#but would it have been reasonable if he did?

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Tattoo artist!rafe x angel!reader who lets rafe do her secret tats, the ones that her parents have no clue about.

warnings: secret tattoos, suggestive so MDNI, he does end up touching and looking at your boobs LMFAO, nd this is for my girls with spaced out titties (me) ✊🏽

♫ dirty little secret, the all-american rejects

“Shit, is that who I think it is?” His voice causes you to look up, smiling at him with a little wave, standing up from the leather couch you were sat on, pocketing your phone and walking towards him.

“My favorite client.” He complimented, walking over to you and wrapping his arms around you with a grin on his face.

“Aww… you’re too sweet.”

“How are you? It’s been a little. Last I saw you was church.” He said with a chuckle, you shrugging.

“Same old. How about you?”

“It’s been… going. You know, can’t complain. But I was really glad when I saw you dm me.” He spoke, motioning for you to follow him back when he began to walk. He led you into a room, shutting the door behind him. You sat down, nerves shooting as he turned back to you.

“So, I got the reference all drawn out.” He spoke while grabbing the stencil, showing it to you. “What do you think?”

“It’s amazing! As always.”

He smiled, flattered. He began putting his gloves on, your heart thumping against your chest as you sat down. You were nervous for two reasons, one being that tattoos always made you nervous, rightfully so. Reason two, well, that was because Rafe, one of your best friends who you had a fat crush on, was about to see you completely topless. It’s not like he hasn’t before, last appointment being a pair of little angel wings on your back, leaving you in your bra.

But now, he was literally going to see you without a bra. Maybe you should have picked another artist.

But it was too late to turn back now, you realized after he turned back, cleaning supplies for your skin in hand, along with the stencil.

“Uhm- can you take off your shirt and bra f’me?” He nodded at you, your cheeks warming up at the words. “Here, I’ll-“ he murmured, turning around to give you some sort of privacy, his back facing you. You tugged off both garments of clothing, and swallowed the lump that formed in your throat when he turned to look back at you. You sat back down on the chair.

“You all good?” He asked you, trying his best to look at your face rather than your tits as he walked closer to the chair. He grabbed the cleaning supplies, cleaning near and on the area where you wanted it before drying your skin off.

“Mhm.” You nodded, watching as his eyes traveled down your body, a spark in his eyes, he moved his hands slowly, beginning to line the little bow stencil up. His hands grazed the skin of your breasts, causing your breath to hitch. You held them in your hands, shielding them from his eyes.

“Okay… you said right here, correct?” He spoke, glancing into your eyes as he placed the stencil where the valley of where your boobs were, trying his best to remain professional despite everything. God, he hoped you couldn’t see the way his cock started to stir in his pants.

You nodded at him, him poking his tongue out of his mouth as he put it against your skin, smoothing it against your body before peeling it back, the ink now on your skin.

He sighed out in relief, it was perfectly placed and he hadn’t given away that he was rock hard.

“You want a water?” He asked you, you nodding at him. “Alright. I’ll be back.” He spoke, you finally taking a breath when he walked out of the room.

Not only was it an almost seemingly very long appointment, he made it worse every time you felt his hands brush up on your body.

You tried your best to have casual conversation, but god, was he making it hard.

“Hey, did you ever tell your parents about this?” He asked you randomly, you looking at him with a furrowed eyebrow. “Just out of curiosity. I know how they are.”

“Definitely not. They would kill me. They already think that anyone else with tattoos is ‘sent by the devil.’”

He chuckled, “heard that one before.”

You found yourself staring at his pillowy lips when he spoke, or his hands when he traced over the stencil carefully.

And once it was done, he gave you a fucking discount.

“Wait, whys it cheaper?” You asked him, looking at him with confusion on your face.

“I told you, you’re my favorite client. Plus, I can’t say I disliked the view I got during it.” He was getting bolder, a smirk making its way onto his face.

Cheeky motherfucker.

You tilted your head to the side with a little pout on your lips. “Are you sure? I feel bad.”

“I’m sure, princess.” He chuckled. “Just come back, yeah? Needa see you more.”

“Well, actually… if you want, I’m having this party next weekend… you know,” you shrugged, casually leaning over the counter. “My parents are out of town for a while.” You told him, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he raised his eyebrows at the invitation.

“Yeah?” He hummed out.

“Mhm.” You nodded, “you should come!”

“Oh, I definitely will.”

You smiled at him, leaning further over the counter to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you so much, Rafey!” You told him when you turned around to leave, waving bye to him.

“Anytime, angel!”

[phantom-dc]

Bruce sighed.

He never thought he would die like this. When he started out as Batman he was certain he would meet his end fighting the criminal underworld of Gotham. When he got older and life got stranger, he believed he would die fighting off a threat like Joker or Deathstroke, maybe even Darkseid. Being used as a human sacrifice to the King of the Infinite Realms was not on that list, let alone being a willing sacrifice.

Unfortunately, it had been necessary. An asteroid was on collision course with Earth. The asteroid had a colony of sapient alien life on it, so destroying it was not an option. As the League grew desperate, Constantine revealed a similar incident had happened a few years ago. The King of the Infinite Realms had, along with his subjects, turned the Earth intangible and both the Earth and the Asteroid had survived. Constantine isn’t sure why or how, but there are signs an extremely powerful ghost had merged realities and in the process erased the memories of this event from the entire population of Earth! The only reason Constantine knows about it is because a Demon with time-based powers told him during one of their poker games. Summoning this King was risky, as they had no idea what the King would want in return, but this entity seemed like their best bet. Now Bruce thinks they had been wrong.

Superman pulled Bruce out of his thoughts:

“Bruce, are you sure you want to go through with this? If we work together, we might be able to-”

Bruce cut him off:

“No, Clark. You heard Constantine. If we do not hold up our end of the deal, the Ghost King could simply make his ally, this “Clockwork”, reverse time to before the planet was saved. The Earth and the asteroid will still be destroyed, killing everyone on both. This is the only way.”

Clark looked dejected. He knew his friend was right. The King had turned the entire Earth intangible with one hand! He knew the League couldn’t defeat this foe, not without help. Any being that could help them would demand even more bloodshed in exchange, though. One human life in exchange of saving the entire planet had been a steal, according to the Justice League Dark. Clark looked at Bruce:

“Are you going to put on your cowl? This will be the only chance you have to tell the other Leaguers who you are.”

Bruce looked at his cowl. He had taken of his suit, so that his family had something to bury. But to reveal his identity to anyone other than Clark....

“I will keep it on. Even if I die here, I cannot risk anyone finding out my identity and using it to get to my family. I hope the League understands.”

Bruce is pulled into a hug. As Clark holds him as close as he can without breaking bones Bruce cannot help being filled with regret. He wanted more time with his family and, dare he say, friends. This was not how things were supposed to go. Clark pulls away and seems to want to say something:

“Bruce, I just want you to know, I-”

“WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON, B?”

Suddenly Nightwing enters the room, along with the entire Bat-family. Even Alfred and Oracle, donning masks, are there. They looked confused and scared, which made sense. They had all been summoned to the Watchtower, and when they had seen non-field members there as well they knew something was very wrong. Robin stepped forward, demanding an explanation:

“Father, what is happening? Why did you ask for us here? Explain yourself this instant!”

Red Robin looked ready to fight, staff in hand and in a low stance:

Where is the danger? Who is the enemy? Do you have intel for us? ARE YOU BEING MIND CONTROLLED?

Spoiler yanked at Red Robin’s cowl, pulling him out of his paranoid spiral:

“Easy, Captain Paranoid! Let him speak!”

Red Hood was clearly agitated. It was never a good sign if he was asked to the Watchtower:

“The fuck is going on, old man? Are you dying or something? That’s my stick, not yours!”

Bruce steeled his nerves. This was not going to be an easy conversation. How does one tell their family they are going to die and there is nothing to be done about it? Things had been going well for them, too. Dick and he hadn’t fought as often anymore, Jason had not called him names when he patrolled Crime ally last week, Tim hadn’t done anything that could be considered villainous (that he knew of) and Damian had not stabbed any goons for a month. Truly things had been good. Bruce knew this would mess it all up. He feared Jason would start killing again, or Damian would take out his grief on the criminals or Tim would… Well he had no idea. Last time Bruce disappeared Tim blew up so many LoA bases (he still wasn’t sure whether there had been people inside or not), so it was anyone’s gue-

“Sir, could you please elaborate on why we are here? I’m assuming it has something to do with the reason for this dreadful cold, and perhaps your lack of a shirt?”

Bruce sighed. Alfred always knew how to get through to him. With a heavy heart he told them everything. He would sacrifice himself for the survival of both planets. There was nothing to be done about that, and he asked them to please accept his decision. Naturally everyone was outraged. Amidst the chaos, Orphan asked a question:

“Why you?”

Bruce explained that, according to Constantine, the King had asked for a single sacrifice in return: “To feast on a non-magic, non-meta mortal human that will not resist being consumed.” It had pointed specifically at Batman, making sure they all knew which one it wanted. There had been no time to negotiate the prize, so he had accepted. After that it had left immediately for Earth, turning it intangible so the asteroid flew through harmlessly and fulfilling its end of the deal. Orphan seemed to think for a bit, before speaking up again:

“We’ll miss you.”

She hugged Batman. The others, realizing there was nothing they could do, at least not before facing the King, joined in as well. Bruce told them how proud he was of everyone. That they were strong and brilliant, and to please protect each other and Gotham in his stead. He thanked Alfred and Oracle for their help over the years and to please continue to support the others with the same strength they used to help him. After a moment they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Wonder Woman had entered the room. With a saddened expression, and a dented doorhandle that showed her tension, she had come to collect her friend.:

“Batman. It’s time.”

Bruce nodded at her. Thanking her, he tried to leave with her, but was stopped by Alfred. After a quick hug, Alfed offered Bruce a cookie from the plate he had brought along:

“Every man deserves a final meal. I’m sorry this was all I have to offer.”

Taking a grateful bite, Bruce allowed himself to indulge in the taste of home.

“Thank you, Alfred. This means more to me then you realize.”

Steeling himself once more, Batman and the others followed Wonder Woman to the main room. It was the largest room in the Watchtower, several stories high with observation platforms, security screens showing cities all over the planet and a teleportation platform. As they approached the room, Batman was surprised by the cold that radiated form the entrance. Opening the door the source of all the cold and grief became visible to the group. Signal had to shield his eyes:

“What the hell!?!”

There it was, the High Ghost King of the Infinite Realms. A giant being, which had been so large they had to move to the observation platform to speak with it. Even then it towered over the heroes. It’s skin impossibly dark, with constellations spotting its tail & torso. The stars converging on its lower arms, making it look like it was wearing glowing white gloves, the same as a strange symbol on his chest that seemed important. The stars on its neck blending seamlessly with its hair, yet leaving its head completely dark aside from a few little spots on its face. The only facial feature they could make out where 2 Lazarus green eyes, focused on the new arrivals. On its hand, a ring with a skull on it that had freaked out the Lanterns. On its head a dark crown covered in patches of frost, and its own Aurora Borealis spreading from it. The room had already been partially covered in frost simply from the King’s aura. Power emanated from it, which had caused several members that had been dead and revived before to kneel on reflex, which was frightening even if they managed to get up on their own again.

Martian Manhunter had tried to peek in the Kings mind, hoping to find a way to convince the King to spare Batman, but he had been unsuccessful. As soon as he tried his knees buckled, and he had been pushed out. Ever since the Ghost King had radiated frustration. Now, as Batman entered wearing only his cowl and some spare pants, that frustration seemed to spike dangerously. Was the King upset he had been left to wait for his offer?

"What the fuck is this? I didn’t ask for a striptease, especially from some old Frootloop!”

“Constantine, what’s wrong? What is it saying?”

Batman was worried. He had not expected more anger from the being when presented with the offering. Looking at Constantine, he saw the magician frantically looking through the pages of his books, desperately looking for a translation.

“Hang on, mate. I’m doing my best here! Ehrm… no, that’s not right… Something about mating? Maybe he likes you, Bats. He also said something about “the absence of clothing” so…

Suddenly he is cut off by a strange sound coming from the Ghost King. It makes a strange motion with its body and its giant maw opens, as more of those sounds escape. It reminds Robin of Alfred the Cat when he has a hairball. However, there is more sound in the Watchtower now. The Red Hood is clutching his stomach as he is doubling down in laughter.

“HAHAHAHA!!! WHAT? HOW THE FUCK DID YOU TRANSLATE THAT BADLY? HOLY SHIT!”

The Ghost King stops making the noises, and it’s eyes snap to Red Hood. It moves it’s head closer to him, casually passing it through the barrier Constantine had put up. Constantine’s swears in surprise, but the King seems not to care as it “speaks” to Red Hood:

"Oh, thank the Acients! Someone who understands Ghost Speak! Can you PLEASE help me and translate for us? This trench coat guy is terrible, and somehow twists everything I say in the worst way!"

Red Hood relaxed, looking up at the Ghost King’s giant head.:

“Sure man, no problem. I’m pretty sure he is using like 3 different dictionaries to get this far. I saw him first translate Ghost to Pixie, Pixie to Gnome and Gnome to Demon before telling us in English! So, what’s up?”

Batman was stunned. The Ghost King actually face palmed. What the heck was going on?

"Of course he is. That explains why it sounds like he is putting this through Google Translate 4 times! These guys summoned me to save the Earth, which, totally cool. Happy to help! But a summons makes it official, which means I need to get an offering. I can’t leave without it or I face a mountain of paperwork from some stupid bureaucratic eyeballs for not following proper procedure. But I can always ask something simple and get it over with. No biggie, right? WRONG.”

Red Hood actually grabs a chair to sit on. Not even in a somewhat respectful way, he is sitting on it backwards, casually leaning on it.

“Oh, boy. How badly did they fuck up? Gotta be big since Batman over there is ready to be eaten?”

The King glares at Constantine, who puts up his bravest “time to out-bollock a Eldritch Demon” face. The King is not impressed:

"Man, I asked, and I quote: “I’d like to eat a regular human meal that doesn’t fight back, like that guy would eat!” I wanted it to be clear I didn’t want blood, or corpses or virgins or any of the other horrible things stupid cults try to give me! I just wanted a burger or something! But then Mr. triple dictionary over there somehow turns that into: ‘’I wish to feast on a non-magic, non-meta mortal human that will not resist being consumed, and it must be that one.” I’ll admit I was pointing at one of the non-supers, but that didn’t mean I wanted to eat him! I just wanted to make sure it was normal food, something that doesn’t fight back!”

Red Hood looked confused, asking if the King’s food usually fights back. The King rolls it’s eyes:

"In life, I lived with mad scientist parents who treated lab safety as a suggestion at best and a chore for teens at worst. Put enough samples in the fridge and you get a whole new type of Thanksgiving trauma. Dang, I’m getting even more hungry. I’d love some turkey right now. Could you get them to bring me some food? That way I can have my sacrifice and leave…”

Red Hood stands up. He asks if the King can wait a few more minutes, claiming that after all that frustration he deserved something better. Getting a nod from the Ghost King, the Red Hood suddenly shouted over the platform railing towards the waiting Leaguers:

“FLASH! Get your squad up here, and bring pen & paper! I got a job for y’all!”

Zooming up every member of the Flash family gets a list of things to get and a warning not to tell the Bats what’s on it, or Red Hood will shoot them in the knees. Looking at the lists, they quickly caught on what was going on and promised they wouldn’t tell. This was way too funny! Red Hood does a fake bow to the King, clearly amusing himself.

“Don’t worry, your Hungry-ness! Your sacrifice is being prepared! Anything else we can assist you with?”

The Ghost King seems to tilt its head in amusement. Whatever Hood was doing, it was working, which honestly was the only reason nobody had tackled him to the floor.

"Actually, if you could get that Frootloop to put on a shirt that would be great. He is shivering and honestly, I’m worried he’s going to poke someone’s eye out with a nipple. Why is he shirtless anyway? Please tell me he wasn’t actually trying to seduce me or something, he’s old enough to be my dad! Gross!”

This caused Red Hood to again double over in laughter. Everyone was confused, what could possibly be so funny in this situation? Constantine had frantically tried translating during their conversation, but it had gone too fast for him. He gave up when the King mentioned eyeballs and seduction, accepting he wouldn’t get anywhere like this. Batman however couldn’t resist his need to know everything anymore.

“Hood, report! How are you communicating with the entity?”

Red Hood turns to Batman, walks past him and towards Alfred, grabbing one of the cookies he had brought with him. As he walks back and hands it to the Ghost King, he starts to explain:

“Honestly, not sure. It feels instinctive, like a second mother-tongue. Pretty sure it’s some sort of “dead-guy-language” you learn when you die. Speaking off: Turns out Constantine is a VERY unreliable translator. Spooky here is actually pretty chill! He used you as an example to make sure we knew what he wanted, not to demand you as a sacrifice. He is in fact pretty ticked that you guys tried to feed B to him. Speaking of: Batman? Put a shirt on, for fucks sake. You look like you’re going to freeze your tits off.”

This earned a round of giggles from Green Lantern & Green Arrow. Now that the tension had left the room, other Leaguers also smiled in relief. Besides, it’s always fun to see Batman being the butt of a joke. Sure enough, Batman let out a frustrated sound, that got the rest of the Bats to join in on the fun. They understood that their dad in fact felt rather silly right now, which meant that they had more to gossip about soon. Constantine now was wondering what Hood was up to:

“Mate, I did my best! Sorry for not being fluent in every language in existence. What the hell did you send the Flash to get? The bloke is a scientist and denies magic when it’s right in front of ‘im! What could they possibly get that I couldn’t-”

At that moment, the Flashes zoom out of the Zeta tubes and zoom across the observation deck. After a few moments of red and yellow blurs, the deck is covered with tables filled front to back with food! Picking up a receipt that fell to the floor, Batman realizes this is take-out from all over the world. Seeing a puddle of Lazarus water grow on the floor, he looks up. The Ghost King is actually drooling! Red Hood steps aside and gestures to the feast:

“Welp! There is your sacrifice! One. And I also quote: “regular human meal that doesn’t fight back, like “that guy” would eat!” Well, more of a feast then a meal, but I’m sure a big guy like you can finish it, and you can always take home the rest I guess. Bon Appetit!”

Opening his giant maw, the Ghost King digs in. Well, as much as he can. He actually looks kind of silly eating everything with a tiny fork. Still, judging from the purring sound emanating through the Watchtower it’s to the Kings liking.

"DUDE, THIS IS SO GOOD? I need to know these restaurants! You want a bite for helping me out? You saved me SOOO much annoying paperwork, I was about to bail!”

Picking up a plate of karaage, Red Hood took of his helmet revealing a second mask underneath and dug in as well:

“Don’t mind if I do, this smells fantastic! Oh shit, you should try this stuff, it’s great!”

Red Hood being allowed to partake in the offering so casually caused Constantine to do a double take. He realizes he seriously misjudged this entity. Still, that didn’t explain the horrific stories about him. He would need to do some digging into that, maybe with Hood as a translator. For now he takes a swig of his drink. The world was saved, no one died or lost their Soul and he didn’t make any new enemies he thinks. Plus, Batman felt like an idiot, and that always made the Brit smile.

All in all a good day!

[brattyspence]

sugar lips | s.reid

summary: (tweaked from request a lil bc im difficult.) early seasons!spencer/reluctant!spencer is so enamored by your lips and works up the courage to request head for the first time tags: 18+, MDNI. early seasons!spencer, same universe as ‘u up?’, oral (m receiving), finger sucking (??), no y/n, limited yucky words, reader is referred to as ‘woman’ and ‘girl’, spencer is down rlly rlly bad, reader swallows… idk what else. this is pure filth a/n: first request ever, thank u anon! sorry it took so long. i hope this doesn't suck, this is my first time publishing smut in ages and it was SO hard to write! word count: 1.2k masterlist

Spencer, the lover boy to end all lover boys, who insisted he existed simply to worship the ground you walked on, had never ever made a request like this. If you had asked him a few weeks ago, he would have freaked. Spencer, who was so, so happy to simply exist in your orbit, who never asked for anything in return, who was more than happy to give give give and never receive, making this request.

Yet here you were, happily settled on his lap, the warmth of your body reflecting off him. You had been teasing him all night of course, but this was different. The soft murmurs of conversation between kisses seemed to be fueling something greater. 

“Did I smear my lip gloss?” You asked, pulling away slightly. 

God. The damn lip gloss. The bane of his existence. How could he ever treat you with respect and dignity when you were looking at him like that, glossy-lipped and doe eyed?

“Just a little.” His thumb trailed along the border of your lower lip briefly, catching on the sticky gloss briefly. “Still beautiful.”

He couldn't be sure what exactly happened in the next few seconds. He could have been responsible, sure, or maybe you had done it on your own accord, but somehow the pad of his thumb, which was just tracing your lower lip, had dipped in your mouth.

Germs. The term briefly crossed his mind, a distant echo. Bacteria and viruses and other things that were not designed for the human mouth, especially not for you, the woman he respected so much it hurt. Germs. Still, he couldn't finish that line of reasoning. Not when you were looking at him like that, and oh god, oh god, oh god–

He was so mesmerized by it. He watched the way you had so willingly taken his hand in yours and encouraged him along, gliding your way down and then back up. He watched the way you had slowly pulled away, leaving his skin damp and sticky with that damn lip gloss. Clearly he hadn't heard your question.

“Spence?”

“Hm?” You watched his eyes flit back up to yours.

A hint of a smile crossed your face. “Did that do something for you?”

“Did… that? Did that… do something for me?” 

“You got pretty quiet.” You still held his hand in yours as you pressed a kiss to his thumb again. “I could do it again.”

Spencer ten minutes ago would have been so, so upset. But that Spencer hadn't seen the spectacle you'd just created. He could only manage a slight nod.

You hadn't given him a second to finish processing the first part before he found you doing it again.

He was already formulating a protest, but it was weak. You could see it fizzle out with the string of saliva that snapped from your lips to his skin. 

“Hey,” you said, softly. “Talk to me.”

How on earth could he talk to you when you just did that?

“I just… wasn't expecting that,” he replied. 

“Mhm,” you nod. “But you liked it. You got a little flustered.”

“I… yeah.” It was useless denying it. 

You shifted in his lap, leaning a little closer. “I know you're thinking about something.”

His eyes narrowed slightly as he thought about it. You could feel his pulse under your fingertips. The gears in his head were busy ticking away.

“You looked pretty like that,” he replied, his voice soft. 

“With my mouth around you?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed audibly. “Mhm.”

You knew him well enough to know that he would never outright ask for something like that.

“Do you… want me to use my mouth somewhere else?”

He held your gaze for a second. You'd made this offer before, and he had aggressively turned it down in a string of “No, no, no baby. Don't worry about me”, but not this time.

“Please?”

You shifted off his lap in a split second before he could rethink his request. He considered it, of course, but you had settled down on the carpet with enthusiasm. He wasn’t even sure he was capable of turning you down when you were literally on your knees already.

You swiftly looped your fingers around his waistband, and you were surprised when he'd accommodated the motion, shifting his hips forward.

“Are you sure you-”

“Yes, Spencer. Would you please relax?”

His head fell back against the couch the moment your hand made contact. He was sure he couldn’t watch – not only was it defiling, but he was certain he wouldn’t last. Somehow, the second your lips wrapped around him, he threw all caution to the wind. 

An eidetic memory certainly had its perks, and he was damn sure putting all of them to use. This image, this entire moment, he knew would change him in irreversible ways, and none of them seemed to matter. 

You felt his fingertips gently brush the hair away from your face. He only hesitated for a moment before his hand came to rest on the back of your head, his thumb still rubbing circles against your cheek softly. He was looking at you with an incredible amount of awe.

“So pretty,” he breathed. “Jesus, angel. You look so–ah–so pretty.”

As you continued on, things only escalated. You had never seen him like his. Breathless, whiny, maybe. Desperate, absolutely. His eyes were heavily lidded, watching your every move as if missing the smallest detail would cause everything to crumble. He was half convinced that this was a dream, as he only ever let things like this happen in his imagination.

He was actively resisting the urge to tighten his hand in your hair, but you weren’t making it any easier. Your motions hadn’t relented in the slightest, and you didn’t exactly plan on letting up. 

“Baby–oh, fuck—baby, please,” he sighed. “You should… slow down.”

The words barely had a chance to leave his mouth before you reacted, of course doing the exact opposite. 

There were things Spencer never fully understood. Until now, he never understood the appeal of a blowjob. He didn’t do messy or sloppy. He thrived on selflessness, or at least he thought. But here he was, and here you were, changing that forever, nudging him closer and closer to the edge.

He had every intention of putting things on pause and finishing anywhere but in your mouth–but in the moment, his body did not want to follow his brain. 

He would feel bad about it later. 

You heard the momentary hitch in his breath. Then, the slight tightening of his fingers in your hair, and then the ever anticipated twitch against your tongue followed by the flood of warmth. 

After another minute, he finally managed to open his eyes again and draw his focus back in. 

You wiped your lips on the back of your hand, looking immensely proud of yourself at the same time. You could see the guilt hit him all at once as you looked up at him. 

“That wasn’t- I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened, and-” 

“Spencer,” you sighed, with a smile. “It’s fine. You were fine. I’m fine. I’m very happy.”

You climbed back up onto the couch next to him, brushing your knees off before settling in. 

“Are you… are you sure?”

“Mhm.” You nodded. “Are you happy?”

He sighed, and looked away for a second before returning his gaze to you. 

“Yeah.” He nodded. You could detect the faintest of smiles. “Very happy. Thank you, pretty girl."

[pinkhoodi]

can’t pay rent, sorry !

✎ᝰ — telling the batboys that you can’t pay rent this month as a prank

♡⃕ — bruce wayne, dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake x reader

♡⃕ — genre + warnings: fluff & jason and tim catching on immediately mmcht

♡⃕ — a/n: it’s this tiktok trend where the woman would tell their partner/husband “I can’t pay rent this month” and the reactions be sooooo funny 🤣🤣

꒰ BRUCE WAYNE ꒱

Ꮺ “I hope you’re not at mad at me love but, I can’t pay rent this month.” bruce turned around to face you and his face displayed a mix of confusion and concern. he’s thinking to himself, “when have y/n ever pay for the rent?”. he’s genuinely concerned cause why would he let his significant pay for rent when the mansion is paid in full?

Ꮺ you’re trying your best to keep a poker face and look sad, but you can’t fool the greatest detective. he notices the small details of you biting your cheek, suppressing a smile, your hands behind your back, he notices you trying to trick him

Ꮺ “my love, when did we ever have to pay for the home? you know what, do you know what company takes care of any of our bills? why would I let you stress about any bills? have I ever asked you to pay a bill?” the questions continued on until you stood there with not a single answer. bruce leans back in his chair and waits with a smirk on his face

Ꮺ “when those bills show up again, let me know so I can take care of it, okay?” he gets up to kisses your forehead and goes back to his work

꒰ DICK GRAYSON ꒱

Ꮺ “dick I’m sorry but I can’t pay rent this month.” dick paused what he was doing and turned his attention to you. he was extremely confused cause last time he checked, he assigned you as his beautiful partner who spends his money willingly and not to worry about bills

Ꮺ he went on and asked you the reason as to why, you explained how your job haven’t been giving you hours lately. he slightly cocked his head to the side, responding with, “baby, how many times have I told you never to worry about the bills?” “I know but I didn’t want to have you stressing and I feel like I should do my part with living here :(“

Ꮺ he cups your cheek with his hand and brushes it with his thumb, “your part is being the pretty, funny, and smart partner that lives with me. in addition to rambling about anything and loving me, ‘kay?” you stayed quiet and he lightly squished your cheeks, waiting for an answer

Ꮺ you nodded and gave a small smile at him. he smiled back and placed a kiss on your lips and said, “love you” afterward <3

꒰ JASON TODD ꒱

Ꮺ “hey jay, I don’t wanna stress you but I can’t pay my half of the rent. I’m sorry, this month came up a bit short for me.” you try to say in distress. jason had his back turned and snickered to himself. he questioned himself as to whether or not he should play along with your lil prank

Ꮺ of course he chose to mess with you, very jason of him, and played along with whatever scheme you’re plotting. the thing is that he already seen that trend on his for you page, but for your sake, he’ll go with it

Ꮺ he asks why and you tried to give him a terrible excuse of your spending habits, you told him that you’ll do better and tried to make it seem like you were stressing over this. Meanwhile, the man in front of you is keeping his poker face in check and trying not to laugh at your attempt of worrying him

Ꮺ he ends up laughing, you looked confused as to why he’s laughing, and he explains how he’s seen this before. it shouldn’t be shocking cause you send him couple tiktoks all the time, of course he would see it at some point

Ꮺ you stood there dumbfounded, he shrugged his shoulders and continued about what he was doing. he looked back to you and let out another snicker, in amusement of your reaction of course

꒰ TIM DRAKE ꒱

Ꮺ “hey tim, don’t freak out but I can’t my part of rent. I’m really really sorry.” you try to say in distress. tim hummed and continued on the research that he was doing. he wasn’t paying attention to what you were saying to be honest. well, at least you thought he wasn’t…

Ꮺ you repeated your sentence again and he responded with another, “mhm, don’t worry about it love.” you were confused as to why there was no reaction and went up to face him

Ꮺ “aren’t you going to ask me why I can’t help pay?” you asked him. tim shocked his head and continued on with his research

Ꮺ you walked away in frustration that the prank failed and before you left the room completely, tim replied, “my parent’s pay for our housing and even I don’t stress about that. also, seen the trend y/n, it won’t work.”

Ꮺ a reaction of surprise came upon from you, you forgot that tim’s for you page is almost like yours, and didn’t think that he would see the trend before you do. you cursed yourself from sending him so many couple tiktoks

♡⃕ HIIIIIII I MISS THIS BLOG SO MUCH :((( I miss writing for my batboys

♡⃕ this my first time writing for tim, im scared i miss characterized him 😞

♡⃕ I’ve been gone for so long but I promise I’m back fr 🙂‍↕️

♡⃕ lowkey wanna do this for jjk too….what we thinking ?

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: psalm 86:11

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟦 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗂. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[lemonlover1110]

𝐌𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

Sukuna

Ex-Rated Masterlist

Pairing: Boxer!Sukuna x f!Reader

Summary: You're petty and childish with each other which is why it's best to keep you and Sukuna apart.

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! Angst, Smut, Ex-Husband!Sukuna, Toxic Relationship, Past Mutual Cheating, Cheating, Oral Sex (m. receiving), Vaginal Sex, Locker Room Sex, Biting, Creampie

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

You’re so smug as you stare at him. You’re doing this on purpose, getting all over Sukuna’s face to rile him up. You’re reminding him what he’s missing out on, even though a couple of months ago you couldn’t have cared less about his feelings.

A flip switched inside of you when Sukuna’s new relationship went public. You’re not the jealous type, but it rubbed you the wrong way when he started to show off this new relationship. All as if you meant nothing. Your divorce isn’t even finalized and he’s already with some other chick– Though your relationship never really stopped Sukuna from meeting other women.

Your relationship has always been childish. Sukuna does something to piss you off, and you get back at him even worse. Even though it was tumultuous, the mutual cheating wasn’t the reason for your divorce. Through all your immaturity, you sat down in a moment of clarity where you both agreed that what you had going on was toxic. You had two options: go through marriage counseling or get a divorce. The latter was the easiest option, which is why you took that route.

For some reason, it never registered in your mind that Sukuna would eventually move on. In your perfect world, Sukuna would stay single forever. You’d be his one and only, even if you weren’t his one and only during your marriage.

“What are you doing here?” Sukuna approaches you, quickly grabbing your arm to show you to the exit. Not only are you here, but you’re backstage, near the locker room. You’re up to something, surely.

“I’m here for moral support.” You begin, fighting back a smirk.

“Why would I–” Sukuna begins, but he’s quickly cut off.

“Babe, let’s go.” Sukuna watches as his opponent wraps his filthy arms around you, making Sukuna’s jaw clench. The idiot is doing it to piss Sukuna off, he’s sure. And there he sees a smirk on your face. Gojo might not be doing it to piss Sukuna off, but you certainly are.

“You better start praying, Gojo.” Sukuna sounds threatening, a tone that makes Gojo laugh. He should take it more seriously, but Gojo isn’t scared of Sukuna. What is there to be scared of? Any punch that Sukuna throws can easily be blocked by Gojo.

“Praying? What for?” Gojo responds, taking his arms off you and flexing his arms. He slaps his bicep before saying, “I can take it.” 

“Idiot.” Sukuna scoffs, rolling his eyes before walking away. He’s leaving you with Gojo, just as you want. He gives you a nasty look before leaving you alone. 

He tries to act disgusted, but you know that deep down he’s jealous.

You’re doing everything that you once did with Sukuna, and you make sure to put on a show. Minutes before the fight begins, you’re whispering sweet nothings in Gojo’s ear, soft fingers massaging his knuckles. Gojo makes a dumb joke and you laugh as if it were the funniest thing ever, but you both know that it doesn’t warrant that sort of reaction.

Gojo’s hand is on your waist, holding you close to him. He sneaks a couple of kisses every now and then, and you feel Sukuna’s eyes burning you up. The sick fuck just can’t look away. 

“I’ll be rooting for you!” You make your voice loud and clear so Sukuna hears it. You’re either throwing the man off his game, or Gojo is about to get the ass beating of his life. Either way, you’re happy with the results, as long as your actions affect him.

You’re childish. You always blame the pettiness and childishness on Sukuna, but the truth is you’re as bad as him if not worse.

Gojo leaves, about to make his grand entrance in the ring, leaving you behind. You should go out there and watch the fight, since you know the TV does no justice. You look over at Sukuna one last time, only to find him glaring back at you. Even when he has his new piece by his side, kissing his knuckles like you once did, the man can’t stop staring at you. 

You wink at him before walking away, and joining the audience. You try to entertain yourself, scrolling through your phone to not pay any mind to Sukuna. You’re fighting back on smiling, feeling proud of yourself for petty actions. 

You were truly made for each other– Or maybe you should be kept apart to prevent this sort of situation. 

You ignore Gojo’s entrance to the ring, not lifting your eyes from your phone. The guy is too self absorbed to care about you, it doesn’t matter if you cheer him on or not. You both know that you’re not here for him, you’re here for his opponent.

When you hear Sukuna’s name, your eyes finally tear themselves off your phone. Your breath hitches as you watch him make his grand entrance. You’re about to see just how much you’ve affected him. 

You care more than you’d like to admit. 

You want to say that you stop looking after a minute, but you can’t tear your eyes off him. The first round begins, and you feel an odd excitement overcome you. A feeling that you’ve never had in one of these fights before.

Sukuna wastes no time, throwing a jab directly at Gojo’s face. Gojo blocks it, but he doesn’t have enough time to block the uppercut that Sukuna quickly delivers. 

You never paid much attention to Sukuna’s fights, but tonight you can’t look away. You can almost feel the anger that radiates from the man.

Gojo does not get a singular punch in. Sukuna wins round after round, each round where Gojo is forced to block the entire time. It’s as if the man’s arms don’t get heavy after each punch– It’s going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow, but right now the anger masks any pain or exhaustion.

Before you even know it, he’s declared the winner. He leaves Gojo stumbling and all bruised up. You’re not shocked that he won, but he made the match quicker than you could’ve imagined.

You lock eyes with Sukuna, and you feel as if your heart is about to beat out of your chest. He’s able to quickly spot you in the crowd. You try to act annoyed, as if you weren’t rooting for him.

You stand up from your seat, about to follow behind your boyfriend as he’s taken backstage. But before you can take that initiative, you feel a large hand wrap around your wrist and drag you out of the place.

“Sukuna! What the fuck!” You yell as he drags you backstage. He’s not doing any interviews right now, not when he has other more important matters to discuss… Though in his mind the discussion doesn’t involve much talking. “Let me go you brute!”

“Gojo, really?” Sukuna can’t help but say as he drags you to the locker room. He knows it’s empty, no one would dare to be here right now. Even if someone was, he would be happy to put on a show.

“He’s so amazing– He’s…” You begin but you’re not sure what to say. You don’t really care for Gojo. “He’s amazing in–”

Before you can finish the very predictable sentence, his lips land on yours. You melt right on him, as if you weren’t here to get on his nerves. He’s intoxicating, it’s hard for you to stop once something has started. 

“You’re such a fucking jerk, your girlfriend is right there.” You tell Sukuna between kisses. Before you know it, your back is pressed against a locker as Sukuna kisses you with so much hunger. He acts as if he were touch starved, though you know that’s the last thing he is. 

His hands are roaming around your body, looking for a way to easily take off your clothes. He ends up ripping your dress, making a gasp escape your lips.

“Not like it was covering much.” He comments before his lips kiss down your neck

“Anyone can walk in.” You tell him, but Sukuna has no shits to give. Adrenaline rushes through his veins, the last thing he thinks about is the possible risks– The risks make it more exciting.

“Not the first time it happens.” He reminds you, grabbing your hand and leading it down his sweaty abdomen until it reaches his pants. His lust filled eyes dart back and forth between your face and your hand, telling you all you need to know. 

You don’t hesitate before getting on your knees and pulling down his pants. There’s a mischievous smile on your face as your hand wraps around the base of his cock. You lick your lips before your tongue licks up from the base of his cock, all the way to the tip. 

“Don’t waste time.” Sukuna tells you as your tongue circles around his sensitive tip. He bites down his lips harshly, almost enough to draw blood from them. He’s not going to make a single sound of pleasure. He can’t encourage you when he’s pissed at you.

Your mouth wraps around his cock, taking in as much as you can get. You bob your head, eyes looking up at Sukuna, hoping to see a look of pleasure written all over his face. You know the look in his eye, and he needs more than what you’re giving. 

He won, the winner should get a prize. Even when you’re pissed at him, you can’t deny him the simple carnal pleasure; otherwise, you wouldn’t be in the locker room with him. You take all of him in your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat. 

“Good girl.” He finally praises you as you gag around his cock. He sees the tears that well up in your eyes, and he can’t help but groan at the sight. The mere sight of your tears could make him come in an instant. 

You gasp for air as you take his cock out of your mouth. Your mascara is running down your cheeks, and spit covers your chin, but Sukuna has yet to see a more beautiful sight. He thinks about you like this at least once a day, and it’s haunting. At least you’re here now.

“Fuck.” He whispers under his breath when your tongue presses against that sweet spot under his tip. You always know what to do with him, and it pisses him off. 

He’s mad at you and at himself– Because you’re damn near perfect and when he tries to move on, he fucking can’t. He’s been thinking about you all night long. He knows that whatever you have going on with Gojo isn’t serious, but just seeing you so close to that clown is enough to ruin his damn year. This isn’t what he should be thinking while you’re on your knees though.

“You’re so fucking big.” You tell him as your hand strokes his cock. “I need to feel you.”

“You’re such a fucking slut.” Sukuna says as he forces you to stand up. His hand wraps around your throat as his lips sloppy kiss yours. Two fingers rub your cunt over your panties, and he just feels them dripping wet. When he pulls aways, his lips go to your ear, “All you ever think about is getting fucked, huh?”

“Fuck me, Sukuna.” You breathlessly answer, and before you can even blink, he turns you around. You’re pressed against the lockers while Sukuna pushes your panties to the side. He spits on you, aiming for your pussy but it mostly lands on your ass and the floor.

“Beg for it.” He orders as he runs the tip through your folds.

“Give it to me, Sukuna.” You respond, but that’s not enough for the man. He needs to hear the magic word roll off your tongue. You know that he isn’t satisfied so easily. 

He keeps teasing you, and you could die of desperation. Your pussy aches for him. You let out the weakest please. A word that’s barely audible, but you know he hears it. It isn’t enough for him though.

“Be loud. Use your damn voice.” He demands.

“Please!” You nearly yell, as if there’s no in between. It wouldn’t be the first time that everyone hears your voice so loudly coming from the locker room. Though it is extremely imprudent when you both have someone else… It doesn’t matter to you either way, not when Sukuna pushes himself inside of you and stretches your cunt out.

Your eyes are nearly rolling to the back of your head, hands closing on their own as he fills you up with his cock. His name rolls off your tongue as you get adjusted to him. You didn’t even realize how much your body needed him; you feel euphoric, and he has yet to move.

“You’re so fucking tight.” Sukuna tells you through gritted teeth, a confidence boost to your ego. You know that he’s going to think of you for a while after this. He begins to give slow thrusts, and you hold on to the lockers for balance.

“Oh– Sukuna…” You moan, his cock hitting all the right spots. The idiot is good for nothing except for fighting and sex. Maybe that’s all you need in a man, and the reason you kept him around for so long. 

“Your needy pussy missed me.” Sukuna sounds so smug, and you don’t care to argue with him. It did miss him so so much. Sukuna’s teeth land on your shoulder, biting down hard enough to draw blood from your skin. The pain adds to the pleasure, and you loudly moan his name.

You’re sure the sound is loud and clear for anyone to hear outside of the locker room, but there’s no such thing as embarrassment when you’re fucking the winner. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He can’t help but groan. He surely doesn’t regret skipping the post fight interview to come here. Everyone is surely wondering where he is but– Who is he kidding, everyone knows where he is and exactly what he’s doing. It’s not the first time nor the last time it’ll happen.

“Oh! Right there, Suku! There!” You moan as he begins to play with your clit. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head as you feel your orgasm build up. Sukuna just beat the shit out of some dude, but this is his proudest moment of the night. There’s no sweeter victory than having you mindlessly moan his name as he fucks you.

“Do you want my cum, baby? Do you want me to finish inside of you?” Sukuna whispers into your ear, and that’s enough to drive you to the edge. You chant yes over and over again as you reach your peak. 

“I’ll fill you up then. I’ll give you all my cum.” He repeats, followed by sloppy thrusts. He’s surprised he managed to last so long with you, but he certainly isn’t complaining. He bites into your soft flesh again as he fills you up with his seed. 

Sukuna pulls out, quickly adjusting your panties. He walks over to the showers to clean himself up before facing the crowd. He leaves you as if he didn’t drag you back here.

You nearly fall to the floor, holding on to the lockers for support. Sukuna knows how to leave you weak, that’s for sure.

“Hey! What am I going to wear?” You yell at him, though it falls on deaf ears. He’s ruined your dress, and you didn’t come here with a change of clothes. You sigh when you realize he isn’t going to help you unless you get in his face about it.

You take off your underwear and follow after him in the shower. You squeal as you join him, the water a little too cold for your liking.

He chuckles when he spots you with your arms crossed next to him. 

“What? I gave you the attention you wanted, anything else?” He says, and you roll your eyes. “Last time I checked you didn’t mind walking around full of–”

“I need clothes. You ruined my dress.” You cut him off before he can finish his awful sentence. There’s a smirk on his face before he speaks again.

“You’re going to pay for that.” He says, cold hands going to your hips. “Give me a kiss.”

“What’s come over you? You’re not lovey-dovey and shit.” You point out as he pecks your lips. Once, twice until you lose count.

“You don’t realize the good pussy you have until you lose it.” He answers, making you glare at him. “Or until a Gojo has it.”

“Sukuna.” Your voice is stern, making him roll his eyes. He guesses he can word it better.

“Seeing you with Gojo pissed me off.” Sukuna says. “He doesn’t deserve you. I don’t either but… Yeah.”

“Yeah.” You nod. He wraps his arms around you, and you bite down your lip. As much as you want to paint yourself a saint, you can’t. You end up confessing, “I’m just as childish and petty as you, if not worse. I’m not–”

“I don’t like my current girlfriend. I got with her to piss you off.” Sukuna interrupts you. “I knew you’d do the same, I just didn’t think you’d do that shit with a clown.”

You chuckle.

“What do you think about marriage counseling?” You suddenly bring up. 

Lots of people have sex with their exes without bringing up the possibility of getting back together, and you thought that you’d end up fitting in with that crowd. But while you’re next to Sukuna you can’t help but feel as if this is something that you can work through. A frown comes to his face, and you quickly regret the words that have left your mouth.

“As long as you don’t cheat on me again.” Sukuna answers and you scoff.

“I only did it because you did it.” You point out.

“You started the whole cheating game, don’t you try.” He argues back.

“You had a wandering eye.” 

“Can you blame me? We were twenty when we got married, a man is allowed–" He begins but he sees the look in your eye and he won’t even dare to finish that sentence. He kisses the top of your head. “Sorry.”

Maybe you shouldn’t. It’s dumb. But you want to be with him, and the feeling is clearly mutual. You can either work through your issues or walk away from the relationship with no regrets. 

“Hey, so about my clothes.” You can’t help but change the topic since 

“You can wear some of mine.” He answers before his lips go back down to meet yours. Kissing you with so much hunger again, and before you know it, your back is pressed against the shower wall.

It’ll surely work out… Right?

*NOPE don't try this at home, leave that cheating asshole!

[reidmarieprentiss]

I have a request that I know you’ll write 100% better than me! Spencer leaves his girlfriend at the altar without giving a single reason. And disappears for months. Then he comes back and it is revealed he did it because Reader's life was at risk. When he goes to apologize, Reader doesn't let him speak. Spencer crawls on his knees for forgiveness and tries to figure out how to improve the situation. The ending is up to you: angst, happy ending or not. You choose! I know you’ll do a great fic!

Sadly Ever After

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt, angst

Warnings/Includes: no happy ending, being left at the altar, just general sadness after a breakup, small crime talk

Word count: 5.6k

a/n: hiii i hope this is sufficient lolol i am in a very angsty mood

main masterlist

You had never felt so beautiful in your entire life. The dress—the dress—was everything you had dreamed it would be. Layers of soft tulle cascaded down your frame, the delicate lacework etched across the bodice molding perfectly to you, almost as if it had been made for you alone. Each step you took sent the fabric swaying around you like whispers of movement, ethereal and romantic.

Penelope had outdone herself with your hair. Loose waves tumbled, glowing in the golden light of the early evening, held in place by a sparkling hairpiece that caught the glow of the string lights. Every curl seemed to be perfectly placed, not too styled but effortlessly enchanting, as if you had stepped out of a fairytale. JJ and Emily had tag-teamed your makeup, ensuring that every stroke and brush was precise and delicate. The soft blush on your cheeks, the shimmer of your eyeshadow, the perfect tint of color on your lips—it was understated perfection.

And Rossi, ever the consummate host, had given you and Spencer the most breathtaking backdrop for your wedding. His sprawling backyard had transformed into something magical. An altar of wooden beams, wrapped with soft draped fabric and overflowing with flowers—roses, peonies, and wild blooms—stood like a gateway to forever. Twinkling fairy lights criss crossed above, their soft glow turning the clearing into a dreamscape. The grass, still cool from the afternoon, added an earthy softness to the air, grounding the magic in something real.

Then there he was—Spencer.

Your heart stuttered at the sight of him standing at the altar, hands nervously clasped in front of him, the slightest smile pulling at the corners of his lips when his eyes found you. His suit was sharp and clean, a dark shade that contrasted beautifully with the delicate tones of your dress. The bowtie, a small nod to his usual style, somehow made him look even more endearing, his charm on full display. His curls fell just perfectly, framing his face and softening the seriousness of his features.

But it was his eyes that caught you—the depth of them, brimming with unspoken emotion, raw and honest. The sight of him struck you in the chest, stealing the air from your lungs. The tears you had tried to fight back began to prick the corners of your eyes.

Each step down the aisle felt slower, deliberate, as though time itself had stretched just for the two of you. You took in every detail—the warm breeze rustling the leaves above, the distant chirp of crickets, the way the light filtered through the trees, creating golden halos around your guests. As you approached Spencer, standing tall beneath the altar where Aaron Hotchner waited to officiate, your heart swelled with so much love you thought it might burst.

Aaron’s voice, steady and clear, had been a comforting hum in the background—his dry wit laced through the ceremony brought a lightheartedness that had the guests chuckling softly at all the right moments. He was a master at balancing sincerity and charm, even as the formal words of the ceremony unfurled.

The vows had been the pinnacle of it all. Spencer’s, with their perfect blend of sentimentality and poetic elegance, had left you breathless. Every word was carved with precision, so achingly him that it made your heart feel both full and fragile in the best way. Your vows, equally personal and unflinchingly honest, had drawn a few tears from the crowd. For those few minutes, it felt like it was just the two of you—completely alone in your little world, pledging yourselves to each other.

But then Aaron’s voice broke that perfect little bubble.

“Spencer, do you take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

It was a question Spencer had to be expecting. One he should have answered without hesitation. The words hung in the air like a held breath. Waiting.

You smiled softly, fingers intertwined with his, but that silence—the silence that followed—was deafening. The longer Spencer stood there, unmoving and unspeaking, the weight of the moment became unbearable. You felt the shift in the energy around you, a sudden drop in the warmth that had enveloped the ceremony just moments ago.

The guests began shifting uncomfortably in their seats. A murmur rustled through the crowd—quiet and confused. It was subtle at first, the furrow of brows and exchanged glances, but the longer Spencer remained silent, the more palpable the tension became.

“Spencer?” you whispered faintly, trying to ground him with the sound of your voice. Your hands squeezed his gently, searching for reassurance in the way his thumb brushed against your skin. But that was the thing—his thumb wasn’t moving at all. His hands were still, stiff even, as he stared at you.

And his eyes—oh, those fucking eyes.

They weren’t full of the love you had seen all evening, that awe-struck admiration that had made your knees weak when you first stepped down the aisle. No, they were hollow now, distant, as though he was somewhere far away.

The silence stretched so long you felt it wrap around your chest like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs.

“Spencer,” Aaron prompted gently, his calm, officiating voice now laced with quiet concern.

Finally, finally, Spencer moved. The slightest tilt of his lips into a soft, almost apologetic smile. The kind of smile that said everything and nothing at the same time.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. The words were so soft they barely reached your ears, like a secret meant just for you.

Your brows knitted together as confusion bloomed across your face. Sorry? Sorry for what?

But before you could say anything, before you could even process the sound of those three words, Spencer’s grip on your hands loosened. He let go—he let go—and turned.

One moment he was standing in front of you, your almost-husband, and the next he was running. The sound of his shoes hitting the wooden platform of the altar was jarring. Sharp.

“Spencer!” you called after him, panic rising in your voice, but it was too late.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. The murmurs grew louder now, confusion turning to shock as everyone watched Spencer disappear through the open back doors of Rossi’s house.

You stood frozen, rooted to the spot where he had left you, your hands still hovering in front of you as though you could still feel the shape of his in your palms.

The string lights above twinkled innocently, the flowers framing the altar swayed in the evening breeze, and the guests remained seated, staring, waiting—hoping this was some sort of terrible joke.

But it wasn’t.

Aaron, steady as ever, took a cautious step forward, lowering his voice as he gently spoke. “Y/N… do you want to sit down?”

Sit down. Right. You felt like the earth beneath you had cracked wide open, leaving you teetering on the edge. How could he run? How could Spencer Reid—your Spencer—leave you like that?

Your lips trembled as you looked back toward the house, the place where he had vanished. You felt the eyes of everyone on you, their collective disbelief pressing down on your shoulders like an invisible weight.

You swallowed thickly, the tears you had been holding back earlier now threatening to spill for an entirely different reason.

“I don’t…” you started, but your voice faltered.

Because you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know what had just happened or why.

All you knew was that Spencer Reid—the love of your life, your almost-husband—had left you standing alone under the twinkling lights of Rossi’s backyard, with nothing but a hollow whisper of I’m sorry lingering in his wake.

—

Months had passed, yet time felt like it moved at a crawl. The day Spencer ran from you—from your wedding—remained an echo that refused to quiet. You thought that eventually the sting would dull, that the confusion would lift, but it clung to you like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

You had packed up your life together in silence, alone in the home you once shared with him. The apartment was eerily still without the sound of his voice murmuring about a book or his soft humming while he made tea. It had felt haunted, as though every room whispered why? at you, taunting you with memories of what you thought your life would be. You didn't even see him again during those long days you spent packing—only once did Penelope call to let you know he had gone home to see his mother.

“Just so you know,” Penelope had said softly over the phone. She sounded hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she was making things better or worse. “Spencer’s not in D.C. anymore. He went back to Vegas. I think he wanted to… I don’t know, give you space.”

You’d thanked her out of politeness, even though the words stung. Give you space. Was that what this was? Him running, abandoning you at the altar—was that his way of giving you space? You didn’t ask for space. You had asked for him. Well, actually, he had asked for you.

So you moved back into the apartment you had sublet without any real trouble. It was strange to see your things there again, familiar but foreign, as though they belonged to a different version of you. You kept most of your life in boxes for a while. Unpacking felt like admitting that this—this emptiness—was permanent, and you weren’t ready to do that yet.

The team tried to reach out in those first weeks.

JJ had sent you messages that were simple but heartfelt: “Thinking of you. I’m here if you need anything.”

Emily had tried to call you once. She left a voicemail, her voice kind and gentle: “Hey, it’s me. I know you might not want to talk right now, and that’s okay, but I just wanted you to know we’re all thinking of you. You’re not alone.”

Penelope was the most persistent. She sent texts, little gifts, even a handwritten letter because she knew how personal that would feel. But every text, every call, every kind gesture just reminded you of him. Spencer had been the thread that connected you to the team, and now every single one of them felt like a painful reminder of what you’d lost. Of the way he left.

So you shut them out, one by one.

You didn’t hate them. You couldn’t. JJ, Emily, Penelope, Derek, Hotch and Rossi—they were good people, your people once. But being around them, talking to them, made Spencer’s absence feel louder. It was as though his ghost lingered between every conversation. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t separate them from him.

Penelope’s messages stopped first. You imagined her sitting in her colorful office, fidgeting with a pen as she debated whether to text you again. She was the kindest soul you knew, and you hated the idea that you were shutting her out, but you couldn’t face her—or any of them.

Then came the loneliness. It wasn’t the kind that was born from an empty room or quiet nights alone. It was deeper, sharper. The kind of loneliness you only felt when you lost someone dear to you.

You sat on your couch one night—your couch now, not Spencer’s, not yours and his, just yours—and stared at the stack of boxes you still hadn’t unpacked. The light from the kitchen spilled into the living room, casting long shadows across the floor. It was silent except for the hum of the fridge and the faint tick of the clock on the wall.

You wondered if Spencer was in his childhood home now, back in Vegas, sitting with his mother. Did he talk about you? Did he think about you?

Or was he like you—alone in a room that used to feel like home, wondering how everything had unraveled so quickly?

It didn’t matter, you told yourself. You weren’t going to chase answers you might never get. If he wanted to explain himself, he would have. But he didn’t. Instead, he ran. He left you there, at the altar, in front of everyone you loved, and didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye.

You pulled your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on them as you stared at the faint glow of your phone screen on the coffee table. Another message from JJ, one you wouldn’t open. You knew she would stop eventually. They all would.

You had been close with all of them, almost like family. But Spencer’s absence had burned through those bonds like fire through dry wood. And now, months later, all that was left was ash.

And the strangest part of it all? You missed them. You missed JJ’s motherly warmth, Emily’s strength, Penelope’s relentless kindness. You missed Derek teasing you, Rossi’s wise words, Hotch’s steady, grounding presence.

But missing them also meant missing him.

And missing him? That was something you couldn’t bear to feel any more than you already did.

—

The bullpen was quieter than usual that morning. The team was settled at their desks, heads ducked over files and reports, but there was no mistaking the shift in energy. Spencer was back. After months of leave, months of silence, months of wondering—he had walked through the glass doors of the BAU like nothing had happened.

Except something had happened. Something none of them could make sense of.

Spencer didn’t look any different on the outside. His suit was pressed and neat, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder in that familiar way. But there was a tightness in his jaw, a heaviness in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. He had always carried the world on his back, but this time, it looked like the weight might crush him.

The air hung thick as he settled into his desk, quietly unpacking his bag. No one spoke at first, though they all exchanged glances, unsure of how to broach it—of how to demand answers.

It was Derek who cracked first. Of course it was Derek. He had been simmering with frustration for months now, trying to make sense of Spencer’s sudden disappearance and his refusal to talk about it.

“You want to tell us all what the fuck is going on?” Derek’s voice broke through the stillness, sharp and pointed.

Spencer froze, one hand halfway to his desk drawer. He didn’t turn right away, but everyone else did. All eyes turned to Derek, who sat leaned back in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His tone was accusatory, sure, but his expression—underneath the tension—was concern.

Spencer swallowed, closing the drawer with a soft click before finally turning to face the team. JJ looked at him with something between worry and hope, her brow slightly furrowed. Emily’s gaze was harder to read, but her eyes were pinned to him, waiting. Penelope, standing in the doorway with a coffee in hand, looked like she wanted to speak but thought better of it. Even Rossi, ever the patient one, had his head tilted slightly as he studied Spencer.

Spencer took a breath, his hands curling around the edge of his desk.

“I…” His voice cracked slightly, unused to addressing so much weight at once. He steadied himself and tried again. “I owe you all an explanation.”

“Damn right you do,” Derek shot back, though his tone was a little softer this time.

Spencer nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line as he gathered his thoughts. He looked down for a moment, fingers drumming idly against the wood of his desk before he spoke again.

“I left because I needed to,” he said simply. His voice was low, not quite weak, but careful—like every word was fragile, like he was afraid they might break apart. “I needed to… figure things out.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as the team sat gathered around the conference table, all of them watching Spencer intently. The blinds were drawn, the overhead lights humming faintly above them, but it did little to dispel the weight pressing down on everyone.

“Figure what out?” JJ had asked softly, her tone teetering somewhere between exasperation and hope.

Spencer had sighed then, a breath so deep it looked like it pained him. “Yeah, um… can we go to the conference room?”

No one argued. 

Once they were all seated in the conference room, Spencer remained standing, gripping the back of one of the chairs like it was the only thing holding him upright. His knuckles turned white as he stared down at the polished table, gathering the words he had spent months trying to keep buried.

“Someone was threatening me,” Spencer said finally, his voice low, steady, but carrying the weight of something dark and unspoken. “Threatening her.”

The pronoun lingered like a slap, and no one needed clarification to know who he meant. You.

JJ sucked in a sharp breath, her hand instinctively reaching for her chest as though she could feel the impact of those words. Derek leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his expression hardening as he processed what Spencer was saying.

“What do you mean, someone was threatening you?” Rossi asked, his voice calm but firm, coaxing Spencer to keep going.

“They found Y/N because of me,” Spencer continued, his voice quieter now, almost ashamed. “Because of my job. I… I put her in danger. They used her as leverage, made it clear that if I told anyone—if I told any of you—that they would kill her.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Emily glanced toward Derek, her expression darkening as she began piecing things together.

“How long did this go on?” Derek finally asked, his tone a low growl.

Spencer didn’t meet his eyes. “Months. I started getting letters, then texts. Pictures of her—ones that no one else could’ve had. They knew where she was at all times. When she went to work, when she was home, when she was with me.”

Penelope gasped softly, her hand covering her mouth as tears threatened to well in her eyes. “Spencer…” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Spencer shook his head, jaw tightening. “I couldn’t let anything happen to her. I couldn’t. So when the threats escalated—when they said they’d kill her if I stayed here and didn’t cooperate—I left.”

“And you didn’t tell us?” JJ asked, the hurt in her voice unmistakable.

“I couldn’t,” Spencer said, his voice nearly cracking. “If I told any of you, they said they’d go through with it. So I had to work the case alone. I did things I… I don’t want to talk about, but I found them. I stopped them. I made sure they could never hurt her again.”

The room fell silent again as the weight of his confession sank in. No one spoke, no one moved. Spencer’s breathing had grown uneven, like the memory alone was clawing its way back to him.

It was Rossi who finally broke the silence, his voice calm and measured but tinged with quiet curiosity. “Why did you wait until the wedding to run?”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped. He looked down at the table, his gaze unfocused, like he couldn’t bear to look at any of them. “I… I thought I could marry her. I thought if I could just get through that day, I could disappear. Take her somewhere safe. Run away with her before they could do anything. I wanted to give her something good, something beautiful, before I ruined everything.”

His voice faltered, and he shook his head, his grip tightening on the chair. “But when I saw her standing there… looking so happy, so perfect… it was like I was transported into my worst nightmare. I saw her—bloody and dead—because of me. Because of what I do, because of who I am. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand the thought of her being hurt because of me. So I ran. I thought… I thought it was better to break her heart than to get her killed.”

The room was deathly quiet now. No one knew what to say. Derek rubbed a hand over his face, trying to process it all, while JJ blinked away tears that had started to gather in her eyes. Penelope was openly crying now, her quiet sobs muffled behind her hands.

“You should’ve told us,” Emily finally said, her voice soft but firm. “We could’ve helped you, Spencer.”

Spencer looked up then, his face hollow, haunted. “And what if you couldn’t? What if I told you, and it still wasn’t enough? What if she died because of me?” His voice broke on the last word, and he quickly looked away, his shoulders trembling slightly.

No one had an answer for that.

Rossi sighed, leaning back in his chair, the understanding settling on his features. “So you’re back now because it’s over?”

Spencer nodded. “It’s over. I made sure of it.”

“And Y/N?” Derek asked quietly, though the question lingered like a punch to the gut.

Spencer’s face fell, his voice a whisper. “She doesn’t know. She just thinks I… left her.”

JJ’s brows furrowed in disbelief, her voice sharp now. “And you haven’t told her? Spencer, she deserves to know—”

“I know!” Spencer’s voice rose suddenly, a flash of frustration breaking through the cracks. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down. “I know,” he repeated, softer this time, the anguish bleeding through. “But how do I explain it to her? How do I look her in the eye and tell her I let her believe I abandoned her because I thought I was saving her life?”

The room fell silent once more, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning.

No one had an answer for that either.

—

Spencer stood outside your apartment building, his heart hammering so hard he could hear it in his ears, like a drum echoing through a cavernous void. His hands trembled at his sides as he stared up at the familiar brick, the windows glowing faintly with light from the rooms inside. You were home. He knew it, and yet his feet felt like they were glued to the pavement.

His breathing came fast, shallow, uneven—panic building like a wave rising up from his chest and crashing against his throat. He bent over slightly, hands braced on his knees, trying to steady himself, but it wasn’t enough. The air felt thin, insufficient, as if he was sucking in nothing but emptiness.

Not here, not now, he thought desperately, squeezing his eyes shut. You have to do this.

He pushed off his knees and leaned back against the cool brick wall, his spine pressing into it like it could somehow ground him. His hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he tried to focus on something—anything—other than the guilt gnawing at him.

Breathe in for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

He silently counted, forcing air through his lungs, slowing the frantic rhythm of his breaths. He repeated the process over and over until the tightness in his chest began to ease, just enough for him to move again.

His legs still felt weak as he pushed away from the wall and crossed the threshold into the building, each step heavier than the last. The stairwell yawned before him like an unforgiving climb, the kind that felt insurmountable despite its simplicity. He clutched the cold metal railing as he ascended, pausing halfway up the flight to press his forehead against the wall and whisper to himself under his breath.

“You can do this. Just knock. Just say it.”

The words sounded pathetic to his ears, hollow in the stillness of the stairwell, but they were all he had. After all these months, after everything he’d done—or failed to do—it came down to this. He had to face you. He had to tell you the truth, no matter what it cost him.

When he reached your floor, Spencer stopped outside your door, staring at the familiar brass numbers that suddenly looked foreign. His heart began to race again, beating faster and faster, drowning out every rational thought. He hadn’t been here since… since before everything. Since you had been his, since he had woken up to the sound of your laughter, since he had memorized the smell of your shampoo and the feel of your hand in his.

The memories hit him all at once, clawing their way out of the recesses of his mind like ghosts—mocking him with what he had lost. What he had taken from himself.

Spencer’s hand shook as he raised it, hovering inches away from the door. He felt paralyzed again, the nausea rising in his stomach like a sick promise. He could turn back. He could leave now, before you opened the door, before you saw him standing there. Maybe you hadn’t moved on yet, maybe you still hated him, maybe you didn’t even want the answers he had brought.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose.

No. She deserves this. She deserves the truth.

His knuckles brushed against the door—softly at first, a timid, ghostly sound. Then he knocked, the noise louder than he intended, the echo of it reverberating down the hall.

Spencer froze, his breath catching in his throat as the moments stretched endlessly. The only sound he could hear was the faint buzz of the overhead lights and the blood rushing in his ears.

And then, from the other side of the door, he heard it.

Footsteps.

The shuffle of movement, the creak of a floorboard.

Spencer felt his pulse spike again, his palms growing clammy as the footsteps approached. His body tensed, and for one horrible second, he thought he might turn and run.

But then the door opened.

And there you were.

You froze in the doorway, one hand still on the knob as your eyes met his. Spencer’s heart lodged itself in his throat as he took in the sight of you—your expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable, your lips parting slightly as though words had caught there, unable to escape.

You looked the same and yet different, somehow. Your hair was a little longer, your face softer, but your eyes—those eyes that had once looked at him with so much love—now held something else entirely.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched on, so loud it was deafening.

Spencer’s throat felt dry as he finally managed to whisper, “Hi.”

It was so small, so simple, but it was all he could get out before his voice cracked.

You blinked, the mask of composure you had thrown on beginning to fracture. Your voice came out quiet, wary, almost disbelieving. “Spencer?”

He swallowed hard, trying to find the words he had been practicing for weeks, for months. They were all jumbled now, falling apart in his mind.

“I… I needed to see you,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “I need to explain.”

Your hand tightened on the doorknob, your knuckles going white as you looked at him—really looked at him—and the pain he’d left behind resurfaced in your eyes like a wave crashing over jagged rocks.

The second the words left his mouth—“I need to explain”—something inside you snapped. The anger, the hurt, the betrayal that had been simmering beneath the surface for months came roaring to life like a fire you could no longer control. Before you even realized what you were doing, your grip on the doorknob tightened, and with a force you hadn’t known you were capable of, you slammed the door.

The sound was deafening, the crack of wood against its frame echoing through the hallway. It felt final, like a gavel coming down to deliver a sentence. And for a moment, all you could hear was the rapid pounding of your own heartbeat in your ears.

On the other side of the door, you heard nothing.

No knock. No footsteps. Not a single sound.

For a long moment, you stood there, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. Your hand was still on the doorknob, fingers trembling as though the residual shock of what you’d done was finally catching up to you.

Spencer Reid.

The man who had left you, abandoned you in the cruelest way possible, standing you up at the altar without so much as a word. The man who had disappeared from your life, leaving you to pick up the pieces of a heart he had shattered. And now, now, after all these months, he had the audacity to show up at your door and say he needed to explain?

Explain what?

How he left you humiliated and broken? How he had walked away from the life you were supposed to build together, without giving you the decency of closure?

Your jaw clenched, your hands balling into fists at your sides as you turned away from the door. A bitter laugh escaped your lips—short, hollow, and humorless. You felt like screaming, like throwing something, like letting out all the pain you’d been holding in since that day.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you walked away, forcing yourself deeper into the apartment. You wanted to put as much distance between yourself and that door as possible. Your mind was racing, every thought colliding into the next, until all that was left was a whirlwind of anger and grief that threatened to consume you whole.

And yet…

You stopped in the center of your living room, your eyes drifting to the door as the silence stretched on. You wondered if he was still out there, standing on the other side, stunned into silence.

You hated that part of you cared enough to wonder.

What did he think was going to happen? That he would knock, say a few words, and everything would be okay? That you would just forgive him? He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve you.

But the thought of him still standing there, heartbroken, made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Slowly, you sank onto the couch, dropping your head into your hands as the weight of it all settled over you like a storm cloud. You took a shaky breath, then another, trying to ignore the tears that were threatening to spill.

On the other side of the door, Spencer remained frozen.

The door was still vibrating faintly from the force with which you’d slammed it, and he stood there, staring at it like it might suddenly open again if he just waited long enough. His breathing was shallow, his face pale as his mind tried to process what had just happened.

He had expected anger. He had expected hurt. But the door slamming—so final, so absolute—hit him harder than he thought possible.

His hand hovered in the air, just inches from the wood, as though he might knock again. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Instead, he exhaled shakily, leaning forward until his forehead rested lightly against the door. His eyes squeezed shut as a wave of nausea washed over him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, though he knew you couldn’t hear him.

After a few long moments, he forced himself to straighten. He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, turned slowly, and walked away—each step heavier than the last.

And inside, you sat alone, the sound of that door slam replaying in your head over and over again, louder than any explanation he could have given.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[a1ecmcdowell]

( -_•)╦̵̵̿╤─ ㅤ ─ ㅤ addicted to the knife. ( d.w )¹

cw. graphic depictions of blood & violence. pre-established relationship. normal!au (kind of). unhinged!dean. sweet!reader. inspo from this tiktok edit.

THE BLOOD STAINS the sink this time, while he tries to wash it down the drain. pink on porcelain white, so vibrant still that he can almost hear the screams echoing in his ears.

there are so many justifications he has for himself in his head, and not a single one holds a candle to the reality of his reasonings. they were monsters, and they were going to hurt you.

he couldn't let them get away with it, could they? what kind of person would that make him if he didn't step in and protect the only person that broke through his defenses? it'd make him a monster too, wouldn't it? couldn't have that.

his fingertips are raw from trying to scrub the blood out from under his nails, and yet it still doesn't come out. the sink is still pink. and you're blissfully asleep in bed in the next room, unaware of the scent of decay dominating the house.

vampires, this time. that was why they bled so much. all the blood in their stomachs from draining innocent people; one could have been you. bled so much, not because of the fact he'd bludgeoned them until they were unrecognizable, and burnt them to be safe ─ was that the burning smell that clung to his nostrils? he'd thought you burnt dinner, too desensitized to it all that he couldn't distinguish the different scents of burnt meat.

the sink water is so hot, that steam billows off of it and condensates on the mirror. dean does not meet his reflection, and tells himself it's not because he'll see truths in the depths of his green eyes that he isn't ready to face yet. it's because the glass is foggy, and you're in bed, waiting for him to coil around you like a snake, and suffocate you in his protective embrace.

"dean?" your voice calls, soft padded footsteps echoing closer and closer in the room, to where he stands in front of a blood-stained sink, with the evidence of his crimes so deeply embedded into his clothes that his skin is sticky with it. not pink yet, but disgustingly red. dark. matches his eyes.

dean barely manages to turn the faucet off before you arrive, your face softened with exhaustion, pinched tight in confusion. "y'never came to bed," you slur through your sleepiness, blinking up at him. so damn sweet. and the world wanted him to let you get hurt. to let all of the monsters in the world destroy you.

no. not on his watch. he may have blood on his hands, may keep secrets from you, but he was not them. he'd never, ever lay a finger on you and risk hurting your pretty little head.

dean's smile comes so easily. it's you: of course it does. "stayed late at the office," the smile falls slowly, to mimic your sleepy expression. it's so easy for him to blend in with you.

you don't even blink at his lie. this is why he has to keep you safe. pretty and trusting. a fawn wandering into a wolf's den, too distracted by their soft fur to notice their snarling teeth. "come to bed now?"

"f'course, baby," dean whispers, and when he looks down to follow your reaching hand, the sink is the same porcelain white, and his hands are raw and aching.

relief seeps out of him like sap. slow and dripping, always a little left in the tank, never quite able to be fully excavated. this was why he did what he did, after all; that fear drove him like a knife.

your fingers close around his, though, and your eyes do not see the blood on his palms, as you pull him to bed. it's too dark in the bedroom for you to notice the fact that he'd missed speckles of blood on the collar of his button up.

your face buries into his chest, and the only smell you find in the bare skin is the strong scent of your floral handsoap. anything, to keep the scent of coppery blood from ever touching you.

nothing would ever touch you.

he stays up all night to make sure of it.

. . . tags.

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@aileenunfiltered

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 1] The Lovely Bride

Story Masterlist

Pairing: Clan Leader!Satoru Gojo x f!Reader, Suguru Getou x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

It should be an honor to be selected as Satoru Gojo’s bride. Selected as the vessel to pass down his techniques over generations is the greatest privilege bestowed on a human. Any sorcerer would kill to be in the position of becoming his bride. However, it isn’t an issue of luck.

You can’t just get Satoru Gojo to fall in love with you and propose– Even if you did manage, getting married to Satoru is impossible. That is since the moment of his birth, he’s been betrothed to another. He’s never met her, and he has no idea what she looks like, but they’re still supposed to get married in the spring.

Months after his twenty-fifth birthday, Satoru is supposed to get married to a woman that he’s never met. He isn’t particularly excited about it, but he won’t do anything to fight against it either. He’s expected to get married eventually, he might as well complete the task now. 

Satoru can only hope that the woman that he’s expected to get married to isn’t annoying. The man wants to be able to coexist with her without having to worry about some woman falling in love with him. But Satoru doubts that he’ll have to worry too much, no one in their right mind wants an arranged marriage. 

There’s a lingering question in his mind about her: What does she look like? He has yet to see her even though his wedding is in a matter of hours. He barely remembers her name, yet his mind focuses on the most shallow part… Is she attractive? 

Though, Satoru doesn’t have the time to worry about her. Even when she’s his bride, he has more important things to worry about today.

Satoru looks at himself in the mirror, fixing his attire to make sure he looks perfect. Today, everything has to go according to plan. Nothing can fall short. Anything that goes wrong falls on his shoulders, who else is there to blame if not the man in charge?

Satoru shouldn’t care for criticism, especially for something as trivial as a wedding. But it certainly leaves a sour taste in his mouth when he hears about what everyone else is saying. Satoru can’t make a misstep without it being in the mouth of at least a hundred people. It’s an annoyance to say the least.

“What do you need?” Satoru asks before the door fully opens. Suguru steps inside, watching Satoru who looks ready. The wedding does not start until at least four hours, there’s no reason for Satoru to be ready. 

“Just checking up on you before your big day.” Suguru says, but Satoru knows that what Suguru says is a lie. There’s another reason for Suguru’s presence. 

“Why are you actually here?” Satoru questions, finally turning around to look at the man. Suguru puts his hands in his pockets before sighing.

“We can’t find the bride.” Suguru confesses, his eyes focused on Satoru’s face to watch the man’s reaction. To his surprise, Satoru looks unphased.

“How fast can we find a replacement?” Satoru asks, making Suguru’s eyes widen. Suguru furrows his brows, taken aback by the response. He would have sworn that Satoru would have a more tragic reaction. 

“You do know that the woman that we’re talking about is the one that you’ve been engaged to for the past twenty-five years?” Suguru tries to remind Satoru, who just nods as if it doesn’t affect him in any way. “Shoko and I are looking for her.”

“Don’t sweat over it.” Satoru responds yet again, and Suguru is surprised by the lack of response. “I mean, I’ve never met her. She’s replaceable.”

“You’re…” Suguru begins but he cuts himself off before he can say something mean. It’s not an ideal situation, so he won’t pass judgment to Satoru. “They won’t let you marry just anyone.”

“What’s so special about her anyway? From what I’ve heard, her cursed technique isn’t even all that special. She’s plain.” Satoru says, and Suguru isn’t sure of how to respond. He doesn’t come from a family of sorcerers, he doesn’t fully understand the politics of whatever is going on. 

“We can’t find a replacement that fast.” Suguru says, and it finally makes Satoru react.

“Fine. I’ll begin to look for her.” Satoru gives in. He’s ready, he guesses he can push some of his responsibilities on someone else. He has time either way, how hard can it be to find his bride? “What does she look like?”

“Uhm… We aren’t sure.” Suguru scratches the back of his neck. No one apart from her family knows what she looks like. “We saw a picture of her but it’s old.”

“Describe her.” Satoru answers, and Suguru gives the most basic descriptions that he picked up on. He can’t give many details, the picture that he was shown was from her childhood. “Okay, get out.”

“Are you going to look for her?” Suguru asks and Satoru has no other option but to hum in response. With that confirmation, Suguru exits the room, leaving Satoru behind. 

“She’s already giving me a challenge.” Satoru sighs, looking at himself one last time in the mirror before exiting the room. 

“I can climb up a wall.” You look up at the giant obstacle in your way. Now is one of those rare times where you regret not working out more. You never took physical training too seriously, and now you curse yourself for it. The main exit is crowded, it seems that word has gotten out.

You thought you were ready for this. For the past– God knows how long you've been getting ready for this day. There was never any other aspect in your life. One day you’d be Satoru Gojo’s wife. It was a promise, but it was never guaranteed for you. Either way, that’s who you were raised to be.

In a matter of hours, you’re supposed to fulfill your lifelong achievement. Yet, you’re trying to find a way to run away before it’s too late. You don’t want to be the disappointment of the family, but you also don’t think you’re capable enough to fill in the shoes of the role you’ve been assigned. You believe it’s best to run away, because at the very least you’ll find some purpose in life. A purpose that isn’t a man. 

Your hands are trembling at the mere thought of climbing the wall. You can’t do it. No matter how hard you try. There’s nothing for you to hold on to, you won’t manage. But if you just take a couple of steps back and run towards it, then maybe you can jump over it. Jump high enough that you’ll hold on to the top of the wall. 

“I can do it.” You try to tell yourself as you take a step back. You repeat the same words to yourself as you take yet another step. Just as you’re about to run off, your foot gets caught up with your kimono, and you fall forward. 

Just like that, your dream of running away vanishes. 

“Hey! Are you okay?” You hear, adding to an embarrassment that you didn’t even know was flowing through you. You were expecting to fail, but you weren’t expecting to trip and fall in front of an audience. 

You just want to bury yourself underground and die. It’s your wedding day. You shouldn’t be making a fool of yourself, this isn’t how you were taught. 

“I’m fine!” You yell as you remain on the ground. Fine, as if your forehead doesn’t sting. You’ve definitely cut yourself, but you don’t want to admit that to a stranger. 

“Here, let me help you.” You feel a pair of big hands help you sit up. His eyes narrow as they land on your forehead. His thumb swipes over your forehead, showing off the bloody thumb, “You’re hurt.”

“It’s fine.” You respond. There’s a look of concern on his face, until his purple eyes grow wide as he takes a good look at your face.

“It’s you.” He says, and you feel your heart stop. “You’re Satoru’s bride.”

“Please–” You begin, but you don’t find the right words to say. No matter what you say, you’re still getting married. It’s not like he’ll help you run away. You bite down your lip, muttering, “Nevermind.”

“I’m Suguru.” He extends his hand for you to take, hoping that he can lift you off the floor and take you back to your room. There’s a nasty cut on your forehead, one that needs to be covered up.

You sigh, taking his hand as you introduce yourself to him. You keep your voice low, not wanting to catch anyone’s attention by speaking too loudly. After all, you are a wanted woman. 

“We have to get your wound checked.” He points at your forehead, and you bring your fingertips up to the cut. Wound isn’t the right word for something that you can barely feel. You shake your head, and Suguru reminds you, “You’re getting married in a matter of hours–”

“I can deal with it.” You cut him off, and his lips turn into a thin line before he nods. “I’m going back to my room then. It was nice–”

“Suguru!” You freeze at the sound of the voice, your blood running cold. You begin to freak out internally, asking yourself about your next step. First impressions are important, and you know better than anyone that this isn’t the way that you’re supposed to meet your husband. “Is that her?” 

“We sorted it out!” Suguru yells back, looking at Satoru. Satoru’s walking over, and Suguru notices that you’re not moving. You’re completely frozen in time, and he furrows his brows inquisitively. 

“Good.” You hear his voice up close for the first time in your life, and you’re not able to lift your finger. Your eyes can’t even look at him. This is what you were scared of– You’ve barely met him and you’re already making a fool of yourself. 

“You’re the replacement then.” Satoru says, and you feel your heart drop. You sense as he looks you up and down, sending a chill down your spine. His thumb swipes over your cut, before he proceeds to inspect the blood on it. “Not bad.”

“What do you mean–” Suguru begins, but before he can get the question out, Satoru cuts him off.

“None of your business, Suguru.” Satoru says, and Suguru rolls his eyes. Suguru does so much, all to not be in the loop. “Take care of her. Take her back to her room.”

“What about her wound?” Suguru asks, and Satoru shrugs. There’s a slight smirk on Satoru’s face as he stares at the cut on your forehead.

“I’m sure she can figure it out herself. Ask about her cursed technique.” Satoru responds before stepping back. He won’t entertain the situation for longer, he has to make sure the place doesn’t fall apart. He needs to make sure everything runs smoothly, but preparations have come to a halt since his bride suddenly disappeared.

“What about–” Suguru begins but you’re walking off, almost as if you’re following after Satoru. Though you aren’t, you’re going back to your room to continue getting ready.

You’re getting married in a matter of hours.

Just a few minutes before the commencement of the wedding ceremony, Satoru walks around to make sure everything looks perfect– That is what he tells himself. He’s mindlessly walking around, trying to kill time. He just wants to get this over with, but sadly, there is a schedule that he must follow.

He can go out there and greet the higher ups that have come to watch the union of two clans, but he’d rather do anything else. He doesn’t care for the guests, nor for formalities at this point. He’s done enough by getting married and keeping the ceremony as traditional as possible.

Satoru’s walk comes to a sudden stop when he notices the door to your room isn’t completely closed. There’s a gap in the door that he can’t ignore. How long has it been like that? How much of the staff has seen his lovely bride getting changed?

You’re ready now, he shouldn’t be getting in his head about it. He steps towards your room, and slides the door open, which catches you off guard.

“Are you ready?” He questions, and your eyes are wide as if you’re looking directly at a ghost. You nod in response, shifting your gaze from the man in front of you to the ground. He quickly notices and orders, “Look at me.”

“I’m ready.” You tell him, hesitantly shifting your gaze back at him. He finally hears your voice for the first time, and it sounds forced. You’re forcing yourself to sound softer than how you actually speak.

“What happened to your sister?” Satoru questions, and you feel your breath get caught up in your chest. You’ve been instructed not to speak about her, and even though it’s Satoru, you won’t say a word. You bow down your head and apologize, which makes the man frown. “You don’t know?”

“I don’t.” You respond, and Satoru clicks his tongue. He should’ve known better than to ask you.

“Whatever.” He replies. He stares at your face, seeing that the cut on your forehead has completely disappeared. He can only think that at least you’re not completely useless.

“I’m sorry for–” You begin, bowing down your head once again. He cuts you off before you can properly apologize.

“You made your mistake but you’re here now which is what matters.” Satoru says. “Just know that you can’t back down. Your family agreed to this decades ago, you can’t run away now.” 

“I know, and I’m sorry.” You keep your voice low out of embarrassment, and he simply hums in response.

“I’ll see you there.” Satoru tells you, walking out of the room. He leaves you questioning everything in your life. You know that this isn’t what you want, but you have no option but to listen. 

This is what you were raised to do, what else can you possibly do?

You try to shake the thoughts out of your head, knowing that overthinking isn’t going to help you out of the situation. The purification ritual begins in a matter of minutes, you can’t run away now. You take a deep breath, feeling nerves creep up.

You walk to the door, getting ready to go to the ceremony. Until your eyes land on the same man from earlier– Suguru. His eyes light up as he sees you, and he begins to walk to you when you signal him to come closer.

“How can I help you?” Suguru asks, and he sees a look of worry on your face. You must be getting cold feet, something that’s not unusual considering who you’re marrying and what you’re getting yourself into.

“Can I ask you for a big favor?” You begin, and Suguru hesitantly nods in response. He’s not sure what to expect from you, but he doesn’t want to be unhelpful to the bride. You’re looking around, almost as if you’re watching out for anyone else. 

You take a deep breath before you blurt it out, “Help me run away.”

[multipleoccupancy]

Sloane turned his head back towards Samantha as she mentioned keeping Violet a secret, she didn't need to elaborate, he knew that she was referring to Delta Green. "He can be very rigid on the rules," Sloane commented with a short sigh, "It won't be easy but I don't want her tortured either." He looked back to Violet and Killian together, seeing now of course why Killian had acted up earlier. "I'll talk him round, he will be keen to keep her safe." Or so he hoped anyway.

"We will do all we can to not let you get trapped inside but I would like to know you can get out," he said calmly of his plan moving a little to try and catch a look at her. "I want you as safe as you can possibly be if we are to do this. It's not to touch a hair on your head, Sunshine." He smiled at her, determined that she would be safe from the monster at all costs.

Theo smiled for being called wise, pleased with himself as he tested a pulley one more time, then another, then another. Just to be sure he told himself, oblivious to the real reasons behind his quadruple checking but not so stuck that he couldn't let go as Violet talked.

"I think you're right you know, about leaving New York, if you leave the kidnappers will have won. I don't know about your dad, but I really, really don't like losing." He cracked a smile, believing it was a confidence thing and a determination thing. "He'll probably come up with some solution for you to stay anyway, he'll know it too, that it's a bad idea." He watched as she sat down and after a moment went to join her curiously but keen to continue the conversation. "Why not just build a little weapon you can carry around with you? Like a pepper spray or something, as far as I know most people are not immune to that sort of stuff." He did not suggest a stun gun or baton! "Something in it should be able to track them, they won't think to get it off and then your Dad can find them and arrest them." So simple, so easy.

His thoughts turned and his expression darkened as she suggested that he might have to perform a ritual to one day save Samantha. Was she threatening her? No. Of course not. "It would make me a cultist. If I was doing a ritual then the answer falls on wrong." He said simply as if it was just as clear as that. "I'd be glad to save her," he shot a look to her, could he ever just let her die if he had a means to save her? "but I would never cross the line to do something unnatural like that, it would be a poison, it goes against Delta Green." Which he had made clear he was not all too pleased about doing in any way shape or form.

He said nothing on the fate of the student, while he would prefer to save him, he was not too hung up on killing him either. If he was a monster and too far gone then they wouldn't have any other choice but Violet seemed passionate about the grey area and Theo at least knew to watch himself. "I think it's an interesting point though," he voiced sincerely, "I've not been in a situation like that and I hope I never will be. Tough choices are going to come though," he acknowledged, "and I'll keep what you said in mind."

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Samantha chuckled, her head still placed on Sloane's shoulder. "Yes, I think he might," she admitted playfully. She could almost picture it! "You're right, they could use the chance to bond again. Odin doesn't seem all that upset anymore, though. She's talking to him." And while she couldn't hear what it was they were talking about, it seemed to be a rather long conversation, which was a good sign.

"He'll listen to you," she hummed pensively. Sloane was like a father to them, and they always listened to what he said. He was also the leader of the cell, the most experienced agent. "He'll also listen to you if you tell him we should keep Odin a secret." A pause. She was hoping to get his support on this matter. "I don't want them to torture her, Sloane."

"Yes, you're right. I'd rather not end up inside the trap at all, but better safe than sorry." Being inside a giant net with a monster, was hardly a happy prospect. But she trusted her team.

Violet studied Theo with a little smile. "You're pretty wise too, you know. I'd never thought about it that way. But you're right, once we see one monster, we start noticing things others don't. And I guess it can be a vicious circle, too. The more we are exposed to the paranormal, the more we pay the price for it." Like being hunted by Hounds, or harassed by a Great Old One.

"He's not happy about it. He loves New York. But... he's worried about me, and about the entire family, too. I know how to handle cultists, but what about my mom? Or my little brothers? They wouldn't know what to do, or how to get out of such a horrible situation. I know he just wants to protect us, and I don't want anything to happen to them either. But it feels like we're making the bad guys win by running away." And besides, Sloane would keep finding them. Olaf too. And neither Hounds nor the Horned One cared about where they were. She nodded. "I have an FBI escort, yes. And now I fear I'll have it forever."

Now that they had tested the net, Violet sat down with the crossbow and started to examine it more carefully so that they could start working on it.

She raised her eyebrows. "Does it, though?" It was so strange to hear Theo say that when it was her dad who had explained to her how complex morality could be. But she had a feeling his reaction explained why he had become so distrustful, as soon as she said Sloane's name. "What if you had to perform a ritual to protect Samantha? Does that make you a bad person? I don't think it does. What if we have to kill that poor student? And what about him? He's a monster, but he never asked for it. Things are not that simple, Theo. If you do a bad thing for a good reason, is it a good thing? And if you do a bad thing for a good reason?"

[thebestsetter]

Oliver Aiku can have any girl he wants. Anytime he wants.

He has always been a charmer. He's used to getting all the ladies he wants, anytime he wants. It comes naturally to him, really. His looks, charm, and charisma have all led to his fame with the "female population," as he calls it.

So, when you started dating him, everybody warned you. Your mom, dad, friends, and even your annoying sibling. He has a bad reputation, they said. And it was true. He was known to appear on the news with a new sidepiece every week. From random girls to models to athletes, he can have them all. And he breaks up with them all (and leave them heartbroken, too)

That's why you weren't really surprised. Of course, you were hurt, but you kind of already expected it to happen, even if that makes you a bad girlfriend. You have been dating for only 9 months, after all. He would get bored of you eventually. Well, it was good while it lasted. You were totally okay with it. Really.

At least that was what you tried to show everybody. But you can't fool your heart.

It was clear the break-up had taken a toll on you. You really, really liked him. You really thought you could change him. Pathetic. Stupid. You were so, so stupid. Men don't change. Especially cheaters. Once a cheater, always a cheater, they say. You should have listened.

When nobody was close, you always broke down crying. Everything reminded you of him. From the silly plushie he gave you on your arcade date to his toothbrush on your sink that you, for some reason, could not get rid of to, of course, those 100 calls he gave you everyday from unknown numbers, even if you had already blocked him everywhere you could.

This was your reality for the first 2 months after the break-up. You felt discouraged to do anything besides lying on the couch all day and surviving off of noodles and ice cream. You were terrible.

But everything ends, eventually. Be it a good thing or a bad one. In this case, you were glad it ended.

After much help from your friends and family, you were starting to feel like yourself again. The world was no longer grey and sad. Life had gotten better. You had gotten better. Everything was going perfectly.

Until it wasn't. Until your ex-boyfriend showed up at your doorstep at exactly 2:41 a.m., drunk and babbling nonsense and asking - no, pleading - to be taken back.

What you didn't know was that Aiku had a completely opposite experience after your break-up.

At first, he didn't make a big deal out of it. He was actually a little relieved - what had gotten over him to have stayed so long in the same relationship? For most people, 9 months is little time. For Oliver Aiku, it was an eternity. Most of his relationships lasted less than a month. He couldn't help it. Most girls bore him. He has to break up with them.

After the initial phase of calling you and being left on voicemail lots of times, he figured you wouldn't give him another chance. And he had no reason to plead for one. He was Oliver Aiku, for God's sake! He can have any girl he wants. Anytime he wants.

He began partying again. He had stopped partying when he was in a relationship with you. And, man, did he miss it.

Kissing faceless strangers, going to bed with girls he didn't even know the name of, appearing on the news every week with a new girl.

Old Oliver Aiku was back. The one from before he met you.

This was his reality for about 2 months after your breakup. It felt like sugar rush, like being high on drugs or something (even if he never did - and would never do - any drugs). It felt good. Life without you was good.

But everything ends, eventually. Be it a good thing or a bad one. In this case, he was sad they did.

Suddenly, everything reminded him of you. Your skincare products on the sink, that he had already used to the very end for some reason and yet couldn't find anywhere that sold them (he was almost buying it off the internet), the stupid polaroid of you two on the back of his clear phone case (he swore he had thrown it away when you two broke up), a book you were reading and accidentally left it at his home (he made a mental note to give it back to you someday. Maybe even ask you if he could borrow it. He already read it twice, actually, but he just wanted reasons to see you again).

Life suddenly felt dull. He had no one waiting for him at home, no one to make him dinner, no one to cuddle with, no one to make him watch stupid rom-coms.

Those other girls were just so boring. They didn't treat him like you did. They weren't you. But he was scared to admit that he missed you more than he let on.

Life with you was supposed to be good. Until it wasn't.

Until one fateful day, he drank too much. He downed beer after beer after beer. He was more than tipsy - he was utterly intoxicated.

His feet carried him to your house almost immediately. It was as if he was on autopilot, his brain finally acknowledging what only his heart did: he missed you. And it hurt.

That's how you both find yourself in this situation.

You, on one hand, were kinda disgusted. He was drooling, clearly out of his mind, drunk as hell, and looking really sad. It almost made you feel bad fir the guy.

On the other, you were absolutely delighted. Satisfied, even. He was hurting, too, just like you did. He missed you. He was begging to be taken back. You almost couldn't stop the smirk appearing on your face.

Aiku was looking pathetic. On his knees, hugging your legs and apologizing for all he did. For everything. For cheating, for hurting you, for making you feel like shit. He wanted - no, he needed you back on his life.

He held you like you were everything, and in that moment, you really were. You have always been his everything. He just couldn't acknowledge it before. He was blinded by lust. But now he was righting his wrongs and trying to be a part of your life again. He was not going to hurt you again.

He was everything you didn't want to see anymore. He have always been what you despised in a man, you just couldn't see it before. You were blinded by love. But now, you were righting your wrongs, and you wouldn't let him back on your life again. You were not going to let him hurt you again.

You yelled at him. Called him names so bad he doesn"t even want to remember. And when he pleaded again, you closed the door.

Not even the bangs on your door would make you open it. You didn't want to see him anymore. You were officially over the man who caused you so much pain. And it felt good. Life without Oliver Aiku felt good.

Banging at your door, Aiku felt stupid. He felt sad. He felt disgusted at himself for doing what he did to you. He felt sick.

He was stupid. So, so stupid for throwing away a girl like you.

Oliver Aiku could have any girl he wants. Anytime he wants.

But he didn't want any girl at any time. He wanted you, his girl, right now.

Masterlist

[moonstruckme]

hi mae, how you've been? if your request are open could i make one? if they're not, please ignore this ^^

could you write remus with (gn) reader that struggles with english? (as a language fjdndnd). for example, they could be an exchange student and finds difficult to find the words to communicate, but can completely understand a whole conversation, like its just hard for them to express themselves? idk if you get what i mean, sorry for the nonsense 😭😭😭

you write beautifully, i can't wait to read the next thawing out chapter!!!!! xoxoxo

Thank for requesting angel <3

cw: hints of maybe some social anxiety (?) around language learning

Remus Lupin x gn!reader ♡ 1k words

In group settings, you’ve become an unintentional wallflower. The conversations among this group, specifically, are too rapid-fire for your tentative tongue to keep up with, so you find yourself tracking it and letting your own thoughts pass unvoiced. At least at Sirius’ Christmas party, you’re not the only wallflower in the mix. 

Remus acts much like you, sometimes. He sits back, listens, smiles to himself at his friends’ antics. Sometimes James or Sirius will prompt him with a question, like they’re used to having to drag him into their two-man show, but for the most part he seems content to enjoy being around everyone in quietude. Until, at least, he leans over to speak to you. 

“You alright?” he asks in a low voice, underneath the story James is telling about Christmas shopping with his mum. 

You blink, surprised. “Yes.” 

“You seem a bit quiet.” Remus looks curious, but he doesn’t push. There’s a tiny fluttering in your stomach at being noticed. You’ve talked with Remus on a couple of occasions—and it’s true, you did have more to say then than you do now, in this bantery group—but you wouldn’t have expected him to note the change. “How’s your drink?” 

He’s looking at your cup, nearly full despite the hour you’ve been nursing it. 

“It’s…” You don’t know the polite way to say what you want to say. Maybe there is none. 

Remus smiles. “You aren’t in love with it, then?” 

You think you might go still, just the phrase in love sending heat to your cheeks. “It’s not very bad,” you try to laugh. “It’s…what’s the word…heavy?”

His brows furrow for a second, but then he realizes. “Oh, is it very strong?” 

You nod, relieved. “Yes.” 

He laughs. “Well, that’s what happens when Sirius makes them. Sorry, we ought to have warned you.” He glances over his shoulder at his friend, as though checking whether he’s been overheard; you don’t get the impression he would care much if he had. When his eyes return to you, you have the impression of staring into a fireplace; a steady, comforting warmth. “Come with me,” he says. 

Remus leads you to the kitchen. To the scene of the crime, where your first drink was concocted. Sirius is nothing if not well prepared; the counter is stocked with rows of alcohol and mixers, plus canned drinks and non-alcoholic options. Remus finds you a new cup. 

“What do you like?” 

You can see a bottle of what you want on the counter, but the name eludes you. You’re not close enough to try and read the label. “Anything.” 

Remus’ eyebrow twitches. “Really, anything?” He looks at you. It feels like being peeled like a tangerine, like he’s somehow seeing your squishy insides. “You don’t have any preference?”

You gnaw the inside of your cheek. “I, uh…” You reach past him, picking up the bottle. “This, please. Sorry, I don’t have the name…” 

“That’s alright,” Remus says easily. He gives you a gentle smile as he takes the bottle from you, and your heart does something awful behind your ribs. “You don’t need to know it. Whatever works, right?” 

“Right,” you echo embarrassedly. 

He asks you to pick a mixer, and when you point again starts to pour. “So,” he says, “is there a reason you’re not talking to us?” 

You blink at him. “What?” 

“You’ve just been keeping more to yourself tonight.” There’s a hint of something you can’t identify in Remus’ tone, but you can’t seek clues in his face when he’s looking down at your drink. “Is it something we did?” 

“No. I’m not…no.” You shake your head fervently. “I like you.” You take Remus’ wrist, and he looks up, surprised. “I like you.” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” His voice softens at the distress in your expression. “I was only joking, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” 

Relief seeps into you. You feel your posture ease, your face clearing, but Remus only melts further. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He wraps an arm around your shoulders, drawing you into a hug. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I didn’t really think you were angry with us.” Your arms come around him too, on instinct, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s just that you’ve been so quiet and I wanted to ask why, but I was only teasing.”

“It’s okay.” You laugh a little, giddy on physical contact. “It’s not you.” 

Remus hums, still apologetic. “What’s going on, then?”

“Nothing’s going on.” You search the far corners of your mind, reaching for the words. “I’m quiet because…because I’m slow. It’s more difficult with many people.” 

Remus pulls back a bit, frowning. “You’re not slow, sweetheart.” 

“My English is slow,” you clarify.

“That’s…no.” He shakes his head. “I’m sure it does take longer to find the right words, but you don’t have to stay quiet because of that. We can wait.” 

“It’s okay,” you try to explain. “Sometimes, people need to talk fast, but, for me…it takes time.” 

“That’s fine,” says Remus. “We get it. Or, actually, we don’t, which is probably the more important part. You speak more than one language. That’s not something any of the rest of us can say—well, except Sirius, but his parents were twats, and he’s more of a twat for it, honestly.” His eyes widen a fraction. “Not that knowing more than one language makes you a twat—Sirius is, but you aren’t. I’m not trying to call you a twat.” 

You shake your head, smiling. 

“I’m trying,” Remus laughs, “to say that you’re very smart, much smarter than any of us in there who only grew up speaking English and haven’t aspired to anything more since. So if you need to speak a bit slower to get your point across, that’s perfectly alright. Is that…did that come across right?” 

“Yes,” you laugh, warmth in your cheeks. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me.” Remus gives you another hug, briefer. “Just don’t be quiet, yeah? How’s this?” 

You take a tentative sip of your drink, trying to wrangle your smile. “It’s good,” you assure him. 

“Good. Let’s go.” He starts leading the way back to the party. “You had something to say when Lily was talking about her botched muffins last week, I could see it on your face. I want to hear all about it.”

[natalievoncatte]

Lena felt something crumble inside her. Kara was sitting in the Tower, head bowed and arms resting on her thighs, staring at her own hands. Her cape lay unclasped and thrown haphazardly over the back of the couch, and it was covered in scorch marks like the rest of her. Her new sleeveless suit revealed bruises running up and down her arms, already fading to a sicky yellow.

Alex let out a low sigh of relief as she removed the bomb collar from Lena’s neck and gently placed it in a sealed container, which J’onn immediately took and flew directly out of the tower. When he returned he said, gravely, “Kara. You can let go now.”

Lena looked away from the gruesome sight as Kara released the contents of her hands and let out a choking sob.

“He made me. He made me.”

Alex took the… the…

Well. They called it a dead man’s switch for a reason.

There was a heavy pause.

“Give me the room,” said Lena.

“Lena,” Alex admonished, “we need to get you cleaned up, make sure you’re okay, that the gas didn’t-“

“Please?”

Lena looked at her with pleading eyes and Alex relented at once, brushing at her own, swiping back angry tears. Lena knew what would happen: Alex would pummel the hell out of a heavy bag and then go home to Kelly.

Kara would have to bear this herself.

Alex put a hand on Nia’s shoulder and motion for J’onn to join her and left Lena with Kara.

Lena stood and crossed the room to the sink, finding the biggest bowl she could and a wash cloth. Taking it, she knelt in front of Kara and very gently took her right hand and began washing away the blood.

Kara said nothing. The water soon turned pink, flicked with bits of blood too dry to dilute. It took a lot of effort to get all of it off, especially clingy bits in the creases of her palms and knuckles.

Kara stared at her clean hands.

“It shouldn’t be that easy,” Kara rasped. “I took a man’s life tonight.”

Lena shifted to sit on the floor in front of her and brushed back her hair, running her hand gently over the fuzzy side that Kara had recently buzzed. She tucked the longer locks on the other side back and behind her ear.

“Look at me.”

Kara met her gaze, eyes wet with tears.

“You did what you had to do.”

“How could he be so stupid?” Kara whimpered. “I couldn’t do the things he was demanding. I couldn’t hurt people for him.”

“I know.”

Kara fell back against the sofa and pounded her thigh her with her fist, and Lena felt the impact in her chest. Kara winced and looked down at her.

Lena lifted herself up and sat down beside Kara.

“I know what this feels like.”

There was a brief flash of confusion on Kara’s face, then… “Lex.”

Lena nodded. “I killed my brother to protect you, and I’d do it again.”

“I should have found another way,” Kara whispered. “I’m always supposed to find another way. I just… I just snapped. When he said he’d let go and set off the bomb on your neck, I didn’t even think, I just…”

She looked down at her hands.

“I’m a killer.”

Lena took Kara’s hand in both of hers and lifted it, always amazed how the strongest being in the solar system just… let her. She brought Kara’s palm to her cheek and rested against it, letting Kara’s warm fingers curl tenderly against her skin.

“Maybe. I won’t tell you that you’re not, but that’s not all you are. You’ve given so much, sacrificed so much, endured so much pain, and you’ve always been so wise and kind with your power. Lots of people would have gone down a darker path with the gifts that you have. I would have.”

“You never went down the path. You came back. You came back to me.”

“I always will.”

Kara’s face fell and the crying began in earnest. Lena pulled her in and carded through her hair with her fingers and whisper-sang a half remembered Gaelic lullaby from her mother while Kara let it out.

“I can’t live without you,” Kara admitted. “I tried it once and it was hell.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“Lena, I lo-“

“Shhhh,” Lena whispered. “I know, darling. I know you do, and I do too… but don’t say it now. Not like this, not because of this, not now. Wait for a happy time. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after, when we wake up.”

“I’ve wanted to for so long, but I was so scared.”

“I know, I know, Kara. It’ll be alright. Everything will be alright and you can do it right, when we’re both ready.”

“Okay,” Kara choked out, “but I can’t wait so long. I waited too long already and I want to keep you forever.”

Lena smiled, pressing her cheek to the crown of Kara’s head.

“Well, when you get around to asking me I’m sure I’ll say yes.”

That worked, it seemed to calm her. It took a while before the hitching stopped and Kara could sit up and walk to drink a glass of water, before the layers and layers of armor she’d built up around her fragile soul were starting to raise themselves again.

She made good on her promise, though, pressing a ting Kryptonian phrase into Lena’s ear as they lay curled in a mound of comforters and blankets in the sun in Kara’s loft.

[moki-dokie]

While all of the above is generally best practice i would like to add some contradictory points from experience, as someone who a) is not a horse expert in any capacity but b) grew up around literal cowboys and horse people who very much were.

Anybody can ride any horse if you hold on tight enough/have ridden once before. and Riding bareback is possible to do if you hold onto the horse's mane really tight. Go with OP's advice, absolutely. that is ideal. however, i was never once trained to ride a horse. i was plopped on my grandma's old blue when i was all of 3 and told to hold on. definitely wouldn't recommend this lmao but luckily old blue was about the most 'i don't give a shit whats happening to me' horse on the planet. we didn't have saddles. all bareback baby. he died when i was about 5. the next horse i rode at 8. leo, the most sweet and gentle quarter horse i've ever known. and again it was one of those situations where i just got plopped onto his back - again no saddle - and told to have at it. and boy did i. pure bareback with no bridle is terrifying by the way, at least when you're a small 8 year old. but with a bridle it's actually quite fun. i'm sure it would have been better with actual proper lessons about how to sit a horse, but hey, i managed. i did eventually learn to ride in a saddle which was nice when i wanted him to go fast cause it gave me something to hold onto AND i could get my butt up and off of the seat to negate the hard bouncing, but i actually preferred riding him bareback most of the time. it was more comfortable for my legs and being able to feel him under me made me more in tune with him. but i wouldn't recommend it if you don't have an incredibly gentle and patient horse like he was. and frankly i don't know if i could still ride bareback when i'm closer to 40 now lol even a patient horse has its limits, too. leo bucked me once when i was being a shit and making him go through little puddles that he didn't want to. at the time i didn't understand why puddles would freak a horse out, i thought he was just being stubborn. after about the fifth one he had enough and bucked me right off (another benefit of saddles, yall. harder to go flying off lol) into the mud, but then immediately came over to nose my face and check on me. definitely his way of saying 'i'm sorry i had to do that, but you weren't listening to me.'

leo's 'brother', larry, was a wild-caught mustang who had been tamed/broken by the guy that owned all of our horses, one of the cowboys previously mentioned, my moms bf. larry was temperamental as could be expected, and he was absolutely off limits to ride for anyone other than moms bf. i think he knew i was a small and fragile creature so he was never very mean to me, plus leo protected me from him quite often when larry was in a mood.

the third of our little herd was missy. i think she was a quarter horse too idk. but she was an absolute cunt of a horse. i hated her. she hated me. she hated her owner. she hated the fucking grass. but she tolerated mom enough to let her ride. missy was such a mean horse that she was rarely allowed the full pasture like the boys had, because she'd just follow them around biting them and picking fights. while i could pet and brush and feed larry without worrying too much he was going to hurt me, missy i could not go near. idk what missy's story was, but i suspect she might've been a rescue horse. i've never known another horse as mean as she was. oh and she HATED hats lmao. larry could be ridden bareback by the bf, but missy was saddle only.

when leo started getting a little too old for riding (he was already old when i met him. part of why he was so placid.) moms bf thought, for some dumb fucking reason, to get me this spry young pinto as my own horse that he saw at auction. andy. except this horse was a carriage horse. Never had been ridden. and andy was NOT comfortable with it. I think i was like, 11? when we got him. Again, they plopped me onto him bareback. and in about 0.5 seconds i was flat on my back on the ground. moms bf was like "ah we just need to break him in a little!" so got him saddled up - which was a whole Thing because he hated it - and took him out to the lake to get some practice in where there's a lot of open space. well i got about 15 minutes of a very scary ride in bc this horse did not respond to bridle cues or kicking or... anything. so it was just sort of hold on for dear life while he does his thing. and then he bucked again. except that they hadn't fasted his saddle tight enough and it came off with me, and landed squarely on top of me. and in case yall don't know, saddles are fucking heavy. that was like 25 pounds that came crashing down on top of me and i was extremely fortunate that i didn't break a single thing, cause he bucked hard and to this day i've never been airborn that long lmao. smacked my head hard, had the wind knocked out of me twice, landed on my arm all weird, and was heavily bruised by the saddle. that seemed to convince them that andy was, in fact, not a suitable riding horse for a preteen lol

unfortunately i didn't ride again until my late teens. mom broke up with the dude. bye bye horses. but then i had a bf whose grandparents had some. but uhhh.... draft horses. not riding stock. still, assured me these massive clydesdales didn't mind. so up i went. bareback as usual, wondering if i would even survive being bucked off a beast so large. but hey as it turned out? they were right. the big beefy boy was sweet as could be and didn't mind trotting around with me at all, especially since it meant he got to go out into the pasture for a jog and some grazing. riding entirely bareback on a clydesdale at a gallop is one of those things where you're equal parts terrified and exhilarated. i could barely even sit on him because he was so fucking WIDE. surprisingly tho, very smooth gait with those guys, so i wasn't bouncing around a whole lot. it was incredibly fun. i could barely walk when i got off of him. i loved it. and then the fucker bit me as soon as i turned my back on him LMAO chomped the SHIT out of my bicep for like, not reason??? just to be a cheeky little shit? just to remind me that yeah maybe i got to ride but he's still boss? hell idk. that bruise lasted like a fucking month tho.

annnd the last horse i rode was about... 13? years ago when a friend who owns and professionally rides came to visit so we took her to a friend of a friend who does trail rides. for once i was not plopped onto a horse i didn't know bareback. in fact, i was stuck with a fucking pony bc the lady didn't trust i could handle an actual horse, while my friend got some beautiful appy to ride. i was on this squat... idk, haflinger i think it was. all decked out with fancy tack. apparently the calmest of all her horses. he was, for the most part, but you could sort of tell he resented being ridden. or maybe just didn't like strangers much. idk. there's an energy you get when riding horses and he and i just were NOT vibing much. still a pretty fun ride overall, but i would have liked it a lot better if i were higher up and on a horse that was actually having some fun instead of dragging its hooves begrudgingly LOL

so like, personally i stand by the fact anyone can ride a horse and anyone can ride bareback without much practice but it's going to GREATLY depend on the horse itself rather than the rider. definitely isn't any horse for either of those. if you personally are going to do it, or if you are going to write a scenario like that, it'd better be with a fairly lackadaisical horse.

Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap

I'm going to go ahead and preface this with: I comment pretty regularly on clips and photos featuring horses and horseback riding, often answering questions or providing explanations for how or why certain things are done. I was a stable hand and barrel racer growing up, and during my 11 year tenure on tumblr, Professional Horse Commentary is a very niche, yet very necessary, subject that needs filling. Here are some of the literary and creative gaps I've noticed in well meaning (and very good!) creators trying to portray horses and riding realistically that... well, most of you don't seem to even be aware of, because you wouldn't know unless you worked with horses directly!

Some Of The Most Common Horse + Riding Mistakes I See:

-Anybody can ride any horse if you hold on tight enough/have ridden once before.

Nope. No, no, no, no, aaaaaaaand, no. Horseback riding has, historically, been treated as a life skill taught from surprisingly young ages. It wasn't unusual in the pre-vehicular eras to start teaching children as young as 4 to begin to ride, because horses don't come with airbags, and every horse is different. For most adults, it can take months or years of regular lessons to learn to ride well in the saddle, and that's just riding; not working or practicing a sport.

Furthermore, horses often reject riders they don't know. Unless a horse has been trained like a teaching horse, which is taught to tolerate riders of all skill and experience levels, it will take extreme issue with having some random person try to climb on their back. Royalty, nobility, and the knighted classes are commonly associated with the "having a favorite special horse" trope, because it's true! Just like you can have a particularly special bond with a pet or service animal that verges on parental, the same can apply with horses. Happy horses love their owners/riders, and will straight-up do their best to murder anyone that tries to ride them without permission.

-Horses are stupid/have no personality.

There isn't a more dangerous assumption to make than assuming a horse is stupid. Every horse has a unique personality, with traits that can be consistent between breeds (again, like cat and dog breeds often have distinct behavior traits associated with them), but those traits manifest differently from animal to animal.

My mother had an Arabian horse, Zipper, that hated being kicked as a signal to gallop. One day, her mom and stepdad had a particularly unpleasant visitor; an older gentleman that insisted on riding Zipper, but refused to listen to my mother's warnings never to kick him. "Kicking" constitutes hitting the horse's side(s) with your heels, whether you have spurs on or not. Most horses only need a gentle squeeze to know what you want them to do.

Anyway, Zipper made eye-contact with my mom, asking for permission. He understood what she meant when she nodded at him. He proceeded to give this asshole of a rider road rash on the side of the paddock fence and sent him to the emergency room. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't have the permission from the rider he respected, and was intelligent enough to ask, "mind if I teach this guy a lesson?" with his eyes, and understand, "Go for it, buddy," from my mom in return.

-Riding bareback is possible to do if you hold onto the horse's mane really tight.

Riding a horse bareback (with no saddle, stirrups, or traditional harness around the horse's head) is unbelievably difficult to learn, particularly have testicles and value keeping them. Even professional riders and equestrians find ourselves relying on tack (the stuff you put on a horse to ride it) to stay stable on our horses, even if we've been riding that particular horse for years and have a very positive, trusting relationship.

Horses sweat like people do. The more they run, the more their hair saturates with sweat and makes staying seated on them slippery. Hell, an overworked horse can sweat so heavily that the saddle slips off its back. It's also essential to brush and bathe a horse before it's ridden in order to keep it healthier, so their hair is often quite slick from either being very clean or very damp. In order to ride like that, you have to develop the ability to synchronize your entire body's rhythm's with the rhythm of the horse's body beneath you, and quite literally move as one. Without stirrups, most people can't do it, and some people can never master bareback riding no matter how many years they spend trying to learn.

-You can be distracted and make casual conversation while a horse is standing untethered in the middle of a barn or field.

At every barn I've ever worked at, it's been standard practice with every single horse, regardless of age or temperament, to secure their heads while they're being tacked up or tacked down. The secures for doing this are simple ropes with clips that are designed to attach to the horse's halter (the headwear for a horse that isn't being ridden; they have no bit that goes in the horse's mouth, and no reins for a rider to hold) on metal O rings on either side of the horse's head. This is not distressing to the horse, because we give them plenty of slack to turn their heads and look around comfortably.

The problem with trying to tack up an unrestrained horse while chatting with fellow stable hands or riders is that horses know when you're distracted! And they often try to get away with stuff when they know you're not looking! In a barn, a horse often knows where the food is stored, and will often try to tiptoe off to sneak into the feed room.

Horses that get into the feed room are often at a high risk of dying. While extremely intelligent, they don't have the ability to throw up, and they don't have the ability to tell that their stomach is full and should stop eating. Allowing a horse into a feed/grain room WILL allow it to eat itself to death.

Other common woes stable hands and riders deal with when trying to handle a horse with an unrestrained head is getting bitten! Horses express affection between members of their own herd, and those they consider friends and family, through nibbling and surprisingly rough biting. It's not called "horseplay" for nothing, because during my years working with horses out in the pasture, it wasn't uncommon at all for me to find individuals with bloody bite marks on their withers (that high part on the middle of the back of their shoulders most people instinctively reach for when they try to get up), and on their backsides. I've been love-bitten by horses before, and while flattering, they hurt like hell on fleshy human skin.

So, for the safety of the horse, and everybody else, always make a show of somehow controlling the animal's head when hands-on and on the ground with them.

-Big Horse = War Horse

Startlingly, the opposite is usually the case! Draft and carriage horses, like Percherons and Friesians, were never meant to be used in warfare. Draft horses are usually bred to be extremely even-tempered, hard to spook, and trustworthy around small children and animals. Historically, they're the tractors of the farm if you could afford to upgrade from oxen, and were never built to be fast or agile in a battlefield situation.

More importantly, just because a horse is imposing and huge doesn't make it a good candidate for carrying heavy weights. A real thing that I had to be part of enforcing when I worked at a teaching ranch was a weight limit. Yeah, it felt shitty to tell people they couldn't ride because we didn't have any horses strong enough to carry them due to their weight, but it's a matter of the animal's safety. A big/tall/chonky horse is more likely to be built to pull heavy loads, but not carry them flat on their spines. Horses' muscular power is predominantly in their ability to run and pull things, and too heavy a rider can literally break a horse's spine and force us to euthanize it.

Some of the best war horses out there are from the "hot blood" family. Hot blooded horses are often from dry, hot, arid climates, are very small and slight (such as Arabian horses), and are notoriously fickle and flighty. They're also a lot more likely to paw/bite/kick when spooked, and have even sometimes been historically trained to fight alongside their rider if their rider is dismounted in combat; kicking and rearing to keep other soldiers at a distance.

-Any horse can be ridden if it likes you enough.

Just like it can take a lifetime to learn to ride easily, it can take a lifetime of training for a horse to comfortably take to being ridden or taking part in a job, like pulling a carriage. Much like service animals, horses are typically trained from extremely young ages to be reared into the job that's given to them, and an adult horse with no experience carrying a rider is going to be just as scared as a rider who's never actually ridden a horse.

Just as well, the process of tacking up a horse isn't always the most comfortable experience for the horse. To keep the saddle centered on the horse's back when moving at rough or fast paces, it's essential to tighten the belly strap (cinch) of the saddle as tightly as possible around the horse's belly. For the horse, it's like wearing a tight corset, chafes, and even leaves indents in their skin afterward that they love having rinsed with water and scratched. Some horses will learn to inflate their bellies while you're tightening the cinch so you can't get it as tight as it needs to be, and then exhale when they think you're done tightening it.

When you're working with a horse wearing a bridle, especially one with a bit, it can be a shocking sensory experience to a horse that's never used a bit before. While they lack a set of teeth naturally, so the bit doesn't actually hurt them, imagine having a metal rod shoved in your mouth horizontally! Unless you understand why it's important for the person you care about not dying, you'd be pretty pissed about having to keep it in there!

-Horseback riding isn't exercise.

If you're not using every muscle in your body to ride with, you're not doing it right.

Riding requires every ounce of muscle control you have in your entire body - although this doesn't mean it wasn't realistic for people with fat bodies to stay their weight while also being avid riders; it doesn't mean the muscles aren't there. To stay on the horse, you need to learn how it feels when it moves at different gaits (walk, trot, canter, gallop), how to instruct it to switch leads (dominant legs; essential for precise turning and ease of communication between you and the horse), and not falling off. While good riders look like they're barely moving at all, that's only because they're good riders. They know how to move so seamlessly with the horse, feeling their movements like their own, that they can compensate with their legs and waists to not bounce out of the saddle altogether or slide off to one side. I guarantee if you ride a horse longer than 30 minutes for the first time, your legs alone will barely work and feel like rubber.

-Horses aren't affectionate.

Horses are extraordinarily affectionate toward the right people. As prey animals, they're usually wary of people they don't know, or have only recently met. They also - again, like service animals - have a "work mode" and a "casual mode" depending upon what they're doing at the time. Horses will give kisses like puppies, wiggle their upper lips on your hair/arms to groom you, lean into neck-hugs, and even cuddle in their pasture or stall if it's time to nap and you join them by leaning against their sides. If they see you coming up from afar and are excited to see you, they'll whinny and squeal while galloping to meet you at the gate. They'll deliberately swat you with their tails to tease you, and will often follow you around the pasture if they're allowed to regardless of what you're up to.

-Riding crops are cruel.

Only cruel people use riding crops to hurt their horses. Spurs? I personally object to, because any horse that knows you well doesn't need something sharp jabbing them in the side for emphasis when you're trying to tell them where you want them to go. Crops? Are genuinely harmless tools used for signalling a horse.

I mean, think about it. Why would crops be inherently cruel instruments if you need to trust a horse not to be afraid of you and throw you off when you're riding it?

Crops are best used just to lightly tap on the left or right flank of the horse, and aren't universally used with all forms of riding. You'll mainly see crops used with English riding, and they're just tools for communicating with the horse without needing to speak.

-There's only one way to ride a horse.

Not. At. All. At most teaching ranches, you'll get two options: Western, or English, because they tend to be the most popular for shows and also the most common to find equipment for. English riding uses a thinner, smaller saddle, narrower stirrups, and much thinner bridles. I, personally, didn't like English style riding because I never felt very stable in such a thin saddle with such small stirrups, and didn't start learning until my mid teens. English style riding tends to focus more on your posture and deportment in the saddle, and your ability to show off your stability and apparent immovability on the horse. It was generally just a bit too stiff and formal for me.

Western style riding utilizes heavier bridles, bigger saddles (with the iconic horn on the front), and broader stirrups. Like its name may suggest, Western riding is more about figuring out how to be steady in the saddle while going fast and being mobile with your upper body. Western style riding is generally the style preferred for working-type shows, such as horseback archery, gunning, barrel racing, and even rodeo riding.

-Wealthy horse owners have no relationship with their horses.

This is loosely untrue, but I've seen cases where it is. Basically, horses need to feel like they're working for someone that matters to them in order to behave well with a rider and not get impatient or bored. While it's common for people to board horses at off-property ranches (boarding ranches) for cost and space purposes, it's been historically the truth that having help is usually necessary with horses at some point. What matters is who spends the most time with the animal treating it like a living being, rather than a mode of transport or a tool. There's no harm in stable hands handling the daily upkeep; hay bales and water buckets are heavy, and we're there to profit off the labor you don't want or have the time to do. You get up early to go to work; we get up early to look after your horses. Good owners/boarders visit often and spend as much of their spare time as they can with spending quality work and playtime with their horses. Otherwise, the horses look to the stable hands for emotional support and care.

So, maybe you're writing a knight that doesn't really care much for looking after his horse, but his squire is really dedicated to keeping up with it? There's a better chance of the horse having a more affectionate relationship with the squire thanks to the time the squire spends on looking after it, while the horse is more likely to tolerate the knight that owns it as being a source of discipline if it misbehaves. That doesn't mean the knight is its favorite person. When it comes to horses, their love must be earned, and you can only earn it by spending time with them hands-on.

-Horses can graze anywhere without concern.

This is a mistake that results in a lot of premature deaths! A big part of the cost of owning a horse - even before you buy one - is having the property that will be its pasture assessed for poisonous plants, and having those plants removed from being within the animal's reach. This is an essential part of farm upkeep every year, because horses really can't tell what's toxic and what isn't. One of the reasons it's essential to secure a horse when you aren't riding it is to ensure it only has a very limited range to graze on, and it's your responsibility as the owner/rider to know how to identify dangerous plants and keep your horses away from them.

There's probably more. AMA in my askbox if you have any questions, but that's all for now. Happy writing.

[moonlightcycle571]

Captain Marvel not understanding anything about technology yet somehow being a technopath

I think it should be established that Billy Batson knows nothing about technology. He was stuck in the time bubble for over 50 years, and even then (before during and after), he’s a street kid. Man’s still on radio and old vehicles.

Every time she leaned something slightly techie, he gets flabbergasted. Mispronounces the name of so many machines and has no idea what’s the differences between an IPod and an IPhone. He understands even less why Sam’s song is beefing with an apple???

Having said that, Captain Marvel can be terrifyingly proficient in tech at random times, and the reasoning behind it is so dumb that any tech-savie person in the vicinity are either banging their heads or foaming in jealousy.

Electrics use electricity. Cap is technically Living Lightning. And magical. All Cap needs to do is think about something for it to appear in the nearest screens.

Batman: the access to the security are heavily locked and would take to much time to enter from the outside

Marvel: I got it! *camera footage appear on the screen*

Batman: hn?

*or*

Oracle: I need to bypass multiple firewalls. The coding is so complex, but if you give me ten minutes-

Marvel: oh it’s cool *waves his hand*

Oracle: …

Oracle: did you crack the code by waving your hand…

Marvel: yeah I just swishes off the weird blocks

Oracle, inwardly: THAT SHOULD BE MEEEE

Oracle, outwardly: *noticeably restrained* cool 🙂

*Or*

Marvel: Hey Vic, do you want to get milkshakes?

Cyborg: I can’t, the father box is acting up. I’ve been glitching all day.

Marvel: oh let me help

Cyborg: you can’t just-

Marvel: *slaps Victors shoulder* there!

Cyborg: … how???

Marvel: I asked nicely! 😁

Cyborg: I’m going to die now

Bonus:

Somewhere in a dark unused part of the watchtower, many capes gathered.

Barbara Gordon: Today we will welcome a new member to our support group. Introduce yourself, tell us why you’re here and will can start the meeting.

Roy Harper: Hi, I’m Arsenal, and today Captain Marvel broke my grenade launcher. He then felt bad and made me a pocket rocket launcher. Meaning it’s a rocket launcher but when I press a button, it turns into a small box for me to carry around. I asked him why make a rocket launcher and not a grenade launcher, and he asked me what’s the difference.

*echoes of ‘oooh’ and ‘welcome to the club’*

Tim Drake: I taught him on how to set a Facebook account and helped him set his profile. I go out to get an energy drink. I come back and he’s hacking conversations of the mafia, giving me info on the trafficking ring I’ve been tracking for a month.

*sympathising nods from everyone*

Jaime Reyes: Last Thursday, my scarab got scratched and was having trouble repairing itself. Marvel came in and put a bandaid on it. The worse part is… it actually worked.

*cue groans through out the room*

[fandoms-x-reader]

Love Bites

Oneshot

Requested By: @mehkers

Summary: Lucifer's reaction to an MC who has a habit of biting whenever concentrating really hard or even randomly. Lucifer x Reader Word Count: 967

The first time you bit Lucifer, he was completely caught off-guard. 

The two had grown closer to each other throughout your time in the Devildom.

Close enough that now, most of the time you opt to do your homework in Lucifer’s study while he’s working instead of in your own bedroom or the library.

Lucifer didn’t mind one bit that you preferred to spend your time with him.

He enjoyed your company while he worked and he would always try to make sure to take at least one break to make himself his favorite tea and he would make your favorite drink as well.

There was one night in particular when you were struggling with one of your classes. You were religiously reading the textbook in front of you, but for some reason, you just weren’t grasping the concept.

Lucifer could tell you were struggling, so he decided to push aside his work and help you.

He sat closely as he read from the book, trying to figure out what lesson you were learning. And once he was able to do that, he began explaining it to you in a much easier way.

As he spoke, you were doing your best to concentrate on his words. You were focusing so hard on his words, in fact, that you didn’t notice yourself leaning forward toward his arm.

You had mindlessly, gently, bit Lucifer on the arm and you didn’t even realize you were doing it, until he had stopped talking, his eyes wide as his brain tried to process what was going on.

When you realized what you were doing, you quickly sat back up and muttered a small apology. You noticed that his cheeks had turned a light pink shade, but he was doing everything in his power to try and hide that fact from you.

Lucifer cleared his throat in an attempt to regain his composure as he continued to explain the lesson to you and this time you got it effortlessly.

Neither of you brought up the bite for a while, and it was something that you ended up forgetting about. But, Lucifer, couldn’t forget about it.

It was like a small mystery to him. What prompted you to bite him? Was it an accident or intentional? Most importantly, did you only do it with him?

Regardless of your intentions with the bite, he found it adorable as with everything you did and he had to make sure that none of his other brothers got to see that tick of yours.

Surely, it would make them fawn over you even more than they already do and he definitely couldn’t have that.

Since that day, you noticed Lucifer sitting closer to you than he usually did and you would notice he would reach across you more often.

He was just trying to see if he could get you to bite him again, but considering you weren’t even fully aware of your actions the first time, the message wasn’t getting across to you.

Eventually, Lucifer gave up on trying to experiment on what made you bite him and things soon returned to normal.

A few days later, you noticed that Lucifer looked particularly tired. He had been working extra hard that day, a mountain of paperwork on his desk and you wanted to do something to help.

You offered to give him a shoulder massage and before he could decline your offer, your hands were already on his shoulders.

He wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to massage him, but the massage felt good and was helping to release a large amount of tension.

 So, instead, he stayed quiet and relished in the feeling of your hands running over his back, massaging away every knot and soreness.

You, in turn, were focusing very hard on making sure you hit every spot that felt tense. You wanted to help Lucifer relax. 

And as you were massaging his large shoulders, your mind couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to give one of them a small nibble.

And you couldn’t resist the urge as you leaned forward and gave him a small love bite on his shoulder.

You felt him tense up and he looked down to hide the smile that threatened to creep across his lips at the feeling of you being too close to him.

The more comfortable you got with Lucifer, the more biting incidents occurred. It was never a harsh bite, just a small symbol of your affection for him.

And the more you did it, the more Lucifer got used to it. He stopped shying away from it or trying to figure out the cause of it.

Instead, he embraced it and whenever you would gently bite him he felt warm inside. It was something special that only the two of you shared.

Of all the small habits, he believed this one was the most unique and cute. It made you all the more lovable.

And before you knew it, it became a normal part of your relationship. An endearing and romantic mannerism that others would certainly be a bit confused by if they saw the two of you.

Lucifer didn’t just settle for the one being bitten, he got his own little love bites in, and when he was feeling particularly playful, he would even turn it into a competition.

It was never anything aggressive, but simply a matter of who could give the most bites while still making it look natural. 

As usual, Lucifer was determined to win the competition; but, he never did. In fact, most of the time it led to the two of you competing until the end of the night when he would just hold you in his arms, smiling as he adored you. 

[sweetflanfiction]

Assymetrical Symphony - Part 9

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8

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You walked to the Academy's reception, grabbed a visitor’s badge, and made your way to the lab. The choice between waiting outside or unlocking the door and snooping around was easy to make.

It was silent in the school, still too early for the actual classes to begin. Only the birds and the staff could be heard from where you stood in front of a window, Piltover’s skyline starting to shine with the rising sun. Hate it or love it. Topside sure was beautiful in the morning.

You heard the door handle rattle and quickly moved somewhere you could watch whoever it was entering the lab. It was all fun and magic until you were arrested for trespassing... Again.

Viktor walked in, his eyes narrowing because of the light difference between the lab and the corridor. He was trying to balance a dusty old brown messenger bag on one shoulder, a stack of books and papers in the other, holding the cane, and opening the door. You spotted a square of what looked like a piece of bread embedded with jam in his mouth. Sweet tooth and with an actual appetite. What a difference a dimension makes…

You also noticed from your not-so-hidden hiding place that, although his breathing was labored, the endless cacophony of coughing he would be having after walking through the Academy with that amount of weight, in another universe, was absent.

It was endearing the way he slowly took off the bag first, making sure the strap didn’t dislodge his breakfast, smirking as he accomplished his little mission. Once the bag was secure on the coat hanger, he grabbed his walking aid and slowly made his way to the table, dropping the books carefully on it, toast still between his lips. 

Inspecting his work, he finally took a bite of the toast and nodded, walking back to the door to close it.

“Hello.” You said brightly. “Blue balls of Hextech!!!” He jumped, grabbing both his chest and the edge of a table for support, his cane falling to the ground with a clank. “It’s funny because it’s true.” You made your way towards him and grabbed the cane from the floor, giving it back to him with a smile.

He grabbed it hesitantly, looking around the room puzzled, back at the door, and then at you.

“How did you get in here? I locked the door when I left.” His brows frowned slightly, and his eyes unfocused, trying to find something in his mind. You could see his gears turning. 

“I opened up a teleportation portal in my room and just reappeared here…” His eyes widened, a mix of fear and enthusiasm. You snorted. “The door was unlocked.” “Oh…” The disappointment was palpable.

It was the truth, actually. You were going to unlock it through magical means, but when you touched the handle, the door just slid open. You had poked your head in and saw no one, so you made your way inside. 

“I am certain that I locked it yesterday when I left.” “Sky maybe?” You shrugged. “No, no. Sky only works in the afternoons.”

Both your eyes locked onto each other. But you had a feeling his reasons were different than yours. Sky was alive. The hex-core hadn’t consumed her. You shifted your gaze to his leg, his cane, and his two very pale hands. Very pale and human hands. Was the corruption non-existent or just hidden?

“How do you know about Sky?” He asked, revealing the reason he had looked up to you. “I crossed paths with her at some point.” You half lied, having crossed paths with his assistance, just not in this dimension. “Maybe Jayce was here.” You leaned your hip against the table and shrugged.

Viktor walked around the lab, inspecting the tables and the tools. Making sure nothing was out of order. He walked to another large door that you knew was the storage and pulled at the handles. Locked. 

That’s where the hex cores were kept.

You knew that the room you were standing in was just a workroom; everything here was, in a very roundabout way of putting it, junk. Expensive and very valuable junk, but not what the lab’s main bread and butter was. That was locked in another room that, if it was anything similar to your side, was a mess of failed projects, almost finished projects, and the case with hex cores inside.

“Yes…maybe…” He walked back towards the table and stood in front of you, on the opposite side. “Please don't enter the lab when no one is around.”

His tone dropped, showing his seriousness, and you nodded. Even if it hurt, given your previous experience, it made sense. You were a stranger to him, and although you both seemed to get along well enough, you were still an unknown to him. You were sure that if you asked, he would probably show you the room, but that didn’t mean he’d allow you to be there unsupervised.

“Sorry.” 

‘I’m still getting used to not knowing you,’ you wanted to add but didn’t.

“No harm done. I’ll warn Jayce not to leave the door unlocked… again…

Viktor hooked the handle of his cane on the table and sat down with difficulty, a grimace on his face as he shifted his weight to the hand on the table and then almost plopped down on a stool.

“Your back?” You asked, sitting down in front of him at the table, and nodded. “Sometimes it gets worse, but… such is life… all pains and aches.” He gave you a crooked smile and bit his toast. “Should we start?” “Do you want me to show you the runes? The magic? What?”

He grabbed his brand-new notebook from the pile of books on the table and opened it. It was already filled a couple of pages in, his neat handwriting contrasting with the ivory pages. When he looked up at you, you could feel the enthusiasm coming in waves from his amber eyes—the eagerness to find something new.

“I thought we could start with a couple of questions…” He grabbed a discarded pen that was on the table and looked at you. “That way I can compare notes in the future, and we will get to know each other better.”

It was one thing knowing and acknowledging this; it was another thing when he spoke it out loud. But despite the little tear in your heart, you nodded.

“When did you find out you could do it?” He asked, eyes shifting to the page. “When I arrived at Piltover.” ‘The second time around that is…’ you added in your head. “When was that?” “A few weeks ago.” “Mm…Could you be more specific?” He looked up. “The night of the rocket attack.” “Ah…” He looked down. "How do you do it? The magic that is.” “Hmm, I write the rune. I set a purpose for it and push it forward.” “Fascinating.” He wrote it down.

You opened your mouth to say something, and he looked up immediately, probably hearing the small intake of air in the otherwise silent room.

“Yes?” “Hum…” You looked at your hands on the table. “I know that face." He placed the pen down and raised an eyebrow. "What face?" "I do feel the need to remind you..." He tapped the notebook with his finger. "You did agree to be truthful.” “They are becoming easier to use." You sighed, "Which I understand is normal because of usage, but now it doesn’t need a specific prompt; it just…knows…”

Viktor frowns, crossing his arms on the table and leaning into them.

“Example…” he asked, and you got up from your stool.

Without much thought, you walked to his bag, grabbed the keys to the lab that he kept in a little side pocket, and locked the lab. You looked at him and turned the handle, showing him the door was in fact locked. He narrowed his eyes for a moment but nodded. You moved back to the table, grabbed a white paper, and drew the rune.

“This is the unlocking rune…don’t judge the naming…I’ve been making them as I go.” “No judgment here…According to Jayce, I am, and I quote, ‘excruciatingly bad at naming anything', to the point he is scared of any child I might have in the future.”

That was adorable. Another difference between your Viktor and this one… the naming was usually left to Viktor, seeing as the only good name Jayce had ever come up with was ‘Hextech,’ and after that… everything had to have a Hex before it. Hexgate, hex-core, hex-hammer. At some point, the Atlas Gauntlets were to be named HexGauntlets. Branding he had said, eliciting an eye roll from Viktor and you and a threat to recall any funding from the Rainemours.

“I’ve seen it do two things: unlocking things and showing me other runes.”

You drew another rune. This was the most familiar.

“This one is the move rune.” You looked at him to see if he was in fact judging you, but he was gazing at the runes.

“Ah! We’ve seen this one in the hex core.” He said excitedly.

“That would make sense. It’s the starting point of a breeze or gust of air that moves things away from it.” You took a deep breath. It felt good to talk about this. “In the beginning, both had very...broad...results. This…” You pointed to the unlock rune. “Would open anything locked in my vicinity, and this... it would just work in a straight cone-like formation perpendicular to me.”

You opened and stretched your arms to make a small V shape with them in front of you, showing Viktor what you meant. He noted something in his notebook and rolled his pen to push you to continue.

“Now…” You touched the rune with your gloved hand, the paper’s corner shook, and in a second, the front door clicked. Viktor’s head snapped to it and then back to you. “And…”

You touched the other rune, and one of the pages of his notebook flipped over. His head snapped again from the door to the papers.

“They’re reading my mind or something. I don’t know…” a beat. “So?”

No response. “Viktor?” You called him softly.

He was staring, unblinking, at both used runes in front of him, his long fingers touching the papers.

“Vik?” You went to pull a strand of hair out of his forehead, a normal gesture between you and him, but before your hand could reach him, he looked up at you, and you stopped the movement.

If anyone asked you what wonder looked like, you’d describe Viktor’s expression right now. His eyes were bright, almost made of liquid gold, high cheekbones painted a soft, healthy pink, and his mouth curved crookedly upwards. His index finger taps on the papers.

“That was magic. Actual magic.” He told you, his voice cracking with excitement. “Hmm, yeah…” “No hextech needed.” His eyes shifted and his brows twitched, and now the gears were turning. “Magic…one person…with no hextech…” “Alright...You need to breathe, buddy...” you noticed when you saw his chest rising and falling erratically. His damaged lungs won’t enjoy this exercise. “It’s not the first time you saw magic.”

“It is the first time I see it from beginning to end... With hextech, you need to calculate fluctuation, get the frequency just right, and have a million tiny pieces work together… but this… this is… I’m dizzy.” “You’re hyperventilating…” You place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Do you have your medicine with you?” “No…My inhaler is at home. It’s alright…” And took several deep breaths, placing a hand on his lower back. The movement of deep breathing clearly took a toll on his back.

Your Viktor at this point would have probably fainted, but this Viktor seemed overwhelmed, breathing with a little wheezing, but his eyes were bright and his expression painless. Ecstatic even. 

“Alright.” You slid your hand to his forearm and squeezed.

“Alright…” he wheezed, calmer, grabbing his notebook. “I don’t think my body can handle any more excitement right now.”

Smiling, you nodded at him and sat down, scrunching the paper with the runes in your hand.

“Oh... and... they are not reading your mind. They are, simply put, you.” He grinned, like someone with a secret he was about to share, and you raised your eyebrows. “According to some, the runes are just another language in Runeterra. That means that you are basically learning to speak.”

“I thought they were external to me…like the world was making the magic go through me…or something. Like a prism. Light comes in and a rainbow comes out.”

He shook his head, rolled his chair towards the stack of books he had brought, and rolled back towards you, quickly searching the texts for something. A little ah escaped when he found the text.

“Magic comes from an individual's ability to speak the runes, and once spoken, they become intrinsically assimilated by the rune speaker.” He looked up from the book.

“Like playing an instrument.” You grinned. “Once you know which note to hit, you naturally know that every time you hit it, it’ll have the same result.” Viktor nodded enthusiastically. 

“Yes! The more you play a note, the easier it becomes to strike the chord, and…the easier it is to put it in a melody…”

The morning was spent with him asking you questions and you simply answering without much trouble. It was nice to know that Viktor from this side was just as curious and perceptive as your own. It was obvious he knew about runes; he used them for hextech, but he was still flipping at the thought of having you there with the ability to… conjure them…

Nearing midday, someone opened the door, and both of you jumped as Jayce walked in. You stopped the sketch of the rune you couldn’t make work, and Viktor, who was fully leaning into the table and putting his weight on his elbows, snapped his head to the door.

“Jayce!” He squeaked, startled. “Viktor?” The Tallis man stood, hand on the door handle, looking at both of you. “Jayce.” You managed to say it with a more neutral tone.

He said your name with the same tone he used for Viktor. He closed the door, and Viktor took the second he had his back turned to snatch the rune sheet and shove it in the middle of the pages of his notebook.

“I wasn’t aware you would be stopping by today.” Viktor limped towards his friend, and you stood straight, hands behind your back, trying to hide the very obvious, very unnatural, and very illegal glowing blue hand.

“I wasn’t, but…ugh…we—we need to talk.” He turned to Viktor and then you. He had a very grave and urgent expression. “They found... would you mind? This is Hextech business.”

He turned to you, and you shook your head, clearing your thoughts and restarting your brain. 

“Yes! Of course. Sorry.” You turned to Viktor, whose eyes had narrowed slightly. “I…I’ll tell Mother the commission is coming along just fine.”

“Yes, please do.” You blinked and looked back at you, nodding.

“It was great to see you, Jay-Councillor Tallis.” You started to make your way to the door when Viktor called out your name, and you turned. “Don’t forget this.” He slid his notebook towards you. “I’m sure your mother's notes will be safer with you.” “Ugh… Yes… Goodbye…”

You hurried back out, nodding back at Jayce. The grave look on his face was enough to get your brain thinking about what was so important he couldn't let you know. But then again, much like Viktor, he didn't know you.

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