You were not folding.

And neither was he.

At least, not right away.

The night stretched on.

You laid stiff on the couch, scrolling your phone, blanket over your shoulder like a shield. You weren’t crying or anything this wasn’t that kind of fight. It was the principle of the thing. The stubborn Leo principle.

The apartment stayed quiet.

No footsteps. No fridge door. No sneaky tiptoeing into the living room to nudge your foot and say, “You coming to bed?”

Fine, you thought. Two can play this game.

But sometime past midnight, your eyes grew heavy. Your phone slipped from your fingers. You drifted off, frown still slightly on your face, curled up awkwardly on the too-narrow couch.

Seungcheol was in the bedroom, pacing. Definitely not sleeping.

He kept glancing at the door like it would open itself and you’d walk in, dramatic sigh and all, whispering, “It’s cold without you,” and make this easier.

But it didn’t.

And you didn’t.

Eventually, the silence started gnawing at him. That’s the thing about being mad at you, he always ends up missing you mid-argument. It’s infuriating.

He poked his head out, expecting maybe you’d moved… but no. There you were.

Blanket sliding off your shoulder, legs dangling off the couch, mouth slightly parted in sleep, as if the couch was the battlefield and you’d fallen mid-stand.

He sighed, ruffling his hair. “Of course you fell asleep out here. So dramatic,” he muttered.

But the worry was already creeping in.

He padded out, gently crouched beside the couch, and stared at your sleeping face for a second. Your lashes fluttered, cheek smushed against a throw pillow, face still in that half-pout from earlier.

God, you’re cute when you’re mad.

Even cuter when you’re fake-mad.

He reached out, brushing your hair back, voice low. “Hey. Come to bed.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t stir. Or maybe you were pretending not to hear him just to prove a point. You would.

He hesitated. Then sighed again. And finally he folded.

Like he always does.

He reached under you carefully, lifting you with practiced ease. You grumbled something incomprehensible and shifted in his arms, nose scrunching at the sudden movement.

He smiled. “Yeah, yeah. Keep acting like you don’t love me.”

You were still half-asleep, but your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like muscle memory.

By the time he tucked you into bed, blanket pulled over your shoulder just right, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“Still mad at me?” he whispered, lips brushing your skin.

You mumbled something.

He leaned closer. “Huh?”

“I said,” you slurred, barely conscious, “don’t ever put a wet towel on the bed again.”

He choked out a laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”

And even as you dozed off again, triumphant in your victory he curled in beside you, grinning to himself because even when you're mad… you still ended up in his arms.

The room is dim, the only light a soft glow from the hallway spilling through the cracked door. You’re warm now, blanketed in more than just the comforter his arms wrapped around you, chest rising steadily beneath your cheek, steady and solid like home always is when it’s him.

You’re already half-asleep, body still limp from the move back into bed. You hadn’t even opened your eyes when he laid you down, just grumbled something about “sabotage” when he tried to take off your socks.

But even then, even with your pride still faintly bruised and your mouth pouting in sleep you stayed close. One leg draped over his, your fingers still tangled in the hem of his shirt like your body knew better than your ego.

And Seungcheol doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at you in the quiet for a bit. Brushes your hair off your forehead. Watches your lips twitch and shift like you’re dreaming of arguing with him even there.

He sighs, but it’s not exasperated. It’s soft.

Then, his voice, low and warm in the stillness:

“I love you.”

You don’t respond right away, but he knows you heard it. Your brow twitches, lips parting like your brain’s slowly wading through sleep to send the message back.

And sure enough, a few seconds later, you murmur it hoarse and quiet, barely there.

“I love you too.”

It’s like breathing. Even after a stupid fight. Even after the eye-rolls and pettiness and temporary exile to the couch. It never changes.

You never sleep without saying it.

No matter how tired, no matter how stubborn, no matter who folded first it always ends the same way.

I love you.

He shifts a little, pulling you closer, nose brushing against your temple. “You were being impossible.”

You mumble into his shirt. “You left a wet towel on the bed.”

He chuckles. “So that’s what’s gonna haunt you in your sleep tonight.”

You nod, eyes still closed. “Every time I think about how damp the comforter felt, I lose a year off my life.”

He laughs again, pulling the blanket higher around you both. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re lucky.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead one last time before settling in beside you. “I really am.”

[ontherunnt]

Ex-boyfriend!Soap watches you go down during an op

pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

wc: 1495

warnings: mentions of blood, gunshot wound, nothing descriptive.

The breakup had been amicable—or so he told himself every single day. You still nodded your head when you walked past him in the corridor, he still held the door open for you when you entered a building behind him, and the two of you hadn’t deleted each other’s contacts from your phones. In his book, that meant you two were golden. 

Except it didn’t feel that way. 

Sure, you still smiled at him—but it was the same smile you gave Ghost when he was being a moron and you were trying to be polite. He still saved you a seat in the mess hall during breakfast—the same seat he’d save for Garrick were he to be late. You two still said good morning to each other—except you didn’t wake up next to each other anymore. 

Everyone noticed it. Johnny had always been an open book, and it worked entirely against him when it came to you. 

Price couldn’t stop himself from frowning whenever you walked into the room, well aware that his sergeant’s attention would now be contested by a pair of pretty eyes that didn’t bother looking back at him. Gaz always snorted when the Scotsman mentioned anything remotely related to you, muttering something under his breath about “still being head-over-heels”. Ghost? Ghost wanted to shoot Soap. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny,” he groaned as he looked through his scope, eyes set on the barren desert before them. He didn’t look away for a second. “I’m done hearin’ you whine ‘bout this shit. Grow some balls and get back together already.” 

Soap scoffed, face pressed against his own scope. They both lay flat on their stomachs, on top of a hill that overlooked a small river where their op would, hopefully, finally come to an end—a hostage exchange between rebels and the military. They’d done it a dozen times, but never had Ghost been in such a shit mood, and rarely had Soap worked alongside you.

“Aye, well—yer supposed to hear this shite, Lt. We’re friends.”

Ghost practically snorted. “Don’t recall agreein’ to that.”

Soap had to stop himself from rolling his eyes and focus on the sight before him—you. By the river, half a click away from him. You stood next to the hostage, hand dangerously close to the empty holster on your thigh. You scanned your surroundings with those sharp eyes he’d never quite managed to forget, and your lips were pressed into a thin line. 

He’d been half listening during the briefing, too preoccupied with the way you kept rubbing your neck and shoulder. You’d pushed yourself too much—again. You never learned, but now Soap couldn’t stop you or comfort you. In the briefing, Price had explained how you came into play, but Soap had barely heard it.  

He should’ve paid more attention—then he would’ve understood why the hell you got shot without a warning. 

Soap moved like all his years of training had been wiped clean. He heard Ghost yell something behind him, but didn’t slow down to listen. His form was off, but his instincts were sharp. He slid down the dune he'd been perched on, heart banging mercilessly against his chest like a bomb had taken its place. 

His comms crackled, giving way to Ghost’s more than furious voice. “Soap—what the hell?”

The Scotsman didn’t slow. “Just cover me.”

And he trusted him to do it. He ran without bothering to look behind him, without even making sure the person who’d shot you didn’t have you in their sights anymore. He ran like it was his life on the line rather than yours. 

By the time he reached you, the hostage was nowhere to be found. He looked around, finally spotting a small group a couple of metres to the side, and mere seconds later two men fell on the ground, limp from a deadly bullet to the head. He didn’t thank Ghost—there was no time. 

He fell on his knees by your side, his breath ragged and suddenly void of any oxygen. The bullet had gone through your shoulder, missing anything important. But the bleeding wasn’t pretty. The sand beneath you had already tainted red with the blood seeping through your clothes. Your opposite hand pressed on the wound, but it was clear from the way you bit your lip that you were doing a shit job at applying pressure. 

He clicked on his comms. “Get us medevac. We’ve got one wounded, GSW to the shoulder—through and through, but heavy bleedin’. Conscious but fadin’.”

Soap took in a sharp breath as he, ignoring all military protocol drilled into him, slid his hands under your arms and dragged you until your head rested on his lap. He grabbed his sidearm from the holster, eyes sharp and taking in every single detail around you.

“Got eyes on the shooter,” Gaz spoke through the comms. “Hostages are secured.”

“Take the shot,” Price ordered, voice firm. “Soap—bird’s inbound in five minutes.”

Soap gave a weak reply, barely audible. He didn’t care. He swallowed dryly as his hands cupped your face, pale and slick with sweat.  Your eyes shot up to look at him, and you winced when the movement pulled something. He shook his head and quickly swatted your hand away from the wound, covering it with his instead. 

“Love,” he muttered apologetically. “This’ll hurt.”

He gave you no time to answer, pressing harshly against the wound with much more force than you’d used. One of your hands quickly reached for his wrist, accidentally—or intentionally, he couldn’t be too sure—scratching his skin. He barely registered the sting, too preoccupied with keeping you from dying on him. 

“Didn’t even see the fucker,” you hissed, voice hoarse and strained. You tried to move, only to grunt in pain when the shift caused more blood to leak from the wound. 

“Stop it,” he snapped. “Just—stop movin’. Stay still.”

Your eyes met his. Those stupid, beautiful eyes he used to stare into before going to sleep. Those bright eyes that always twinkled when you laughed and teared slightly when you watched those stupid videos about dogs. The same eyes that now looked duller and tired. You smiled weakly at him. 

“You still care about me,” you whispered, tone full of disbelief. Soap nearly broke. 

He chuckled, although it lacked conviction. He shook his head. “Ye’ve got to be an absolute idiot to think I wouldn’t.”

The sight of your mouth twisting into something painful and your eyes darkening with what he could only describe as fear was heartbreaking. Soap stroked your cheek with his thumb, his other hand still pressing tightly on the wound. 

“I’m sorry,” you choked back a sob. “Because of how things ended.”

Soap shook his head, trying his hardest to ignore the way his heart was practically crawling up his throat. “Shut up. Ye’ve got nothin’ to apologize for. Just stop movin’, for Christ’s sake.”

That made you chuckle weakly, which made Soap want to smother you with his arms so you’d fucking listen to him. 

“Bonnie,” he pleaded, and the desperate look in his eyes must’ve struck something, because you soon quieted down. “Bird’s almost here. And ye’re not goin’ anywhere.”

You let out a breath—long, strained, painful—and finally let your body go limp. The feeling of your head lulling to the side almost sickened him, but your eyes were still somewhat there. Not entirely, but enough to keep him from losing his mind. You nuzzled his thigh like it could offer any comfort in a situation that was nothing but utter shit. 

After a beat, you finally spoke. Soap struggled to hear you as the overpowering sound of rotor blades drowned out the noise. Still, he didn’t allow himself to breathe properly just yet. Not until you were safe. 

“I don’t want us to be apart anymore,” your voice was quiet, but your tone was honest. 

Johnny smiled weakly at you, thumb rubbing gentle circles on your cheek. “We won’t be, bonnie. M’not lettin’ ye get away from me ‘gain.”

The chopper landed metres away from you, loud and heavy enough to make the ground beneath you shake. Price spoke in his comms, but Soap yanked the bud from his ear and leaned forward, tilting his ear closer to your lips in an attempt to hear you. 

“Give me a kiss, Johnny.”

Soap could be a sergeant, a brother, a friend, and a soldier. But, above everything, he was yours. Despite the uncomfortable angle, despite the blood slipping through his fingers, despite the way you struggled to breathe, he leaned forward. Your lips were dry and chapped, your mouth tasted like copper, and Johnny felt like he had a stone in his throat that wouldn’t let him swallow that uncomfortable knot—despite all that, this would still be his most treasured kiss. 

Because you were still alive, and you were his alone.

[itneverendshere]

i'm so obsessed with bitchy!pouge!reader x rafe!!!! 😭❤ thank you so much for sharing your talent with us! 🫶 if your request is open, can you please write about rafe's reaction if the last fic was kinda in reverse? what if rafe or one of his friends sees reader talking to an ex and tells him about it? 🫣

call it passive or aggressive - r.c (+18)

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe warnings: smut

wrote this based on this ask and this one: "I need jealous sex with rafe x bitchy!pogue!reader please 🙏🏻"

"ur girl was talking to that dude she used to date. thought u should know."

topper added a photo too. blurry, zoomed in from across the marina, but clear enough to see you were smiling, tilting your chin in that cocky, typical way you always did when you knew you had the upper hand.

standing way too close to your ex.

jealousy flamed behind his lungs like smoke.

you hadn’t even told him you were going down to the marina today.

rafe knows that smile, how you touch your hair when you want someone to look at your mouth. it looks like the same shit you used to pull with him when you were playing in his face years ago.

by the time you get to his house later that night, barefoot, sandy, smelling like sea breeze and sunblock, rafe's pacing his room, teeth gritted, head full of you.

you barely get the door open before he starts his well-rehearsed (it's not) monologue.

“have fun today?”

“hi to you, too?”

“fuck off.”

you raise a brow in disdain at the tone he's using with you.

“okay. what the fuck up crawled up your ass tonight?”

“try to be less obvious when you’re flirting in public.”

you scoff, immediately connecting the dots.

“oh my god. that what this is about? you’re pissed because i bumped into someone i used to fuck?”

his jaw flexes again, wanting to strangle you for the reminder.

“you think this is funny?”

“no. i think it’s pathetic,” you said sweetly, lifting your chin. “be fucking serious, country club. flirting? catching up with a male friend is flirting now?”

"male friend?"

"you're pissing me off."

“so you were catching up.”

“oh my fucking god.” you drop your bag by the door and walk past him, not about to have the same fight he’s already playing out in his head. “i said two words to him.”

he turns, following after you like a good dog.

“funny. looked real fucking long for two fucking words.”

you stop, whirling around in perfect fury and pettiness. if he'd been calmer about it, you would've chosen a nicer way to phrase it, but alas.

“yeah, i talked to someone who knows what i sound like when i cum too for more than two seconds.”

he grabs you. palms against your thighs, lifting, pushing you up against the wall. he had to hold you still, or he was gonna break something.

your attitude hopefully, maybe your fucking ego.

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct.

“don’t fucking remind me.”

“rafe. calm the fuck down."

“i’m mad,” he growls, “that you thought you could give him that smile. the one that’s mine. that mouth? It’s fucking mine, baby. your attitude? mine too. you think he could handle you?” he laughs bitterly, nose brushing yours. “he wouldn’t even last five seconds with your bitchy little mouth.”

“you’re so fucking dramatic, ” you breathe, despite your hips already grinding down against the hard line of him. “he said hi. that’s literally it.”

“i don’t care if he waved from a fucking boat,” rafe snaps, hand sliding under your shorts, dragging your underwear to the side. “you wanna act like you’re still available, baby? i’ll show you who you fucking belong to.”

you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders when his fingers roughly work you up and down, two of them slipping in, knuckles deep, as his thumb focused on your clit determined to erase every trace of that piece of shit from your system. 

you moan so prettily for him, head falling back against the door, and then you whimper his name.

“oh, you remember it now? your actual boyfriend's name?” he bites out against your throat as he kisses it down. “that’s more like it.”

you pull his shirt hard, dragging him in closer, angling your mouth to his ear.

“i came thinking about you this morning,” you whisper, “wanted to be good for you. but you’re too busy being jealous to fucking notice.”

that’s when rafe tears your shorts down, turns you around, hands on your waist, and pushes you over to his bed, pressing his hips flush against yours with enough force to make your breath stutter like a virgin.

“good girls don’t flirt with their exes.”

"lucky for you, i'm not good."

"huh. is that right?"

“and good boys don’t have anger issues.”

“lucky for you,” he taunts, mocking you as he drags the tip of his cock through your pussy, teasing “m'not a good boy either.”

his hips move forward with no proper warning as you cry out, the stretch overwhelming in the greatest familiar way, your hands bunching in his sheets as he bottoms out in one furious thrust.

“fuck me—” you curse, arching instinctively, body already trying to take more than it could.

rafe doesn't give you a single minute to adjust.

“mine,” he growls like an animal in heat. “say it.”

“fuck you!”

he slams in harder.

a broken whine leaves your mouth traitorously.

“say it.”

“tou,” you choke, delirious, clenching around him. “you, you, you—rafe, fuck—”

each stroke is brutal, punishing, not because he's angry at you—no, this is him spiraling. trying to fuck out the image of you smiling up at someone else, the possibility of you laughing at some old inside joke with someone who had you like this.

your moans echo off the walls, high-pitched and desperate, as he drives into you from behind, hands bruising into your hips, shaping them to his liking.

“fucking mine,” he gritts out, growing more irritated by the second, hips pistoning against the backs of your thighs. “say it.”

you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, eyes glazed and mouth open in a breathless smirk. “no—”

“say it.”

you shake your head to drive him insane, a wicked smile curving your lips, and that's when he slaps your ass so fucking hard the entire bed frame shakes along with it, and you gasp, the sting throwing you off your game.

“that’s not what i asked for.”

your breath hitches, pain and pleasure tangled together as his hand comes down again, more insistently this time, palms quickly kneading sweet circles with his thumb to soothe the burn.

“i’m yours,” you eventually concede as his hand keeps working the spot, reminding you he's got you.

“that’s right.” his hand fists in your hair, yanking you up so your spine arches for him, your ass pushing back into his hips. “you don’t fucking smile at anyone like that ever again. got it?”

“i wasn’t—” your protest melts into a moan as he fucks into you even harder, dragging a whimper from your throat. “i wasn't flirting!"

he wraps a hand around your throat from behind, to make you feel it, thumb on your jaw as he leans down over you, his mouth right next to your ear.

“you let him get a good look?” he grinds out, cock driving up into you slowly now. “you let him imagine what i get to feel every night?”

“fuck, rafe—”

“bet he’s still thinking about it. thinking about how good you sounded. but y'know what?” he licks up the shell of your ear, hips stuttering. “only i know how you sound when you break.”

“gonna cum?” you managed to pant, teasing through the fog in your head, searching for the upper hand.

he's not handing it to you this time around.

“not until you do,” he bites out, hand reaching between your legs, fingers working your clit, knowing exactly what you need—because he did.

rafe can't stop staring at your back.

how your spine dips, the arch of it, when he pulls your hair, offering yourself to him. only him. the way your skin flushes when you moan his name. the bed creaks with his thrusts, the sound of it obscene in the quiet, but rafe can't hear anything over the noise in his head.

“still think he could fuck you like this?” rafe growls, moving hard enough to shove the breath from your lungs.

you can't answer, your body tells him everything he needs to know—how it welcomes him, clenches for him, throbbs for him.

“yeah,” he muttered darkly, "didn’t fucking think so.”

he hates that someone else has seen you like this, that someone else had this view, that there was ever a time before he got to be the one to see you fall apart.

it's so fucking stupid of him.

rafe knows this is petty and irrational and fucking insane. but he's so in love with you, it makes him murderous. he doesn't want to be one of many, he's it.

his fingers get needier against your clit as he drives into you again, chasing the sound of your gasp, his personal oxygen.

you don't see it, can't see the way his face twists, how his teeth dug into his bottom lip, his eyes burning when they drop to where he's buried inside you. but god, he feels it. this ache in his chest, this need to make sure the memory of other men dissolve under what he gives you.

he leans down, voice cracking in your ear as he fucks you with everything he has.

"i hate it,” he clicks his tongue in annoyance, “knowing he ever had this. that he got to touch you. see you like this.”

your breath hitches. his cock twitches along inside you.

“hate that i didn’t get to be the first one to wreck you,” he groans, genuinely upset about it, wishing he could undo it somehow.

you whimper, voice shaky. “baby—”

“but he doesn’t know you. not like this.” he nips your shoulder, hand sliding back into your hair, pulling your head up so he can hear every word that spits out of your mouth. “he doesn’t know how you get when you’re desperate. doesn’t know how you beg for it.”

“please—”

“yeahhh, say it. go ahead,” his voice turns hoarse from all the talking he's been doing. “tell me no one else has had you like this.”

“no one,” you promise, thighs trembling. “no one, rafe. only you.”

“yeah?” his pace falters at the reassurance, losing rhythm with the stupid emotions building in his chest. 

“i p-promise.”

you're a mess for him, drool on the pillow, your voice sore from how many times you'd cried out his name. and still it isn't enough.

rafe pulls out, flips you, spreads your legs and stares for a second, breathing through the sight of you flushed and fucked out, pussy drooling for him, eyes barely open, inner thighs slick with your arousal and him.

he sinks back in with a neediest groan, holding your gaze as he bottoms out again, your walls fluttering around him, body hardly waiting to pull him even deeper. your hands eagerly fly to his hair, pulling him into a kiss as your hips lift to meet his thrusts.

he swallows your moans, your sobs, your everything, and keeps going, needing them for his own personal fuel.

rafe's so deep it feels like he's everywhere at once, in your head, in your guts, in your heart. his name is falling from your lips over and over and over again, it's the only word you remember right now.

“i love you,” he breaths, awe and pride and madness tangled in his voice. “yeah, that's it. you’re mine. fuck, you’re mine—”

you shudder underneath him, nails dragging red lines across his back as you kiss him senseless. every time, every goddamn time, kissing you feels like an explosion in his head. it burns and blooms, blowing everything else away.

your lips are swollen, slick, and trembling when he licks into your mouth, catches your moan with his tongue, and swallows it whole, relentlessly. he tilts your chin up, nose brushing yours, lips sticky with spit and curses.

“i’ll never get tired of this,” rafe rasps, fucking into you deeper, filthier now.

your hands are still fisted in his hair, dragging him until your teeth scrape his bottom lip and your tongue tangles with his. your shaky breath vibrates against his mouth, and he groans in retaliation.

“shiiiit, baby—”

he feels you clench around him, fluttering, and he pulls back to marvel at your pretty face as you come, eyes fluttering shut, mouth forming his name in broken sentences before it rips out of your throat, loud and cracked and perfect. watching you like that—his, undone, dripping, fucked out, and kissing him like he owns your soul—it undoes something in him.

you look up at him, eyes glassy, tears clinging to your lashes from how hard you came. “always you, rafe.”

rafe moans into your mouth, growing sloppy as his fingers dig into your thighs, and his cock is about to spill inside you. you're still shaking around him, your body so sensitive that you flinch with every grind of his hips.

“I’m gonna cum,” he mutters against your lips, forehead pressed to yours.

“inside,” you yank him back into the kiss, tongue lapping at his cheek, “rafe—please—inside—”

he cries out against your mouth as he comes, body jerking, cock buried into your soul as he fills you the way you like it. your body takes it like a champ, used to it by now, clenching and pulsing around him, wanting to keep it there forever, you're made for this.

and when it's over, and you're still tangled beneath him, panting against his cheek, he kisses you one more time.

“i did too much?"

your eyes close, but your lips curl into the laziest smile as you reply.

"don't underestimate me, country club."

[kimmeiy]

the wedding

sophia laforteza x reader

synopsis- sophia’s cousins wedding doesn’t go as expected, especially since y/n seems to always find a way to be involved in her family drama

warnings- none?

wc- 1298

pt1

“before we leave, let’s go over the rules”

the day of the wedding. a day you dreaded, not because of what happened last time you saw her family, no you’d never regret that. you just hate ceremonies, especially long ones that require you to be in the vicinity of the laforteza family. hopefully this won't be too long.

“oh you were serious? uh, no drinking and stay with you”

“and…”

“come on, can i at least say hi to him?“

“nope, you’re staying away from matthew today. you’re also forgetting the important one”

“and that is?”

sophia glared at you. of course you’d ignore that one.

“keep your thoughts to yourself, okay? don’t defend me today. it’s a happy day for my cousin and i don’t want you to take that from her by mentioning her parents relationship problems again”

of course she’s right. it is a happy day, surely you can restrain yourself.

“okay, i’ll bite my tongue today. you look gorgeous by the way”

and she does. her dress fits her perfectly and her makeup is beautiful. if you didn’t have self control, you’d stay home and kiss her until you pass out but you know that’s not an option.

“you too, beautiful”

at the wedding venue, sophia immediately grabs your hand, keeping you close. her aunt glares at you from the minute she sees you, straight to the start of the ceremony. 

“um, sophia, she keeps staring at me”

you whisper, keeping your eyes on the crazy woman as you sit in your respective seats 

“ignore her. she’s not gonna do anything”

she dismissed it without even looking away from the front.

“it’s kinda creeping me out…”

you eventually shrug it off and try focusing on the wedding. your hand finding hers, playing with her fingers as you get bored.

sophia meant it when she said you’re not leaving her side. she hasn’t let go of your hand once as she walks around during the reception, speaking to her family. you expected that you’d get nasty looks but surprisingly, most people just ignored you. 

“y/n!”

everyone except matthew. turning your head, you see matthew coming straight to you, drink in hand.

“i’ve been looking for you. let’s get some drinks”

you look at sophia, who’s looking right back at you, waiting for you to say no.

“sorry matthew, i’m not drinking today”

you can see the disappointment on his face, which he doesn’t bother to hide, but he doesn’t let that stop him.

“fine, let’s hang though. everyone else here is boring”

“well… i’m gonna stay with sophia. you can stay with us if you want, if that’s okay with her”

she reluctantly gives the okay and matthew groans but he agrees, saying something about how he hopes for some entertainment.

so now sophia doesn’t have just one idiot following her around, she has two and they’re worse together. she tries to continue her conversation with her aunts but the laughter coming from directly beside her is distracting. she doesn’t mind the laughter but the aunts take offense to it.

“excuse me, but we’re trying to have a conversation here”

just as you’re about to apologize, she speaks again, more agitated this time.

“i swear it’s like you have no respect or regard for anyone but yourself. it’s always something with you.”

you look around for a second, first at matthew, who looks a little too excited for the interaction. then at sophia, before looking back at the aunt, trying to see who she’s talking to and ready to speak your mind. sophia knows it’s going to be a repeat of every other time so she quickly squeezes your hand.

“y/n…”

that warning was enough for you to bite your tongue but that didn’t stop you from giving the woman a dirty look.

“come on y/n, really? that’s it? you’re not gonna tell her off?”

you look at matthew’s pout and scoff. of course he wants there to be drama.

“nope, i promised to keep my thoughts to myself today”

“that’s lame, i’m gonna get a drink”

you’re surprisingly quiet the rest of the time, ignoring all the slick comments that you happen to tune in to. everyone who looks at you can tell that you’re bored and would rather be anywhere but here.

you haven’t moved from your spot since sophia started her conversation, so when someone bumps into you and spills wine all over you, it doesn’t fail to annoy you. what made it worse was when you looked up, you saw her aunt from the engagement party smirking at you like she just got her lick back.

“oh my god, i didn’t see you there!”

the conversation paused and everyones now watching you two, waiting for your reaction.

you look at sophia, taking in the look of panic on her face, they way her hand tightens slightly around yours, tugging a little.

“it’s fine. no big deal” 

you can tell everyone around you is surprised. they expected much worse from you and you don’t miss the relief on sophia’s face.

that doesn’t matter though, because it’s clear that the older woman just wants a reaction from you.

“you should really watch where you’re going.“

“i haven’t moved from this spot”

“honestly though, it’s not like the wine messed up anything good. my cats collar probably costs more than your outfit”

“that’s nice”

your nonchalance is clearly upsetting her and she’s getting more and more frustrated that you aren’t giving her the reaction she desperately wants so she starts trying harder to push your buttons.

“i really don’t know what sophia sees in you. i mean yeah, you’re kinda pretty but that’s about it. you’re no good. she can do so much better. if only she’d agree to go on those dates her mom used to set up for her”

usually she wouldn’t say anything. it’s not like her to talk back to her family, but hearing someone talk about her girlfriend like that seemed to hit a nerve.

“excuse me? you have no right to wonder about anyone’s relationship, especially with what you have going on at home. go deal with your husband before you try to question what my girlfriend means to me. just because your marriage is shit, doesn’t mean you can try to interfere with other people’s relationships.”

“well damn”

the silence that follows honestly makes the whole situation even funnier. it takes everything in you not to laugh knowing there’s a time and place and this is not the time. if anything, it’s expected that you talk back but no one expected sophia to be the one dragging her. 

her aunt looks embarrassed and angry. how could her good niece say something like that to her?

“sophia! look at how she influenced you! this is even more reason for you to get rid of her!”

“i’ll let her leave me when you start respecting yourself”

you say before dragging sophia away, and to the bar, way too eager to get drinks in your systems.

“i didn’t expect that from you”

“well she was going too far, i couldn’t just let her say stuff about you”

“aww you care about me?”

“shut up. i’m proud of you though. you were nice all day”

“yeah well, i couldn’t break my promise” you say, lifting your joined hand to your lips, placing a kiss to the back of her hand.

“hey! what’d i miss?”

matthew appears out of nowhere, joining you two at the bar.

you catch him up with everything that happened and he groans.

“are you kidding me? go to the restroom for two seconds and i miss everything. this is why i drink.”

“i swear you’re only here for the drama”

[pyramultimuse]

He listened to Arthur and nodded, if the other thought he was alright for now then he'd try not to worry too much. "Alright, but let me know if you're feeling bad or anything. It's not too hot out thanks to all the rain, hopefully there wont be any need to run and fight along our travel. Just a peaceful ride." Cole told him and got up from the bed to pack their things.

Now noticing that Arthur's clothes he had cleaned were folded neatly on a chair and their dishes from breakfast had been taken away, the maid had been respectful and hadn't touched any of their personal items. This was really a good establishment he'd like to visit again. Cole made sure he had everything situated in his bag to just tie to the back of the saddle. He also wrapped up the soap bar Arthur really liked and tucked into it as well as Cole liked how it made the man smell.

When they were both ready and he made sure the room was tidy they headed out for the last time and went back to the stables where their horses were waiting. In their shared stall they were contently munching some fresh hay the stable hand had given them, Dawn stopping when she noticed Cole and neighed excitedly. "Yes girl its time to go." Cole smiled and opened the stall gate, the mare stepping out and waiting for her master to toss on the woven horse blanket on her back then the saddle. Strapping it on securely then putting on the halter and bit, he took out the eye guards to add to help shield the blonde horse's light eyes from the sun. Taking great care that she was comfortable and nothing was too tight.

Arthur spent most time still with his eyes closed while in Cass's arms. He had realized it was the most comfortable, safest place in the world to be, and if he were to die, that's where he wanted to spend his last moments. Slowly his frown vanished and the tears stopped. After a while, he finally nuzzled against Cole's chest, but that was it. He just wanted to be quiet and still.

Once Cass let go, Arthur stood and stepped away, adjusting his hair, wearing his hat, feeling embarrassed about all that, his heart starting to race- all the emotions he was feeling and he didn't know what to do with them.

"Thanks...for that. I'm...I'm alright now." He kept pacing back and forth, unsure of what to say or do.

"Oh, no, I don't feel like sleeping. I already rested enough. And...I think it's better we keep the tea for when I need." Arthur was starting to give the medicine usage some thought, since there was a line between the TB symptoms and the medicine side effects and he had to be just right in the middle. "I think the best way to deal with this is to keep the medication only for emergency. I'm feeling a bit nauseous, and I already threw up all I had to throw up...and he said the tea tastes awful, so I might just throw it up if I try to have some now. Just...just leave it. Let's pack our stuff and prepare to go. We've already lost too much time."

His face was slightly red, because of the crying and the shame he was feeling for needing to be held like that. "I think...we should take the food and keep it for later. If I eat anything now I feel like I'm gonna vomit again." He just drank water, water was alright, and munched some mint, trying to get rid of that awful metallic taste in his mouth.

"Look, I'm alright. From what I noticed, I just can't push it too hard. Extreme temperatures, extreme effort, having to run or jog for too long- all the rest seems alight. I can walk and run and shoot and fight, it's all good. We can go. I mean it."

[af4ll3nst4r]

Can you please yan! AzureTime x reader oneshot?

yah yah

𝙼𝚈 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶, 𝙼𝚈 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚁

𝕐𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖! 𝔸𝕫𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕩 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

𝖮𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍 - 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍

(𝐏𝐫𝐞-𝐅𝗼𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧)

Wᴀʀɴɪɴɢs!: Oʙsᴇssɪᴏɴs, Uɴʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ Bᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, Kɪᴅɴᴀᴘᴘɪɴɢ

Art is by Kuqii!!

The soft rustling wind blew by as you stare at the flowers in front of you. Rich with beauty, and colored a brilliant purple. Your bandaged hands reached for the flower.

The delicate petals brushed against your fingertips. You imagined violently ripping it from the soil it was planted in. If you did so, you’d be pulling it away from its home. Sure, you could put it in a vase with some water. But, you knew it’ll die faster on a base rather than in its original soil.

You run your thumb over the purple petals, slightly rubbing it in between your thumb and pointer finger. A gentle sigh leaves you, knowing that what you thought just now was just a metaphor. A metaphor for what they did to you..

“Nightshade?” You hear a soft voice call out and you scoff, not bothering to look up. “I told you not to call me that…” You responded, your eyes still focused on the flower. Though, you could practically see Azure frown at your words.

“You’ve been staring at that flower for a quite awhile, are you alright?” His gentleness made you want to scream. How dare he act as though everything is fine, normal, and dandy. As though you willingly stepped into their arms. How dare he ask if you’re alright.. knowing damn well what he did.. what they did.

You earn a sigh from him. “Listen.. I know you’re still upset over us having to keep you here. But, you must realize it was the only way to keep you safe!” Azure tries to reason, and you feel like lunging at him.

“No, that’s your excuse for kidnapping me and trying to force me to love you guys..” You reply, bringing your knees to your chest. He doesn’t respond, not like he has one. After all you were right.

“Two Time should be here soon, hopefully by then you’ll be less moody.” Azure tries to play it off, laugh like your rightful negative emotions about the situation was just some inconvenience you’d get over eventually.

You wanted to scream, sob, punch him, but you knew better than to do that. As gentle as he may be, Azure is strong. He’d easily be able to hold you back. It makes you feel even more helpless than you already were.

You just wanted to leave. You just wanted out of this hell. You wanted to go back home. You missed your friends and your family, the warmth of your own home.

God… you wished you never ventured to that stupid meadow.

The way you met was simple…

You let out a sigh as you brushed some hair from your forehead. Life was getting awful stressful lately, and you decided perhaps it was time to take a walk. Possibly get reacquainted with nature.

Distant chirps of birds and the crunch of your own footsteps played in your ears. The wind felt nice on your skin as you continued down the path, passing trees and flowers. Sometimes you stopped just to admire some of it.

Suddenly, you find yourself in a green landscape. The space was open and full of wild flowers. The sun shined down on the grass, creating a sort of utopia environment. It was incredibly appealing to the eye. You continue to walk forward.

You then perk up at the sight of chatter. You turn your head to look over and spotted what seems to be a couple on a picnic. A man with what looks to be a witch hat sits with a black-headed person on his lap. You see them talking with one another, enjoying each other’s company. It causes you to smile.

“Oh, hello there!” You unexpectedly hear a male voice call out to you. You turn your head to where the voice originated from. A surprisingly, it was the man you saw from earlier, looking directly at you. His partner seemed to turn their head towards you as well.

“Oh.. hi!” You say, a bit nervously since you weren’t planning on interacting with them. “Here, come sit with us!” He offered, and you hesitated. They both looked kind, both smiling at you warmly. Maybe they just wanted to talk? Even so it was a bit weird to offer a stranger to sit with them; but you decided maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Reluctantly, you approach them.

You learn their names were Two Time and Azure. You three actually chatted for a pretty long time. The was setting by the time you finished up your conversation.

They then began to talk about this being called the ‘Spawn.’ And slowly, you soon began to realize.. these two were in some sort of cult. Sirens immediately started going off in your head that you had to leave. You internally panic, wondering how the hell you were supposed to get out of this situation.

“It was really nice talking and getting to know you two, but I think it’s time for me to go!” You say, getting ready to get up and leave. You flinch as you suddenly felt a cold hand wrap around your wrist. “But, the stars haven’t even come out yet. Stargazing is one of our favorite activities, it would truly be a blessing if you’d join us!” Two Time says before you could even stand.

“Oh.. I’m really sorry, but I really have to go..” You say, hesitating in between some words; a clear sign you were beginning to grow nervous. “Please? It’s so beautiful, and your company would make it ever better!” Azure says, pleading with Two Time.

You shake your head, pulling your wrist away from Two Time’s grip. “M-Maybe some other time.. I just, I have to go.. bye!” You wave off, your hand moving back and forth rapidly before you quickly run off.

You hoped to never see them again. But they kept showing up. It was as though they were stalking you.. probably because they were.

And they wouldn’t leave you alone! They wouldn’t..

And then.. they couldn’t.

Because you ended up in this position.

You turn your head away from the piece of food staked upon the fork. “Angel, please, you must eat something.” Two Time says, beckoning the fork to your mouth. You keep it shut, sealing your lips as though there was a nasty secret on the tip of your tongue you didn’t want to spill.

You shuffle in the chair you’re bound to. Trying to move your wrists at an attempt to untie the rope wrapped tightly around them. It was futile in the end, and only earned a sad sigh from Two Time.

Azure looks at you with a concerned expression. You only stare back at him with a cold stare. “Nightshade—“ “Don’t call me that.” You snap immediately, your expression now becoming more of a grimace. You’ve told him so many times to not nickname you that. He calls Two Time nightshade often as well. You don’t want to be referred to as their third.

“We only did this because you attempted to run.. we had no other choice but to bound you.” Two Time would say, their calm demeanor slipping slightly.

You hated the idea of being bound to them. You weren’t theirs. But the constant smothering of unwanted affection and words of affirmation made you want to pull your hair out.

“When will you let me go…” Your voice quivers, tilting your head down. You look at the wooden table. Golden light seeping onto the brown lines from the candle placed in the middle. You hear them both shuffle slightly, a sign they were about to answer.

“Night—… reader.. you know we can’t.” Azure suddenly speaks up, and you hear the sadness painting his voice. No, not because he feels guilty, but because you won’t love them back or show the same affection.

“It is required that you stay here.. with us.. under the Spawn’s watchful eye and their glorious teachings!” Two Time chimes.

“I want out.” You simply reply.

“We know you do.” Azure replies softly.

“But one day you’ll understand, we’re only trying to save you.” Two Time adds on.

“This is hell.” You say, words slightly choked.

And then, the candle, barely flickering, burns out.

(idk if anybody caught that the candle was a metaphor for the readers hope.. uhhhh)

[oh-no-its-bird]

wait I don’t know much about Naruto, what does it mean to be a senju? also im glad ur back hopefully things get better for u!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

!! Hi !! I'm assuming you come from Working For The Knife, in which case: A quick Senju crash-course for you!

Basically, way back in the day, during the Warring States period, before there were any Shinobi villages, there were these two Shinobi clans— The Uchiha, aka the emo fire guys, and the Senju, aka the plant people. And they fucking HATED each other.

I'm talking we-will-murder-and-torture-your-children levels of hatred, like, they had designated "child hunting squads" and everything. And these two clans had been fighting for so long that they didn't even know why they were fighting anymore— this was just all they knew how to do.

And the one day, the young sons of the two clan heads, Uchiha Madara and Senju Hashirama met and became friends. They both kinda used their context clues and realized the other was an Uchiha/Senju, but decided to pretend that they hadn't realized so they could keep playing together. They became #besties4evr and talked about things like how adults are STUPID and war is BAD and wouldn't it be cool if all the clans lived in one big village together and no child ever had to die in their senseless wars ever again?

And then their dads found them and we're like "god fucking dammit, not this peace shit again." And made them break up the friendship. Rip !!

So time skip and now Madara and Hashirama are adults and the new clan heads, and like every day they go to the battlefield and Hashirama is like "MAAADARAAAAAA IM SORRY I CALLED YOU A PISS BABY WHEN WE WERE 10 CAN WE PRETTY PLEASE MAKE PEACE NOW" and Madara is like "STOP TRYING TO TALK TO ME WHEN IM TRYING TO KILL YOU!!!!" And Hashirama is like "BUT WHAT ABOUT OUR DREAMS OF A SHINOBI VILLAGE :(((" and Madara is like "GO FUCK YOURSELF, LEAVES FOR BRAINS!!!" and everyone else on the battlefield is like "I sure am glad they fight each other bc individually either of them could fucking flatten like, the entire enemy team with their insane OP powers, but also I really wish they'd shut the fuck up sometimes"

So then one day Hashirama's younger brother (aka his only remaining brother bc all the others were killed by child hunting squads) actually manages to kill Madara's younger brother (also his only remaining brother bc all the others were killed by child hunting squads) and Madara like, totally loses his shit about it. I mean, valid crash out tho, but also like, skill issue idk.

And so the Senju end up cornering Madara and it looks like this is FINALLY the end of the Uchiha— only then Hashirama is like "ummm so I knoooww I'm supposed to kill you now,,, but what about,, peace,, instead,," and Madara goes "holy shit KILL YOURSELF 11!!1!1!1!!!!" and then Hashirama actually DOES IT !!!! Or at least he tries to, bc Madara stops him, and is like "woawh. Ur scinserity has proven urself..to me....maybe we will have our peace..."

(In the bg all the Senju are screaming and crying and throwing up btw)

So anyways then they form ✨Konoha✨ aka the village hidden in the leaves and it's THE first Shinobi village ever. And it's like, so cool that soon everyone else is trying to copy them but that's not really the point of this crash-course.

(Years later Madara betrays the village and tries to blow up Hashirama only for Hashirama to kill him, but that's also not really the point of this crash course)

But anyways yeah, the Senju! They are important because they are a founding clan of Konoha, and because the very first Hokage (aka ninja president) was Hashirama. So they have a lot of political pull.

Also their special bloodline limit is this insanely powerful ability to control plants called mokuton, but it only shows up in like. One in a million of them, and Hashirama was the last one to be born with it in generations. (IGNORING the test tube babies growing under Konoha to try and artificially make someone w the power. And also freaky still secretly alive Madara in his little old man freak cave who stole the mokuton via biting?? Hashirama?? And like grafting his flesh to his titty?? Pop off, king, I guess)

In modern day Konoha (aka when the fic is set) there's literally like. One Senju left. Her name is Tsunade and she's actually Hashirama's granddaughter, but she fucking ditched the village bc her boyfriend died and also her brother died and also her teammate turned evil— but to be fair he only turned evil after she left, so, yk, semantics. She's like recognized as the greatest healer in the world but is also scared of blood now bc of her trauma. Skill issue !!!

There are like a handful of characters who are theorized/head cannoned as Senju— be it half, secret bastards, or otherwise —but I'm p sure Tsunade is the only confirmed last living Senju to still have the name. Rip her!!

I don't think we're ever really told what the fuck happened to the rest of the Senju?? But they aren't around anymore, sooo...?? A popular theory I've seen is that Hashirama had them all marry out to help promote village unity— which is actually incredibly concerning and pretty fucked up when you think about it for longer than 20 seconds. But, yk. Naruto !! Everything is incredibly concerning and pretty fucked up when you think about it for longer than 20 seconds in Naruto! I heart my silly ninjas !!!!

But yeah !! Senju crash course !! There's like some other lore stuff, especially when it comes to their history to the Uchiha clan and how Hashirama/Madara are like reincarnations of the ancient brothers who first began the feud between the Senju and Uchiha— but that's like. The main stuff.

Still assuming you're coming from Working for the Knife here, what this means for the fic is that SQH was born the son of a well respected and talented master blacksmiths daughter and the bastard son of their sworn enemy clan. And like, things have gotten a LOT better between the clans, but there's still some bad blood among the elders of the clans— and the fact that he was a bastard was also kinda ehhh to the elders as well. Elders of which Houhua's grandmother was one of, bc she was born in the warring states era (which really wasn't that long ago)

Thank you for the ask and I hope this helps!!!

[rebeccathenaturalist]

So DC finally figured out how to make a *fun* Superman movie that holds up with the best of what the MCU created on their end.

No serious spoilers here, but I do have to say that I LOVE how much Gunn drew heavily from Morrison's All-Star Superman run, because Morrison did such an amazing job of making a relatable, human Superman. I'm not a fan of various attempts to make Supes gritty and edgy. I mean, I get why for example the Injustice alt-reality was a chance to explore what would happen if the world's most powerful metahuman went wholly totalitarian, asking the same questions as The Watchmen and Captain America: Civil War. And I know the reasons behind Supes' long hair and black suit post-resurrection in the 1990s. There are good reasons to explore his alienness, that he's from an entirely different planet and that will always set him apart a bit--so long as we remember he grew up on Earth, among humans, and that counts for at least as much.

But it feels like when the first Snyder/Cavill Superman movie came out a decade and change ago, the DC movies were already trying too hard to be the anti-MCU--dark and moody and titanic instead of colorful and full of comedy breaking up the tension. There's also the fact that they had to overcome the legacy of Reeve's Superman performances in the 1970s, which were fun and experimental and still hold up really well even almost half a century later. The small-screen Smallville, and the one-off Singer/Routh that followed, also hearkened more to a positive, heroic (if imperfect) character. So it's kind of inevitable that someone would eventually decide they needed to reboot Superman on the big screen in a way that was the opposite of what had been done before.

I just....that's not my Superman. To me, he's always going to be the guy the other characters call the Big Blue Boy Scout, and for good reason. Sure, it may seem hokey when he manages to save yet another school bus from plunging into a river, or catch a falling building about to squash an old lady walking her little dog. But that's the essence of who he is. Behind the red S is Clark Kent, the good-natured farm boy from Smallville, Kansas who was taught by Ma and Pa Kent to respect others and to make the world a better place, who understands the immense power he has and decides to save lives and improve the lot of others. In a world where most of us have very little power on a global scale, and those who do have power seem intent on only using it to gain more for themselves at the expense of everyone else, there's a real wish-fulfillment fantasy as we imagine having the power to stop the bad guys, save the day, and hopefully make the sun shine a little brighter at the end of it.

And I see that so much in the Gunn/Corenswet Superman movie. There are some great callbacks to Reeve, to All-Star Superman, and even a bit of the tone of Smallville. There are the epic battles, the great saves, the iconic poses, the classic suit and cape. There are angsty moments, and tension, and moral dilemmas, and some good questions about what impact a superhero would really have in our world. But there's also our hero just being a human being, imperfect and sometimes kind of awkward, and absolutely relatable. He's Clark Kent the reporter because he's gotta have a job to pay bills, not just to create an elaborate cover-up for Superman. Like Spider-Man (well, Spidey before Tony Stark decided to make Peter Parker his protege), he's not a billionaire with tons of resources at his beck and call. We can relate to him more easily than Stark or Bruce Wayne or even Oliver Queen.

Most importantly--this Superman comes across as written by someone who's read and loved the comics, and the core of who this character is. He's our reminder to always strive to be better, kinder, more compassionate, even to those who may be considered enemies. He stops the danger, but he tries to find reasonable, humane solutions--this is not a Superman who kills, even when other characters warrant that's the only thing to be done. He demonstrates very clearly where he is motivated by a deep desire to end suffering and save lives, no matter how humble, and even if we see him at a still young, naive stage of his adulthood, his heart is in the right place. But even an older, more experienced Superman in the comics doesn't fall prey to cynicism: that heart is still there, compelling him to always strive to make the world a better place for everyone.

And I think we need that hope, more than ever. We need to be able to imagine a world where war is averted, disasters curtailed, and the life of every person walking this planet valued equally. Even if we don't have superpowers to make that happen, and we have to deal with the real world as it is, our stories are what give our imaginations fuel. Imagination sparks creativity, and creativity gives rise to solutions. Around the world there are so, so many people working to try to create a better world for everyone, and I see this movie as not only an incredibly faithful adaptation of the comics, but a message of hope and resilience to everyone who chooses to act in kindness and compassion toward our fellow humans.

(P.S. On a totally different note, I am so glad Nathan Fillion finally got to play Guy Gardner. Anthony Carrigan absolutely nails the perfect Metamorpho. And this movie has my favorite versions of both Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen EVER.)

[stellargh0ul]

Can we please have more of playing hide and seek with Perpetua? Really need to know what happens after he finds you 😈

of course, of course! your wish is my command.

part 1 here.

you bite down into the fabric of Perpetua’s tie, feeling your teeth grind together as his hand slips out from between your legs. his fingers are absolutely soaked with your fluids and he lifts them to his mouth to begin cleaning them, maintaining eye contact with you as he does so. your legs are trembling where they’re pressed against the trunk of the tree, the strength leaving them in the face of the pleasure he’s drawing from your body.

in that moment, you feel like prey more keenly than you ever have before: Perpetua’s eyes never leave you, soaking in every expression you make as you shiver in the night air, your pants around your ankles, underwear ripped to shreds. his hand stokes over your hip, sending goosebumps climbing over your skin.

his predatory smile makes your clit throb though you’ve already cum twice on his fingers, clever motions drawing out wave upon wave of pleasure from you.

anyone who walked by in that moment and happened to glance over into the garden, through the bushes, could spot you. the tie in your mouth could only do so much to muffle your noises: if you were too loud, someone would no doubt stop to see if they could find the source of the noise.

the thrill of possibly being discovered only makes what he’s doing even better.

“you thought you could escape, hm? thought that this tree would be enough to hide you from me?”

his voice is low, Perpetua no doubt equally aware of the possibility of being discovered, but the growl in his words only makes you throb even more. you can’t think straight, can’t think about anything but getting his fingers— or, hopefully, his cock— back inside of you.

“please—“ you whine out, but the gag muffles the syllables so that they only come out as garbled nonsense. Perpetua strokes his fingers over your cheek, an evil glint in his eye.

“shhh, it’s alright. your Papa knows what you need.”

you hear the clink of his belt buckle and groan out in relief at the idea that he’s going to finally give you what he needs. he grunts lowly as he fishes his cock out from his pants and you crane your neck to catch a glimpse of him in the silver moonlight.

his gloved hand returns to swipe through your wetness, making your knees tremble as he gathers up some of the moisture he finds there. Perpetua glides his newly slicked hand along his cock, meeting your gaze with a fierce, burning smile.

“going to make you feel so good that you’ll scream for me,” he murmurs in your ear. “so everyone will come running and see you cornered like the prey you are, arching your back as you take your Papa’s cock…”

you press your hips back, trying to encourage him to do just that— fuck whoever might see you. you need him inside of you more than you’ve ever needed anything before.

[h4l0l0v3sy0u]

I'm seeing like A LOT of conflict with the Roxy x Eclipse thing and I understand where some of the people who say "it's not like eclipse to do that" or showing your views on how you guys saw them BUT just hear me out when I try to explain something!!!

Seeing this as someone who has shipped them makes me pretty happy to see tbh but I'm gonna talk from a (hopefully mostly unbiased standpoint)

To the people who say "it's not like eclipse" or "eclipse wouldn't do something like that" PLEASE do not take this as me being rude, but at the end of the day they're not your characters they're the VA's characters you don't really know what the characters are FULLY like the only people who know that are the VA's who created them. It's kinda similar to if I were to make some OC's and post some animations of them and try to add something new in and someone says that my character wouldn't do or say that? I don't really know how much of a better way to put it

I see some people are mainly just upset about it (possibly) being cannon due to how they have wanted Eclipse and Roxy to just be co-parents or being queer platonic. Others see Roxy being a big sister to the kids or they see eclipse and Roxy as being siblings or the cool aunt to the kids. I respect your views and see them as you please but don't get mad at others or the VA's because you don't like the direction the show is going in, because at the end of the day they're trying to appeal to the audience they see the most of since it's still their jobs and they make money off these things. That's why TSAMS stopped doing gaming videos as often as they did and why TLAES got a reboot. Now, back to the views on the characters, there is a reason AUs exist if you really enjoy your views on fandoms but it doesn't become canon, make an AU! Yes, it won't be as satisfying as seeing it canon but still it's better than nothing.

If you refuse to watch the show if the ship becomes canon, that's your choice and nobody can or should do anything about it because you're your own person and should feel free to do as you please. But please don't act like the creators just saying "Screw you, if you don't like it you're just haters" and that all the fans want the same thing since I highly doubt that what they think

Anyways Darling out and feel free to talk about your opinions in the comments and I would gladly reply!

(I might take a bit to reply due to my horrid time management and or being on this app super doer often!!!)

[lyngracetalksnwritesnstuff]

Yilling Wei Sect AU Chapter Ten

Ao3

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Wei Wuxian remembered that conversation.

"What did you want to talk about?" He asked, a little nervous that Lan Zhan had closed them in. That meant he was serious.

Lan Zhan sat down, motioning for Wei Wuxian to sit across from him. "I have questions. About your relationship with Jiang Wanyin."

"My relationship with Jiang Cheng?" Wei Wuxian parroted, confused. Why was Lan Zhan asking about that?

Lan Zhan closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath as if bracing himself.

"Are you in love with Jiang Wanyin?"

The question seemed to knock the air out of Wei Wuxian with the absurdity and unexpectedness of it. Of all the things he'd thought Lan Zhan might ask him, this was not one of them.

Lan Zhan seemed to take his stunned silence the wrong way and looked down in understanding. "I see, I—"

"No," Wei Wuxian interrupted him. He couldn't bear to see Lan Zhan follow that thought path any further than he already had.

"I'm not, I'm really not," Wei Wuxian assured him. "He's my brother, my sometimes-nice sibling. Also, I think he would rather choke to death than be involved with me romantically, as would I."

Oddly, Lan Zhan seemed to relax. "I see," He said, with real understanding this time.

"What prompted you to think that?" Wei Wuxian asked, curious as to how Lan Zhan had fallen under that assumption.

Lan Zhan looked down, the tips of his ears burning red, signaling to Wei Wuxian that he was embarrassed.

"I saw you run into him during the challenge. You sent your thoughts through the communication talisman. Then you said his name in your sleep while you were unconscious. That, along with your refusal to talk about him, gave my imagination a bit to run away with, I'm afraid." Lan Zhan admitted, ears still burning.

Wei Wuxian laughed. "The great Second Jade of Lan, making assumptions?" He teased.

"I apologize for not clarifying sooner," Lan Zhan said. He still hadn't met Wei Wuxian's eyes.

"Ah, Lan Zhan, it's okay! I suppose without the necessary context, someone could easily think that and be justified! It's okay to be shy about asking someone something regarding their romantic lives!" Wei Wuxian told Lan Zhan, trying to cheer him up.

"I will do better not to assume things," Lan Zhan finally looked up, seeming determined.

A knock sounded on the door, and Wei Wuxian got up to open it.

"Are you ready to deliver the note?" Meng Yao asked. "I've finished it, so you should be good to go whenever you're ready."

"Thanks, Yaoyao," Wei Wuxian grinned, ruffling Meng Yao's hair as he took the note, laughing as Meng Yao swatted his hand away.

"Lan Zhan!" He called to Lan Zhan, who stood and came to his side. "Ready to leave our friends a message?"

"Mn," Lan Zhan affirmed.

They set off for the woods as Wei Wuxian looked through Meng Yao's final draft.

"I understand that your intention is to kill me," He read aloud to Lan Zhan. "I wish to meet with your leader to understand the reasoning behind this and hopefully come to a consensus."

"Short and to the point," Lan Zhan nodded approvingly.

"I still find it funny that you thought I was in love with Jiang Cheng," Wei Wuxian laughed. "In all seriousness, though, you know I wouldn't do that to you, right? Arranged or not, we're married, and I intend to honor that."

Lan Zhan looked down. "I thought you might want a partner you actually love to raise the children with."

"Lan Zhan, really? I don't blame you for thinking that; I probably would've come to the same conclusion, but I've no intention of searching for a partner. You are everything I could've asked for as the kids' other parent."

Lan Zhan rewarded him with a smile, looking back up. Wei Wuxian thought his heart might actually stop from the sheer beauty of it.

His smile was barely anything, a slight upward tilt at the corners of his lips, the faintest crinkles around his eyes. However, it was reminiscent of moonlight, feathery and delicate, gently dancing on the still waters of a lake, its silvery beauty shining for those who looked for it.

Wei Wuxian realized he had stopped breathing, mesmerized by Lan Zhan's smile, and shook himself. If you stare at him the whole time, you'll trip and fall and look like a dumbass in front of him, He reminded himself sternly.

"So, Lan Zhan, what do you like to do?" Wei Wuxian asked, trying to distract himself.

Lan Zhan gave him a confused look. What are you asking that for? The look said.

"Well, I realized I don't actually know very many mundane things about you! And that needs to change! You can ask me questions, too." He explained.

Lan Zhan nodded. "I enjoy playing the guqin, sparring with my brother, discussing cultivation theory with my uncle, helping with the younger disciples, and feeding the rabbits."

Wei Wuxian gasped. "You like rabbits!?"

"There is a colony in the back hills," Lan Zhan told him. "I could take you to see them after we deliver the message."

"Yes, yes, yes!" Wei Wuxian exclaimed. "A thousand times, yes! Oh, we should bring the children too, they'd love seeing rabbits."

"They would enjoy it," Lan Zhan affirmed. "What is your biggest pet peeve?"

"Oh, do not get me started," Wei Wuxian groaned. "The worst, most annoying thing a person can do is call my cultivation path demonic cultivation.

Lan Zhan frowned, prompting him to continue.

"Okay, so what I do, is I mess around with resentful energy, right? Now, small-minded, ignorant people like to just call this demonic cultivation and go about their day, unknowing of the heinous error they have just made." Wei Wuxian started, gesturing as he spoke.

"What I do is ghostly cultivation. This involves the manipulation of resentful energy and the use of it to put the spirits to rest. I take the harmful energy and put it to good use and help the ghost move on. Demonic cultivation, on the other hand, is much more about stirring up resentment and using it to harm others, therefore creating more resentment." He explained passionately.

"Interesting," Lan Zhan mused. "I was not taught about ghostly cultivation, simply that anything to do with resentment was demonic and evil in nature."

"Yeah, that tracks," Wei Wuxian sighed. "Close-minded people and their inadequate education systems.

"We have arrived," Lan Zhan informed him.

Wei Wuxian looked up to realize he was right; they were in the clearing where he'd first been attacked by the assassins. The stump where the guqin player had sat was empty now, but it brought back vivid memories of that day.

"Well, let's place the message and get out of here," Wei Wuxian said, forcing false cheer into his voice.

"Wei Ying. I know it is not easy to be back here," Lan Zhan frowned, catching his wrist as he made to drop the message on the stump.

"I'm fine!" Wei Wuxian insisted, freeing his wrist from Lan Zhan's grasp.

"Okay," Lan Zhan seemed to drop the issue without protest. "But it is also okay to not be fine."

Wei Wuxian sealed the message and placed it on the stump before slumping in defeat and turning back to Lan Zhan.

"I just hate the memories here, y'know?" He admitted.

Lan Zhan nodded. "That is a natural trauma response. People who have experienced trauma often don't like to visit the place where the trauma occurred."

Wei Wuxian sagged in relief. He wasn't the only one who experienced this.

"Do you have places like this too?" He asked tentatively.

"Mn," Lan Zhan confirmed. "I do not enjoy visiting the places where I was on the front during the Sunshot Campaign. I hope I never have to see Nightless City again."

"I feel the same," Wei Wuxian agreed. "It took me a while to get back to normal, though I'm not sure if I'll ever be the same."

"That is an odd phrase," Lan Zhan mused. "I wonder why people say it like it's a bad thing. People grow and change, and that is okay. You were put through many traumatic trials as a child, and they changed you. That is okay. It is okay that you will never be the same as before. I don't think I will either."

Wei Wuxian leaned onto Lan Zhan, affection filling him. "How are you so wise, Lan Zhan?"

"It comes with the territory of having an overly-concerned older brother, I suppose," Lan Zhan said, smiling a little. "He was always talking to me about emotional intelligence and how to recognize signs of different mental ailments."

Wei Wuxian laughed at that, imagining a small, stoic-faced Lan Zhan learning about how emotions work.

Then he had a thought. "Is... is that why you got so freaked out when A-Yu and A-Yang were dissecting that body?" He asked hesitantly, preparing to drop the subject as soon as the words met air.

Lan Zhan's face went defensively blank before he sighed and spoke. "Yes. I had a particularly... unsettling experience during the war."

"Would you, would you like to talk? About it?" Wei Wuxian fidgeted with his decorative tassels as he talked.

Lan Zhan didn't say anything for a while. Then, "I suppose it couldn't hurt."

"What happened?" Wei Wuxian asked.

"Part of the group that attacked the Cloud Recessed when it was burned were teenagers, some even younger than I was at that time." Lan Zhan told him quietly.

Wei Wuxian felt sick. Yeah, they'd been teenagers themselves, but they hadn't been prepared when the Wens attacked, and none of them had been younger than seventeen. Lan Zhan was talking about teenagers A-Yu's age, put in the middle of a war, and told to fight.

"I saw them burning buildings, killing people, fighting. It was so horrible..." Wei Wuxian drew closer in alarm as Lan Zhan trailed off, his face scrunched like he was going to cry.

Lan Zhan turned towards him, face distraught, and Wei Wuxian took that as a sign he needed a hug and wrapped his arms around him.

Thankfully, Lan Zhan didn't push him away and sagged into the embrace.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Lan Zhan, I shouldn't have asked about it." Wei Wuxian murmured, holding his husband close.

"Wei Ying did nothing wrong," Lan Zhan insisted. His face was still pressed against Wei Wuxian's shoulder, shuddering against him.

"You asked me not to bring it up again," Wei Wuxian argued. "I should've respected that."

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan looked up, frowning. "It really is not that serious. I chose to talk about it, and I knew the risks. You do not need to beat yourself up for this."

"Ah, I'm sorry," Wei Wuxian apologized, fiddling with his hair.

"Do not apologize," Lan Zhan said sternly, looking into his eyes.

Wei Wuxian's breath caught in his throat as he realized how close their faces were. If he wanted to, all he would have to do is lean forward slightly to... to kiss Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan's eyes were pretty. Gold, with flecks of darker and lighter shades that made Wei Wuxian never want to look away.

"Er, should we grab the toddlers and visit the rabbits you told me about?" Wei Wuxian asked, stumbling away awkwardly.

Lan Zhan didn't seem to have any visible reaction, though Wei Wuxian could've sworn he saw a flash of disappointment at his sudden distance.

"Mn," Lan Zhan agreed, starting to walk next to Wei Wuxian again.

"So do we still think it was Jin Guangshan who has been trying to kill you?" Lan Zhan asked as they neared the camp.

"I'm not sure anymore," Wei Wuxian admitted. "Who else could it be? But the attempts also seem more reminiscent of a cult or small sect than a group of randomly hired assassins. They also seem to have some kind of personal grudge against me, which would be odd for hired mercenaries."

"Meng Yao told me he caught a glimpse of a red symbol on the inner sleeve of the person who was holding him at knifepoint." Lan Zhan told him, seeming unsettled by the suggestion of the assassins having a personal grudge against Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian frowned, mulling that over as he found his children, who were playing with Shu Junlai, A-Yu, and A-Xia.

"Can I borrow my babies?" Wei Wuxian asked, grinning as he approached the amusing scene. A-Yuan and A-Qing chased A-Yu and Shu Junlai while A-Xia and A-Xiao giggled and threw grass at them.

"Sure!" A-Yu turned to him, ushering the toddlers his way.

"Baba! A-Die!" A-Yuan squealed, running towards them, his siblings close on his heels.

"Qing-Gugu said you were on a secret mission," A-Xiao said seriously, looking up at them.

"It was something like that," Lan Zhan answered, a smile twitching at his lips.

"Where are we going?" A-Qing asked as Lan Zhan started to lead them to the back hills.

"You remember how we told you that A-Die grew up here?" Wei Wuxian reminded them.

"Yeah!" A-Yuan exclaimed, his eyes brightening with recognition. "The place with ten million rules!"

Wei Wuxian hid his choked laugh behind a sleeve as Lan Zhan shot him a look.

"It only has three thousand rules, baobei," Wei Wuxian corrected A-Yuan, who nodded sagely. "And there's a group of bunnies that live here that A-Die's taking us to visit."

"Bunnies!" A-Xiao shrieked with excitement. "Where!?"

"You like bunnies?" Lan Zhan asked curiously, looking back at A-Xiao.

"Bunnies are my favorite ever!" A-Xiao told him enthusiastically, starting to say to him all of the bunny facts he'd collected over the years.

They finally reached the back hills, and by then A-Xiao was bouncing in anticipation, his siblings peering into the woods curiously from behind him.

"Shhhh," Lan Zhan reminded them, crouching down and pulling a food-looking leaf from his sleeve.

Mere seconds later, a dozen or so rabbits made their way out of the woods, curiously sniffing at the apparent food.

"Sit cross-legged," Lan Zhan instructed them, handing them each a bundle of leaves to feed the rabbits. "They will come to you."

A-Xiao stared in wonder as one of the rabbits took an interest in his leaves and hopped into his lap to chew on them contentedly.

"Baba, baba look!" A-Yuan exclaimed quietly, pointing to the bunny in his own lap.

A-Qing had lured two into her lap, a fact she held above her brothers' heads until A-Xiao got sad, and she transferred one of her rabbits into his lap.

Wei Wuxian sighed, watching his family play with rabbits. He pushed all of his earlier worries away to feed the bunnies, allowing himself one peaceful moment before the meeting that would either save his life or condemn it.

Sorry, this wasn't as long (I think)! It's like 2:30 am rn, so I am tired and this may contain mistakes. I'll probably edit this in the morning morning.

Yes, I know the fact that they fought in the war as teenagers is traumatic and horrible, but I'm writing this from Wwx's pov and y'know what his favorite thing to do with trauma is? (Especially his war trauma) Pretend it doesn't exist, so he is downplaying it in his mind.

M'kay, I'm gonna go to sleep now. Have an amazing day/night, and thank you all so much for the comments and kudos, and general engagement! It means a lot, and I appreciate you all!

Oh, and I won't be able to post again until Thursday cause I'm being dragged on a family camping trip.

[blackcatxmagic]

Shrugging, Winter replied, "I don't really know. I mean, if they're from really far away, it's possible they've only just recently discovered us, or maybe it took a long time to get here. So we might have to brace for an invasion or something. If that happened though, I wonder if they'd do it with force, like a War of the Worlds situation, or if it would be more of a stealth thing like Invasion of the Body Snatchers." Winter paused to consider this, shuddering slightly; neither option sounded great. "I guess I'd rather it be more like the stealth option because at least then it would be more about assimilation than eradication," Winter decided. "Of course, they might just think of us like bugs, like, we're just there and not doing any harm, so they'll leave us alone. That's probably the best one." Winter laughed; this was a silly conversation, but hopefully it was helping to distract Stoker and help them to feel better.

"It's a little bit stupid," Winter countered, trying to make it sound like a joke, but it really wasn't. This was how he felt, and he hated that people had to make allowances for his memory issues. "I know you don't think that," Winter continued, "but...I know it's got to be annoying sometimes trying to keep in mind that I don't remember things." He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice - Winter hated this. "I just...I wish I could go back in time and stop it from ever happening," Winter told Stoker. He couldn't remember if he ever told them the truth of the accident - what a shock, Winter not remembering something - but either way, he thought Stoker would get his meaning. "Too bad time travel isn't real," Winter said. "Well probably not. I think even magic has limits."

If Winter had heard the story of how Stoker and Silas ended up in Cardinal Hill, Winter couldn't remember. "This isn't your fault, Stoker," Winter told his friend. "Just because he came here for you doesn't mean you pushed him into the path of an oncoming train. It's not like you ran away to...I don't know, somewhere bad. How could you have known this would happen in a sleepy little town?" There was no way anyone could have known that. "You know, have you ever told me why you came here?" Winter asked, hoping to distract Stoker. "Like why Cardinal Hill? What was it that brought you here, or kept you here?"

"You think they’d just try to eradicate us?" Stoker questioned, cocking his head to the side in contemplation - as if he hadn’t thought about the subject more than enough times to be quite sure of his own opinion. “I don’t really see why they’d bother. I mean, if we have any valuable asset, you’d think that they’d have jumped on it already, right? Before we started fucking with the earth enough to do the damage we’ve done. And it’s not like we pose a great threat to them either, if we haven’t already discovered them to the extent of causing them any noticeable harm. I imagine they’d just let us do our own thing, maybe one of ‘em has called dibs on the space we’ll leave after we’re all gone.”

“Your brain isn’t stupid. I hope you know that I don’t think of you like that.” As they spoke, Stoker’s tone was far more gentle and sincere, even in his state of intoxication. He could only imagine how terrible it was to live with that condition, but never once had Stoker either blamed or judged Winter for what his brain was capable of - or not capable of, rather. If you were to ask Stoker, he thought Winter was doing an incredible job at living even while facing such an extreme challenge.

“It’s not that something happened,” he sighed, shaking his head, a slur returning to his voice now that he was talking about himself once again. “It’s just… well he wouldn’t be here if I didn’t run away to this place first, you know? I was the one who brought him here, who suggested he come to stay to help his writing. He wouldn’t have been here dealing with all of this stuff if I hadn’t have encouraged him to move.” A long pause followed, and only then did Stoker realise that tears were brimming in his eyes. “It feels like I pushed him onto the tracks, right in front of an oncoming train.”

[anxiously-going]

So I made this sketch impulsively then I had this idea

Then I made this sketch

And now I have two new paintings to make

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Miraculous vs The Power of Love

I've written several posts where I talked about Miraculous' poor use of the power of love trope and how that massively turned me off to canon. Three strikes and you're out! When this topic comes up I usually bring up Adrien and only Adrien. This has led to some anger at the fact that I didn't mention love failing anyone else as it absolutely has. I've also seen some anger over my desire for Adrien to defeat Gabriel's control and win the day since Adrien is a victim and that means that it's perfectly fine if he fails to beat his father's control no matter what the consequences of that failure are. After all, the failure isn't really on Adrien. It's on Gabriel. A sentiment I understand, but don't agree with since this is a writing blog. I'm discussing the message the writing is sending not which character gets the in-universe blame.

I'm not going to change how I discuss this topic since it is my honest opinion, but I can explain that opinion in depth to hopefully save us all from miscommunication! That's why I'm making this post! It addresses all of the above. I'll be linking to this whenever the topic comes up so that I can include some nuance without having to go into all of the detail I'm about to go into because - as you'll see - this is a long one which is why I don't go into this depth in other posts. It would just totally derail them. I'm also not going to go into the deconstruction aspect of things here because this is already really long, but I do have a post on that for even more nuance!

If you disagree with any of this, that's totally fine! I just ask that you keep the your counter arguments civil. Remember, we're talking about a badly written kids show that none of us have the power to change and the magical power of love isn't real so it doesn't actually matter if I'm right about this. Nor is Adrien going to thank you for coming to his aid. He doesn't exist and, as always, my issue is not him as a person. My issue is the way the narrative uses him as a storytelling tool.

What Is the Power of Love?

The power of love is a trope where either platonic or romantic love saves the hero from some type of conflict or upsetting situation. It's a rather broad trope that can be used in conflicts of any size, but even TV tropes acknowledges that it's primarily "applied in dire situations to make things better. In fact, in many Disney movies it's the solution to everything." That definition is how I approach the power of love.

To put it more bluntly, unless we're talking about a specific example, when I say "the power of love" I am thinking of a story's climax or, in the case of something like a multi-season show, one of the climaxes. More specifically, I'm thinking of the lyrics to one of my favorite cheesy pop songs:

There comes a time When you face the toughest of fights Searching for a sign Lost in the darkest of nights The wind blows so cold Standing alone Before the battle's begun But deep in your soul The future unfolds As bright as the rays of the sun You've got to believe In the power of love

If it's not the toughest of fights or the darkest of nights, then the power of love failing may disappoint me, but I don't consider it an unforgivable sin. In some cases, I'd even be disappointed if the power of love was brought in before the climax! The power of love is the ultimate cheesy move so it makes sense to save it for the last minute if using it earlier would lessen or even ruin that last minute epic save.

To show what I mean, let's talk about another trope that Miraculous has failed to use well, but that doesn't ruin the show for me. A trope that has led the show to do the exact thing we just discussed: ignore a small moment when love should have won to allow for a bigger win when all hope seems lost.

The Evil Clone Thing

[Image description: the Buzz and Woody meme with the words "Evil Clones. Evil Clones Everywhere"]

There have been an absurd number of episodes where the evil clone/evil twin trope came into play, but the three big ones are Ladybug, Optigami, and the season four final. In each of these episodes, we see a good character replaced by an identical evil version. We also see the good character's love interest fail to recognize that their crush/romantic partner has been replaced. That means that all three of these episodes see the power of romantic love failing. We also don't see a more platonic version of love show up to save the day.

The worst of these episode is the season four final where Marinette doesn't recognize that Felix has taken Adrien's place. That deception is how Gabriel steals the miraculous so it's obviously a pretty big deal and can be argued as a major fail for the power of love. I don't disagree. I think that Marinette's love should have let her see through the lies and dislike that the writers took this route to make her lose. However, I don't have this on my list of moments when the power of love needed to win for the story to work.

While Marinette failing to recognize Felix leads to her darkest hour, it does not happen in her darkest hour. Her darkest hour comes when she actually loses the miraculous which happens in a completely different scene from the one where she's deceived. It's also worth noting that Felix is not present in this moment of loss so there was no opportunity for the power of love to pull off a last minute win.

The loss of the miraculous leads to a scene where Ladybug is sitting alone in the rain, ready to give up all hope. And what happens next?

[Image description: Chat Noir standing in the rain, smiling, holding out his hand to Ladybug]

Chat Noir shows up to reignite Ladybug's will to fight via his love and support. She takes his hand, he draws her into a hug, and they stand together as one, ready to once again face their enemy:

Cat Noir: We're gonna get them back one by one…until the very last. And we'll make sure this never happens again. Ladybug: You...and me? Cat Noir: You, the best superhero there ever was... and me, your loyal partner.

A lot of people love this scene and it led to some major hype for season five which means that it's time to quote some more of that cheesy song that I brought up at the start:

Stand by my side There's nothing to hide Together we'll fight to the end Take hold of my hand And you'll understand What it truly means to be friends You've got to believe (you've got to believe) In the power of love

While I don't love the season four final, it is a B-tier execution of the thing I was talking about earlier. Canon let love fail in a small moment to increase tension and give Ladybug a "darkest night" moment. That darkest night moment then led to a semi-epic power-of-love comeback that understandably got a lot of fans super excited for season five because they assumed that it was going to be the season of Ladynoir. In other words, for a lot of fans, the power of love did its job in the season four final!

All of this is why I don't bring up Marinette when I talk about the power of love failing. It does fail her, but not in her darkest nights and toughest fights. Any time she's overwhelmed and ready to give up all hope, someone comes along to give her the will to fight on. That person is usually Chat Noir because he's her end game love interest so of course the writers use him! His "you and me against the world" moments may not be the most epic example of the power of love winning, but they are the power of love winning, so saying that the power of love fails Marinette feels like an overstatement of harm. She's never had a total loss.

The closest we get to Marinette truly losing is the season five final. That episode feels like an ultimate-level failure to many of us, on par with Ephemeral, but the writers clearly don't agree. For them, season five had a happy ending which makes critiquing that final fight tricky. I'll be arguing that Adrien lost hard in the next section, but I can't say the same for Marinette and this section is about her so let's focus on that for now.

No matter how much I hate the final, I can't look at the picture below this paragraph and argue that love failed Marinette because what did losing cost her? This isn't the season four final where she genuinely suffered. This is her getting everything she's ever wanted! The miraculous are back in her hands, she won the heart of the boy she loves, and no one is actively messing with her love life anymore. That's a pretty solid win even if she didn't win the actual fight.

[Image description: Adrien and Marinette at the end of the season five final, kissing in the spot that used to house Emilie's statue.]

This is further complicated by the fact that - as written - the season five final doesn't put Marinette in a position to use the power of love. She's never given a chance to save Adrien or even just talk to him. She doesn't know that's he's in trouble, locked up in a padded cell, suffering all alone! And Adrien's love can't rally her in her darkest moment when all hope seems lost because - for the first time ever in a season final - she never got one of those! She was a badass in the final fight! No pep talk or supportive teammates necessary! She would have had a total victory if the writers hasn't made her try to talk sense to the villain or sent her Adrien's ring just so Gabriel could make the wish, further adding to the problem of this show's absolutely vile messaging around love.

In other words, lack of love isn't why Marinette loses the final fight. She loses because the writers wanted love to empower Gabriel in his darkest moment, a move the writers have the audacity to call a mutual victory. (Gross. Abusive terrorist should not get power of love moments without a massive redemption arc first. It's yet another insult to the trope. Gabriel did not deserve peace while his son goes on to suffer.)

If you think about the episodes Ladybug and Optigami you'll notice a similar problem. The power of love failed to let Chat Noir and Alya recognize that their romantic interests had been replaced, but that failure didn't lead to their ultimate defeat. It didn't even lead the villains to a minor victory! Both episodes maintain the status quo.

This doesn't mean that I like those episodes. I would rewrite both of them to let love win because they're good examples of small moments where love can win without cheapening or ruining the season's big climax. I just don't view these episodes as times when the show needed to use the power of love if it wanted to honor its chosen genre. That requirement only applies when it's a darkest night or toughest fight.

Before we move on, please note that Ladybug was the power of Adrien's love failing, yet I never mention it when I'm complaining about the power of love failing. That's because I'm never purposefully listing every time Adrien's love failed and ignoring everyone else. I'm simply listing the moments when love needed to let the heroes win because we were in one of the show's darkest hours and that is the only time when I consider the power of love a true requirement. Love can fail in small moments to increase the tension, but if love fails at the moment when all hope seems lost, then why are we even here?

There are only three episodes that get that level of criticism from me and each one had a single character whose writing infuriated me: Adrien.

Adrien vs The Power of Love

There are three episodes where Gabriel's identity is revealed and the final fight goes down. Those episodes are Chat Blanc, Ephemeral, and the season five final. In each of these episodes, Adrien suffers on a scale that no other character has had to suffer:

In Chat Blanc he is akumatized and forced to use his cataclysm to kill both his father and the love of his life, dooming him to spend eternity alone in a dead word.

In Ephemeral he is akumatized and forced to use his powers to hand the love of his life over to his father, thereby allowing Gabriel to win and rewrite reality.

In the season five final, Adrien is left alone in a jail cell, tormented by nightmares while his father dies leaving Adrien an orphan. Adrien is then told some truly colossal lies about what actually happened, leading him to believe that Gabriel scarified himself to save Ladybug's life. Since Chat Noir's usual role in fights is protecting Ladybug, this is arguably the equivalent of Adrien being told that his failure to show up killed his father. I'm not even sure if that's the wrong message because Gabriel did die from a cataclysm and Adrien would understandably blame himself for that, too, so maybe this was a way to address that without going too dark for kids and why does that argument hold water? Wtf was this trash fire of a story line???

When you compare Adrien's treatment in these episodes to something like Marinette's treatment in season four final you can hopefully see why it feels like comparing a broken arm to a mortal blow. It's not that Marinette doesn't suffer. In terms of individual moments of suffering, Marinette beats out every other character! But while she may beat Adrien in breadth, he is the clear winner in terms of depth and the only one who never gets a true power of love moment.

Marinette's darkest nights and toughest fights ultimately work out so that she can go on to some new type of suffering, the old suffering fading away to nothing more than memory. Adrien's darkest nights and toughest fights lead to loss and suffering for which there is no cure other than rewinding time or rewriting reality. The season five final even has Adrien directly state that he's not worthy of Marinette's love:

Adrien: I'm not in my right mind. I'm too angry — at myself for falling short of Marinette's love, at my father for sending me here in London, at this stupid app and these rings that use my image... it makes me sick! This nightmare is giving me the horrible feeling that, if I transform, I'll get akumatized and destroy everything with my Cataclysm — Marinette, Ladybug... (Takes off the ring and hands it to Plagg.) Plagg: Surely Ladybug can help you. Adrien: If I ask her for help, I'd have to give her information that would jeopardize my secret identity... and I can't.

This is literally Adrien's last scene in the main story line. He doesn't show up again until the happily ever after epilogue where he and Marinette kiss. In other words, the show had Adrien directly state that he's unworthy of Marinette's love and then did nothing to counter that statement. I guess this poor unfortunate soul is just lucky that Marinette likes him enough to keep him around in spite of his many failings...

Writers, seriously, what the hell are you doing? This is the kind of dialogue that should lead into a power of love moment! How is thinking about Marinette leading Adrien to despair instead of strength? Why is Plagg just accepting this? Plagg is a magical being who was assigned to watch over Adrien. Shouldn't a character like that help Adrien rally in his darkest night? Where's Adrien's you and me against the world pep talk? That should go both ways!!! Have him break out, call Ladybug to tell her that he's not coming, only for her to rally him so he comes and at least fights outside in the city while she does her solo fight! Don't leave him alone to rot while almost every other character in the freaking show gets to fight!

It would be one thing if Adrien gave up because he was alone and scared, but Plagg is there and the writers directly bring up Marinette and love only to do nothing to show those as positive forces in Adrien's life!!! Instead, Marinette is the thing that keeps him from the fight because Adrien's nightmare is him getting akumatized and killing Marinette even though Adrien knows nothing about Chat Blanc.

[Image description: Adrien's nightmare where he's a blue haired version of Chat Blanc, holding Marinette's body in his arms having killed her with a cataclysm]

To be clear, in each of the three episodes I listed above, Adrien is undeniably a victim suffering at the hands of his main abuser. They're also some of the worst moments of abuse in the entire show. It would be perfectly reasonable for a real life person to give into despair if they were put into this situation, but real life people don't transform into magical cat boys who wield the raw power of Destruction. I was not looking for realism here. I was looking for hope and inspiration!

I wanted to see Adrien win! I wanted his love for Marinette and/or his friends to give him the strength to overpower his father's control because that's what the power of love is all about! When all hope seems lost, it's there to let the hero win because love is stronger than despair, hatred, fear, and magical remote controls! It is the bright light that blasts away the darkness in your darkest night! Unless your name is Adrien Agreste, then no love for you! Suffer, feather boy, suffer!

Example of what I wanted from canon

There are many ways to fix these three episodes so love wins, but to keep this simple let's focus on Chat Blanc and what the power of love winning might look like if we let canon play unchanged up until the moment where Adrien loses control of his powers:

Hawk Moth: Cat Blanc, I'm giving you the infinite power of destruction!! Together, you and I will seize Ladybug's Miraculous and awaken your mother!!! Obey!!! Cat Noir: (tries to fight back but fails) I'm sorry, Ladybug! (He succumbs his akumatization and transforms into Cat Blanc. Ladybug watches in horror at his transformation.) Hawk Moth: Seize her Miraculous, My Son!!! (Cat Blanc lifts his right arm to Ladybug, activating Mega Cataclysm.) Ladybug: No, Adrien! You have to resist!! (Cat Blanc whimpers as he changes his mind and points his arm to Hawk Moth.) Hawk Moth: How dare you!? Not me, Adrien!! Cat Blanc: (whimpering while looking to both of them) I... I don't know what to do!!!!!!

Instead of having the mega cataclysm go off here, we instead see this: Ladybug and Hawk Moth both realize that Chat Blanc is incapable of listening to either of them. Hawk Moth's reaction is to turn and run away, desperate to save himself. Ladybug's reaction is to run to her boyfriend's side, not caring about the danger. She wraps her arms around him, closes her eyes, and tells him that it's okay. That she's here and she loves him and she'll stay here and love him no matter what. It doesn't matter who his father is, it's still him and her against the world now and forever.

The more she talks, the weaker the mega cataclysm grows. By the time she makes her final vow, the mega cataclysm is little more than a flickering glow. A black clad hand touches both of her hair ties, disintegrating them, leaving her hair to fall free around her face since that was a thing in this episode. The minor wardrobe change makes her pull back and look at her boyfriend to see that he's back to Chat Noir, a purified akumas fluttering off in the distance. Chat Noir is crying, clearly distraught, but he's himself again because Marinette's presence allowed him to focus on her love over his father's poison. They won. Love won. Fear and abuse lost.

The couple embraces. Hawk Moth's big gambit failed and they now know his identity so the fight is almost over. Paris will soon be free.

From there you can have an epic battle with the temp holders where the butterfly and the peacock are recovered. Nino gets to punch Gabriel in the face a dozen times or so as a treat and Adrien gets to cuddle up with some treats, sitting the fight out since he's already done his part by surviving the reveal of his father's identity.

You could also have Gabriel just give up because he doesn't have any moves left and the full implications of what he did are smacking him in the face, sapping him of the will to fight. Anything that lets this asshole suffer is fine by me! Emilie's fate is up to you. I like to make her at least semi-decent and revive her to give Adrien a happier ending and Gabriel the horror of divorce papers, but that's just me.

Final Thoughts

As I said at the top, I'm going to continue to complain about the way that Adrien was written in these episodes. I don't consider his victim status a reasonable excuse for the way these episodes played out. If anything, his victim status is an even bigger black mark against the writing!

I come to family-oriented media for hope and happy endings! I want stories about victims being empowered! I want Gabriel's controlling nature to totally backfire on him and not in a mutually-assured-destruction way like we saw in Chat Blanc. I want Gabriel's choice to cost him everything and for him to suffer that loss for the rest of his life while Adrien gets endless love and support, allowing him to survive the reveal and go on to live a happy life. If that's not what you're selling, then I'm not buying thus me giving up on canon after the season five final. There's just no coming back from that kind of colossal writing failure.

I will try to remember to use the word "forced" when describing the problems (as in "forced to kill"), but that's the only thing I can change while still sharing my honest opinion since my main problem with these episodes isn't Gabriel's treatment of Adrien. While I don't like how far these episodes took Gabriel, you don't need to rewrite him to make the episodes work. It doesn't matter how far the writing takes Gabriel, he should never be able to successfully manipulate Adrien while threatening Adrien's supposed True Love.

As soon as Adrien knows that Marinette/Ladybug is in danger, it should be game over for Gabriel because love is supposed to be stronger than all of the awful things that Gabriel has done up to and including the sentimonster crap. In fact, the sentimonster crap just makes it even more important for Adrien to win! Gabriel should think he has victory in the bag because he views Adrien as a perfect doll, but love proves Gabriel wrong letting Adrien overpower his amok and win. The trope is called "love conquers all" not "love conquers the mildly inconvenient." The more dire the straits, the more important the win!

Unfortunately, that's not the message Miraculous is sending. By letting Adrien give into his father's control in the show's darkest hours, the message is that Gabriel's control is stronger than love. That Adrien will never be free. That he was Gabriel's perfect doll and you were silly if you ever expected him to be more than that. That's not a message that I'm that ever going to agree with and is yet another reason why I only bring up Adrien + these three episodes when I talk about the power of love failing.

You are never going to convince me that Adrien being allowed to give into despair was a good thing unless you pair that argument with some major changes to canon like love square not being together and/or Adrien not knowing that his actions would endanger Marinette. Even then you need to design that fix in a way that ultimately allows Adrien to win otherwise you are sending a terrible message to the audience. There should never be a scenario where the final battle ends the way canon had it end.

Gabriel is the show's big bad, Adrien is his main victim, and the theme of their relationship has been control. That means that, when it comes to the final fight with Gabriel, Adrien needs to be involved in a way that gives him agency. I'm not saying he needs to fight his father on his own or even at all! I'm okay with him sitting out the fight so long as you pair it with something big like Adrien being the one to learn Gabriel's identity or something more dramatic like my simple Chat Blanc fix.

However, Adrien sitting out only works if it's his own, freely-made choice. As soon as you pair it with something like magic nightmare dust you are once again sending the message that Gabriel's control is the strongest force in Adrien's life. I truly don't understand how anyone can embrace that message and call it good, especially when canon didn't ultimately do something positive with it like letting Adrien become stronger as time went on. He actually got weaker as the show went on!

Chat Blanc saw everyone lose because Adrien was able to at least try to fight back, denying his father total victory. Ephemeral saw none of that fighting spirit and Gabriel just outright won. Season five once again saw Gabriel win only, this time, the show didn't even let Adrien be part of the fight. What an uplifting character arc for Adrien! (That was sarcasm.) Play the episodes in reverse order and you might actually have something if you add a fourth one where he finally wins!

If you want to talk about more minor conflicts where the power of love should have won then I'm happy to do that! Canon has lots of options to pick from! But unless you specify that you want to talk about something minor, these three episodes are going to be my only examples of the power of love failing because they are the only times when love completely failed the character in question. Total loss, no silver lining, writers wtf are you doing?

Listing times when love failed Marinette or Alya in the same list as these three episodes just feels insulting to Adrien unless the context is something like a list ranking the failures from smallest to largest. I'll once again point out that I don't even list the other times when love failed Adrien because my issue isn't Adrien as a person. My issue is Adrien as a tool of the narrative and the asinine message that the Agreste arc sends to the young children this show is aimed at. I wouldn't even be okay with this in a show aimed at adults unless it was clearly marketed as a grimdark take on superheroes. Miraculous should not feel like a kiddiefied version of The Boys and yet here we are.

Why was Adrien granted magical powers and allowed to fight his controlling father for five seasons if Gabriel was just going to die without Adrien getting a decisive victory? Why focus season five on Gabriel controlling Adrien to such an extreme if Adrien was never going to be allowed to break free? Why make Adrien the main love interest and focus the entire show on romantic love if you don't have anything positive to say about romantic love? Why bother getting the love square together before every single final showdown in the freaking show if their relationship status was going to mean nothing? Where is my power of love always so strong?

(Btw, that song I kept quoting is from the original English dub soundtrack to Sailor Moon R - The Promise of the Rose. It plays as love and friendship save the planet Earth from an asteroid. The updated dub replaced the song with the original Japanese soundtrack and the comments are full of people complaining about the change because the song just takes this scene to the next level! I bring this up because Sailor Moon set many people's standards for the magical girl team show genre that Miraculous is clearly taking inspiration from, but failing to fully embrace. If you don't want love and friendship to be on par with nuclear weapons and asteroid attacks, then don't write a show about love and magic aimed at kids.)