#they would be down by seven but for his saves

[starshideurfics]

A Mother’s Love - part 2

part one

omegaverse, pre-steddie, past mpreg, cw: child death

Marsha Harrington was proud of her work under Dr. Martin Brenner. They were doing cutting-edge research, pushing the boundaries of what the human mind could do, and ensuring the communists didn’t win.

At least, that’s what she told herself as she held a grieving mother whose baby they had stolen.

Then, she told herself she was doing it for the children, protecting them as best she could.

But she couldn’t protect them. Not really.

Two was angry, even as a little boy, and Four followed his example. Five was cold, easily molded by Brenner. Each of them did whatever Papa asked.

Except Seven.

Seven cried often, and he kept to himself. The older boys liked to make him cry. And he was afraid of the girls, like being near them would burn his skin.

He was always distressed during Brenner’s tests, so distressed that they never got good data. Brenner tried ignoring him, a “cooling off period” he called it, to see if Seven could calm down and regulate enough for testing. It didn’t work.

“He’s washing out,” Brenner said one day after a failed attempt to get Seven to guess at the pictures on the cards in Brenner’s hands. “Schedule him for tomorrow.”

One child had washed out before. Four had been a twin. 004A and 004B, but A never stood out, let B push him around. He’d hit his head, had a cranial hematoma. There was surgery, but he recovered… below Brenner’s standard. He washed out at six-years-old.

“Washed out.”

He was cremated.

And 004B became 004.

Marsha volunteered to handle 007’s procedure. She changed out the vials, gave him a mild sedative, and covered him with a sheet. A janitor helped her sneak him out a backdoor.

She brought him home, told her husband she’d leave him if he didn’t agree to adopt the boy. Richard simply smiled and nodded.

Marsha had had cancer in her early-20s, lost both ovaries in the course of her treatment. She’d gone to therapy, made her peace with it. Found a husband who didn’t care that she couldn’t have children, who liked being able to knot her without worrying about babies.

Richard did not care for babies. But Seven was already almost 5-years-old. Richard could handle that.

He was also a lawyer, so getting papers filed to adopt the boy were simple. They named him Steven, figuring it was close enough that if he remembered anything his brain could make sense of it.

Steven David Harrington.

Marsha and Richard were quiet about Steve, treating him like he’d always been around. They moved to Hawkins, closer to the lab, hiding Steve in plain sight. And Marsha kept her job.

If they ran, someone might ask questions, but Marsha wanted to save time on her commute. Who could question that?

Out of the lab, Steve calmed down. He enjoyed his routines, liked going to the park, liked swimming in their new pool with Mommy. For the first time, Marsha saw him laugh out loud, and she hoped the worst was behind them.

Then he started school.

The other children overwhelmed him, and his teacher called home 45 minutes after drop-off because Steve could not stop crying.

Marsha went to pick him up, promised they would work on emotional regulation and try again next Monday.

“Steve, can you tell me what’s wrong?” she asked on the way home.

“Hurts,” he said, sniffling and rubbing his chest. “Hurts inside. Everyone is scared and loud and it hurts.”

“Oh, my poor, sensitive boy!” Marsha pulled into the driveway, pulled Steve out of the backseat, and held him close. “Let’s see if we can figure out how to make it quieter for you, Stevie.”

When Steve went back for the second week of Kindergarten he still kept to himself, but he could manage the half day surrounded by his peers. By the end of the week, he had even made friends.

He got better control, grew up happy and healthy, and most importantly, safe.

Marsha continued to work for Brenner until one day, after nearly 20 years, she was reassigned as a specialist at the VA. Brenner said their funding was cut. That the program was finished.

Steve was almost 13 by then. Marsha was fairly certain he didn’t remember any of it. And he didn’t cry much. Not anymore. But when he came home to his mother crying in the kitchen, his eyes filled with tears. “It’s okay, Mom,” he said, throwing his arms around her.

“I know, Honey. I know.”

🫂🫂🫂

Wayne leaves Steve dozing in his nest around 4:10, and goes to try calling the Harrington’s. Marsha picks up on the third ring, voice light and breathy. Wayne tries to be as cordial as possible, introducing himself and mentioning that he’s seen her at the VA when he goes in for his physical.

“But let’s get down to brass tacks, I’ve got your son, Steve, here, in my nest, sleeping through his presentation heat. My nephew’s a freshman, he found him, and you know how teens are, he brought him to the first safe omega he could think of—”

“Thank you!” she cuts him off, sounding a little hysterical. “Thank you, Wayne! I thought I had more time before it hit him. It’s been so long since I’ve worked with pups—with teens…” she trails off, suddenly quiet. “I should have been paying more attention.”

Wayne waits a long moment, then he asks, “D’you wanna come pick him up? Or should I…”

“Yes! What’s your address?”

Wayne’s ready to give directions, but he says Forest Hills and the lot number, and she thanks him again as she hangs up her end of the call. Shrugging, Wayne hangs up his own receiver, and gets a glass of orange juice from the fridge.

Steve’s still sleeping peacefully, his face tucked into the side of the nest, fingers curled in the blankets.

Wayne crosses over to him, strokes his hair and murmurs, “Hey, Kid. Your Mom is on her way over.” He feels Steve’s forehead, still burning with his heat. He holds up the orange juice. “Need to get some sugar into you, make up for everything your body’s burning through.” He helps Steve sit up, holds the glass for him as he drinks it all.

Finished, Steve turns to hide his face against Wayne’s shoulder and whines.

“I know, Kid. This is a rough one. The first of many.”

“Can I lay back down?”

“Sure, get comfy. I’ll bring your mother back as soon as she gets here.” Wayne watches Steve sink back down to the same spot, realizes then where Steve’s nose is, and holds back a keening cry of his own.

Benny deserves to know.

But Benny wants his pup safe before anything.

Marsha must have broken a few traffic laws with how quickly she arrives, and Wayne opens the door for her before she can knock. “Thank you!” she says again, following Wayne back to his nest and running over to Steve. She rubs his back, softly says, “Stevie, I’m here. It’s okay.”

Steve lifts his head, eyes unfocused as he turns to look at her. “Hi, Mom.”

“Are you ready to go home? We’ll get a nest started on your bed and you can sleep.”

“It’s nice here,” Steve mumbles, “Smells nice. Safe.”

She sniffs theatrically. “You’re right, it does.” Then she sniffs Steve’s hair. “But don’t you want a nest that smells like you?”

Steve shakes his head, fist clenching the white undershirt, pulling it to his nose.

Marsha strokes Steves hair, bends down to sniff quietly at the shirt, and goes stock still. As she recovers, she kisses Steve’s hair and gets back to her feet. Her eyes are watery, lips pursed as she approaches Wayne to ask, “You know Ben Hammond?”

“He’s my best friend. Don’t you know he lives in town?”

She shakes her head. “I try not to be involved, for-” She cuts herself off, pauses. “You know, don’t you.” It isn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“Call him. Now.”

🫂🫂🫂

“Benny’s Burgers, how can I help you?” Benny drawls into the receiver, expecting a to-go order.

Instead, it’s Wayne. “Benny, you need to come over right now.”

“Wayne, no. Dinner rush is about to start, I’ve already got a few early birds, a couple te-”

“Benjamin Hammond, this is serious!”

That wasn’t Wayne, the voice too high-pitched. Feminine and familiar.

“Marsha?”

“Hi, honey. God, I owe you a million apologies. More even.”

“You do.”

“But Wayne said you know, and he needs you.”

Benny’s heart races. “Wayne needs me? Marsha, what the hell is going on? Is Br-”

“Wayne is fine. He needs you.” Marsha is being careful, keeping him from saying too much over the phone. “Please, can you come to Wayne’s? Now?”

“Yeah, just gotta close up.”

“I’m so sorry, Benny.”

“Save it for later, Marsha.” He hangs up, hurries the customers who have already been served. Orders everyone else out with a barked, “Emergency closure. Come back tomorrow.”

Benny hops into his pickup, drives to Wayne’s, confused for a moment by the BMW parked next to Wayne’s truck. But his brain catches back up, and he parks right beside it.

As soon as he’s through the door he can smell it: Peaches, light and sweet. He shouldn’t be able to, with the strength of Wayne’s cinnamon mixed with cigarette smoke, but he does. Peaches mixed with the fading milky scent of a pup.

Wayne and Marsha are in the kitchen, both staring at him.

“I’m so sorry, Benny,” Marsha says again. “What we did to you was unforgivable. What we did to the pups was worse. But I got Steve out. I kept him safe.” Her voice is shaky, but her eyes stay dry, never looking away.

“I wanted to name him David,” Benny says in little more than a whisper.

“I know. His middle name is David, but Steven was easier for him to adapt to.”

“Adapt?”

“Brenner gave them numbers.”

That doesn’t surprise Benny; Brenner was always so clinical. Methodical. But it clearly shocks Wayne. “Numbers. Y’all didn’t even give them names?”

“His name was Seven.”

Marsha glances at Wayne, sees the disgust there. “Brenner thought it would make it easier for us to see them as subjects than as children. But they were always children to me. And Steve was sensitive, stubborn and scared. I got him out, and Brenner thinks he’s dead. As long as he doesn’t call any attention to himself he should be safe.”

“Talking to me will call attention to him, won’t it?” Benny asks, heart and mind racing. For a moment he considers grabbing Steve and running god knows where, but he can’t do that to his pup.

“Not that much. Brenner shuttered the program. I don’t work for him anymore. I’m just a nurse at the VA. And all your files are secured and confidential. No one should be watching you.” Marsha takes two steps, crosses the tiny kitchen, and tentatively reaches for Benny’s shoulder. “And he needs you. His heart still knows you.”

“I think my heart would know him anywhere. No matter what.” Tears stream from his eyes, and Benny nods down the hallway towards Wayne’s room. “I have loved him every day—every minute—of his life, and if you let me in, I’m not leaving. Ever.”

“I know. We’ll figure it out. Keep him safe. Together.”

Marsha takes his hand in both of hers, squeezes once, and lets go. “He’s sleeping, but I think he’ll feel better if you’re nearby.”

Benny panics, suddenly struck with all his worst fears. “He’s not hurt, is he?”

“No more than any other omega on the day they present,” Wayne answers gently.

“Oh.” Right, the peach scent. Benny’s grandmother smelled like peaches. He misses her. She taught him how to bake.

“He found your scent token in my nest right away,” Wayne adds.

“Oh,” Benny says again, his legs beginning to shake. “Oh.”

Marsha guides him back to the nest. To his pup.

Steve is asleep, a plain, white shirt clutched in his fist, held by his nose. The exposed skin of his back is covered in a sheen of sweat, and his cheeks are pink. Too warm all over from his presentation.

Slowly, Benny sinks down to sit at the center of the nest, and he carefully places a hand on top of Steve’s, aims his wrist towards his boy’s nose.

Steve purrs and nuzzles towards it, and Benny purrs in response. His hand moves to grasp Benny’s forearm and he mumbles, “Good, safe.”

“Yeah, Baby, you’re safe.”

🫂🫂🫂

Steve wakes around 9 that night, his cramps intense. He lets out a whine that sounds pitiful, even to his heat-addled mind. “Mama?” he asks softly, even though he hasn’t called his mother that since he started grade school. “Mama?”

“It’s okay, Steve. It’s okay,” she soothes back, petting his cheek.

Her powdery scent fills his nose, mildly floral, and he whines again. His belly cramps harder, an ache that radiates through his pelvis. He turns, seeking out the comforting scents of Wayne’s nest, only to press his nose into the palm of a callused hand.

Steve breathes in deeply. Apples and warmth.

He whines again, wordless and high pitched, both hands reaching, grasping. Steve feels safe, feels loved. Desperately. Overwhelmingly.

He reaches for it with his heart, touches that love with his own, and cries out. A love so big it hurts.

His fingers catch on soft cotton, body-warm because it’s being worn. He clenches his fists, whines as he pulls himself closer.

Steve’s not sure if he imagines it when he hears his mother say, “See, he needs you,” so gentle. When he hears a shaky gasp in response.

Then big arms lift him up, holding him like a pup, cradled against a strong chest. A warm hand guides his head down, positions his nose so he’s hit with the most intense burst of apples and love. Of sweetness and safety.

He snuffles closer, wants only this. Feels himself relax.

He does not understand yet, but he knows. His feelings have always been too big, but here they can be. He can let them be big, because here they are only love. Only joy.

Steve drifts to sleep in his mama’s arms for the first time, and for that moment, all is right with the world.

[lowkeyhollland]

bed chem

peter parker x reader you & peter are roommates, but the absolute complete opposite of each other. or are you? chapter one <- chapter 2

It had been a week and a half since your encounter with New York’s friendly neighborhood hero. Spider-Man wasn’t really on your mind as much as classes had started and you already felt like there was so much to start on. You had also convinced yourself it was just a dream and decided not to tell the rest of your friends. 

Knowing you wouldn’t get anything done at home, you ended up at a coffee shop on campus to start on some assignments due this weekend. Though it was never like this before college, the idea of going out on the weekend is what made you stay on top of everything. It might not be the healthiest motivation, but hey, it was something. Music was blaring in your ears as you tuned out the sounds of the rest of the world, allowing the chaos of others around you to create pressure to stay on task, as anyone could see if you were off track. 

There was a shadow looming over you that made you pause your music, only to be met face-to-face with your roommate. 

“When did you get here?” It came out more rude than you intended, but you were locked in. 

“I said hi to you like ten minutes ago, got my drink, and came back. If you want to be alone that’s fine! Sorry, I tried to ask but—“Peter rambled on and on but you put a hand up to stop him. 

“No! No, it’s chill,” you reassured him. “Sorry, I get pretty passionate about color-coding my calendar.” Peter softly chuckled at the rainbow of pens scattered around the table as you gestured to your planner. 

“Surprised you’re already working so hard this early into the semester.”

“Appreciate it while it lasts. this is how I am for maybe the first month and then burnout happens before Thanksgiving break and then I lock back in by finals.” Peter couldn’t help himself but laugh again. You smiled, admiring the crinkles by his eyes when he laughed and how his brown eyes lit up— in a friendly manner, admiring him, that is. 

“So, you going home soon?” It was strange to hear Peter ask if you were going home, knowing he was referring to your shared apartment. You loved having him as a roommate, but it was still so fresh & sometimes he still felt like a stranger. 

“Yeah, probably. It’s Friday and knowing my friends, we’re gonna hit up the frats or something.” 

“Seems fun. Wanna walk back together?” You nodded and started to pack up your things before exiting the cafè. 

“You should come out with us one night,” you suggested. The brunette boy shook his head with a smile. 

“I don’t think the frats would like me showing up. Plus I’m not really the ‘going out’ type.” You didn’t respond, instead nodded along. 

Within the first few weeks of living with you, Peter had noticed you’re more of the quiet type. Despite having opposite lifestyles, the two of you were similar in other ways; very reserved when speaking about life or allowing the comfortability of silence to take over. It was never awkward between you two, well maybe the first week, but it was just how he liked it later on— comfortable. Though, that never stops him from questioning what your life was really like. 

-

You knew it was wrong but, hell, it felt so right. Your hands found their way up to the mop of curly blonde hair as you kissed him. The lights were flashing and music was blaring as your bodies moved together in sync, but it didn’t stop you from being in this moment with him. 

“Wanna take this upstairs?” He whispered into your ear sending chills down your spine. You nodded as he took your hand and led you through the crowd up to his room. 

This wasn’t the first time you’ve seen him, more like seven months with him, but not truly with him. It was almost like a routine between the two of you on nights like these; you show up at his frat, he saves the best drinks for you and your friends, and you always somehow end up tangled in him. It’s not your proudest moment every time his hands are roaming your body, making it seem like he wants you, but sometimes, it just feels so good. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he groaned as he threw you onto his bed, not taking another minute to reconnect his lips with yours. All you did was hum in agreement. “Look so good in that skirt,” he mumbled against your collarbone. Just as his hand was inching up your inner thigh, a phone started ringing. 

“Shit— Nate, I’m so sorry. Just give me one sec,” you pulled away from him and he rolled onto the bed and laid down next to you as you answered the call. He left wet kisses on your inner thigh and you played with his hair while talking to your friend. After the call, you threw your phone onto the bed and laid back, allowing the pillows to engulf you. 

“Everything alright?” He asked, his voice tender. 

“I gotta go— Madi’s fucked up.” Nate pouted and tried to kiss you to stay, but you shook your head and pushed him away. “I’m so drunk that if you do that I might actually stay.”

“Maybe that’s the plan,” he nuzzled his head into your neck & wrapped his arms around your waist. It was moments like this that made you want to stay around, that made every memory between the two of you worth it despite the loneliness you felt around him. “Hey, take one more shot with me? Before you go?” He took out a bottle of soju. you playfully rolled your eyes before taking the bottle from him. 

“You know I can’t say no to this shit,” you giggled as you took a swig from it. 

“We still on for Monday?” Nate asked. butterflies erupted in your stomach as they always do when you get to see him outside of a party setting. 

“Yeah! Wait, what’s Monday again?” Your words slurred together as you stared into his green eyes. 

“I need help on a paper.” Those butterflies died in your stomach.

“Right… yeah. Just text me,” You gathered your things and tied your converse. He slipped off the bed and grabbed your face, kissing you one last time. 

“I’ll see ya.” That was all Nate said. 

Those three words haunted you on the way back to everyone’s apartments. There was no sympathy for your friends or concern if you would get home safe. You felt that last shot of soju really hit as you stumbled into your apartment. Mumbling a few curse words, you hoped & prayed you didn’t wake up Peter. 

Not having the energy, you kicked off your sneakers and fell onto your bed, telling yourself you’ll get ready to sleep soon. The world was still spinning even when you closed your eyes to let the darkness take over. You started to think about everything between you and Nate, if there would ever be you and him. 

Tap, tap, tap

Your eyebrows furrowed together, but you brushed off the sound, assuming it was just your drunken state of mind. The tapping got louder and it was starting to give you a headache. Giving in to the noises, you slowly got up and turned towards the window.

“Spider-man?!” You almost yelled in shock.

“Hey…”

chapter one <-

[dynasty889]

Love in Paradise (Warrior!Penelope AU: Updated Version)

I made some changes to the old Love in Paradise drabble I did for this AU. Also I did the entire song. You’re welcome :)

(Obviously, CW due to suicidal thoughts and vague implications of SA)

—————————————————————————

Telemache smiled at the god of war. You’re a good kid. That’s what he had just called her. She didn’t know much about Ares, but she could guess that it wasn’t every day Ares’ softer side made an appearance.

“So you’re gonna help that friend of yours?” she asked with an eager, hopeful smile.

Ares nodded. “I will. Thank you for…inspiring me.” Telemache’s smile grew. “I will be back.”

Ares glared down into the abyss as he stood atop the hourglass. It had been seven years since he had last seen Penelope. The sting of the words she had yelled at him long ago remained, but he pushed that away. This wasn’t just some woman, but a mother and a queen, and she had been away from home for far too long. Now that he knew of the daughter she had left behind, it seemed the only logical thing to do would be to help.

Ares put his helmet on. All around him, Penelope’s memories jumped out at him. “Old friend…it’s been so long since I last saw you,” he said softly. If he wanted to find her, he had to start where it had ended for both of them.

“Remember me! I am the infamous Penelope!” She stood at the entrance of Polyphemus’ cave. Despite his warning, she didn’t listen to him. He was furious.

Ares, standing at the edge of the hourglass, leaned forward and let himself fall into her memories. “Let’s see where you’ve been!” He plunged into another memory.

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer!” Aeolus warned. The wispy god cackled cheekily as they watched their little Winion friends mess with Penelope’s crew. Ares watched the fleet be blown away from Ithaca.

The winds settled, but a new storm began to stir. “Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves!” yelled the Queen of the Sea. Tidal waves and the Laestrygonians crushed Penelope’s fleet until only her ship remained. Bodies and debris littered the sea. Ares paused momentarily to watch Penelope unleash the remaining wind to save herself and her crew.

“One wrong move and you’re done for! Anything I—!”

“—Song of past romance! I see the—“

“—We won’t take more suffering from you!”

“Drown in your sorrow and fears!”

Ares followed each memory to the next: an encounter with a cunning witch, a trip to the Underworld to learn of a horrible fate, the killing of Sirens, a sacrifice of six comrades for quick passage.

“Captain?” Ares barely recognized that voice, though he knew it was one of Penelope’s comrades. Waves lapped against the hull and rain poured down on the crew. He looked over his shoulder. At the bow, Penelope stood. Hera’s hands lingered on the mortal queen, a devious smile playing at her lips.

“I have to see him…” Penelope choked out. Her clothes were torn and stained with blood, she was hunched over, and she had a black eye. Ares remembered when Hera had left Olympus to deal with ‘troublesome mortals.’ He didn’t know that it was Penelope’s crew she was going to punish.

“But we’ll die.”

“I know.”

Hera chuckled quietly. Madness fell over the crew and in an instant, the ship was reduced to nothing. He couldn’t find Penelope among the wreckage. His heart started to swell with anxiety.

“Penelope…where did you go?” he wondered aloud. One more memory gravitated towards him. Perhaps this one would finally lead him to her…

Penelope swam until the darkness of the night made things too hard to see. Until her legs gave out. She had managed to drag herself to the shore of an island, where she passed out. The next day, Penelope awoke to the sounds of gulls crying and the waves breaking on the shore. The light of the sun was nearly blinding. Every muscle in her body ached.

A stifled chuckle echoed in her ears. Blinking, she looked up and saw a man sitting beside her. “Morning, sleepyhead. You’ve been resting for a while,” he teased. His voice was deep, but despite that and his gruff appearance, it carried a humorous air. It was one Penelope did not like at all.

The man laughed again. Penelope’ confusion was adorably amusing to him and he decided he would savor it as long as he could. “I swore that you were dead when you washed up on my isle,” he mused. “Did you know you talk in your sleep? Tell me, though, who’s Odysseus?”

Odysseus. That name, like sweet honey, lingered in her ears. It was like medicine to soothe her aching head. Though she was still groggy and dazed, her senses were slowly coming to her. “He’s my husband…” she murmured. It was at that same moment she realized how close the man was to her and that his hand was gently resting on her thigh.

He blinked like he was confused. Penelope, equally confused, stared back. They exchanged stares in awkward silence before the man spoke again. He pulled Penelope up to her feet and dragged her behind him. “Anyways, I’ve got all you could want here, all you could need here. Just you and me, my dear, my love for life.” His hands trailed down her body and he brought her close to him, like an embrace. “Soon into bed we’ll climb and spend our time.”

Penelope pulled away immediately. Turning her head, she began to walk in the opposite direction. “You’re not my man,” she asserted. What a bold thing to say. The man’s smile faltered slightly, but once he caught up to her and retook hold of her hand, it returned.

“I’m what you want here. I’m what you need here. Just you and me, my love, in paradise.” He again forced her to look at him. He didn’t seem as innocent—if ignorant—as before. Dread began to creep inside Penelope. With lust sparkling in his eyes, he brought a hand to her cheek and caressed her softly. “Now till the end of time, from here on out, you’re mine, all mine—”

Penelope shoved him off a second time. His lips had been dangerously close to touching hers. “Hell no! I could kill you where you stand! I’m no pet, I’m a married woman!” She drew her sword and widened her stance, but the man only chuckled.

“Oh, darling, you may try, but last I checked one of us can’t die.”

“What…?”

He reveled in the reveal of his true nature. He had so much power over her. He flicked the blade away and leaned back on a rock. “You’re adorable. Bow down now to the immortal Antinous, here to entertain. But fear not, I bring no pain…”

Penelope’s eyes widened in horror. No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening! Not again. Her stomach sank. Antinous shot her a sinister smirk as he demonstrated for her his powers. Penelope could feel herself starting to crumble along with her hope.

“‘Cause we’ve got all we could want here, all we could need here. Under my spell, we’re stuck in paradise,” Antinous said once more. Penelope was really starting to hate those words, but Antinous only seemed to be getting more and more joyful. “No one can come nor go. My island stays unknown.”

That was the last straw. The sky felt as if it were falling, as though Atlas’ strength had finally abandoned him. Penelope rushed back towards the beach, but to her horror, there were no islands nearby. She felt a sharp twinge in her abdomen and she fell to her knees. Her hand was covered in blood and she cursed under her breath as she realized her wound had reopened.

She couldn’t run her way off the island, she couldn’t swim her way off the island, she couldn’t build way off the island. The terror she felt grew tenfold. She groaned, unable to stand back up as searing pain shot through the rest of her body.

“No, no!” she cried. “I don’t belong here, there’s something wrong here!” She looked to her left and standing beside her, as always, was Antinous. She mustered all of her strength and hobbled a few steps away, but Antinous could’ve crawled and it wouldn’t have mattered for she was too slow.

Penelope’s eyes darted up, down, left, and right. She had to find a way off the island. This couldn’t be her final fate. She hated that she was feeling so much panic, that Antinous was watching her completely fall apart. But she couldn’t be stuck. Not here. It wasn’t right. “I won't be drawn to love in paradise. Not till the end of time. There is no way—”

Antinous whipped her around. She was like a rag doll to him. “You’re mine. All mine.” Finally, he got what he wanted. His lips latched onto hers.

Ares’ shoulders heaved up and down, as did his chest, as he tried to process what he had just witnessed. Penelope was stuck, completely helpless, with some god. Guilt surged within him like a tidal wave. He shouldn’t have ever left her. He wouldn’t have if he knew this is where she had ended up.

“Seven years he’s kept you out of your control. Time can take a heavy toll…” murmured Ares. Although he didn’t want to, he needed to know what happened next.

Rain battered against Penelope’s skin. Her hair was longer, her frame was lighter, and her eyes were dull. The wind howled in the night, and it was as if it was urging Penelope closer to the edge. Several feet away was Antinous, whose face was contorted with dread and anger.

“Penelope!” he called.

“All I hear are screams…” The mindless mumble was just a fragment of the despair that had tortured the broken queen for the past seven years.

“Penelope! Get away from the ledge!” Antinous screamed. But it wasn’t just a plea, it was a demand. He had demanded so much from her, though sometimes he wouldn’t even demand. He would just take it.

Antinous grabbed her wrist, squeezing it tightly as he pulled her back to him. Penelope recoiled and ripped herself away from him. Tears swam in her eyes. “You don’t know what I’ve gone through!” she snapped and for once, Antinous’ reaction to her recoiling at his touch was not anger. It was shock.

The despair was getting darker and darker. It felt like her vision was starting to fade as all she could see was darkness. She turned away from him, as she so often did. The powerful breeze moved her along the cliff that urged her to its edge. “You don’t know what I’ve sacrificed. Every comrade I long knew…every friend. I saw them die! And all I hear are screams…”

“It will be fine, dear. Come back inside, dear. Love of my life, come back to paradise…”

“Let me close my eyes…”

Penelope staggered. What if she just…fell? She had been away from home for too long. She didn’t know how she had managed seven years of an unwanted love. Each day, the sea had taunted her. She once had loathed the sea as all of her problems seem to come right out of it, but she had spent each day of the last seven years staring at it, longing for home, as it crashed against the beach. It had taunted her. Now, it beckoned her.

“I know your life’s been hard. I’ll stay inside your heart…”

“All I hear are screams!” Penelope yelled. She couldn’t stand it. Voices were starting to echo in her head. They were getting too loud.

Antinous was getting more distressed with every moment Penelope refused to hear him. “I love you, my dear. I love our time here. Life would be so much worse if you had died—”

“Just let me close my eyes!” she screamed.

“—Please stay away from harm! Stay in my open arms!”

“All I hear are…”

This life was amazing when…

How much longer till…

…you greet it with open arms.

…your luck runs out?

The voices were starting to get louder. Penelope closed her eyes, hoping the wind would just knock her off her feet already. She could see Melantho’s smile, full of innocence. She saw Ctimene’s eyes that glared at her with disapproval. How in the world would she explain to her husband she had sacrificed him? How would she explain that to her husband?

Waiting…

Whatever we face…

…waiting!

…we’ll be fine if we’re leading…

How much longer…

…from the heart.

…till the show goes south?

Penelope pressed her hands against her ears, but she couldn’t drown out the voices of the ones she had lost. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she teetered between life and death, and death was calling. They were calling.

Tears slipped down her face. Everything was too loud, too much. She couldn’t think. All she could do was scream.

No matter the place we can…

How much longer…

…light up the world, here’s how to start…

…till we all fall down?

The world grew darker, her mind grew louder, her despair was all-consuming. She had no time to breathe. All she heard and all she did was scream.

…greet the world with open arms, greet the world with open arms.

…you rely on—

“ARES!”

Ares breathed heavily. Too much time had passed. In all his years of knowing Penelope, there was nothing that drove her determination quite like her family. And now, even that wasn’t enough. It was clear what he needed to do; if he couldn’t find a way to get her off that island, she would never see her home again.

He took one final glance at the memory. Antinous had lunged forward to catch Penelope as she reached out to the sky. The manner in which she screamed his name haunted him. It was raw and distraught and sounded like Penelope’s throat ripped apart just to say that one word. Everything was still in that moment. “She needs my help,” Ares decided. He would do everything he could to get her out of there.

[violetflowers55]

Hot & Cold - Chapter 1

(Dr. Phosphorus x fem!reader)

Synopsis: Since there’s not enough alien criminals, you got stuck in the monster section of Belle Reve. And of course Waller put you on Task Force M. To make matters even worse, the guy who landed you in prison in the first place is right there, never leaving you alone. But maybe, he can compensate you in more way than one…

No content warnings needed for this chapter (that I can think of). No Y/N usage

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

Being imprisoned sucked. Being imprisoned in Belle Reve sucked more. Being imprisoned in the monster section sucked the most.

You’d had a good five years to figure out how to, well, not thrive, but do a bit more than just survive. Fight when someone else instigates - not enough to get you thrown into isolation, but enough to scare off everyone else for awhile. Don’t piss of the guards, but also don’t be a suck up, they hate that even more. Don’t make friends because they’ll either die, get transferred, or turn on you. There was only one thing you hadn’t figured out yet. Well, two if you count figuring out how to escape. When Waller pulled you for a super secret special mission, your first thought was that maybe you could figure out at least one of your two remaining problems.

The sun bore down on the six of you as Waller and Flag carted you into a military ship. The feeling of its warmth was one you hadn’t felt in a long time, and it was gone too soon. As you got wedged between two other freaks, you finally looked to see who else was pulled for the super special top secret mission. On you left was Weasel, some freaky rodent you didn’t really know. On the other side was The Bride; you’d never met her before but you figured she was The Bride since she looked like she would be Frankenstein’s bride. Across from her was a robot and across from Weasel was some fish girl. The only person you knew was sitting right across from you. As much as you tried not to, his green glowing skeleton was hard not to look at, and the two of you locked eyes. Or, at least, it felt like you did.

“Wow. After all these years, and we’re finally reunited on a mission to save a princess. Who would’ve thought?” Dr. Phosphorus said, in a tone that you knew meant he was grinning. You scoffed. “I would’ve thought we’d be reunited by you breaking me out of that hellhole.”

“You two… know each other?” the fish girl asked.

“No.” you said firmly, hoping to put an end to the conversation.

Truthfully, you had met before, back in Gotham. You ran into each other while trying to rob the same bank. He threatened to burn your “pretty little face” off, you threatened to break all his bones and leave him an immovable fire. Not exactly love at first sight.

“She just doesn’t want to admit she’s totally in love with me,” he whispered to the girl.

“Don’t think my threat to break your bony ass doesn’t still stand.” Despite your threat, you could still feel him grinning at you. You couldn’t tell if it was his gaze or his literal flames that were heating you up.

When you finally arrived at the castle, breaking free from being squished up against your fellow monsters felt almost as good as being let out of isolation. The castle looming in front of you was shockingly beautiful. You silently cursed yourself for not trying to take it over while you were free.

As the seven of you were escorted inside, Phosphorus slowly drifted over to walk next to you. It took every fiber of your being not to look at him. But being so close to him, you had to admit his warmth felt nice.

Then at dinner, he of course was quick to make sure he sat next to you. When you and the Bride rolled your eyes and his obviousness, he tried to casually explain it away by saying “Us Gotham guys gotta stick together, right?”, but his nervous chuckle gave him away. Soon enough, dinner was served, distracting everyone. It’d been far too long since you’d had real, good food, and just like the others, you scarfed it down. When you finally paused and looked up, you noticed the princess staring at you.

“Forgive me, I do not mean to stare. I was just… I mean no offense, but I thought America had forbidden human criminals from missions such as this one?” Princess Illana asked.

The table went silent, except for Weasel’s aggressive eating noises.

You tried to smile. “I know I look like one, but I’m not human.” It was hard to hold her gaze; you just didn’t have it in you to explain further. She muttered a simple “Oh”, and the previous chatter and eating resumed shortly. Except for you, your appetite was gone.

“You ok?” Phosphorus whispered, noticing you pushing your food around with your fork.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You still couldn’t look at him, but this time it wasn’t because you didn’t want to.

“I know you’re fine,” he teased.

“Shut it,” you snapped before he could ask if you were ok again.

For most of your life, no one knew you weren’t human. You were great at hiding your powers. The only reason the whole world knew you were an alien was because your stupid defense attorney thought that being an alien somehow made you exempt from the law and used it at trial. As you sat there, all you could hear was the gasps of the courtroom when he revealed your secret, and all you could feel was rage spreading throughout your body. Then you remembered how pitifully he cried when you killed him, and that calmed you down enough.

After dinner, everyone poured out into the courtyard, and you reveled in the bright warm sun. The feeling of its heat on your skin was practically euphoric. You laid down on the soft grass, shamelessly sunbathing.

“Trying to get a tan on?”

Opening one eye, you saw Phosphorus standing over you.

Ugh, why can’t he just leave me alone?

“You’re blocking my sunlight.”

Carefully, he laid down next to you, his fingertips dangerously close to yours.

“I get it, you wanna have something to show off to the loser inmates who didn’t get picked when we get back.”

You groaned. “You know nothing.”

“Mmm, maybe. But I want to know everything,” the teasing tone in his voice was gone, replaced with a low, almost seductive tone.

You thanked God you could blame your blushing cheeks on the sun.

“Oh, can it, skelly.”

He chuckled, but let it drop. The two of you laid there together in silence until the sun started to go down. At least your bedroom was sure to be warmer than your prison cell.

[raayllum]

Aaravos also smiles the second Ezran and Zym enter the scene (I think they were another one of his contingencies, hence his heavy manipulation of Ezran in 7x07). Even when Runaan has his bow aimed at Callum, Aaravos then starts trying to goad Callum into using dark magic.

This doesn't really make that much sense if Callum had truly (completely) outsmarted him. Otherwise, there'd be a risk of Callum (or someone else) talking Ezran down from using the Nova Blade, and Callum traps him permanently anyway. Or that they'd use the Blade to help hold Aaravos still (as the killing takes a bit), and Callum would imprison his spirit in the coin. Runaan still would've been there to kill Callum either instance. However, do we know that Aaravos wants Callum to be re-corrupted (hence the apple). I think Aaravos' smile has more to do with that goal being achieved than Rayla taking up the bow.

CALLUM: I had to, to save my friends. FINNEGRIN: Oh, how noble. Just one spell, and you never thought about dark magic again?

Despite not being chained down (like Runaan) Aaravos makes no attempt to leave the stream of the spell, despite us knowing — since Avizandum knocks him out of the stream seconds later (possibly why Callum's spell caves in on itself) — that you're not locked in place. He also makes no attempts to stop Ezran and Zym from reaching him with the Nova Blade and probably could've controlled Zubeia if he wanted to since she still had dark magic corruption. Aaravos had gotten 90% of his enemies in one place with his mortal body as a radioactive bomb, and one quasar diamond free + Claudia able to escape.

Whether it's seven years, or seven hundred, my time will come.

Even if Callum had coined him and then sacrificed his life through Runaan, Aaravos could've soul hopped into Claudia or any other dark mage on the continent rather than attempting Callum — since Callum knew there'd be a few seconds in between completing the spell and trapping him to do so (hence why Callum had to die). He could've just chilled in the coin and Claudia would've found the quasar diamond that Callum and Rayla have and taken it from them.

There was no real way to Win—not permanently. Callum's plan came closest to a permanent solution, but so long as it involved dark magic — and involved being imprisoned ("I do not fall for the same tricks twice") — I think Aaravos was always ultimately going to have the upper hand.

This has been pointed out in this post, it's interesting how Aaravos was pissed about Callum outsmarting him by using Runaan as his killer but the moment Runaan was out and Rayla takes the bow Aaravos starts smiling widely, he was confident Rayla wouldn't have done it

[sregnarkroywen]

vs FIN, 27.12.2023 | Credits: x

[killjoy-prince]

So I'm working on getting the bad relationship endings for each of the characters and right now I'm working on Seven's first bad end so I have not been doing the chats or answering the DMs and phone calls. So, I go to check the phone log just to see who's been calling me and lololololol

I forgot how much Seven calls in the beginning of his route

[biropen]

About to start panic revising because I’ve just realised that it’s basically Thursday and my exams are in like three days

[screampied]

‘ SAVE A HORSE, MILK A . . DEMON ?! ’

ᡴꪫ sum. who would’ve known the king of curses can lactate? not you and certainly not him. this is dire, he needs help but more importantly - he needs you.

warnings. fem! reader, heian era, vırgin sukuna, pùssy drunk sukuna, established relationship, unprotected, láctation (sukuna), we literally milk him, squırting, nıpple play, brēeding, brief ōral (f! receiving), premature ejac, overstim, praise.

wc. 5.7k

an. elaborating more on here. need him so bad

“you, c’mere,” you pause dead in your tracks, feeling a bit special that the sukuna ryomen, your worthy king was seeking out for you. his voice was loud, it rang through the walls of his kingly chambers before huffing out a single breath. he rests on his throne - bawled fist smushing into the edge of his cheek and he grumbles. “quickly, woman. close the door behind you.”

without replying, you do as you’re told. closing the old wooden doors, they shut with a bang. the demon’s eye twitches and he does a quick scan around his domain — empty, good. “are you okay, my lord?” you break the silence with glossed eyes, gazing how his body language was more awkward than normal. he lets out a blow, flushed face growing heated the second your mouth opens. crimson red eyes peer into you and his hair was a bit more ruffled - sukuna’s kimono was halfway on and he looked like he was burning up.

“what do you think?” he snarls, and he rolls his eyes before staring at the ground. “tch, anyways. i . . require your pathetic aid, brat. i don’t ask for anything but—”

“just tell me what’s wrong.”

with a abrupt scoff, he yanks off the silky woven fabric of his kimono - callused fingertips brushing against the material. your eyes ogle at the sight he’s showing you, his exposed body. you’ve seen him shirtless countless of times but this time, it was different. the second your eyes rover toward his swollen perky nipples, you see it. pearly remnants of white droplets seep from him and you hold back a sheepish snort.

“oh,” and you’re stunned, hearing him groan. although it didn’t sound like an irritated groan as usual—it sounded more pleasurable. sukuna buries his sharp fingertips into his thigh before you inch closer, softening your voice. “my lord. are you . . lactating?”

there’s a long pause—his chest huffs and his pink cheeks puff out. the more you laid your eyes on him, the more embarrassed he became.

the air surrounding the both of you suddenly felt hot, and with one of his hands, he tightens his grip against his throne’s armrest. “no, i don’t even know what this is,” he gruffs, and his breath hitches once you come closer to fully examine him. your eyes skim down every part of his body. with his kimono hanging onto him by a thread, it’s almost falling off his body. you gaze at his perfectly sculptured body. his muscles—you could stare all day if you really wanted. people would kill to be this close to the king, and yet here you were. his pecs seemed a bit tender from appearance and his entire body was sheeny, covered with a shiny coat of sweat. his ancient tattoo markings that paint his skin—they were glowing a bit too, glowing an almost crystalline color. “tch. stop starin’ at it. it’s creepin’ me out.”

“sorry,” you hum, but you don’t lose sight at all. you couldn’t. averting your eyes back toward the problem, as you spoke—each nipple was leaking with creamy substance. “um, so how long has this been happening, my lord?”

sukuna slumps back against his throne in exhaustion. he’s breaking an entire cold sweat and his mind was in a literal euphoric daze.

his entire body feels like it’s sweltering with heat, it’s purely indescribable. but it feels good.

it takes him a good seven seconds before he finally murmurs out a hoarse reply. “ugh, it maybe started about a hour ago,” and he pauses, gnawing down on his bottom lip. you watch and you couldn’t lie—seeing him like this, so vulnerable and desperate—it did something to you. you’re so used to a ruthless cold-hearted king, it’s like this current sukuna was an entire different person, an imposter. briefly, ruby-red eyes meet back toward you. “just make it stop. please.”

“what—” you murmur, and your wrist was gently pulled upon. you don’t pull away from his grasp and he leads your hand closer toward his chest. his entire abdomen, it was so warm. sukuna was burning up, and now that your fingertips were brushing up and down against his skin, he was even hotter.

“don’t say anything, woman,” he curses, shame tremoring underneath his husky tone.

sukuna ryōmen was embarrassed, and his awkward body language was a dead giveaway.

the past hour was absolute hell for him, ironic considering. you can hear him panting between broken sentences before he lightly squeezes your wrist. “touch me. i think physical touch might h- help,” he grunts a stammer, back pressing into his steel made throne. “i read somewhere that you might ease my um . . issue if you touch me.”

“you mean ease your lactating?” you tease, taking the opportunity to get right on his lap. at the second you do, his breath hitches. the audacity, your legs wrap around his slim torso before meeting his glossed gaze.

sukuna grimaces. “don’t call it that, brat,” sucking his teeth in annoyance, he rests back against his kingly seat, eyeing you cautiously. a few of his arms grab ahold of your waist, pulling you closer. his pecs tense up at the proximity of bodies closing the remaining distance. his nipples were even more swollen by this point, and you couldn’t help but stare—gawk at the uncanny sight right in front of you. “but yeah. just do something.”

with the demon right underneath you, you felt him shiver once you scoot up against his lap. tresses of pink spiked hair were unkempt, sticking to his forehead as he’s just bathing in his own sweat. this entire situation had him hot, but your touch was only going to make it so much worse. he swallows the circular lump that forms in his throat only to then grow quiet as he watched you lower your head toward his chiseled pecs.

he’s so toned, you spot a few prodding veins roam down each of his four arms—perfectly coating his body along with his scars and ancient notorious marks. sukuna’s entire body was a canvas that you didn’t mind exploring. his entire body was painted either markings, you just wanted to see more of him.

the inside of his royal chambers was quiet, deadly quiet.

so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

“may i?” you murmur, using the padded print of your thumb to gingerly smear the dripping substance that leaks from his nipple. the way it poured out of him so effortlessly, it was so lewd.

you knew judging from his changing breath patterns that his pecs were where he was most sensitive. it wasn’t exactly rocket science.

although it’s the heian era—most would have took sukuna as a king who’s had his fair share of women. he has, but never anything intimate. he was secretly sensitive and shy, and furthermore, even touch alone was enough to get him off. with you though, he never minded your touch. it was his favorite.

“hmph. do your w- worst,” the demon grumbles, trying to have a bit of attitude but it’s clear he’s already wrapped around your pretty little finger.

he called you out of all his other servants and concubines for a reason. to him, he didn’t see you as either role, but rather just a human.

his human, maybe even his favorite.

at his bellowing comply, you bring your lips closer toward his chest. with hooded eyes—he ogles at the sight, his throne occasionally creaking at the moving pounds of weight that’s creating pressure.

as your head goes further into him, you do the least thing he’d expect. you latch your lips against his right nipple. sukuna lets off a throaty gasp, feeling your warm welcoming lips cling onto his pec with such ease.

“ugh, brat,” he groans, burying a few darkened nails into his left knee. it was tame—it was tame until your tongue decided to feature itself in, flicking slowly against his leaking nipple. you moan, fluttering your lashes shut as you savor the creamy taste that trickles its way into your mouth. “fuck, i said touch not s- suck.” and he finds himself pulling you closer, using a hand to cradle the back of your head. he’s never felt such a feeling. his pec was positioned right in your mouth and it felt so good.

you lean into his touch, sliding your twitching tongue in different directions purposely just to feel him squirm.

one of his arms drags you tighter, wrapping around your torso as you occupy your mouth.

the taste was sweet, it’s as if this entire thing was some sort of fantasy. of course—you had lots of questions, for starters—since when can demons lactate? rephrase that, since when can sukuna ryōmen lactate? but you were more of the ‘do first ask later’ type considering you were too busy to even ponder more of the thought.

sukuna bites his lip, feeling a strain in his boxers as he hears the occasional pops and slurrrrps of your mouth. “y- you’re fuckin’ nasty,” he huffs, but his voice cracks, butchering his once intimidating delivery entirely.

nasty but he didn’t want you to stop,

nasty but he felt himself getting hard the more you grind against his lap,

nasty but he’s holding back his needy bratty moans by biting his fangs down on his tongue.

sukuna purses his arched pink brows together into a frustrated furrow as his head tosses itself back. within seconds, you taste more of the candied flavor — it’s almost got a bit of a bittersweet honey taste to it. it sprinkles onto your sensitive taste buds and your eyes squeeze a bit, moving your head against each of his pecs to give them both equal amounts of attention. the demon’s nipples were even more red and swollen now, glimmering with your saliva dribbling from the centers. “hah, f- fuck,” he breathes, still maintaining a grip on the back of your head. you sit up to collect breaths yourself, licking your stained lips before he stares at you. his eyelids lower and he’s already whipped. “i— oh fuck.”

you raise a brow, opening your mouth to speak before you suddenly pause.

sukuna was quiet, too quiet.

with his kimono still half on, he’s practically shirtless. toned chiseled pecs stare at you right in the eye before you feel the heavy print of his dick directly underneath your shorts.

“my lord,” you sheepishly rub your neck, fingertips skimming against the few hairs that stand. there’s a certain wet spot that’s damp on the fabric of his lower clothing. your words were smooth, he could listen to you speak all day. with a smug smile curling against the corners of your lips, you throw your arms over his broad shoulders. “did you just . . cum?”

“nonsense,” sukuna denies you right away, the cutest grump of a pout stretching against his lips.

but, oh he did.

and it was a tough pill to swallow. sukuna, the sukuna who’s often known as his righteous title of being the king of curses, feared upon many, had just came. not only that, but he came from you sucking on his nipples. he came from the little problem he was currently having. out of all the enemies he’s beaten—this had to be the toughest one. he didn’t know how to deal with it nor did he know how to defeat it. the weakness was him.

and yet, that’s why he called you.

the feeling of your warm rotund lips attached to his nipples, he already missed it. it’s been seconds since you pried your mouth away and he missed it so bad. the way you sucked against his tender skin, your hot breaths fanning into his skin, making him even more hot.

sukuna was having withdrawals of you and your tongue slowly lapping up the excess ‘milk’ that dribbled out of each nipple.

this was crazy,

this is crazy.

he’s a demon for crying out loud—he’s never heard of demons doing such things. lactation. what even is lactation? sukuna knows such an activity was for women, not him.

but here he was, weak and panting like a dog, all for more of your beloved touch.

sukuna’s lying back, staring at you with docile blown irises—he’s at his worst, clammy hands never leaving the sides of your waist.

“fine. i . . came,” he murmurs in defeat, taking every spare second to gasp for air.

he’s drowning in sweat, probably drowning in his own heat too. with a pout continuing to compress across his lips, his voice lowers. but once you prepare to sit up, he lightly grabs your wrist. “fuck, don’t go yet,” he utters, knowing you did your part successfully in helping him. he hated how he was suddenly so weak, so dependent, so . . . submissive.

after all, you did help ease him a bit— although he was still begging for more.

it was as if some sort of sorcery spell was casted on him. this was a curse, yeah it had to be.

to sukuna, it couldn’t have been a more reasonable explanation. you peer at him as he speaks and he’s trying to find the exact right words without embarrassing himself. there’s a scowl that continues to marinate agaunst facial features before he sighs. “i- there’s somethin’ else,” he admits, hanging his head down in ignominy. he’s annoyed, sukuna groans at the words that were hanging onto his teeth—trying desperately not to slip them out but he can’t take it anymore.

he wants you.

he needs you.

“since you helped with my . . situation, it’s made me a little um—famished.”

you gulp, barely catching on to what he was implying—yet with a blink of an eye, you then find yourself arched over the arm of sukuna’s throne.

“i’m so fuckin’ starved,” he grunts, using a hand to caress the bare skin of your exposed flesh. serrated fingertips lightly graze against you as he feels everywhere that’s presented to him. the palm of his hand feels all up and down your curves, taking in your gorgeous physiques. he wanted to touch you. sukuna was horrible at expressing his feelings—yet he found himself humping his pillow at the thought of you. he didn’t know how to voice how bad he wanted you, but now that this moment was finally here, he couldn’t waste anymore time.

you’re so pretty, especially in such a erotic position. it seems as though a wave of clouded lust wafts in the air. sukuna tugs on the hem of your shorts, so needy to get a taste. he was dehydrated—but not for water.

“please,” a husky low voice pleads, groans and groans scratching out of his throat. you decide to tease him, wriggling your ass in the air right in front of his face before he hisses. “tsk. such a brat.”

“go ‘head.” you mumble, clinging onto the edge of the throne for support.

your positioning was a bit awkward but you made it work. you bury your head into your arms before he shifts—sitting up to prop himself right against you from behind.

sukuna wastes no time, dragging your shorts to your knees before scoffing at your laced panties. so soaked, his tongue eagerly licks against his lips as if it was natural animal instinct.

you weren’t just soaked, you were sopping.

he saw the dampened fabric and couldn’t help but lean in—placing his tongue right against the wet spot that formed. “ngh,” he purrs, and you feel the texture of his forked tongue tickle against your protected clit. you moan, biting back on your incoming words and growls before he gives your sloppy entrance a chaste kiss. “god, w- what’s wrong with me. i feel so hot.”

pathetically, he’s stammering out a bunch of words as he slowly laps his tongue against your sobbing cunt. sukuna grumbles in exasperation at how your panties got in the way of his ‘meal’ but literally forgot he had to actually pry take them off of you.

he was lazy though — so instead, he easily pulls them to the side to get a better and wetter view.

“so sloppy,” he snickers, admiring the way you’re dribbling with slick. it’s so ethereal, nothing like he’s ever seen before. a translucent tint colors down your drooling folds and you gasp once he starts to suck against your pussy. almost immediately, you throb right in his mouth and he feels the greeting pulse. “mhh—stay still, let me eat p-please.”

sukuna sounds so desperate—you don’t think you’ve ever heard your king beg.

he wasn’t begging for forgiveness, to cleanse sins, nothing of the sort. but alas, instead, he was just begging for pussy.

your pussy.

he couldn’t help it, especially when you tasted so good. your flavor was something he severely dreamt of devouring.

you might have just been his favorite for a reason. sukuna groans as his tongue maneuvers in multiple directions near your clit until he slurps vigorously against your tender labia. “fuck, m- my lord,” you whine, the stickiness between your thighs soaking more onto your skin.

you were dripping like a faucet, and it doesn’t take that long before his entire chin gets coated with your syrupy arousal.

it’s to no one’s surprise really, and he doesn’t even mind. he’s honored, lapping it up with his tongue before blowing his warm breath against your spiraling convulsing cunt. your breath continues to hitch and hitch as he dives his deeper. the button tip of his nose swipes back ‘n forth against your folds and you whimper.

he’s slurping you clean, through and through. sukuna’s got two wide hands to spread your ass apart more, delving his long pink tongue back and forth between your puffed entrance—you whimper out his regal title of his name and it falls off your tongue in such a sweet way every time. “y- your tongue’s so long, fuck. right there, don’t stoppp.”

but tasting you wasn’t enough - he wanted more.

strings of your webby slick entangle with his saliva as he suddenly departs his lips away. he’s gasping for air, swiping a tongue near your puckering hole before spitting right on it. a hand feels against your twitching cunt before he spanks it — his palm now coated with your slick.

you were sopping wet, and with how you just spurt on his hand, he wanted to make you wet even more.

it’s slow,

he watches with hooded eyes as your soddened entrance gets soaked and even more drenched. all from his hands and tongue. you could only imagine what he actually felt like from the inside.

“more,” was all he could moan out, and his pecs started to feel tender again.

his body was so strange—there’s a weird sensation that’s tingling in every part of him but it feels good.

you pout once he abruptly stops eating you out, only for him to flip you over. facing him and back on his lap, you’re met with the hungry eyes of a demon who wants more than just a taste.

he wants you.

with the help of his arms, he positions you upright on his lap again. you’re straddling him—but the difference was that you didn’t have any shorts on from before. “i- i want you to ride me, woman. can you do that?” and you can hear the faint plead in his voice—he looks desperate, he was breaking more sweats as each second passes.

“yeah,” you hum, cupping his face.

the demon surprisingly leans into his touch. the warmth of your palms made his heart stir into mush. a hand of his reaches down to play with the string of your panties that was shoved to the side but with quick reflexes—you grab his wrist. “nuh uh,” and he scowls, watching as you use your other hand to spring out his achy cock. “no touching just yet.”

he bares a fang at you. the nerve, if it was anyone else it’d be off with their head in an instant. but to sukuna, he found your teasing behavior to be quite . . cute.

of course, he’d rather perish than admit that thought to your face. just like how he secretly fantasizes about you but— he wants to keep at least some pride, even if it’s just a little.

“keh, you’re getting cocky, brat. remember your place,” he grouses, pink brows tugging amongst each other. his pout never left him and it only made him more adorable. sukuna’s eyes flicker down at your hand that’s now wrapped around his length. he swallows thickly, a breath of fresh air leaving from his full lungs. “hurry up. don’t got all da—”

“you talk too much,” you press your palm over his mouth, silencing the remaining of his sentence.

you’re met with a stone cold glare—but his vexed gaze gradually turns into a look of desired pleasure once you’re aligning yourself on his leaky tip.

his lips were so close to your palm - out of nowhere, you then feel his tongue lick against your hand. you refrain from giggling before feeling his angered tip slowly start to insert its way inside. the stretch, he’s so thick that your mouth drops open and you moan. he’s finally going inside—it’s better than he thought it would be. you’re so hot inside and it’s got his head spinning. gnawing on the skin of your lip, you let off a soft shaky whine. “fuck, you’re so big.”

he shakes his head, making you loosen your grip against his mouth before he boasts loudly. “heh, of course i’m big. you wouldn’t last a second with both of my cocks. i’d break you in hal— shit.”

he’s cut off by the rudeness of your cunt. you sink down on him and his tip poked a certain area inside of you that scratches your brain.

you bite back an incoming moan as your swollen cunt constricts around his length invitingly. his tip blushes inside—you reel into him, an attempt to steady yourself before already gasping for air.

the girthy stretch was immaculate, the base of his cock was tannish and already preparing itself to be milked. sukuna had a bit of a hooked curve. you felt it and you felt the stretch.

it was purely appetizing, almost drool worthy. just a few seconds in and he was already rearranging your insides. as you’re trying to start up a pace, you don’t know why but the thought of taking both of sukuna’s cocks made you a lot more wetter than you thought it would.

he’s mentioned it at least once or twice and you knew for a fact he probably would break you. there’s no probably, he really would. the demon was twice your size—alas anything was possible.

you lean in for a kiss and he instantly responds by returning the gesture. you taste so flavorsome and sweet - his tongue swirls against the lip gloss that paints on your mouth before he groans.

with lips moving in syncing tavern, you start to rock your hips a bit quicker.

the creaking of his throne gets louder until it’s just echoing, bouncing off the ancient walls of his chambers.

your cunt was just being ravaged by his hefty size, he’s just so big that you could barely even keep up your hips at first. sukuna’s hands—all of his hands roam over your body, clinging onto your hips and even a few feel near your chest. he gives your breasts a soft squeeze, a few thumbs toying with your perky nipples that poke out through the wooly-made blouse you were.

“f- fuuuck,” he swears between hot kisses, clawing a hand at your back.

as you rode him, his heartbeat starts to accelerate. you were a menace, rutting clashing hips gave him whiplash as the minutes pass. you were coating him in a mess of your own. sappy strings of your juices form into a saturated web with his own colorless mess that resides near his thickset base. you’re being so stretched. you cup his face once more whilst tongues fight and fight for dominance and tango together.

above him—you’re just a puddled mess.

sukuna couldn’t keep his hands off you no matter how hard he tried.

strained inhales escape out of him while he breaks away from kisses every few seconds. you were addicting - addictive.

his velvet red lips were all swollen and pursed up from your kisses and he’s desperately yearning for more of your syrupy forbidden taste. you were sweet, but your pulsating cunt was even sweeter.

with a quick piston of his hips, you felt your body jolt up. “hngh,” you gasp, wrapping your arms around his broad neck once more. from the neck down, his entire body was lathered with perspiration. sukuna was already feral, his hair was a mess and his fangs stuck out from his lips as he lies back. he hits every part of you so good, every single spot.

you’re struck in awe at how well his cock carves its way through your insides so perfectly, so thoroughly. it knows exactly where to go, never once missing the crevices of your pussy. despite having little to no experience—you could say he was definitely a quick learner. sukuna’s cock french kisses against your g-spot a plethora of times, creating a sloppy trail of them to send every part of your body butterflies. “ ‘m getting close, ‘kuna.”

“tsk. it’s still ‘my lord’ to you,” he corrects.

yet even though he’s trying to keep his cold façade - he’s failing miserably. sukuna’s bottom lip quivers as he cups your chin, hearing the filthy weeping squelches of your cunt grow louder. with each thrust, it gets more blaring to his ears and he groans at the tenderness he’s constantly feeling. “but ‘m gettin’ close too. so f- fuckin’ close.”

you hear how his voice shakes — his irises, they’re dilating from how you’re intently staring back.

but oh, he’s whipped.

a pair of hands grip onto your waist tightly, encouraging you to create more haste with your movements. your body swerves in swift arcs, feeling the sudden lock occur in your knees that’s buried into his thighs. he’s hitting you deep and he’s hitting you raw. you blabber out a few whimpers before slumping into his chest.

“fuck, fuck,” you sob out, reaching a hand down to spread two fingers against your pearled clit. you were throbbing, a sheath of your arousal then starts to cover his entire length the more you bounce. your folds were weeping as you grinded further against him. but as you’re chasing your incoming high, you lean in toward his pecs, taking one of his sensitive nipples into your mouth again.

and sukuna does the one thing you never thought he’d ever do.

he whimpers.

it sounds so pretty - so harmonic.

it’s like it happens on random—out of nowhere, he starts to lactate again. the familiar taste from earlier cascades down on your tongue and you suck a bit harder, moaning against his sensitive skin.

the jittery vibrations of your noises makes him groan, awkwardly ruffling your hair. “hah, g- good girl. milk me, that’s it. jus’ like that, keep going.”

and your hips slow down a bit so you can get a good angle. as you come to a brief stop, your body acclimates against him, but even still—you had a lot to get used to, especially with how well he stretched you out.

it’s pouring out a lot now, a bit of it starts to dribble down your chin and he just watches.

his cock twitches at the sight and you feel it from the inside. both bodies move rhythmically against each other and it feels like momentarily bliss.

your hand still has itself occupied between your thighs, playing with yourself to quicken your release.

it was right there, right at the tip of your tongue. sukuna moves a few strands of hair out of your face as you sucked against each pec. as he silently watches, if you squint you could see heart eyes forming in his pupils.

his nipples had so many nerves - so many nerves that he felt.

“god,” he curses, his thigh starting to bounce. you both were close, so so close.

sukuna feels his body temperature grow hotter the more your tongue whisks against each tender nub. it spills down the crevices of your lips. again, he’s just thinking how such a thing was even possible. you were so unapologetically messy too, he used a thumb to swipe the milky dripping substance away from the fissures of your plump lips.

you moaned, the stimulation of your cunt adequately sucking him dry continuously making you more and more aroused.

leisurely, an unpredictable wave of electricity prepares itself as you’re rutting into him on constant repeat. your unsteady rhythm had his jaw locked and he could barely utter out any final words at the moment because your pussy had him so utterly drunk.

the epitome of pussy drunk,

you finish first and it’s like you were shooting actual blanks.

your mind goes dimwitted as you’re gushing all over his cock, covering him in your obscene filth. “fuck, fuck,” you whimper out in a whine of individual babbles and doing so, your hips pick up again its recent speed. just for a moment. he groans at the skin against skin contact, throwing his head back and his adam’s apple bobs. it’s such a sight, you throbbed right between your legs.

sukuna crudely spanks your ass, his palm leaving a temporary sting before he squeezes it, admiring the precious recoil.

it takes you a second to realize you’re squirting. you were already dumb, but once you’re finally succumbing to pleasure, your mouth opens. “oh my goddd.” you elongate your moans, dragging out your sweet melodic words. your walls were preparing to wring him dry. from the inside—they cling onto him tight like velcro, you were attached and there was no pulling you off.

as you moan out your final vehement whines, you go back to sucking on his tender nipples and now . . . it was his turn.

“y’ jus’ squirt all over me ‘n ya still haven’t had enough,” he whews, his cock repeatedly and rigorously punctuating each single thrust. there’s a ringing in his ears, it’s loud and deafening. sukuna’s eyes grow droopy at the mere feeling and repetitive sounds of skin slap slap slapping every few seconds.

“ ‘m gonna cum—” and he pauses, gingerly pulling your head up so you can face him directly. your hips start to slow down again but it’s still got somewhat of a fair pace. with his bottom lip poking out, he’s still pouting visibly. “oi, brat. i- i can finish inside, huh? wanna fill you up. ‘m burnin’ up, fuck.”

you give him a nod, savoring his frosted taste that’s still remaining to drizzle onto your tongue.“mhm,” and as you’re still very much sensitive yourself, you slowly jerk back and forth despite how your pace wasn’t as fast as it was before.

“fuck, ‘m gonna give you so much,” he grunts, dewy lips mashing together as he spoke. he was so full and yet he had so much to give. sukuna feels himself grow inside you from each pump, he’s so thick that you’re just wholly tongue-tied.

the muscles in his abs tense and tighten before he grabs the fat of your ass with a single bare hand. “shit shit, take it all. take it all please.”

and at his feeble pulse, the moment finally comes where he shoots inside.

sukuna collapses back into his throne, bringing an arm hand toward himself to cover a broad hand over his face.

he grunts lowly into his palm and its sexy, his posture was so lazy and yet he was still so pent up. your limbs were just as limp as his, weak and defeated. a decent load of cum oozes into you raw and you gasp whilst his perky nipple was still in your mouth.

coincidentally enough, as he’s cumming—he ends up lactating at the same time too. more of his creamy substance pours onto your tongue while he’s pumping you full of satiny fresh ropes of sultry hot cum. it’s carnal.

you moan, losing yourself in such pungent nirvana as his taste suddenly turns sweeter.

sukuna was milked out entirely. he’s squeezing against your ass even tighter as he’s dumping such massive loads into your needy cunt. it was goopy—strings and strings of his cum tangle with your slick juices and you only imagined what it looked like up close. your hips moderately slow all the way until you’re just barely grinding against him now.

panting, you find yourself tracing the outline of his ancient tattoo markings with the tip of your finger.

your touch, by this point he was gonna cum again.

it’s a lot. actually, saying it was a lot was a bit of an understatement.

you don’t register how much he’s flooded into your pussy until you finally pry your mouth away from his chest, looking down at the impure sight.

so much, your entrance was filled to the very brim with such a nice amount, sweltering from the outside of your folds.

“you’re really sensitive,” you breathe, numbing thighs of your own gluing together against him. you didn’t want to move because it would spill out but it did anyway. a few wads of creamy ropes dribble down your swollen slit and you watch, scrapping a bit of it up with your thumb. “mmm,” you coo out, shoving and smearing the sticky strands of filth back inside. you felt so full, you don’t think you’ve ever felt more stuffed. the base of his cock was gummed with your slick along with a concoction of his own miry mess.

as you’re still trying to recollect breaths, you plant a kiss near the corner of his lips, watching it twitch at your touch. “my lord, you did so good. i didn’t think you’d cum from just getting milked.”

“s- sukuna,” he whines out his name as a form of correction. doing so, you lean into his touch once he cups your chin for the nth time.

his hold on you was always gentle—he’s got the most neediest look in his eyes, longing for you to continue to ‘aid’ him of his problem.

you worn him out— not only that but you milked him for all he was worth and yet he was still cumming.

“jus’ call me sukuna,” and your heart flutters at the sudden privilege. you’re still straddling him, keeping his cock warm before he leans in for a kiss.

you thought it was a kiss but instead, he inches his face toward your chin before lolling out his long forked tongue, licking the remaining excess milk that was running down your chin from earlier. “call me sukuna, mistress . . please.”

[konigsblog]

Loser!König hires sex workers to get him off and take his virginity because no woman would dare step too close to a sickening and freakish bastard like König.

He claims that the reason women fear a man like him is because of the sheer size of him, how they already know that having sex with him would be nothing more than pure agony. He towers above most people, standing at almost seven-feet. In reality, it's a mixture of König's nature and personality that truly terrifies people.

He's incredibly socially awkward. He can't hold a conversation for the life of him, as a bead of sweat runs down his forehead, avoiding eye contact with you to save himself a slither of embarrassment as he stumbles and stutters over his words helplessly, the thought of crawling into a hole sounding appetising and reasonable. He can feel their judgemental and curious gaze wander his body, looking for something to criticise, a question about his height usually, causing him to recoil and groan at the familiar, arrogant remark.

It doesn't help that König can't tell the difference between a friendly and appropriate conversation and flirting. A woman is speaking to him? Well, clearly she needs to be dicked down. There's no other reason for a woman to talk to him, even if you're just trying to do your job...

He has had sex workers back out of their job just at the sight of him. There's a reason he doesn't mention his size beforehand, hoping someone will look at his flushed, unsightly, and humiliated face that only a mother could adore and pity him. Please, empathise with him! Just touch his brute chest, and he'll come in his boxers. Practice making out with him and realise how truly disgusting and horrible he is, how he can't properly kiss and bites your bottom lip with his sharp, pearly teeth accidentally, apologising profusely through gasps and heavy breathing.

Just hold his hand and look at him lovingly, pretend you find him attractive, and he'll tip you hundreds for your generosity, for doing charity work...

[sugarlywhispers]

b.katsuki x reader (fem) | quirkless!reader, prohero!dynamight

a.n; I'M IN LOVE WITH THIS IDEA OKAY? I HAVE HAD IT IN MY DRAFTS FOR LIKE A YEAR ALREADY AND I NEED YA'LL TO RANT WITH ME ABOUT THISSSS<3 it's mostly enemies to lovers💕

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

"For the love of–... I'M COMING!"

It's Sunday morning. You have been expecting this day to wake up maybe mid-morning, with the gentle warm breeze coming from your open window; have an exquisite brunch that you have been planning and craving since Friday; maybe watch an episode or two of your favorite show before preparing a full spa day, with a long and refreshing bath included. That's how you have planned your Sunday to go.

But no… Apparently, someone's intention was to ruin the whole day for you while their knocks on your door were persistent and annoying at 6 freaking a.m.

You don't think about what you're wearing before stumbling towards the door, with the loud BANGS still sounding. You think of your poor neighbors next door and their newborn baby.

"This little shit," you protest, completely annoyed with this person knocking on your door like someone has died. "Someone better be dead or else…" You open the door in one strong pull and huff utterly annoyed when you encounter the person behind.

Vermillion eyes collide with yours, the intense hate and annoyance so palpable in the air it almost cuts you both.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

He tchs, rolling his eyes at you. The bile travels up through your esophagus, and you want to spit at him.

"Save the greetings, if you know what a decent greeting means… Well, considering how well you just did it, I doubt you fuckin’ know…"

The muscle at your temple twitches so hard, you believe he is actually able to see it. That would explain his upcoming smirk.

"The fuck do you want?" You repeat, not even caring or taking the time to follow this banter with him. You would normally do it, come back at him with a snarky response that would probably hurt his ego and he would answer back making you even angrier, and yada yada, nothing new to this ‘hate x hate’ relationship you had with this man in front of you. But today is not a day you planned on dealing with Bakugou-annoying ass-Katsuki.

He looks down at his hands, his fingers fidgeting a bit with the buttons on his all-black suit jacket you just now noticed he is wearing. Interesting; he never uses formal suits like this one if it isn't for a Hero Gala, and that was only once a year. Or that one time you remember he had to apologize to citizens through a TV interview with Deku because of a villain attack in Hokkaido they couldn't quite contain on time and caused a lot of material damage. You shake your head coming back to the present. Pro Hero Dynamight, a.k.a. Bakugou-annoying ass-Katsuki is standing right at your door, looking a bit nervous while playing with the buttons of his jacket, furrowing his eyebrows like he is angry even at the air he breathes.

You could have expected anything from this unpredictable man who infuriated you almost twenty-four hours a day, the seven days of the whole week. However, you were not expecting at all the words that come from his mouth after he looks up again and his eyes lock with yours.

"Fucking marry me."

Your eyes open wide. And the only thing you think of doing is punching him. And you do.

Your hands close in tight fists, and before saying anything, you punch his shoulder as strongly as you can with one. You know for sure your small and useless fist won't do any damage to this hulk of a man, but the meaning behind it it's what matters.

He simply looks at you in disbelief. "Ouch?" He smirks. He fucking smirks at you, and this time you punch his stomach, which does make him grunt and hover a bit in pain.

You attempt to close the door right at his face, but he suddenly pushes it with his hand and makes you waver a bit back, holding yourself on the door handle. He stands straight again, retrieving his hand from the door when he realizes he used more force than intended to prevent you from closing the door.

"I- umm- Shit, sorry, I didn't-..." 

You raise a hand to stop him from talking.

"Just fucking tell me what you want, so I can go back to bed and not see your ugly face for the rest of my day."

You watch in satisfaction how his face contours into full rage. And this time you smirk. 

"I fucking hate you…" He spits, and you bat your lashes at him while smiling.

"Ah, the feeling is mutual, baby."

Bakugou takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and holding himself on the door frame with strength. You're sure his hand shape will print on it, and you get more annoyed –if that's possible, but you have already learned that when Bakugou was involved, the anger was immeasurable– thinking that you will have to hire someone to fix that.

"I fucking hate you," he repeats through his teeth with his eyes still closed, but then he opens them, and his entire face changes into something you never expected to see. He looks at you, begging, "But I need you to marry me."

You look… perplexed. Again, never in your life have you ever come across the thought that those words would ever come from the man in front of you, much less towards you.

You open your mouth to say something, but the neighbor from the apartment in front of yours opens his door, standing there with his arms crossed and looking menacingly.

"Everything okay, Y/N?" His deep baritone voice asks. Bakugou turns his head and when he sees him, stands straight, head held high and you can imagine the type of defying expression on his face.

You roll your eyes. Men.

"Yes, Arisu, everything is fine. He's… a… friend," the word stung your tongue because you couldn't consider Bakugou that, even though you shared the same group of friends. But it wouldn't have been good having these two fight over something you still didn't understand what was happening; the thought of who of these two hulk men would win still was entertaining to think about. Your money was on Arisu, of course.

"Alrigh’," Arisu says, looking at Bakugou up and down before retrieving himself back into his apartment.

"The fuck this fucking extra-..." You stop Bakugou from turning and going towards Arisu by holding his arm and pulling him towards you.

"Stop it. Come inside," you demand, pulling him as he watches your hand around his bicep, "before any of my neighbors file a complaint against me thanks to your fucking loud mouth."

Bakugou grunts at your words as he lets you pull him inside. When you close the door and turn to him, you realize how big he looks in your small apartment, where there is barely space between the living room and the kitchen and two doors, one leads to your bedroom and the other to the bathroom. You want to laugh at how uncomfortable he looks.

You take a deep breath, scratching your forehead to regain a bit of patience –which was non-existent whenever Bakugou was around.

"Okay, now, explain to me what the hell is wrong with you."

"Nothing is wrong with me. More like what's wrong with you and this small thing you call apartment… When did you-..."

"Bakugou! I didn't invite you in for you to start insulting my living space!" You say more exasperated by every second he is in there. "Tell me what the hell happened to you! Why did you come here, almost tearing down the door of my place at 6 in the fucking morning, annoying even my neighbors, and then you fucking propose out of nowhere!"

His lips are held in a tight line as he watches you almost yell at him, hands opening and closing anxiously. There is silence for a couple of minutes before he says, "My father died."

You gasp, taking a step back. Wow. That's something you were not expecting at all. You get now why the black suit. And now that you look at him better, his eyes look glassy and reddish –probably thanks to how much he's holding himself back from showing any other emotion that isn't anger. And that's… sad.

Your arms immediately hug yourself, one hand settling over your chest. "I- I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," he turns a bit to the left, facing the kitchen to avoid looking at you. "Fucker was a right pain in the ass."

You choke on the laugh that almost escapes you at his words, and after you clear your throat you murmur, "Sorry." He looks at you a bit amused, the right corner of his mouth lifted a bit at your reaction.

You sigh again after a few seconds of silence, "Bakugou, what does that have to do with you asking me to-...”

"My great-grandparents are-were the funders and CEOs of TCA Technologies Corp.," your eyes open wide at the name of the prestigious company that had been ground-breaking in the creation and use of robots, before being the number one seller of technology materials to support heroes. They were high class in society, civilians and heroes. "Yeah, that's the face every extra makes," he smirks when you stick your tongue out at him.

He then looks at you up and down and immediately looks away, clearing his throat in a clear gesture of shyness. You frown confused.

"Fucking go put some clothes on."

That's when you remember you had no pants, no bra, and an old shirt that barely covered your panties. Fuck. You almost run towards your room to get changed. All of this had to be a dream… or a nightmare.

Your Sunday was entirely ruined. You know that for sure.

After you change to decent, more covered clothing, leggings and a big shirt that almost reached your knees –it is Sunday, dammit, and the hell you are gonna dress up for Bakugou Katsuki– you walk again towards the living room where you left said asshole waiting for you there. He is now sitting on your couch, his suit jacket lying over the back of it. His elbows are resting over his knees, his hands holding his head. You have never encountered a tired Bakugou, yet here he is. Looking beaten and down.

He looks up at you when he hears you approach him; his eyes are more reddish than before, kind of like when you want to cry but don't let yourself do it. That made you feel bad for thinking about him as an asshole.

"What took you so long, short-legs? Whatever you wear, you'll still stink and look ugly on it."

Nope. He is and will always be a stupid asshole.

You roll your eyes grunting as you let yourself fall on the couch, as far away from him as you can on that three-people couch, crossing your legs under you.

"Spit it out, asshole. What's all this about?"

He sighs, "My father inherited it all after my grandfather died. His whole life had been that stupid company, his and my mother's. I don't give a fuck about it, but the old hack insists that I- ow!"

You pinch him on the shoulder this time, knowing very well that if you had punched him he wouldn't have felt anything. But pinching… he did feel that.

"What the fuck was that for?!"

"Don't call your mom like that, idiot!"

"Fucking piss off, you know shit! The old hack is an old hack, she deserves the title."

You shake your head in disagreement but decide to leave that topic there considering how affected he looks by it.

"The old hack said," he simply repeats that to spite you, and you really want to punch him, "that I need to step up and be fucking CEO of that bullshit, or…"

He looks at you, and you gulp, kind of understanding where this is going.

"Or get married." You finish the sentence, crossing your arms over your chest, "But why? Those two options are completely different from one another."

"The sky will fucking fall the day I understand any-fucking-thing that comes out of her mouth. She's nuts!" He protests, arms exaggerating his words as he opens them wide, evidently showing how much stress he has, before laying back on the couch, head resting over the back of it where his jacket is. He sighs long and deeply before talking again, "My great-grandmother had a strong Quirk, but she decided to stay at home instead of being a Hero. Those were other times, ya'know?"

"I know History of Heroes, Bakugou. I'm not stupid."

He looks at you again, this time genuinely surprised, "I, umm, thought you-..."

"Have you ever thought that despite not having a Quirk, I know about heroes?"

He tchs, "No wonder why you and shitty Deku are such shitty nerds."

You roll your eyes for the eleventh time that morning, "Get to the point, shitty asshole."

Bakugou scoffs, clearly holding back a retort to answer back, then he continues, "I'm the first in generations with a strong, hero-level Quirk. Most of my family had decided to live as civilians, building this stupid company from generation to generation."

"Oh, and you are the first actual Hero in the family. You are the first one to choose differently…"

He nods in response, "It almost gave my grandfather a heart attack. Ever since my Quirk woke up, I knew what I wanted," he looks back at you, and for the first time, you admit to yourself that you're curious of knowing what he wants, what goes through his head, so you nod allowing him to continue, "I want to be a Number One Hero. I want to kick villains' asses as much and as hard as I can for as long as my stupid aging bones allow me to."

The intensity in his eyes and conviction in every word he spoke made you feel his passion. And that was… new.

"But to be that, I can't afford to waste time in falling in love and all that bullshit…"

"Then say no to your mom and the company," you offer as a solution. He snorts letting his head fall back against the couch.

"You know shit…" He shakes his head, "There's a requirement in every hero company, it says that a familiar, or a spouse if the hero is married, has to validate your mental sanity alongside a doctor to keep working as a Hero."

"I… didn't know that."

"Of course not, short-legs. You're not a hero, why would you know?"

"So, if I… If we get married-..." he nods in confirmation even before you say the words. But he says them.

"The old hag won't have to validate my status as Hero anymore, and she won't have anything to hold me back from sending her and the company to hell."

You looked serious at him, "Bakugou, you and I don't like each other. You hate me and I hate you. And you want to put your Hero status in my hands by marrying me?" You say in disbelief, almost anxious about the whole meaning of this. You stand up and walk from one side to the other as you keep talking, "Why? Because your inner kid is in rebellious tantrum mode and does not want to take the responsibility to-..."

"Shut the fuck up! You. Know. Shit!" He also stood up, shortening the distance between you two in the small living room.

"Then tell me! Explain it to me! Cause to me you only sound like a spoiled brat who doesn't want his veggies for lunch."

He looks you right in the eye, hands almost trembling in fists beside his body, and then he drops the bomb.

"My mother killed my grandfather."

You recoil a step back, "What?"

He sighs, hands and fingers running through his hair, clearly uncomfortable, "I-... There is no proof, no solid proof about it. I just- I know it was her." Again, the conviction in his eyes made you believe him. "My mother wanted the money, the luxury life being with my dad could bring her. But my dad had a brother, an older brother."

"Had?"

Bakugou simply shakes his head, "The idiot got himself in between a shooting from two villain groups. He was shot only once, and it killed him. A fucking looser…" 

You try, you really tried not to smile but failed miserably. "You are the idiot," you say fighting back the chuckle.

He smiles back, "No, I got shot several times, I even got thrown at and through walls, and I'm very much fucking alive. I'm no weak ass looser as him."

You can't stop laughing, Bakugou definitely is an idiot.

He waits until you're done laughing before continuing, "Even then, my grandfather didn't think my dad was capable of handling the company and all it meant, so he was thinking about giving it to one of his nephews. That's when, I fuckin’ know, my mother took matters into her own hands. I'm an only child. If I say no…"

"The company has to go to another familiar..." Everything washes clear now in your head, “And your mom won't allow that to happen. So she’ll lie and say you aren’t sane enough to keep working as a hero,” Bakugou keeps nodding, confirming everything you’re saying.

“That way, I’m obligated to work at the company.”

Your hand travels from your forehead and brushes your hair back. “She wouldn’t that… She’s your mom, Bakugou...”

“Haven’t you heard a fucking thing I said? She fucking killed my grandfather so the company was legally inherited by my father! Therefore, she could hold all the rights, all the stupid money! My father was a fucking dimwit who believed every-fucking-thing my mother said. She controlled him as she pleased.”

You gasp as another realization hits you, “That’s why you are an asshole to her…”

“She can fool anyone, but not me.” He declares, standing tall and proud. “I have never played her game, and I fuckin’ never will.”

You hug yourself once more, taking some minutes to assimilate all the confessions he just dropped on you. Everything feels like a script of a freaking movie or something. And there are too many questions you want to ask. But there’s only one thing you mostly don’t understand and you need the answer to.

So you look back at him, head tilting up a bit due to the height difference between you, and ask, “Why me?”

Bakugou does not hesitate in his answer. 

“You’re strong, despite not having a Quirk. And smart. You don’t let anyone dictate what you can or cannot do,” he takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours, “You have never backed down from a discussion, with me or anyone else. You don’t let anybody step on you, holding tight to your convictions and beliefs.”

You visibly gulp, feeling a little warmth in your cheeks that makes you want to look elsewhere, but you don't. You hold the connection between your eyes like dear life. And he smiles, the left corner of his mouth raising a bit.

“You have a fuckin’ strong character, you won't even shy down from me,” you suddenly feel the back of his index finger caress the right side of your jaw, where lays an old scar he perfectly recognized.

It was the scar he accidentally left when you were younger, stupider. He had picked a fight with another newbie hero –another asshole in your opinion– who kept talking shit about his other newbie hero friends. Bakugou had snapped when the guy mocked the word “whore” towards you. You have tried to separate them, earning yourself a punch on the right side of your face by this same man that has touched the reminder of that old memory.

“But above all that…” It’s his turn to gulp, eyes going up and down through your face. Is he… Is he looking at your lips? “You are kind. You care about everyone. You always try to solve everything for everyone –that’s fuckin’ annoying actually.”

You open your mouth to swear at him, stupid asshole; but he doesn’t give you time to say anything. “What I’m trying to fuckin’ say is–” he takes a deep breath, “You are… good. A good person. And you… You understand m- us.”

Was he going to say ‘me’? By ‘us’, you know he means heroes.

Your parents had been heroes before they died. Unfortunately, you were born Quirkless, so the dream of following your parents' path was decided the same day you were welcomed into this world. You have already made peace with this idea, it didn’t hurt like it used to when you were young. Despite not having a Quirk, you specialized in Quirk and training analysis, which granted you a job that most Hero Agencies wanted you for. Hence also how now your group of friends involved all heroes.

However, one thing is working with them, working with Bakugou Katsuki, a.k.a. Pro Hero Dynamight, who was the biggest pain in your ass you have ever had since the day you met him. Another completely different is actually marrying the pain in your ass.

You sigh, “I don’t–...”

“What? You want me to fuckin’ beg? ‘Cause I fuckin’ will…” Bakugou takes a step back and literally kneels before you. You protest, grabbing his forearm and pulling him back up, but he doesn’t let you move him even a millimeter. “What do you want? Whatever you want is yours. We can even sign a dam contract if you so want, I don’t fuckin’ care what it is. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“This is not a fucking joke, Bakugou. You are asking me to marry you. What if I have a boyfriend? You didn’t even fucking ask!”

His eyes open wide, surprised. “Do you?”

You roll your eyes, releasing an exasperated sigh. “No! I don’t!”

“Then, what are you bitching about?”

You groan. “I’m bitching about the fact that I don’t know why would you put a whole big deal on me when we hate each other!”

“I trust you.”

It’s a short answer, his expression is even so neutral and sure that leaves you perplexed. Surprised at how easily he said those words.

“We don’t like each other…”

“I don’t need to like you to trust you, idiot.” It feels like he’s mocking you, but one look into his eyes and what he is saying actually feels right. He is completely sure of what he is saying. “I would even fuckin’ trust you with my life.”

He already does. Every day, at work.

Still, you can’t pass the opportunity to piss him off. “Wow. That’s deep, buddy.”

“Fuck you.”

Mission accomplished.

You laugh gently, looking at him still kneeling on the floor of your living room. The sight in itself is a miracle. A sight you won't get to see ever again from this man. But it’s not the image of his kneeling position that makes you take the decision.

It’s his eyes.

They are screaming, desperately begging for you to help him. And, damn it, he is right; you always are at the disposal of everyone when they need your help. Fuck! It is actually very annoying –but you will never admit that out loud, especially not to him.

You close your eyes, head tilting back, and take a long, deep breath.

You are so going to regret this.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Bakugou Katsuki immediately stands up and practically throws himself at you, his whole hulk of a body surrounding you in what you have never thought would ever happen between you two: a hug.

Are you though?

[lightseoul]

a/n. feeling soft and yearning for 30-something boyfriend!bkg, so i just had to write something down on him real quick. enjoy! (0.5k)

thinking about quiet saturday evenings with bakugou, spent in the comfortable silence you've both worked towards in the brief time you've spent officially together.

you're in your early 30s now, and people your age are rushing to get rich or get buff or get hitched, but with bakugou it's surprisingly peaceful. you're in no rush, just seven months into this budding relationship, but that doesn't mean the people around you aren't.

"denki's getting married next year," bakugou shares out of the blue, breaking the quiet and sprawled so nonchalantly on his leather couch. you whip to look at him from where you're seated to his right, stunned.

"seriously?"

at that, he snorts. "crazy, right?"

you try to frown at his tone, but the corners of your lips refuse and fight to turn upward instead. "be nice, kats. i was referring to how fast they're going, not to the fact that he's getting married."

bakugou merely hums in neither affirmation nor disagreement. leaning forward, he places the mug of tea he's been nursing on top of the coffee table. "it's gonna be a pain in the ass either way. he asked me to be a groomsman."

you don't even try to tamp down the excitement that shoots through you. "he did? that's great, babe! that's so sweet of him."

he shrugs. "yeah, well. i told him i'll only agree if he included blue as one of the colors for the guests."

you feel your eyebrows furrow. "...blue? what's with that, specifically?"

bakugou frowns at you like you just told him the sky was green. "because that's your color?"

he says it so as a matter-of-factly that you buffer for a second, not knowing how to respond.

"…but the wedding won't be until late next year, right?" you finally ask when you get your words back, voice small.

"yeah?" he retorts without missing a beat. "what're you getting at?"

he asks the question in such a way that's bordering on challenging you, shutting you right up. the thing is, you've never thought much about the future, let alone one shared with bakugou, mainly because you didn't want to get way ahead of yourself and potentially get disappointed, yet...

here he is, talking so casually about it.

you look back up to see that he's still staring at you, goading you for an answer, and for a moment, you debate whether or not to have the conversation now.

the conversation where you talk about what the future looks like ahead of you.

but as you gaze back at bakugou's waiting, crimson eyes, and drink in the softness of his skin that perfectly juxtaposes the sharpness of his features, you decide to save it for another day.

shaking your head, you toss him the gentlest smile you can muster. "it'll be my honor to be your date to the wedding, katsuki."

at that, bakugou scoffs, but there's no missing the tinge of pink now decorating the high planes of his cheeks.

"who else would it be, dumbass?"

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 have a nice day!

[peachsukii]

In an attempt to swing back into writing...

For softie Sunday, I'm thinking about Bakugo and reader dating casually in their mid 20s - they both have been through past relationship bullshit and are hoping that this time, it would be different with one another.

It's been a few months, nothing crazy, but he's been working nonstop. Like, three to four days of back to back rescues, emergencies, and normal patrols that have him exhausted beyond belief. You two haven't had a lot of time to spend together recently, and he hates it. Running out the door in the middle of dinner dates or movie nights at your apartment, it ate away at him that his relationship was taking a backseat in his life. That’s how his last one ended, and he was goddamn determined to not let it happen again.

You had tried to tell him to go home and rest, but his stubborn nature kicks in and refuses. He tells you he'll be at your place by seven and that he'll just shower at your place to save time. Bakugo arrives at your apartment and the exhaustion is evident in his demeanor. He greets you with a gruff "hey" before coming inside, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before unloading all of his stuff to the floor. Your apartment is cozy as always, feeling like a second home to him in such a short amount of time. As you ask him about his day, he just grumbles something under his breath and shakes his head. “Be done in 15. Go pick a movie.”

Bakugo’s walking down the hall to your bathroom with his bag over his shoulder, and the way his body looks too heavy for him weighs on your heart. He works so hard, and yet, refuses to have anyone help him in return. It’s a bit impulsive, but you follow behind him. He hears your footsteps and shoots a glance over his shoulder at you.

“What’re ya doin’?” He asks curiously.

You take another step toward him and smile, a hand resting on his back. “Let me help you.”

He’s too tired to protest, to sleep deprived to use any of his default defensive mechanisms to shoo you away. He thinks for a second and sighs. “Alright.”

And it’s not like you two haven’t seen each other naked before — hell no. You do that any chance you get. But this? It’s different. It’s a new kind of intimacy being explored. The two of you strip down and jump in the shower together, and you can tell immediately that Bakugo’s unsure what exactly you’re doing in there with him. That is, until you reach around him and grab some of your vanilla scented body wash, lathering it in your hands and start to rub his shoulders. The emotion hits him like a truck in his exhausted state, fight or flight kicking in to run from this…but he doesn’t. Instead, he lets you massage the soap all over his body for him, eyes closed and the tension melting away as your hands explore every aching muscle.

Just when he thinks you’re done, you start washing his hair for him, too. A wave of unfamiliar affection drowns out his urge to swat your hands away as he focuses on the softness of your hands, how gently you scratch at his scalp and that it feels goddamn fantastic to be taken care of like this. It flips a switch in him, finally relaxing under your touch. Bakugo doesn’t even realize when you’re done until you’re titling his head back under the stream of hot water to rinse it out for him.

He’s not sure what good deed he’s done to deserve you, but he’s not letting it slip through his fingers this time. And who knows? Maybe he is learning how to love, and be loved, again.

[ahmedsal-1qa]

⛔ please help my family don't skip 🛑

Hello, My name is Ahmad Mohammed Hassan Salah, a 33-year-old man from Gaza, Palestine. Under the sky of Gaza, amidst the war and shelling, begins my story. I lived my life in the northern part of Gaza with my wife and three children, dreaming of a secure future for my small family. Nada, my seven-year-old eldest daughter, loves to draw, though her colors have disappeared amid the rubble 🎨💔. Mohamed, my five-year-old son, still dreams of playing in a garden untouched by bombs 🛝💔. As for Huda, my two-year-old, she has started uttering her first words amid the sounds of explosions 🍼💔.

The tragedy began one night of the war when I was forced to leave my home under continuous bombardment 💣😔. I carried my children and my anxious wife, running through the debris and darkness in search of a safe haven 🌪️. Our journey was fraught with dangers, as we left everything behind: our home, memories, and even our money and food 🏚️💔. After a long journey, we found ourselves in southern Gaza, where we set up a small tent as a temporary refuge ⛺😞.

The tent, small as it was, became our new world. Without mattresses to shield us from the cold nights or blankets to protect us from the rain 🌧️❄️, life was harsh. The children slept on the ground, and I struggled to provide any food to feed my family 🍞💔. But the war showed us no mercy. After only three months, we were forced to move once again, this time to central Gaza. The Israeli army described it as a "safe zone," but the shelling followed us like an unrelenting shadow 💔💣.

More than a year has passed, and my family and I continue to live under bombardment and destruction 🌋💔. Each day brings with it a new story of suffering. Food is scarce 🍽️, water is contaminated 🚱, and fear never leaves my children's hearts 😔💔. Nada has started asking, "When will this war end?" 😢. Mohamed tries to comfort his mother, who weeps in silence 😭💔. As for Huda, she knows no world other than one filled with terrifying sounds 🥺.

I also suffer from a chronic illness, and I have a medical report confirming my condition 🏥💔. However, the pain of my illness is less than the anguish I see in my children's eyes 💔😔. I try to be strong, but I sometimes break down when I cannot provide food for them 🥺. My wife stands by me, trying to bring hope, but even hope has become a rare commodity 💔.

Amidst the devastation, I want to send a message to the world: "We are human. Our children deserve a better life. We just want safety. All I want is to sleep one night without fearing that my children will wake up to the sound of explosions." 🙏💔

Due to this ongoing suffering, I appeal to the world through Tumblr to raise donations for my family and for other families experiencing similar circumstances 🌍💔. If you are able to provide any assistance, no matter how small, it would mean so much to us 🙏🫂. You can help by donating food, clothing, or even essential medications that we desperately need 💊🛒. I kindly ask you to share our story on Tumblr, because spreading it may reach kind hearts all over the world—hearts that can offer help and save the lives of my children and the children of Gaza from this hell ❤️🕊️.

My story is not just an individual one; it represents thousands of families in Gaza living in conditions that are unimaginable 💔. The question remains: How long will this suffering continue? And will the day come when Nada can draw a sun without it being covered by the smoke of war? 🌞✏️💔

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #280 )✅️

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters

[mossy-rock-in-a-field]

Several weeks ago, my retirement-age mother requested that I play Baldur’s Gate 3 for her because she has trouble with controllers/keyboards and wanted “to see what all the fuss is about with that cute wizard boy.” For context, my mother and I have done this sort of thing in the past with certain RPGs (dragon age, mass effect, etc.), but it’s been a few years since she’s personally requested a game like this. Basically, I control her Tav but let her make all the choices so she can determine how the story plays out without worrying about mechanics. She treats it like a choose-your-own-adventure book.

Anyway, here is a list of some of the things my mother has said and/or chosen to do throughout the course of BG3 in no particular order:

She is (obviously) romancing Gale. She is quite smitten with him and his passion for books and learning; she also thinks he’s polite and qualifies as “relationship material.” She also REALLY likes the things he’s said about his cat so far (my mom is a cat lady), so I know she’s gonna flip shit when we meet Tara in Act III.

She’s playing a normal druid Tav with a generally good alignment. Her favorite spell is Spike Growth because she thinks it’s hilarious whenever enemies walk into the AOE and die. I usually end up having to cast it at least once per battle per her request. Sometimes twice.

Contrary to her alignment, my mother tasks me with robbing every single chest, crate, barrel, and burlap sack we come across; this also includes people and their pockets. The party is always at max carrying capacity. ALWAYS. She doesn’t like selling things because “what if I need them.” The camp stash is in literal shambles. There is no hope of organizing it. She’s got like fifty seven sets of rags and a billion pieces of random silverware.

She MUST talk to every animal and corpse in the game. I think five hours of her total playtime so far (47ish) has been spent speaking to animals as many times as humanly possible. Like, I was thorough in my own playthroughs, but this is on a whole other level.

She did NOT get Volo’s lobotomy, but she did let Auntie Ethel take her eye in hopes of a cure for the tadpole. I did not understand the logic then. I still do not understand it now.

She is far more interested in fashion than equipment stats. Do you have any idea how much gold I’ve had to spend on dyes just to make things match? SO much. Same vibe as that “please someone help me balance my finances my family is starving” tweet but instead of candles it’s thirty thousand fucking bottles of black and furnace red dye.

We broke the prisoners out of Moonrise, but they got on the boat too early and bugged the fight by leaving Astarion and Karlach behind. Wulbren Bongle somehow got stuck in combat mode even after engaging the cutscene on the docks below Last Light; he he kept trying to run ALL THE WAY BACK TO MOONRISE nine fucking meters at a time while I frantically tried to finish the fight with the Warden, otherwise Wulbren would have run straight into the shadow curse. (I would’ve let him go; fuck Wulbren Bongle, all my homies hate Wulbren Bongle. But my mom didn’t know that, and she wanted to keep him safe. So.)

She had me reload a save like eighteen times to save the giant eagles on top of Rosymorn Monastery. Wouldn’t even let me do non-lethal damage just to get past things. I think getting that warhammer for the dawnmaster puzzle took us like an hour and a half alone. (Yes, I know you can use any warhammer, but SHE didn’t.)

She’s started keeping an irl notebook to keep track of her quests between play sessions. She writes down ideas and strategies when she thinks of them during the week, then brings them to her next game session at my house. I think she wrote about three pages on possible approaches to the goblin fortress alone.

She insists that I pet Scratch and the owlbear cub before every single long rest, no exceptions. Sometimes I have to do it multiple times until she is absolutely sure that the animals know exactly how much she loves and cherishes them. She has also commissioned a crocheted owlbear plush from a friend of hers and is very excited.

I’m sure there’s a bunch of stuff I’m forgetting, but those are some fun things I thought of. She’s enjoying the game and is telling all of her retired friends to get it and play it for themselves. She asked me “what is Discord” yesterday and I think my life flashed before my eyes.

anyway shout out to my mom for being neat

Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

[pathologicalreid]

litmus test | s.r.

in which Spencer needs your expertise to help solve a murder, but crime fighting is most decidedly not for you

find more chemist!reader here!

who? spencer reid x chemist!reader category: flangst (like. the end is a little angsty and it has case details) content warnings: typical cm violence, science talk, fem!reader, reader is not built for crime, morgan being an older brother, some fun banter!! death by firework is crazy lmao word count: 1.68k a/n: this is one of my favorite fluff pieces i've written in agessss i missed chemist!reader so much i learn so many things when i'm writing her. this was a request! i hope you like it as much as i do!!

“Do you have a second?” Spencer asks, his voice slightly choppy over the phone. Between his ancient phone and being inside concrete police precincts, some disconnect was bound to happen.

Saving your document to your computer, you rest the lab phone between your shoulder and ear, “If you’re asking me if I have any corrosive chemicals in my hands, the answer is no.”

He chuckles lightly, “I never know with you.”

You roll your eyes in response, even if he can’t see you, “It was one time and I needed a new phone case anyway.”

“You fused the plastic of your phone case to the material of your phone,” he retorts far too quickly for your liking.

“Yes,” you acquiesce, “but I know the exact chemical reaction that caused that phenomenon.” You cross your legs one over the other, maintaining your balance on your lab stool as you speak to Spencer over the phone.

He gave a light hum in response, “Speaking of chemical reactions – I need your help.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “You’re asking me for help in chemistry?” There really was a first time for everything, you suppose.

Spencer was more than capable of navigating a lab on his own, even so, he admits, “You have more applied practice than I do.”

Pursing your lips, you nod to yourself, “Fair enough. What’s stumping you, Dr. Reid?” Your inquiry, while innocent enough, garners a wolf whistle from your graduate assistant.

“There’s something burning a hole in these bones, and I’m not sure what would be causing it to happen this fast,” he explains, giving you minor background information on how long the bones were out and if the medical examiner had treated them with something.

You clear your throat, frowning at the notes you had scrawled down in front of you, “Burning or corroding?” What was seemingly a meaningless distinction would actually allow you to filter through approximately half of the possibilities.

“Corroding,” he corrects himself, “My mistake.”

Crossing off some of your notes, you purse your lips at the new possibilities, “No worries. Did you try flushing it out with water?”

You hear papers flipping on his end of the call before you get a response, “That would destroy evidence.”

“Well,” you raise your eyebrows, “It sounds like your evidence is destroying itself.”

“Baby,” Spencer says in a no-nonsense tone reserved for when he was deep in a case. You could’ve sworn you heard Morgan in the background of the call mocking him for the pet name.

Turning back to your notes, you sigh, “Yeah, yeah, all work and no play. Was the body buried?”

“Partially,” his reply intrigues you, “I can have Garcia send you the crime scene photos if you think it’ll help.”

Wrinkling your nose at the thought, you made an unsure sound, “Right, because nothing says lunchtime like getting up close and personal with a homicide victim.”

“What lunchtime? It’s three pm in D.C. right now,” he caught you, a slight chiding tone in his words.

Ignoring his questions, you ask more of your own, “Was the body near water? Did they test the pH of the soil and water?”

There were more papers flipping, likely someone presenting the results of those tests to him, “Yeah, the soil was a five-point two and the water was a seven-point eight,” he listed off for you.

While your knowledge of the pH of the soil in Iowa was limited, you did know that those levels were pretty on par for the northern Mississippi River. “O-kay,” you say, extending your vowels, “and they didn’t find anything else on the scene that points to corrosive materials. Hydrofluoric acid?” You posit, “No, you know what – maybe you should send me those files. My work email is encrypted, you can give it to Penelope.”

He speaks to someone else in the room with him and you resist the urge to ask him if he’s enjoying Iowa, “It’s sent,” he confirms with you.

Pulling up your email only takes a moment, and once you get over the initial shock of seeing a dead body on your computer screen, you lift your lab glasses to the top of your head in order to get a better look. “I mean,” you think for a moment, “those look like alkali burns to me. I’ve never seen them on bones before, but you should do a litmus test to check either way.”

“So, we rinse it with water?” He asks, seeking instruction from you in a way that makes you feel oddly powerful.

Your eyes widen, “No, no, no. If it’s a metal compound then it’ll be covered in a mineral oil, so rinsing it with water would actually make the burn worse.”

Pausing for a moment, you consider the possibility that Spencer didn’t have the luxury of time – he was trying to solve a murder, not do experiments in a lab.

“Alkali burns can be serious, it all depends on what caused them, and most are helped by rinsing with water. So, unless you have the time to test for metal compounds, I’d go ahead and rinse it. You might want to brush the damage to the bones with a dry brush first. If there’s lime on the bones it’ll foam, which not only will corrode the bones even further but it might release a toxic gas,” you have no idea how the corrosion would interact with bone marrow, but something tell you that you don’t want to know

“Wait a minute,” Derek interjects, being included in the conversation now that Spencer put the call on speaker, “I thought things like alkaline water were good for you.”

You scoff instinctively, “Oh, there’s no definitive evidence that shows alkaline water as having any real health benefits. Especially not the benefits that the internet says it has.” Straightening up in your stool, you continue, “In fact, there is evidence from the NIH that says drinking alkaline water could cause kidney damage. There’s a particular-“

“My bad,” he interjects, effectively stopping your rambling before it really took off, “I forgot whose girlfriend I was talking to.”

Groaning at your new vexation, you huff, “Oh, fuck off, Derek. Go kick down a door.”

Spencer quickly switches the phone back, “Thank you, angel.”

Squinting at the photos that were still on your laptop screen, a crude, disturbing thought came to mind, “You know, sparklers can cause alkali burns. It might be something to consider because of the diameter of the burns.”

Your boyfriend was silent on his end of the call for so long that you had to check and make sure the call hadn't dropped. “Did you say sparklers?”

“Yep,” you confirm, “like the ones you can get everywhere this time of year.”

He says something to Morgan, placing his hand over the receiver so you can’t hear, “There’s only one spot in this town, though. I’ve gotta go, see you soon.”

“Stay safe, please! I prefer your bones unburned,” you rattle off into the phone before it clicks, placing the phone back on the stand and deleting the crime scene photos from your inbox.

The front door to the apartment opens and shuts quietly, with Spencer under the assumption that you already went to bed, he was surprised to find you on the couch, nursing a cup of tea. “Hey, baby,” he chirps, unusually peppy for this time of night.

“Hey,” you say half-heartedly, threading your fingers through the handle of the mug.

Your somber tone gets Spencer’s attention, “What’s wrong?”

The slight panic in his voice causes your eyes to snap up to his, “Nothing,” you murmur. “It’s just… the woman who was in those pictures. There- the burns on her bones, they were signs of torture, weren’t they?”

You’d been thinking about the burns ever since Spencer showed them to you, “Yes,” he answers with a reciprocating softness, sitting down next to you on the couch. “The medical examiner concluded that she was burned antemortem.”

That woman had been burned alive by fireworks, sparklers had seared their way through skin and muscle until it finally met her bones. You blink a few tears from your eyes at the thought, “I like my lab, Spence.”

The confusion on his face was palpable, “I know you do.”

“I like my minimal human interaction and my chemicals, and I like knowing why certain things cause certain reactions. I like it when things make sense.” You take a deep, shaky breath, “Killing someone. Torturing someone with fireworks. That just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You had no interest in hearing the excuses that the killer had provided. You had no interest in hearing the psychological breakdown of that woman’s killer. Spencer knows that, “The photos got to you?”

Taking a sip from your mug, you nod solemnly, “I can’t stop thinking about the way it must have felt. Oh, the smell must have been horrible. That poor woman.” In theory, it was a ridiculous notion, killing someone with fireworks seemed neither probable nor possible. Yet here you are.

“But we got the person who killed her,” Spencer reassures you, resting his hand gently on your knee. “We couldn’t have done it without you,” he adds.

Your face warms at his compliment, “I wish I could have helped before she was killed.” You were grateful that Spencer hadn’t passed on any personal information about the woman, it was easier for you if you kept things in separate storage files in your mind.

Spencer hums, reaching out and sweeping a strand of hair behind your ear, “There’s always going to be another one. I’m sorry about the photos, I should’ve made sure Garcia only sent the necessary ones.”

Nodding absentmindedly, you look at him thoughtfully, “This will pass, but for tonight I just feel bad for the victim.”

“I can have Penelope share some of her favorite baby animal videos, if you’d like,” he offers softly, resting his head on your shoulder.

In return, you give him a small smile, “Well, I suppose it really can’t hurt.”